“The fellow’s a humbug,” said Salis, bringing his hand down on the table with a rap. “I’ll tell you what’s the matter.”
North turned upon him a look so full of mingled entreaty and annoyance that he checked himself.
“No,” he said, laughing, “I am as bad as Horace North. I can’t tell you what’s the matter unless it is that he is working too hard over his craze.”
North looked at him keenly, and his pallor increased.
“Well, I must be off up to the church. I want to see my friend, Moredock.”
“To see Moredock?” said the doctor, with a quick, uneasy look at the speaker.
“Yes. I’m not satisfied with the old man’s proceedings.”
“What has he been doing?” said the doctor, who fidgeted in his seat, and seemed anything but himself.
“Oh, I’m going to make no special charges against him,” said the curate. “Coming my way?”
“N-no, yes,” said North, rising, and going to Mary’s couch to shake hands, her eyes looking up into his with a calm, patient smile full of resignation and desire for his happiness, which he could not read.