"Shut the door."
By his tone and look I knew in a moment that something had happened.
"Yes. I'll tell you presently—if there's time."
While he was speaking some violent pain—physical or mental, or both—seemed to seize him. I had my hand on the door to call Ursula, but he held me fast with a kind of terror.
"Call no one. I am used to it. Water!"
He drank a glassful, which stood by, breathed once or twice heavily, and gradually recovered himself. The colour had scarcely come back into his face when he heard Maud run laughing through the hall.
"Father, where are you? We are waiting for you."
"I will come in two minutes, my child."
Having said this, in his own natural voice, he closed the door again, and spoke to me rapidly.
"Phineas, I want you to stay away from church; make some excuse, or I will for you. Write a letter for me to this address in Paris. Say—Guy Halifax's father will be there, without fail, within a week, to answer all demands."