As he left the drawing-room, Bessy North joined him, and they went together to the hall-door. No servant had been rung for--it was one of Mrs. North's ways of showing contempt--and they stood together outside, speaking softly. Again the tears shone in Bessy's eyes: her heart was a very tender one, and she had loved her brother dearly.
"Oliver, is there any hope?"
"Do not distress yourself, Bessy. I cannot tell you one way or the other."
"How can I help distressing myself?" she rejoined, her hand resting quietly in both his. "It is all very well for you to be calm; a medical man meets these sad things every day. You cannot be expected to care."
"Can I not?" he answered; and there was a touch of passionate emotion in the usually calm tones. "If any effort or sacrifice of mine would bring back his health and life, I would freely make it. Goodnight, Bessy."
As he stooped to kiss her, quick, firm footsteps were heard approaching, and Bessy went indoors. He who came up was a rather tall and very active man, with a plain, but nevertheless an attractive face. Plain in its irregular features; attractive from its open candour and strong good sense, from the earnest, truthful look in the deep-set hazel eyes. People were given to saying that Richard North was the best man of business for miles round. It was so: and he was certainly, in mind, manners, and person, a gentleman.
"Is it you, Rane? What is all this trouble? I have been away for a few hours, unfortunately. Mark Dawson met me just now with the news that my brother was dying."
The voice would have been pleasing to a degree if only from its tone of ready decision: but it was also musical as voices seldom are, clear and full of sincerity. From the voice alone, Richard North might have been trusted to his life's end. Dr. Rane gave a short summary of the illness and the state he was lying in.
"Dawson spoke of a letter that had excited him," said Richard.
"True; a letter to Mr. North."