At last the door opened, and Gallagher looked out.
"Mr. Milbanke," he said, "Doctor Molyneaux would like to see you."
With a little start of agitation Milbanke went forward.
In the dining-room a great peat fire was burning as usual, lighting up the faces of Asshlin's ancestors; but the candles in the silver sconces were unlighted and the window curtains had not been drawn. In the dull light from the three long windows the large, placid face of Molyneaux looked preternaturally long and solemn. Milbanke felt his heart sink.
In formal silence the great man rose and motioned him forward, and the three sat down at the centre table.
"Mr. Milbanke," he began in slow and unctuous tones, "I suppose you would like me to come to the point with as little delay as possible? Professional details will not interest you."
Milbanke nodded mechanically.
Molyneaux hesitated, studying his well-kept hands; then he looked up with the decorous reserve proper to the occasion.
"I regret to inform you, Mr. Milbanke," he said softly, "that my visit is of little—I might say of no—avail. Doctor—er—Gallagher's diagnosis of the case is satisfactory—perfectly satisfactory. Beyond mitigating his sufferings, I fear we can do nothing for our poor friend."
"Nothing!" Milbanke felt a sudden dryness in his throat.