So whispered L'Amour in my ear, during the silence that followed, nodding shakily toward Milly over the banister, and she courtesied again as we departed, and shuffled off toward Uncle Silas's room.
'The Governor is queerish this evening,' said Milly, when we were seated at our tea. 'You never saw him queerish, did you?'
'You must say what you mean, more plainly, Milly. You don't mean ill, I hope?'
'Well! I don't know what it is; but he does grow very queer sometimes—you'd think he was dead a'most, maybe two or three days and nights together. He sits all the time like an old woman in a swound. Well, well, it is awful!'
'Is he insensible when in that state?' I asked, a good deal alarmed.
'I don't know; but it never signifies anything. It won't kill him, I do believe; but old L'Amour knows all about it. I hardly ever go into the room when he's so, only when I'm sent for; and he sometimes wakes up and takes a fancy to call for this one or that. One day he sent for Pegtop all the way to the mill; and when he came, he only stared at him for a minute or two, and ordered him out o' the room. He's like a child a'most, when he's in one o' them dazes.'
I always knew when Uncle Silas was 'queerish,' by the injunctions of old L'Amour, whistled and spluttered over the banister as we came up-stairs, to mind how we made a noise passing master's door; and by the sound of mysterious to-ings and fro-ings about his room.
I saw very little of him. He sometimes took a whim to have us breakfast with him, which lasted perhaps for a week; and then the order of our living would relapse into its old routine.
I must not forget two kind letters from Lady Knollys, who was detained away, and delighted to hear that I enjoyed my quiet life; and promised to apply, in person, to Uncle Silas, for permission to visit me.