"But, dear father, I am not like a child now. I am the eldest girl, and I ought to know what troubles you. Mother could not keep it from me; she was obliged to tell some one. I want to ask you to be so very kind as not to go into Fairchester again to-day, but stay quiet."
"Nonsense," said Mr. Wilton impatiently; "I must go. Why should I leave the sinking ship like this? I am very well. It is all Stone's humbug, frightening your poor mother out of her wits. Here, give me another glass of wine, and then ring for Curtis to come round with the dog-cart."
Mr. Wilton suddenly rose from his chair, and before Salome could prevent it he had emptied the decanter into a tumbler, and was raising it to his lips when he dropped it with a crash upon the ground, his hand fell powerless at his side, and he sank back in the chair speechless and unconscious of any outward thing.
Instantly Salome's first thought was of her mother—to save her from the sudden shock which had blanched her own lips with terror, and for a moment left her as helpless as her poor father.
Then, instead of ringing the bell frantically, or calling out aloud, as so many girls would have done, she ran with the speed of lightning to the nursery and called her faithful friend there.
"Come to papa! quick, Stevens, quick!" Then as nurse threw down her work and obeyed her she flew to the garden, where Reginald, all unconscious of the impending sorrow, was lying under the cedar tree.
"Reginald, Reginald, get up! father is much worse. Send to Fairchester for Mr. Stone, or any doctor; pray make haste."
"Father! what is the matter with him?"
"Oh, I don't know! His face is an awful gray colour, and his mouth—O Reginald, don't ask me, only go and get some help; but don't let mother be frightened."
Reginald did as she told him without farther question; and Salome returned to the library.