“Yes: I remember.”
“Then go to him, and be at his side, dear, in case he requires help and counsel. Remember you are his friend. Even if he seemed querulous and fretful, I should stay.”
“You are right, Mary; I’ll go. I shall have some one to help me in Mrs Milt. I will stand by him.”
Mary’s eyes brightened, and she held out her hand.
“He will thank you some day, dear; even if he seems strange now.”
“He may say what he likes and do what he likes,” said Salis warmly. “I ought not to have needed telling this; but I’m going to make up for past neglect now and play the part of dog.”
Salis was a little late in his promise to play the part of watch-dog for his friend, for as he walked up to the Manor House it was to meet a carriage just driving out.
“The fly from the ‘Bull’ at King’s Hampton and a pair of horses,” said Salis as he walked on, apparently paying no heed to the inmates of the carriage. “Now, whoever would these be? White cravat, one of them; the other thin, spare, and dark. Doctors, for a sovereign, I’d say, if I were not a parson.”
Mrs Milt opened the door to him, and showed him into the drawing-room, whose window looked down the back-garden with its great clump of evergreens and shady walks, beyond which were the meadows through which the river ran.
“I’m very glad,” said Salis eagerly; “your master has had a couple of doctors to see him, has he not?”