“I hope, sir, you don't apprehend danger to his life?” asked Sir Marmaduke, with an effort to appear calm as he spoke.
“Indeed I do, then,” said Roach, firmly; “the mischiefs done already.”
“He's not dead?” said Sir Marmaduke, almost breathless in his terror.
“Not dead; but the same as dead: effusion will carry him off some time to-morrow.”
“And can you leave him in this state? Is there nothing to be done? Nothing you could suggest?” cried the old man, scarcely able to repress his indignant feeling at the heartless manner of the doctor.
“There's many a thing one might try,” said Roach, not noticing the temper of the question, “for the boy is young; but for the sake of a chance, how am I to stay away from my practice and my other patients? And indeed slight a prospect as he has of recovery, my own of a fee is slighter still. I think I've all the corn in Egypt in my pocket this minute,” said he, slapping his hand on his purse: “one of the late king's guineas, wherever they had it lying by till now.”
“I am overjoyed to have met you, sir,” said Sir Marmaduke hastily, and by a great exertion concealing the disgust this speech suggested. “I wish for an opinion about my daughter's health—a cold, I fancy—but to-morrow will do better. Could you return to Mr. O'Donoghue's tonight? I have not a bed to offer you here. This arrangement may serve both parties, as I fervently hope something may yet be done for the youth.”
“I'll visit Miss Travers in the morning with pleasure.”
“Don't leave him, sir, I entreat you, till I send over; it will be quite time enough when you hear from me: let the youth be your first care, doctor; in the mean while accept this slight retainer, for I beg you to consider your time as given to me now,” and with that he pressed several guineas into the willing palm of the doctor.
As Roach surveyed the shining gold, his quick cunning divined the old baronet's intentions, and with a readiness long habit had perfected, he said—