Mary did not reply, though she felt herself ungracious for not doing so. In a minute he went on again.
“I have been thinking,” he said, “of what you told me about your father. Of course I am no doctor, but I believe I can give you a little comfort. This sort of seizure is not so alarming when it comes on, as in his case, gradually; it is not like a man in too good health—a great full-blooded fellow like Squire Cleave, for instance—do you know him?—being struck down suddenly. Your father, as a rule, is so equable, is he not? and lives so quietly and regularly. I fancy he will get over it, and be much the same as usual again. Of course it is serious, but I have a friend at this moment who had an attack of this kind ten years ago, and is now fairly well and able to enjoy life; of course he is obliged to be careful.”
What a load was lifted from Mary’s heart! To be allowed to hope—what a relief! The tears rushed to her eyes, they were in her voice as she replied:
“Oh, how good you are! Thank you, thank you for telling me that,” and in his turn Mr Cheviott made no reply.
“Freedom from anxiety, from daily worry—he has had too much of that—would be greatly in his favour, would it not?” Mary added, after a little pause.
“Undoubtedly, I should say,” said Mr Cheviott, recalling as he spoke the careworn expression of the Rector’s face as he had last seen him. “Peculiarly so in his case, I should say. He is a very sensitive man, is he not?”
“Very,” said Mary, “but not in the sense of being irritable. He is very sweet-tempered. Poor father,” she went on, with a sudden burst of confidence which amazed herself, “he has had far too much anxiety; but if only he gets well, I think and believe that that can be, is going to be, cured.”
“What can she mean?” thought Mr Cheviott, one or two possible solutions of her words darting through his mind. But what she did not tell he of course could not ask, only just then a sudden and unnecessary touch of the whip made Madge start again.
They were close to Withenden by now. Dr Brandreth’s house stood a little out of the town on the side by which they were entering it. Mr Cheviott drew up.
“Suppose we wait here,” he said. “Andrew can be thoroughly trusted to deliver exactly any message you give him, and it might be—perhaps you would not care about clambering up and down again from that high seat?”