"Ah! sir—what could I give him but our poor fare? milk porridge and such like. I went up to the Hold one day and begged a basin o' curds-and-whey, and he eat it all and drank up the whey quite greedy; but I didn't dare go again, for fear of their suspecting something. It's meat and wine he ought to have had from the first, sir, but we can't get such things as that. Why, sir, I shouldn't dare be seen cooking a bit o' meat: it would set Mr. Chattaway wondering at once. What's to be done?"
What, indeed? There was the question. Idea after idea shot through George Ryle's brain; wild fancies, because impossible to be acted upon. It might be dangerous to call in a doctor. Allowing that the man of medicine proved true and kept the secret, the very fact of his attendance would cause a stir at the Hold. Miss Diana would come down, questioning old Canham; and would inevitably find that he was not ill enough to need a doctor. A doctor might venture there once: but regularly? George did not see the way by any means clear.
But Rupert must not be left to die. George took up his delicate hand—Rupert's hands had always been delicate—and held it as he spoke to him. It was hot; fevered; the dry lips were parched; the hectic cheeks, the white brow, all burning with fever. "Don't you know me, Rupert?" he bent lower to ask.
The words were so far heard that Rupert moved his head on the bolster; perhaps the familiar name struck some chord in his memory; but there was no recognition, and he began to twitch at the bed-clothes with one of his hands.
George turned away. He went down the ladder of a staircase, feeling that little time was to be lost. Old Canham stood in his tottering fashion, leaning upon his crutch, watching the descent.
"What do you think of him, Mr. George?"
"I hardly know what to think, Mark. Or rather, I know what to think, but I don't know what to do. A doctor must be got here; and without loss of time."
Old Canham lifted his hands with a gesture of despair. "Once the secret is give over to a doctor, sir, there's no telling where it'll travel, or what'll be the consequence to us all."
"I think King would be true," said George. "Nay, I feel sure he would be. The worst is, he's simple-minded, and might betray it through sheer inadvertency. I would a great deal rather bring Mr. Benage to him; I know we might rely on Benage, and he is more skilful than King; but it is not practicable. To see the renowned Barmester doctor in attendance on you might create greater commotion at the Hold than would be desirable. No, it must be King."
"Sir, couldn't you go to one o' the gentlemen yourself and describe what's the matter with Master Rupert. You needn't say who's ill."