“Yes, more or less. I took him to the South of England for two months, but it did no good.”
“I am glad the thing is not catching,” she remarked, glancing at him.
“Oh, no,” he replied carelessly, “I never heard that it was catching, though some people say it runs in families. I hope not, I am sure, as the poor old chap insists upon my sleeping in his room whenever I am at home, as we used to do when we were boys.”
Then their talk wandered elsewhere, for they had so much to say to each other that it seemed doubtful if they would ever get to the end of it all. Anthony was particularly anxious to learn what blessed circumstance had caused Barbara’s sudden re-appearance at Eastwich. She fenced for a while, then told him all the truth.
“So you gave up this brilliant marriage for me, a fellow with scarcely a half-penny and a very few prospects,” he exclaimed, staring at her.
“Of course. What would you have expected me to do—marry one man while I love another? As for the rest it must take its chance,” and while the words were on her lips, for the first time it came into Barbara’s mind that perhaps Anthony had no need to trouble about his worldly fortunes. For if it were indeed true that Captain Arnott was doomed, who else would succeed to the estate?
“I think you are an angel,” he said, still overcome by this wondrous instance of fidelity and of courage in the face of Lady Thompson’s anger.
“If I had done anything else, I think, Anthony, that you might very well have called me—whatever is the reverse of an angel.”
And thus the links of their perfect love were drawn even closer than before.
Only three days later Mr. Walrond was summoned hastily to the Hall. When he returned from his ministrations it was to announce in a sad voice that Captain Arnott was sinking fast. Before the following morning he was dead.