“These are hard terms of Scanlan's,” said she, in a dry, stern tone. “He has waited, too, till we have little choice remaining. Your father is worse.”
“Worse than when I saw him this morning?”
“Weaker, and less able to bear treatment. He is irritable, too, at that girl's absence. He asks for her constantly, and confuses her in his mind with Mary.”
“And what does Schubart think?”
“I'll tell you what he says,” replied she, with a marked emphasis on the last word. “He says the case is hopeless; he has seen such linger for weeks, but even a day—a day—” She tried to go on; but her voice faltered, her lip trembled, and she was silent.
“I had begun to believe it so,” muttered Martin, gloomily. “He scarcely recognized me yesterday.”
“He is perfectly collected and sensible now,” said Lady Dorothea, in her former calm tone. “He spoke of business matters clearly and well, and wished to see Scanlan.”
“Which I trust you did not permit?” asked Martin, hurriedly.
“I told him he should see him this evening, but there is no necessity for it. Scanlan may have left this before evening.”
“You suspect that Scanlan would say something,—would mention to him something of this affair?”