“No!” rejoined the old man, with a scarcely perceptible twinkle of his fishy eyes.
“Nalty 's of my opinion, and thinks that Lady Eleanor will positively decline it.”
“No,” echoed he once more.
“And that, without any suspicion of our plan, she will yet refuse to receive you.”
“I 'm not going to ask her, Bob,” croaked the old doctor, with a species of chuckling crow in his voice.
“Then you have abandoned your intention,” exclaimed O'Reilly, in dismay, “and the whole journey has been incurred for nothing.”
“No!” said the doctor, whose grim old features were lit up with a most spiteful sense of his superior cunning.
“Then I don't understand you,—that's clear,” exclaimed O'Reilly, testily. “You say that you do not intend to call upon her—”
“Because she's coming here to see me,” cried the old man, in a scream of triumph; “read that, it's an answer to a note I sent off at eight o'clock. Joe waited and brought back this reply.” As he spoke, he drew from beneath his pillow a small note, and handed it to his son. O'Reilly opened it with impatience, and read:—
“Lady Eleanor Darcy begs to acknowledge the receipt of Dr. Hickman's note, and, while greatly indisposed to accept of an interview which must be so painful to both parties without any reasonable prospect of rendering service to either, feels reluctant to refuse a request made under circumstances so trying. She will therefore comply with Dr. Hickman's entreaty, and, to spare him the necessity of venturing abroad in this severe weather, will call upon him at twelve o'clock, should she not learn in the meanwhile that the hour is inconvenient.”