This was said so decisively that the Major walked away, but stopped by the door and returned.
“I don’t like this man, Doctor,” he said; “he once insulted my child.”
“What? insulted Dinah—the girl my poor boy worshipped!” cried the Doctor angrily; “then let him die.”
He added something respecting Michael Sturgess’s future, as he angrily turned away.
“Think again, Doctor,” said the Major. “They say the man is in a dangerous state. He has been bad for some time. It was from a fall, I believe, down one of the shafts.”
“That mine again. Why, Major Gurdon, it has been a curse to every one who has had dealings with it. Well, it’s of no use to profess to be a Christian if one does not act up to it. I’ll just go in and see how Clive seems, and whether he can be left.”
“And then you will go?”
“Oh yes, I suppose I must. That’s the worst of being a Christian. One cannot hate or curse a man conscientiously. Yes; I’ll go and see the fellow, and I hope I shall not be tempted to give him too strong a dose.”
He went into the next room, bent over Clive for a few minutes, and rose as if satisfied.
“You will not leave him,” he said.