“Will you come down and see him, sir?”
“No: don’t do that, Horace, if you are ill. Open the door and I’ll come and chat to you there.”
No sound in reply; but directly after there was a loud noise of mocking laughter from within the room, a boisterous shout, and a partly-heard speech.
“Oh, my dear master!” cried Mrs Milt. “Ah!” ejaculated Cousin Thompson, across whose imagination glided the fair prospect of the beautiful Manor House estate, and his eyes glistened as he said softly, “I’m afraid he is very ill.”
Volume Three—Chapter Eight.
Cousin Thompson’s Duty.
“Oh, no; it’s nothing at all, sir—nothing at all,” said Mrs Milt hastily; “and I didn’t know you’d come upstairs behind me, sir.”
“It was to save you a journey, my dear Mrs Milt,” said Cousin Thompson smoothly. “Yes, I’m afraid he is very ill. A little delirious, I think.”