Trevlyn Hold: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"But how is one to be got here?" debated Ann Canham. "Once a doctor knew where Mr. Rupert was, he might betray it—there's the reward, you know, sir. And how could we get a doctor in without its being known at the Hold? What mightn't Chattaway suspect?"

George remained silent, revolving the matter. There were difficulties undoubtedly in the way.

"Nobody knows the trouble I've been in, sir, especially since he grew worse. At first, he just lay here quiet, more as if glad of the rest, and my chief care was to keep folks as far as I could out o' the lodge, bathe his shoulder, and bring him up a share of our poor meals. But since the fever came upon him, I've been half dazed, wondering what I ought to do. There were two people I thought I might speak to—you, sir, and Madam. But Mr. Rupert was against it, and father was dead against it. They were afraid, you see, that if only one was told, it might come to be known he was here. Father's old now, and helpless; he couldn't do a stroke towards getting his own living. If I be out before daylight at any of my places, it's as much as he can do to open the gate and fasten it back: and he knows Mr. Chattaway would turn us right off the estate if it come to be known we had sheltered Mr. Rupert. But yesterday Mr. Rupert found he was getting worse and worse, and I said to father what would become of us if he should die? And they both said that you should be told to-day if he was no better. We did think him a trifle better this morning, but later the fever came on again, and Mr. Rupert himself said he'd write you a word, and I found a bit o' paper and brought him the big Bible, and held it while he wrote the letter on it."

She ceased. George, as before, was looking at Rupert. It seemed to Ann Canham that he could not gaze sufficiently, but in truth he was lost in thought; fairly puzzled with the difficulties encompassing the case.

"Is it anything more than low fever?" he asked.

"I don't think it is, sir, yet. But it may go on to more, you know."

George did know. He knew that assistance was necessary in more ways than one, if worse was to be avoided. Medical attendance, a more airy room, generous nourishment; and how was even one of them to be accomplished, let alone all? The close closet—it could scarcely be called more—had no chimney in it; air and light could come in only through a small pane ingeniously made to open in the roof. The narrow bed and one chair occupied almost all the space, leaving very little for George and Ann Canham as they stood. George, coming in from the fresh air, felt half-stifled with the closeness of the room: and this must be dangerous for the invalid. It is a mercy that these inconveniences are soothed to those who have to endure them—as most inconveniences and trials are in life. To an outsider they appear unbearable; but to the sufferers they are tempered. George Ryle felt as if a day in that atmosphere would half kill him; but Rupert, lying there always, was sensible of no discomfort. It was not, however, the less injurious; and it appeared that there was no remedy; could be no removal.

"What have you given him?" inquired George.

"I have made him some herb tea, sir, but it didn't seem to do him good, and then I went over to Barmester and got a bottle o' physic. I had to say it was for father, and the druggist told me I ought to call in a doctor, when I described the illness. Coming out of the shop there was Miss Diana's pony-carriage at the door, and Madam met me and asked who the physic was for: I never was so took aback. But the physic didn't seem to do him good neither."

"I meant as to food," returned George.