“Don’t ask me, sir,” he cried. “Master wants to see you in the study.”
Richard uttered a low, piteous sigh, and everything seemed to swing round him, while an intense desire came to rash wildly out of the house and hurry away anywhere—to woods, or out on some vast plain, where he would be alone to think, if it were possible, and get rid of the violent throbbing in his brain.
“Oh, I shall go mad!” he muttered.
At that moment Jerry threw open the study door, and, trying to nerve himself for the encounter, Richard entered, to find the great tutor standing, with his hands behind him, before the fireless grate.
“How is he, Mr Draycott? Pray, pray speak!” cried Richard.
“I sent for you to tell you, Frayne,” said the tutor, in a low, deep voice. “Sinking fast!”
“Dying?” cried Richard, wildly. “No, no, sir; don’t say that!”
“The doctors have done all they can, Frayne. He is perfectly insensible, and they say he will pass away before many hours are gone.”
Richard groaned, and clapped his hands to his head, pressing them there as if to clear his brain.
“More help!” he said suddenly.