“He left this morning, early, to catch the train.”
“And I’ve lain here as if in a stupor—Quick, Jack—my wife—no, poor girl, she must not be troubled with this; she has borne enough. Ring for—No; fetch my aunt. Yes; she will be the best. Go, old fellow, quick!”
“Is he wandering, or am I a fool?” muttered the doctor, as he hurried from the room to encounter Lady Scarlett on the stairs. “He is worse!” she cried. “No, no,” said the doctor, almost roughly. “Not yet. You must not go, Lady Scarlett. I forbid it.”
She shrank back meekly. “Tell me that he is in no danger,” she said imploringly.
“Yes; I do tell you that,” he said with a feeling of repugnance that would tinge his voice.—“Where is Miss Raleigh?”
“In the drawing-room. I will fetch her,” cried Lady Scarlett, rushing to perform the task, while the doctor stood rubbing his ear.
“It is I who am mad,” he said to himself, “and not poor Scarlett.—Yes,” he said aloud, as Aunt Sophia came up, “Scarlett wants to see you at once.” He led the way back, and closed the door almost angrily after them, leaving Lady Scarlett with her head leaning against the wall, as the tears coursed down her cheeks.
“Why does he dislike me so?” she sighed. “He is jealous of my love for him—they are such friends. I ought to hate him; but how can I when he is so true!”
“Auntie!” exclaimed Scarlett excitedly, as the old lady entered his room, “I want you, quick—before it is too late. That smooth-tongued scoundrel Prayle—”
“Amen!” said Aunt Sophia softly.