‘Wait for my servant,’ entreated he, following her and laying a hand upon her arm. ‘I cannot allow you to go like this.’
‘I don’t see what it is to you,’ said she.
‘It is much—a great deal. For one thing, the Professor, if he recovers, would never forgive me for letting you go out of his life without reparation—without the fulfilment of his promise to you. He is indebted to you, remember. It’—eagerly—‘was a bargain. And, after all, if you throw off his responsibility now, where will you go? You say you have no home—no——’
‘Nothing! nothing!’ she said. He could see her face pale again, and again that dreadful look of despair, of hopelessness, that had crowned her last night, aged and made miserable her face.
He turned gladly from the sad contemplation of it to address Denis, who had entered the room, his small twinkling eyes as bright as ever; but, then, he had slept tranquilly the whole night through by a kitchen fire that would have been hard to rival in heat and brilliancy. Amongst all Denis’s many virtues, one stood out: he could always be depended on to look after himself. And really that is a great thing in a faithful servant; so many of them like to pose as martyrs in the cause.
Wyndham led his servant a little aside.
‘You see this——’ He hesitated for a word, and then said, ‘young lady; you will take her away at once. There is not a moment to be lost. Get her out of the house directly. I am going for a doctor. The Professor is seriously ill. Do you understand? You are to lose no time. You must take her away at once.’
Denis stared at him in the appallingly nonunderstanding way that belongs, I believe, to Irish servants alone. It doesn’t mean that they don’t understand; it only means that they are taking it all in, with a cleverness that few other servants can show at a moment’s notice.
‘An’ where, yer honour?’
‘Anywhere out of this!’