“Please do so! Joseph tells me he has been fretting, and you may be sure I’ll use my best endeavours to soothe him.”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure——Only it seems as if he’s almost taken leave of his senses! If I’d guessed—but he never told one of us! If you should not like it, I hope you’ll pardon me! Indeed, I’d no notion what was in his head!” Winkfield said, opening the dressing-room door, and ushering John into the room.
“Why should I dislike it?” John asked, a puzzled frown in his eyes. “I collect that he is dying—is he not?”
“I don’t know that, sir. I didn’t think to see him live the day out, but—but he’s in wonderful spirits now! As you’ll see for yourself, sir!”
He opened the door into the bedchamber, and announced formally: “Captain Staple!”
The Captain stepped into the room, and paused, blinking in the unexpected light of many candles. Two great chandeliers stood on the mantelpiece; two more flanked the bed; and two had been set on a side-table, drawn into the middle of the room, and draped with a cloth. Beside this improvised altar was standing an elderly clergyman, whose mild countenance showed bewilderment, disapproval, and uncertainty. The Squire was lying in bed, banked up by many pillows, his eyes glittering, and a smile twisting one side of his mouth. Rose was standing by the window, and Nell at the head of the bed, in her old green velvet gown. Across the room she stared at John, and he saw that her eyes were stormy in her very white face, and her hands tightly gripped together. She said, in a shaking voice: “No, no! I won’t! Grandpapa, I beg of you don’t ask it of him!”
“Don’t be missish, girl!” Sir Peter said, his utterance slow, and very much more slurred than when John had previously visited him.
“Sir Peter!” said the Vicar nervously. “If Miss Stornaway is reluctant, I must and I will be resolute in declining to perform——”
“You hold your tongue, Thorne!” said Sir Peter. “She ain’t reluctant. Nothing but a stupid crotchet! Staple!”
“Sir?” John responded, going to the bedside.