“Yes, do, do,” cried Aunt Hannah, hurriedly getting the doctor’s hat and stick. “But couldn’t I go, too?”
The doctor bent down, and kissed her.
“No, no, my dear, you would only hinder me,” he said, tenderly, and to avoid seeing her pained and working face he hurried out and took the road for Lenby, striking off to the left, after passing the church.
But after walking sharply along the dark lane, for about a couple of miles, it suddenly occurred to the doctor that the chances were, that Bruff, who knew his way well, would take the short cuts, by the fields, and, after hesitating for a few minutes, he turned and hurried back.
“A fool’s errand,” he muttered. “I ought to have known better.”
As matters turned out, he had done wisely in returning, and the walk had occupied his mind, for, as he came within hearing of the Little Manor again, he fancied that a sound in front was the click of the swing-gate.
It was: for he reached the door just as Eliza was on her way to the drawing-room to announce that Bruff had come back.
“Bring him here,” said the doctor, who had entered. “No: stop: I’ll come and speak to him in the kitchen.”
But Aunt Hannah grasped his hand.
“No, no,” she whispered firmly now. “I must know the worst.”