“Them was her directions—the little note as I told you—and Doctor Wagget went by her orders strict, as he said he would; and sure ’twas right he should, for she would not be denied.”
So this odd conversation proceeded, and, indeed, with this strange direction of poor Aunt Dinah’s, whose coffin lay on tressels in the little tiled room in the small two storied cubical brick domicile, which stood even with the garden wall, old Winnie’s revelations ended.
William walked down to Saxton, and had a long talk with Doctor Drake, who was always sober up to nine o’clock, about poor Aunt Dinah’s case; and he wrote to Doctor Wagget, not caring to present himself at the Rectory so late, to report his arrival. And in the morning Doctor Wagget came down and saw him at Gilroyd, when a conversation ensued, which I am about to relate.
CHAPTER LVII.
DOCTOR WAGGET: FURTHER PARTICULARS
Doctor Wagget found William in the study at Gilroyd; he met him without the conventional long face, and with a kindly look, and a little sad, and shaking his hand warmly, he said,
“Ah, Sir, your good aunt, my old friend, Miss Perfect, we’ve lost her; my loss is small compared with yours, but I can grieve with you.”
The doctor laid his hat, and gloves, and cane upon the table, and fixing his earnest eyes on William, he went on—