"It was, indeed, very foolish on my part," observed Tomlinson, now acquiring confidence, and endeavouring to divest himself of the strange sensations of horror and dread which the eloquence of the old man had excited within him.
"You had better retire for the present," said the surgeon. "He is in a high fever—produced, perhaps, by this interview with you, under such circumstances. Do not think of seeing him again this evening: to-morrow evening he will be better and more composed."
"And you will take every possible care of him," exclaimed the stock-broker. "Remember that no expense most be spared to make him comfortable—to ensure his recovery. I will remunerate you handsomely, sir."
"Well, well," said the surgeon, impatiently. "We will talk about that another time. Good evening—you may return to-morrow at the same hour."
"Good evening," answered Tomlinson; and he slowly took his departure.
CHAPTER CXI.
A SCENE AT MR. CHICHESTER'S HOUSE.
IT was about half-past nine on the same evening that the above incidents occurred, when a double-knock at the front door echoed through Mr. Chichester's dwelling, in the immediate vicinity of the Cambridge Heath Gate.
Mr. Chichester himself was seated in an elegantly-furnished parlour, sipping a glass of excellent Madeira, and pondering upon the best means of enjoying himself when he should have fingered the cash to obtain which he had perpetrated so diabolical an outrage against the confiding woman who had bestowed upon him her hand, and made him a partner in the enjoyment, if not in the actual possession, of her fortune.
The room was not large, but very comfortable; and at one end a pair of ample folding doors, now closed, afforded admission into a back parlour.
A few moments after the echo of the double-knock above mentioned, through the house, a female servant entered and announced Mr. Tomlinson.