“Are you not well, Charles?” his sister asked, going up to him and looking solicitously into his face.
“I am not very well this evening,” replied the vicar; “it is the weather, I think. If Miss Edith will excuse me, I think I will leave you and lie down. I feel tired.”
He rose again abruptly, and Edith stood regarding him with large, wistful eyes. He moved towards the door, and then suddenly stopped and turned to her.
“Good evening,” he said once more, holding out his hand and speaking in a cold, distant manner. “Present my compliments to your aunt.”
“I hope you will be well in the morning,” said Edith, timidly.
“Thanks. Yes; I expect I shall be all right again after a little rest.”
He turned and left her, and Miss Santley, glancing at her significantly, followed him to his room.
“He has over-exerted himself to-day,” said Mary a little later, as she accompanied Miss Dove to the garden gate. “He had a sick call in the afternoon, and was unable to take his usual rest. You will excuse my not accompanying you home, will you not?”
“Oh certainly,” said Edith. “I hope it is nothing serious. Would you not like to see Dr. Spruce? I can call, you know.”
“He says he does not need the doctor; he knows what is the matter with him, and only requires rest. Good night, dear! I am so sorry I cannot go part of the way with you.”