"Very ill indeed. Typhoid."
Mark went to Chelsea in the first hansom he saw. At his brother's house carriages were coming and going upon the straw which had been laid down. Dibdin gave details. His mistress had complained of headache and general malaise for some ten days, but had refused persistently to see her doctor. Finally, she had taken to her bed, ravaged by fever. She had eaten some oysters sent as a present to the preacher by an ardent admirer. Archibald also had eaten the oysters, but with impunity.
"Lady Randolph is upstairs, and master is in the library," said Dibdin. "Won't you see him, Mr. Mark?"
Mark hesitated.
"Yes," he said nervously, "I will. Show me in, Dibdin."
Archibald, who was writing at his desk, rose to receive him. As the door closed behind Dibdin, the eyes of the brothers met.
"If she asks for me, you will send?" said Mark, moving a step nearer.
"Go," Archibald replied, trembling and turning aside his eyes.
"Not till I have your promise. She may not ask, but if she does, by Heaven! you must, you shall send. Swear it!"
"Go, go!"