“Yes, I will, I promise,” said Olivia, in a firm voice, afraid that she was speaking to a dying man.
She had scarcely uttered the words when he again became insensible.
Olivia was in sore distress as to the manner of fulfilling her promise. On the one hand, she had to keep her word by finding a nurse for him who would not be afraid of the hounds; on the other, she was particularly anxious that, if he should grow delirious, his ravings should not be heard by any one who would chatter about them.
“We must get him to bed,” said the doctor, as she stood debating this difficulty. “The young man who came for me—is he about?”
“Mat Oldshaw? Oh, yes, I expect so. He stayed in the garden when we came in. He wouldn’t go away without asking if there was anything more he could do.”
“Ask him to come in, if he is there, please.”
Olivia went out into the garden. As she passed under the porch, she saw a man slink limping away from the side of Mat, who was standing near the gate, and pass behind a bushy screen of evergreens. She sprang forward to the gate, but the man had gone out of sight.
“Mat,” she asked, in a frightened voice, “who was that?”
“Nobbut a tramp,” he answered. “Nobody to freight yer. It’s ten yeer an’ more since he wur in these parts.”
“Oh, no, it isn’t,” said Olivia, decidedly. “He was here four months ago. His name is Abel Squires, isn’t it?”