The meal was not a sociable one, for everybody seemed awkward and constrained, and it passed off almost in silence; while, when soon after it was ended, the doctor asked if he might go up to Scarlett’s room, there was a look almost of reproach in Lady Scarlett’s eyes as she said: “O yes; of course.”
For some time past it had been Scarlett’s habit to stay in his room till mid-day. He dressed at eight, and then lay down again in a heavy, dreamy way, to lie moodily thinking; but this time the doctor found him fast asleep, looking very calm and peaceful, as his breath came regularly, and there was a slight flush upon his haggard face.
“Poor fellow!” thought the doctor, “How wretchedly thin he has grown. I was afraid the encounter last night would have been too much for him; but it almost seems as if he is better, now he knows the worst.”
As he stood watching him, he heard Lady Scarlett pass, on her way to her own room; but she seemed to change her mind, came lightly back, and opened the door softly.
“He is asleep,” said the doctor sternly; and she at once withdrew, leaving Scales at his post, from which he did not stir till luncheon-time, when he went down.
Lady Scarlett had been twice to the door, to look in with wistful eyes; but each time she had been forbidden to enter, as the patient was not to be awakened at any cost; so the anxious woman went patiently away to wait, for she never even dreamed of resisting the medical man’s command.
Sleep seemed to have so thoroughly taken possession of James Scarlett, that he remained under its influence hour after hour; and when Lady Scarlett timidly asked if it was right, she received the same answer—that under the circumstances nothing could be better—and went away content.
It was quite evening when Scarlett awoke to find the doctor sitting reading by his bed. “Why, Jack!” he cried, rather excitedly, “am I—am I—worse?”
“My dear fellow, no; I hope not.”
“No; of course not. I’m—I must be—Thank God!” he sighed fervently; “what a restful, grateful sleep.—Where’s Kate?”