“Attack you suddenly,” groaned Rolph, piteously.
“Ah, well if it does,” said the major, “I won’t make such a fuss over it. Why, when we had the cholera among us at Darjeebad, the men did not make more trouble.”
Rolph squeezed his eyes together very closely, and bit his lips, wishing mentally that a fit would seize the major, while he upbraided Fortune for playing him such a prank as this; and then he lay tolerably still, waiting for nearly half an hour, during which notes were compared by the others, one and all of whom declared that they never felt better. Glynne came twice to ask if she could be of any service, and to say that Lucy was eager to help; and then there were steps in the hall, and, directly after, Oldroyd was shown in, looking perfectly cool and business-like, in spite of his hurried scamper across the park.
“Your man says that Captain Rolph has been poisoned by eating bad mushrooms,” said the young doctor. “Is this so?”
“He has had some of the same dish as all the rest,” said Sir John; “and my brother declares they were perfectly safe.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Oldroyd, who had seated himself by his patient, and was questioning and examining him.
“Better get him to bed,” he said, after a pause; “and, while he is undressing, I will run home and get him something.”
He started directly, and was back just as Rolph sank upon his pillow.
“There, sir, drink that,” said Oldroyd, in a quiet decisive tone; and, after displaying a disposition to refuse, the young officer drank what was offered to him, and soon after sank into a heavy sleep.
“I’ll come back about twelve, Sir John,” said the doctor. “I don’t think he will be any worse. In fact, I believe he’ll be all right in the morning.”