"The papers have not come yet," replied Karl, as he drew a chair to the bedside.
"Slow coaches, people are in this world! I shall get up presently."
"No, Adam, not to-day. Moore says you must not."
"Good old man! he is slow too. But he won't keep me in bed, Karl, when I choose to quit it. Why should I not get up?" continued Sir Adam, his voice taking a tone of its old defiance. "I am the best judge of my own strength. If I lay here for a month of Sundays, Karl, it would not add a day to my life."
Perhaps that was true. At any rate, Adam was one whom it was of no use to urge one way or the other.
"What's the old adage, Karlo?--'a short life and a merry one?' Mine has not been very merry of late, has it?"
"I wish we could get you well, Adam."
"Do you? We are told, you know, that all things as they fall, are for the best. The world would say, I expect, that this is. I wonder sometimes, though, how soon or how late the enemy would have shown itself, had my life continued smooth as yours is."
Smooth as yours is! The unconscious words brought a pang to Karl's heart; they sounded so like mockery. Heaven alone knew the distress and turbulence of his.
"I got Moore into a cosy chat the other day," resumed Sir Adam: "the wife was safe away, trimming the plants in the greenhouse--Rose is nearly as good a gardener as I am, Karl."