“Excuse me, sir,” he said, “I am not quite myself. Shall I put the candle out, sir?” Then he lay down on the sofa.
“One word more, Parker. You will wake me if you hear anything more. And anyhow you will call me at seven if I should be asleep.”
“Certainly, sir,” answered Parker’s voice from the darkness.
I slept and woke often that night. Each time I woke I went quietly to the door and looked across the landing and listened. Each time I was not so quiet but that Parker heard me and was by me as I looked, and each time there was a line of light under the priest’s door; and once or twice a murmur of one voice at least from the room.
Towards morning I fell into a sound sleep, and awoke to find Parker arranging my clothes and setting ready my bath. The rugs and the pillow were gone from the sofa, and there was no sign on the servant’s face that anything unusual had happened during the night.
“How is he?” I asked quickly. “Have you seen him?”
“Yes, sir,” said Parker; “he is dressing now, and will be ready at half-past seven. It is a little before seven now, sir.”
“But how is he?” I asked again.
“I scarcely know, sir,” answered Parker. “He does not seem ill, but he is very silent again this morning, sir.”
Then, after a pause, “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?”