"General Marston! Colonel Middleton!" he gasped out, breathing hard, "will you, both of you, come to my father's room at once? He has sent for you."
"Good gracious! Is he worse?" I exclaimed.
"No. Hush! Don't ask anything, but just come,"—and he turned and led the way to Sir George Danvers's room.
We followed in wondering silence, and, after passing along numerous passages, were ushered into a large oak-panelled room with a great carved bed in it, in the middle of which, bolt-upright, sat Sir George Danvers, pale as ivory, his light steel eyes (so like Charles's) seeming to be the only living thing about him.
As we came in he looked at each of us in turn.
"Where is Charles?" he said, speaking in a hoarse whisper.
"Dear me! Sir George," I said, sympathetically, "how you have lost your voice!"
He looked at me for a moment, and then turned to Ralph again.
"Where is Charles?" he asked a second time, in the same tone.
"Here!" said a quiet voice. And Charles came in, and shut the door.