“‘If the mountain cannot come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain,’” quoted Humphrey with a laugh. “Let us watch the great man dismount. In truth, report was right; he is a very Falstaff, and can scarce pass the door of his own coach.”
“But they say he is the greatest physician living,” said Helena. “If any one can save Mr. Harford’s life he is the man.”
“Madam Harford hopes that his own father, a noted physician of Hereford, will be here ere long,” said Humphrey. “She sent a messenger for him the very morning after our arrival. They would have done much better, in my opinion, if they had sent for this ‘Hilary’ he is ever calling for in his delirium—his brother, it may be.”
Helena blushed crimson.
“Nay, he hath but one brother—a mere child, named Brid-stock.”
“Ah! and now I think of it,” resumed Humphrey, “Hilary is a name that may be borne by either sex. Perchance he calls for the lady on whom his heart is set.”
“In truth I think he doth,” said little Nell, commanding her voice with an effort.
Humphrey walked for some paces in silence. He longed to make love to this little fair-haired maiden, with her pathetic eyes and her dainty air of womanly dignity and reserve, which somehow was scarcely in keeping with her girlish face and tiny figure. But he understood her well enough to hold his tongue for the present, treating her only with deference, and waiting upon her sedulously in a way which she soon learned to like.
They had just returned to the house when the physician’s voice was heard on the stairs talking to Madam Harford. Helena hastily retreated into the nearest room, but Humphrey, anxious to hear the latest report of his friend, lingered in the hall, and Madam Harford presented him to Sir Theodore Mayerne.
“This is Mr. Neal, who helped my grandson in his escape from Oxford,” she said.