“Yes, sir, and—” but just then Oldroyd was heard speaking at the top of the stairs, and Judith seemed to shrink within herself as he came down.
“Ah, Miss Judith, you there? Well, your father is getting on splendidly. Take care of him. Ready, Alleyne?”
His companion rose, said good-morning to Judith, and stepped out, while Oldroyd obeyed a sign made by the girl, and stayed behind.
“Well,” he said, looking at her curiously.
“I’m so anxious about father, sir,” she said, in a low voice. “Now that he is getting better, will there be any trouble? I mean about the keepers, and—and”—she faltered—“the police.”
“No,” said Oldroyd, looking fixedly at the girl, till she coloured warmly beneath his stern gaze, “everything seems to have settled down, and I don’t think there is anything to fear for him. Let me speak plainly, my dear. Lookers on see most of the game.”
“I—I don’t understand you, sir,” she said, colouring.
“Then try to. It seems to me that, to use a strong expression, some one has been squared. There are friends at court. Now, take my advice: as soon as father is quite well, take him into your confidence, and persuade him to go quite away. I’m sure it would be better for you both. Good-day.”
The doctor nodded and went off after Alleyne, while Judith sat down to bury her face in her hands and sob as if her heart would break.