“Lady Bevere, sir, is Roger’s mother and my sister. I shall write to-day.”
Mr. Brandon had an appointment with his lawyers that morning and went out with the Squire to keep it, leaving me with the patient. “And take care you don’t let him talk, Johnny,” was his parting injunction to me. “Keep him perfectly quiet.”
That was all very well, and I did my best to obey orders; but Roger would not be kept quiet. He was for ever sighing and starting, now turning to this side, now to that, and throwing his undamaged arm up like a ball at play.
“Is it pain that makes you so restless?” I asked.
“Pain, no,” he groaned. “It’s the bother. The pain is nothing now to what it was.”
“Bother of what?”
“Oh—altogether. I say, what on earth brought Uncle John to London just now?”
“A matter connected with my property. He is my guardian and trustee, you know.” To which answer Bevere only groaned again.
After taking a great jorum of beef-tea, which Mrs. Mapping brought up at mid-day, he was lying still and tranquil, when there came a loud knock at the street-door. Steps clattered up the stairs, and a tall, dark-haired young man put his head into the room.