“I did think he only waited the death of the old gentleman before he married,” said the housekeeper, looking on the carpet. “But now he is nothing more than despisable, or, what’s the same thing, a peddler without house, pack, or money. It might be hard for a man to get a wife at all in such a predicary—don’t you think it would, Miss Peyton?”
“I seldom trouble myself with such things,” said the lady gravely.
During this dialogue Captain Lawton had been studying the countenance and manner of the housekeeper, with a most ludicrous gravity; and, fearful the conversation would cease, he inquired, with an appearance of great interest,—
“You think it was age and debility that removed the old gentleman at last?”
“And the troublesome times. Trouble is a heavy pull down to a sick bed; but I suppose his time had come, and when that happens, it matters but little what doctor’s stuff we take.”
“Let me set you right in that particular,” interrupted the surgeon. “We must all die, it is true, but it is permitted us to use the lights of science, in arresting dangers as they occur, until—”
“We can die secundem artem,” cried the trooper.
To this observation the physician did not deign to reply; but, deeming it necessary to his professional dignity that the conversation should continue, he added,—
“Perhaps, in this instance, judicious treatment might have prolonged the life of the patient. Who administered to the case?”
“No one yet,” said the housekeeper, with quickness. “I expect he has made his last will and testament.”