Braunt glared at him, speechless for a moment; then cried out, indignantly:
“I’ll ha’ none o’ thy charity, my lad, d——d if I will!”
Before Langly could reply, Jessie rose tremblingly to her feet.
“Don’t, father, don’t!” she wailed; then, swaying as she attempted to walk towards him, she fell suddenly in a heap on the floor.
Langly sprang forward, but Braunt brushed him roughly aside, and, stooping over his daughter, lifted her slight form in his arms, speaking soothingly and caressingly to her. He carried her to the bed, and placed her lovingly upon it.
“Run!” he cried to Langly. “Run for a doctor. There’s one down Light Street. There’s something main wrong here, I’m feared.”
The young man needed no second telling. The doctor objected to go to Rose Garden Court; he had his own patients to attend to, he said. He knew there was little to be got out of the court.
“I am organist at St. Martyrs,” replied the messenger, eagerly. “I will see you paid.”
“Oh, it’s not that,” said the doctor. “Who generally attends people in the court? There must be some one.”
“I don’t know,” answered Langly, “and I have no time to find out. The case is urgent. Come!”