“Your master wants his solicitor, Mrs Denton,” said Saul, coolly walking to the bedside and taking one of the old man’s hands. “No,” he said huskily, “a doctor.”
“Yes, yes; the doctor, Mrs Denton—quick!” cried Gertrude excitedly, and the old woman ran out.
As the door closed behind her, Saul let the hand fall heavily and inert upon the counterpane.
“Uncle, dearest, speak—pray speak to me!” cried Gertrude passionately.
“Never again, my girl,” said Saul quietly. “The fit has done its work. Too late.”
“What do you mean?” cried Gertrude, staring all aghast.
“That the old man is dead,” said Saul coldly; and he added softly to himself: “If George Harrington dies. I am master here.”