Speeding up to Maria’s sitting-room, he found her there, talking to Margery. Miss Meta, in a cool brown-holland dress and a large straw hat, was dancing about in glee. She danced up to him.
“I am going to the hayfield,” said she. “Will you come?”
“Don’t I wish I could!” he replied, catching her up in his arms. “It is fine to be Miss Meta Godolphin! to have nothing to do all day but roll in the hay.”
She struggled to get down. Margery was waiting to depart. A terrible thing if Margery should have all the rolling to herself and Meta be left behind! They went out, and he turned to his sister.
“Maria, Mr. Godolphin is in the dining-room, ill. I thought I would come and tell you. He looks too ill to be left alone.”
“What is the matter with him?” she asked.
“A sudden pain,” he said. “I happened to go into his room with a message, and saw him. I almost thought he was dead at first; he looked so ghastly.”
Maria hastened down. Thomas, better then, but looking fearfully ill still, was leaning upon the arm of a couch. Maria went up and took his hand.
“Oh, Thomas, you look very ill! What is it?”
He gazed into her face with a serene countenance, a quiet smile. “It is only another of my warnings, Maria. I have been so much better that I am not sure but I thought they had gone for good.”