"Can you get through the rest of this fearful scene without me?" Dr. Arnold asked in the afternoon when all was over. "I must go home. I have had three telegrams this morning. Dr. Armitage is ill again, and his wife has sent for me. I will try to make all arrangements for you in the city, if you think you can get along."
"Yes," said Theodore, "I can manage. Pliny is up again, you know. But, doctor, tell me what this sickness was. What was the cause of the sudden death?"
"Rum!" said the doctor, in short, stern tones. "That is, an over-dose of brandy was the immediate cause of the fit, and the continued use of stimulants through many years the cause of the paralysis. It is just another instance of a rum murder—that's hard language, but it's true—and the son is fearfully predisposed to follow in his father's footsteps. I fear for him."
"Pliny has overcome that predisposition at last, I hope and trust. I think he is safe now."
"They are never safe, I think sometimes, until they are in their graves," answered the doctor, moodily.
"Or in the 'Everlasting Arms,'" returned Theodore, reverently. But while this conversation was in progress, there was a more dangerous one going on up-stairs. Mrs. Hastings had recovered from her swoons, but was lying in a state of semi-exhaustion in her room. She raised her head languidly as she heard Pliny's step, and gave her orders for the night.
"Pliny, you will have to take the room that opens into this, for the night. I am too nervous to be left alone. Dora is going to have the room on the other side of the hall. She doesn't mind it in the least, she says. I wish I had her nerves; and, Pliny, I feel that distressing faintness every few minutes. You may order a bottle of wine brought up, then pour out a glass and set it on that light stand by my bedside; then do try to have the house quiet—the utter inconsiderateness of some people is surprising!"
Had Theodore been less occupied, or been at that moment within hearing, he would have contrived to have these orders countermanded, or at least carried out by some one besides Pliny; but he was making final arrangements with the doctor in regard to meeting him on the next morning's train, so he knew nothing about that fatal bottle of wine.
"There is barely time for us to reach the cars," said Theodore, hurriedly, the next morning, not turning his head from his valise to look at the new-comer, but knowing by the step that it was Pliny.
"I am sorry that we shall have to hurry your mother and sister so. How are you feeling? Did you get any rest last night, my poor fellow?"