Mrs. Home read,—
"For Harold, with his lady's love."
She turned the paper. There, staring her in the face, lay a fresh, crisp Bank of England note for fifty pounds.
CHAPTER XXIV.
"YOU KEPT A SECRET FROM ME."
Hinton, when he went away that morning, was, as I have said, very undecided how best to act. He saw very clearly the fresh danger arising to Harold. Was he but rescued from the dangerous fever to fall a prey to lingering, or, perhaps, rapid consumption? Even his unprofessional eye saw the danger the boy was in; and the boy himself, lying awake during most of the weary hours of the night, had confided to his friend some thoughts which it seemed to Hinton could only come to such a child as the precursor of death. He now loved the boy for his own sake, and he was determined, even more determined than during the height of the fever, to do something to again save his life.
After a brief pause for rapid thought, he determined to visit Dr. Watson. That busy man was at home and saw Hinton at once.
"Little Home is no better," said Hinton, going straight, as his wont was, to the very heart of his subject.
"He will never be any better unless he has change," replied the doctor. "Neither I nor any other man can now do more for him. He requires, nay, he is dying for want of nature's remedies, complete change, fresh, mild sea-air. I told his mother so most plainly yesterday. I recommended Torquay within a week from now, if she wishes to save his life."