“No: you can remember them. As to quantities, give them à discretion—extravagantly. Here they are: pure water and whitewash. They are death destroyers, my dear boy, and—bless me, I did not want to be disturbed this evening.”
The butler entered the room and went up behind his master’s chair.
“I am too much engaged to see anyone,” said the old man testily.
The butler said a few words in a low tone.
“Bless me! Oh, yes; of course. I’ll come directly. Will you excuse me for a few minutes, Elthorne? Pray help yourself to wine.”
“Certainly,” replied Neil, and the old man went hurriedly out of the room, leaving his guest to his thoughts, and he sat there with rugged brow thinking over the past and his future, and asking himself whether he, a surgeon, had done right in accepting the post.
His musings were long, for the few minutes extended into an hour, but; he did not notice the lapse of time. There was so much to think about. His father? Well, he could have done no more if he had stayed. His sister? That difficulty would settle itself, for, girl as she was, Isabel had plenty of their father’s will and determination; and he felt sure that she would never marry one man while she loved another.
His brother?
He drew his breath hard, and the struggle within him was long, but he mastered his feelings at last, and calmly and dispassionately reviewed the matter.
There was nothing unfair. His brother had not taken any mean advantage of him. He had been struck by the woman he loved at their first encounter, and what wonder? No: there had been nothing unfair. It had been a race between them, and his brother had won the prize.