"Hill, do wait a moment and tell me!" I cried, as they flew away. "Does he find Mr. Chandos dangerously ill?"
"There's a change for the better," she answered. "Mr. Chandos will be about again to-morrow or next day. For goodness sake don't keep me with questions now, Miss Hereford!"
Not I. I did not care to keep her after that good news; and I ran away as light as a bird.
The carriage drew up to the portico and Dr. Amos came down to it attended by Hickens and Hill. After he passed the parlour-door, I looked out of it, and saw Mr. Dexter come up. He had heard the news of Mr. Chandos's illness, and had come to inquire after him. Seeing the gentleman, who carried physician in his every look, about to step into the carriage, Mr. Dexter had no difficulty in divining who he was. Raising his hat, he accosted him.
"I hope, sir, you have not found Mr. Harry Chandos seriously ill?"
"Mr. Harry Chandos is very ill indeed!—very ill!" replied Dr. Amos, who appeared to be a pleasant man. "I fear there are but faint hopes of him."
"Good heavens!" cried the thunderstruck agent when he was able to speak. "But faint hopes? How awfully sudden it must have come on!"
"Sudden? Not at all. It has been coming on for some time. He may have grown rapidly worse, if you mean that. In saying but faint hopes, I mean, of course, of his eventual recovery. He'll not be quite laid by yet."
Dr. Amos entered the carriage with the last words, and it drove away, leaving his hearers to digest them; leaving me, I know, with a mist before my eyes and pulses that had ceased to beat. Hill's sharp tones broke the silence, bearing harshly upon Mr. Dexter.
"What on earth need you have interfered for? Can't a doctor come and go from a place but he must be smothered with questions? If you have got anything to ask, you can ask me."