For the moment he was as one in a nightmare. He strove to speak, but something seemed to keep him dumb, while all the time she kept on moaning appeal after appeal to him to tell her all.
“I thought little of it then,” he said; “but now the idea seems to have grown stronger and more terrible. Words he used which I did not heed then seem to bear a terrible import now, and I cannot help thinking that something ought to be done.”
“You saw him just now?” said Mary hastily.
“No, but I spoke with Mrs Milt, and she is terribly uneasy. Mary, dear, for your own sake, spare me this.”
“No,” said the suffering woman sternly; “you can tell me nothing so bad as I shall imagine if you are silent. Tell me the very worst. He is dead?”
“No, no, no!” cried Salis; “but I fear for him. He is not in a condition to be left, and yet, strive how I may, I cannot get him to listen to reason.”
“But you have not seen him again?”
“No; he is now shut up in the library, and Mrs Milt has a terrible account of his eccentricity; she fears that he is going—”
“No, no, no! Don’t say that,” cried Mary; “it is too horrible. But quick! What are you going to do?”
“Drive over to King’s Hampton, take the train to Lowcaster, and come back with two of the principal physicians.”