"I feel Rachel is greatly to be blamed for having been so careless about her health," added Mrs. Greville.
Luke looked up, and his mother was startled by the stern expression of his face.
"Rachel to be blamed!" he repeated. "I am to be blamed, not Rachel."
There was anguish in his tone of voice. He picked up the letter from London which had fallen to the ground, ramming it into his coat pocket. Then he sprang up and looked at his watch.
"I shall go and see the doctor at once," he said. And without another word, he hurried away.
His visit confirmed his worst fears, and the doctor seemed surprised that he had never noticed the gradual change in his wife's appearance. Even he had seen it, casually meeting her in the street.
Luke walked home as if in a dream. The letters in his pocket were absolutely forgotten; his one thought was Rachel.
He opened the door of the house softly and went up into his study. He felt he could not meet his wife till he had looked the terrible truth in the face. The thought that he might possibly lose her was too painful to him to be able to bear calmly, and yet he knew that he must not give her any hint as to his fears.
He shut the door of his study after him and sank into the large armchair by the fire burying his face in his hands.
The fire! Even that seemed to cry out in condemnation of his selfishness. Of course Rachel had lit his fire so that his room might be warm and comfortable for him, while she probably had had no fire to sit by except that in the kitchen. He had been so preoccupied with his own interests and concerns that he had scarcely given a thought to hers. His mother had said, that the doctor gave it out as his opinion that she had not eaten enough. How was it that this fact had never been noticed by him! She always supplied him with plenty, and it had not struck him to notice what food she had provided for herself. Husband and child had never wanted for anything.