"With Tim Wilks! I did not know that anything was the matter with him."
"Yes, there is," said Jelly. "I met old Green just now, and he said Timothy Wilks was in bed ill. They thought it might be a bilious attack, if it was not the fever."
"I'll call in and see him," said Dr. Rane. "Has he been drinking again?"
Jelly's eyes flashed with resentment. Considering that Tim had really kept sober and steady for the past year and a half, she looked on the question as a frightful aspersion. More especially so as proceeding from Dr. Rane.
"I can answer for it that he has not been drinking--and so, as I supposed, might everybody else," was her tart reply. "Timothy Wilks is worried, sir; that's what it is. He has never been at ease since people accused him of writing that anonymous letter: and he never will be till he is publicly cleared of it. Sir, I think he ought to be cleared."
Was it an ice-bolt that seemed to shoot through Oliver Rane's heart?--or only a spasm? Something took it: though he managed to keep his countenance, and to speak with quiet indifference.
"Cleared? Cleared of what? I fancied it had been ascertained that Wilks was the man who spoke of the affair out of Dale's office. He can't clear himself from that. As to any other suspicion, no one has cast it on him."
"Well, sir--of course you know best," answered Jelly, recollecting herself and cooling down: but she could not help emphasizing the words. "If Tim should become dangerously ill, it might have to be done to set his mind at rest."
"What might have to be done?" demanded Dr. Rane with authority.
And Jelly did not dare to answer the direct question. She could boast and talk at people in her gossiping way as long as she felt safe, but when it came to anything like proving her words, she was a very coward. Dr. Rane was looking at her, waiting for her to speak, his manner stern and uncompromising.