But when she got back to the house she found rather a subdued state of things. Mrs. Ross looked tired; her husband had kept her awake by his restlessness, and she had got it firmly in her mind that a fit of gout was impending. Dr. Ross had once had a touch of gout—a very slight touch, to be sure—but it had given him a wholesome fear of the complaint, and had implanted in him a deep distrust of other men's port wine; and his devoted wife had never forgotten the circumstance.
'And I am sure,' she observed in an undertone to her daughter, 'that if I were not quite certain that there is nothing troubling your father—for, of course, he would have told me of it at once—I should have said there was something on his mind, for he tossed and groaned so; but mark my words, Audrey, it is his old enemy, the gout; and if only I could induce him to speak to Dr. Pilkington we might ward it off still.'
'What is that you are telling the child, Emmie?' asked the Doctor, who had very sharp ears. 'Gout! stuff and nonsense! I never was better in my life.'
'I think your complexion looks a little sallow this morning, John,' returned Mrs. Ross rather timidly, for she knew her husband's objection to any form of ailment; 'and I am sure you never closed your eyes all night.' But at this Dr. Ross pished impatiently, and it was then that Audrey hazarded her brilliant suggestion about the east wind.
'Michael looks rather limp, too,' she went on; 'and he never could endure an east wind.'
'Have your own way, Audrey,' returned her cousin good-humouredly; but neither to her nor to Mrs. Ross did he confess that his night had been sleepless too. When he had finished his breakfast he went round to the stables, where Dr. Ross joined him. He had ordered the dog-cart to be got ready for him, and he told the groom that there was no need to bring it round to the front door.
Dr. Ross watched him silently as he drew on his driving gloves and turned up the collar of his coat.
'You will have a cold drive, I am afraid,' he said at last, as Michael took the reins and the brown mare began to fidget; 'come to my study the moment you get back.' And Michael nodded.
Much as he disliked the business before him, he was anxious to get it over; so he drove as fast as possible; and as the mare was fresh and skittish, she gave him plenty to think about, and he was quite warm with the exertion of holding her in and restraining her playful antics by the time he pulled up at the village inn, which went by the name of the Cat and Fiddle. Here he had the mare put up, while he walked down the one main street of Brail, and down a lane or two, until he came to Mr. O'Brien's sequestered cottage.
Mr. O'Brien opened the door himself. When he saw Michael, he shook his head with an air of profound sadness, and led the way without speaking into the parlour, where he usually sat, and where Sam was basking before the fire after the luxurious habit of cats.