“He’s not at all well, miss,” Roche said mysteriously. “I was telling him a while ago that ’tis for the docthor he should send; but indeed, he was for turning me out of the room when I said it.”
“Do you think he would like to see me?”
“Don’t go near him at all to-night, miss,” Roche answered, with unexpected urgency. “He’ll be betther to-morrow—you’ll see him then.”
But I did see my uncle again that night. When I went upstairs to bed, I was startled by seeing his tall figure, in his dressing-gown, standing outside the door of the room which Willy had locked. He had a large bunch of keys, and was trying them one after the other in the lock.
“Perhaps you can help me with these,” he said, looking round as I came up to him. “I am almost sure that one of these keys opens this door, but I cannot find it.”
His hand trembled so much, that the keys were shaking and jingling as he held them out to me.
“I am afraid Willy has got the key——” I began.
“But, my dear, I think it is very probable that we shall find Willy in that room,” he said, in a low confidential voice, pressing the keys upon me. “I cannot think why he remains in there. I have tried several times to-day to open the door, but that fellow Roche keeps pestering me. I believe he is in league with Willy.”
My own hand was trembling almost as much as my uncle’s, but I did not dare to refuse to take the keys, and I made a pretence of trying one in the lock. He watched me anxiously for a moment.
“No, my dear, I see it is no use trying to-night. You are tired, and so am I”—he sighed deeply, and put his hand to his chest,—“this oppression that I am suffering from tries me terribly. I will go to my room and see if I can get a little rest. I need rest sadly.”