“Nothing,” he said. “I have seen that happen before where there has been considerable tension of the muscles before death; it is only their final slackening, that is all. Come, will you ring the bell? They had better come and take it upstairs.”
This sad task had just been performed, and Mr. Caley was about to take his leave, when Pigott came down and whispered something into his ear that evidently caused him the most lively astonishment. Drawing Philip aside, he said—
“The housekeeper asks me to come up and see ‘Mrs. Philip Caresfoot,’ whom she thinks is going to be confined. Does she mean your wife?”
“Yes,” answered Philip sullenly, “she does. It is a long story, and I am too upset to tell it you now. It will soon be all over the country I suppose.”
The old doctor whistled, but judged it advisable not to put any more questions, when suddenly an idea seemed to strike him.
“You said you were talking to your father when the fit took him; was it about your marriage?”
“Yes.”
“When did he first know of it?”
“To-day, I believe.”
“Ah, thank you;” and he followed Pigott upstairs.