“Horribly,” whispered the captain, who was fast losing his nerve. “Don’t you?”
“I? No. I am quite well.”
“It was those cursed toadstools,” cried Rolph, savagely.
“Nonsense, my dear sir,” said the major, firmly. “We have all eaten them, and they were delicious.”
“Give me your arm, some one,” groaned Rolph, rising from his chair; and the major caught him, and helped him from the room, Alleyne and Sir John following, after begging Lucy and Glynne to remain seated.
“Send for a doctor—quick—I’m poisoned,” said Rolph—“quick!”
“Here, send to the town,” cried Sir John. “Let a groom gallop over. No; there’s Mr Oldroyd in the village. Here, you, James, run across the park, you’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Telegraph—physician,” gasped Rolph.
“Poor fellow! He seems bad.”
“I think,” said Alleyne, quietly, “that a good deal of it is nervous dread.”