“Go to the devil!” said Mary quietly.
“Mary!”
“Well, he would, Claudie, and you know it.”
“Miss Dillon is quite right,” said the doctor, rubbing his hands. “Strong but truthful; chloral he will have, and if he keeps to it as I prescribe—in moderation—it will not do him much harm, but tend to calm him. There, I’ll look in again. He is going on as well as can be.”
“Shall we go and sit with him?”
“N-no; I hardly think it necessary. You can do no good. I have given Sarah Woodham the fullest instructions, and I’ll come in again this evening.”
The doctor left, and as soon as he was gone, Mary Dillon shook her head.
“Poor Claudie!” she whispered. “Mustn’t thwart uncle in any of his wishes. And it means so much, doesn’t it?”
“Master would like to see you, Miss Claude,” said Sarah Woodham, coming to the door.
“Not worse, Sarah?”