“But you go on curing people.”
“Trying to cure people, sir, you mean. Wading about in deep water; groping in the darkness. Thank Heaven, sir, that you were not made a doctor. Eh, what is it—some one ill?” he cried, as Mrs Milt entered the room with a note.
“Poor somebody!” said Cousin Thompson to himself.
“Note from the Rectory, sir.”
“Oh!” ejaculated the doctor; “shan’t be able to go, as you are here. Wants me to play a game at chess. Salis, you know.”
As he spoke he leisurely unfastened the envelope, and began to read.
“Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “Mrs Milt, attend to my cousin as if I were here. Very sorry. Serious case,” he continued, turning to his guest; and the next minute he had hurried from the house, to set off almost at a run for the Rectory.
For Hartley Salis’ note was very brief, but none the less urgent, containing as it did these words:
“For Heaven’s sake, come on! Leo has had a serious fall.”