Before long Laura took Pietro to see Arden, and left the two together.
"There is something seriously wrong with me, Ghisleri," said his friend. "I am going to be very ill. I feel it."
It was not like him to speak in that way, for he was brave and generally did his best to hide his sufferings from every one. Ghisleri looked at him anxiously. His face was drawn and pinched, and there were spots of colour on his cheeks which had not been there a few hours earlier.
"Perhaps you have a little fever with the cold," suggested Pietro, in a reassuring tone. "It often happens in this country."
"I dare say," replied Arden. "It may be so. At all events, your specialist was right about the main thing, and I am no more consumptive than you are. But I feel—I cannot tell why—that I am going to be very ill indeed. It may be an impression, and even if I am, I shall probably weather it."
"Of course you will." But Ghisleri was in reality alarmed.
"I am so glad you came to-day," continued Arden, speaking more rapidly. "If I should get worse to-morrow, really ill, you know—you must write to my brother. I would not ask my wife to do it for worlds. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly—but I do not believe there will be any reason—"
"Never mind that!" exclaimed Arden, interrupting him almost impatiently. "If there is any reason, you will write. I cannot tell you all about it. Of course I may not be delirious, you know, but again, I may be—one is never sure, and then it would be too late. Uncle Herbert is alive still, thank God, and quite well, and if anything should happen to me, his will would be worth nothing. Laura would not get a penny and would be dreadfully poor. Henry must do something for her. Do you understand me? He must. You must see to it, too, or he will never think of it—kind as he is. Those things do not strike him. You see I have only my small portion—which is little enough, as you know, because there are so many sisters—and they are not all rich, either. We could not go on living in this way long—but Henry was very generous. He sent me two thousand pounds when we were married, and the yacht too, so that we spent very little—"
"You are exhausting yourself, my dear fellow," said Ghisleri, growing more anxious as he listened to the sick man's excited talk. "You have told me all this before, and your brother knows it too; he will not allow Lady Herbert—"