"Oh well, sir, I'm sure I don't know," she said, feeling as if her throat had dried up. "And I'm sure I hope poor Tim has not got the fever."
"I'll call and see him," repeated Dr. Rane, proceeding on his way. Jelly curtsied and went on hers.
When beyond her view, he took out his handkerchief and wiped his face, damp as with the dews of death. He must, he must get away from Jelly and Dallory! But for having a wife on his hands, he might have felt tempted to make a hasty flitting to America and join Dr. Jones. Join Dr. Jones? But how obtain the funds to do it with? His thoughts turned, as they ever did on these occasions, to that money of his locked up in the Tontine. Of his:that was how Dr. Rane had come to regard it. That money would bring him salvation. If he could only obtain it----
A bow from some white-haired old gentleman, passing in a carriage. Dr. Rane returned it, the singular coincidence of his appearance at that moment flashing through his mind. For it was Sir Thomas Ticknell. Yes: it truly seemed that that Tontine money would be nothing less than salvation to him. He went on with a great fear and pain in his throbbing heart, wondering for how long or how short a time Jelly would keep her counsel.
The next morning was Thursday. It brought news that almost struck people dumb: Henry Hepburn, the undertaker, was dead, and Mrs. Rane had been seized with the fever. Dr. Rane's account was, that his wife had been very restless all night; he gave her a composing draught, which seemed to be of use for the time: but upon attempting to get up she was attacked with nausea and faintness, and had to go back to bed. The symptoms that subsequently set in he feared were those of fever.
It was an awkward time for Bessy to be ill, as Molly Green had gone homo: but Phillis, an excellent substitute, was there. She attended on Mrs. Rane, and the doctor went abroad to his patients. Mr. North, disappointed at Bessy's non-arrival, hearing of her indisposition, came to the house; but Bessy sent down an urgent message by Phillis, begging him not to run any danger by coming up to her chamber. And Mr. North, docile and obedient--as madam in her imperiousness had trained him to be--left his best love, and went home again.
In the course of the morning Dr. Rane called in at Hepburn's. It was a double shop and house; in the one were sold articles of furniture, in the other the carpenter's work was carried on. Thomas Hepburn and his family lived in the former; Henry, now dead, had occupied the latter. He was a married man, but had no children. When Dr. Rane entered the second shop, he did not at first see Thomas Hepburn; the shutters up at the window made the place dark, coming in from the bright sunshine. Thomas Hepburn saw him, however, and came forward from the workshop behind, where he had been looking on at his men. Various articles seemed to be in the course of active construction, coffins amongst the rest.
"I am very sorry for this loss, Hepburn," began the doctor.
"Well, sir, I've not had any hope from the first," sighed Hepburn, his face looking careworn and unusually sickly in the half light. "I don't think poor Henry had."
"The fact is, Hepburn, he had not strength to carry him through the disorder; it did not attack him lightly. I did all I could."