“No,” said Claude sadly. “If he had loved me as he said, he would not have let himself be driven away from me so easily as he has.”
“Hist! uncle,” whispered Mary, as a heavy step was heard on the granite slabs without, and Gartram entered, scowling.
“Mary,” he cried harshly, “I thought you had some brains in your head, but you are no better than a fool.”
“I’m very sorry, uncle,” said the poor girl humbly.
“There, be off, both of you; I have some letters to write. See that the dinner is good, Claude, my dear, and—yes,” he added, as he referred to his watch, “send that woman with my medicine; it is just time.”
As he spoke, there was a tap on the panel, and Sarah Woodham, looking dark and stern in her black widows dress, entered with a glass and phial.
“Your medicine, sir,” she said in a low, impressive voice.
“Well, hang it all, woman, don’t speak as if you had come to poison me,” said the old man fiercely.
Sarah Woodham’s lips seemed to whiten, and as she drew the squeaking cork from the bottle and poured out the mixture, the neck tapped softly against the edge of the glass.