“It is a poorer one than he has yet had,” replied the doctor, looking at the pallid, wizen face, that seemed to have shrunken to half its size since his terrible loss of blood.
Hetty cried for pity.
“If he has any relatives they should be informed, for I do not think he will ever rise from that bed again,” said Dr. Hobbs.
“I know of none, except the Earl of Engelmeed and the Viscount Stoors—his uncle and his cousin. I will write to the earl to-day,” said Mr. Campbell.
“Engelmeed, of Engelwode, in Cumberland? That is where typhoid fever is raging so fiercely,” remarked Dr. Hobbs.
Here followed some talk of that pestilence, and finally the doctor arose and took his leave, promising to return in the afternoon.
Mr. Campbell wrote to the Earl of Engelmeed, advising him of his nephew’s dangerous illness, and posted the letter that forenoon.
Two days later he got a reply, not from the earl, but from the latter’s steward, announcing the death of the Viscount Stoors and the extreme illness of Lord Engelmeed, whose death was hourly expected.
Over this letter the rector fell into deep thought.
Then he put on his coat and hat, and taking the letter with him, walked over to Haymore Hall.