The Viscount retreated in no very good order, and Miss Morville, after a glance at her patient, went to the table and picked up a glass from it. Into this she poured a dose from an ominous bottle she had brought into the room.
Gervase said in a tired voice: “More of your sedative draughts, Miss Morville?”
“It is merely the medicine Dr. Malpas ordered me to give you at this hour,” she replied, bringing it to him.
He took it from her, but he did not at once raise the glass to his lips. “Lucy was right. I had to know.”
“To be sure, but not now.”
He again put his hand to his brow. “I wish I could think! My head feels like a block of wood!”
“Very likely. It will be better when you have recovered your strength, and that you may do by being patient, and doing as you are bid.”
He smiled wryly, but lifted the glass, and drank its contents. “Does my stepmother know what is being said?”
“She does, of course. It is painful for her, but you cannot cure that.”
“Poor woman! Assure her I shall not die! Ought I to see her?”