CHAPTER LXXII.
ON LETHE’S WHARF.
As soon as the master of the house had been taken to his bedroom, and a groom sent off at full gallop for the nearest doctor, Mr. Hales went up to Stephen Chapman, who was crying in a corner, and hauled him forth, and took his hand, and patted him on the shoulder. “Come, my good fellow,” he said, “you must not allow yourself to be so overcome; the thing may be greatly exaggerated—everything always is, you know. I never believe more than half of a story; and I generally find that twice too much.”
“Oh, but I did so love—love—love her! It does seem too hard upon me. Oh, Parson, I feel as if I should die almost. When the doctor comes, let him see me first. He cannot do any good to Sir Roland; and Sir Roland is old, and he has always been good; but I have been a very bad man always——”
“Bad or good, be a man of some sort—not a whining baby,” said the Rector. “Put on your hat, and come out with me, if you have got a bit of pluck in you. I am going down to see my poor niece, at once.”
“Oh, I could not do it! I could never do it! How can you ask me to do such a thing? And in such weather as this is!”
“Very well,” Mr. Hales replied, buttoning up the collar of his coat; “I have no son, Stephen Chapman; and I am in holy orders, and therefore canonically debarred from the use of unclerical language; but if I had a son like you, dash me if I would not kick him from my house-door to my mixen!” Having thus relieved his mind, the Rector went to the main front passage, and chose for himself a most strenuous staff, and then he pulled the wire of the front-door bell, that the door might be fastened behind him. And before any of the scared servants came up, he had thought of something. “Who is it? Oh, Mrs. Merryjack, is it?”
“Yes, sir; please, sir, the men are all away, and the housemaids too frightened to come up the stairs.”
“You are a good woman. Where is Mrs. Pipkins?”
“She hath fetched up her great jar of leeches, sir; and she is trying them with poor master. Lord bless you, you might every bit as well put horse radish on him.”
“And better, Merryjack—better, I believe. Now, you are a sensible and clever woman.”