“Lie down, Bruno?” said Gertrude.
“Send him out of the room.”
“He will be quite quiet now,” replied Gertrude, who longed to tell the old housekeeper to stop in the room, but dared not make so great a confession of her dread of the visitor.
“Oh, very well,” said Saul carelessly. “As long as he does not try to eat me, I don’t mind. Hah! gone,” he continued with a satisfied smile; “now we can have a chat.”
“You wished to speak to me, Mr Harrington?” said Gertrude, trying hard not to show her agitation.
“Only dropped in to see how you were, and to ask the news. Well, is my beloved relative on his way yet? When do you expect him?”
“We have not heard from Mr George Harrington yet.”
“You will open his letter, I suppose, when it comes for the old man?”
“I shall pass it on to the executors.”
“Pooh! we could read it. I say we, as I am so near a relative; but mark my words, Gertie, he’ll never come back. There, don’t cry. You never knew him, and don’t want to know him I’ll be sworn. Gertie, it’s as good as certain that he is dead, for the old man had not heard from him for quite a year, I know, and out there a man’s life isn’t worth much. Come, let’s see if you and I can’t have a little sensible talk.”