Dr. Brabazon's words came to a standstill, as he followed into the hall. There was Mr. Henry propped against the front door, instead of letting himself out of it according to the custom of everyday mortals.
"Why, what's the matter?" exclaimed the startled doctor, as the rays of the house-lamp fell on a white face of suffering.
Mr. Henry rallied himself, and apologized with a smile. He had only felt a little faint: it was over now.
A little faint! But he did not mention that sharp pain, that strange fluttering of heart, which seemed so often to follow any extra emotion or exertion; and this day had brought plenty of both for him. However, it was gone now.
"Here, don't start off in that haste," cried the doctor, going out after him. "Don't you think you ought to have advice for that faintness?" he asked, as Mr. Henry turned.
"Yes, perhaps I ought."
"I should. You have been working your strength away. Good-night."
Mr. Henry hastened home, wrote a short letter to his sick friend Weber, enclosed the bank-note, and went out to post it. As he emerged from the short shrubbery, skirting round by the chapel, and gained the road, he saw, to his surprise, Dick Loftus.
"Why, Dick! Are you home again?"
"Got home to dinner," equably answered Dick, whose mouth was full of some crunching sweetmeat he had come down from Pond Place to buy. "We had a stunning passage: the boat pitching like mad, and Uncle Simon and old Gall fit to die. Will you have some?" he asked, exhibiting the stuff in his hand. "It's Gibraltar rock."