“Why, what a white shaking child you look, you are not fit to be up so late, Fay; why don’t you take more care of yourself.”
“I was so frightened, dear,” she whispered; “I could not bear to leave you. I am sure you are ill, Hugh; do let Saville help you to bed.”
“Oh, is that Saville? I thought—I thought—well, never mind. There is nothing the matter with me, Saville, is there?”
“No, Sir Hugh; only it is late, and I expect you are tired, as my lady said.”
“But she said I was ill”—very querulously; “I have never had a day’s illness in my life, have I, Saville? Mrs. Heron will know; ask Mrs. Heron—well, I think I may as well go to bed and have my sleep out.”
And the next day he reiterated the same thing, that there was nothing the matter with him, nothing; only they had not called him at the usual time, and he had slept late; but he had no appetite, and did not care to rise.
It was foolish to have tired himself out so, he owned. But if Fay were good and would not scold him, she might sit with him and read something amusing. But he did not tell her, or Saville either, that he had tried to dress himself and had fallen back half fainting on the bed, or of the strange horrible feelings that were creeping over him, and that made him dread to be alone. Only Fay was very disappointed that he did not seem to hear anything she read; or remember a word of it. It was the shooting pain in his head, he told her; and then he laughed in a way that was hardly mirthful, and said he would try to sleep.
But that night he never closed his eyes, and yet the next day he would not allow Fay to send for the doctor, though she begged piteously for permission. Doctors were old women, he said, and Dr. Martin especially. It was only the pain in his head that kept him awake and made him so feverish; but toward the evening his eyes began to shine beautifully, and he grew quite lively and talkative.
He said he was much better, if only his head and hands were not burning like live coals; and that he meant if it were fine to drive Fay out in the pony-carriage to-morrow, and they would go and call on Margaret.
Fay stared, as well she might. Did Hugh mean Miss Ferrers? she asked, timidly.