“Well for me,” I answered, “as you know, sir.”
“And does Bradbury think to keep me shivering here?”—he was beginning, but ceased, as Mr. Bradbury unlocked the door.
“Your pardon, Charles,” said Mr. Bradbury, smoothly, “but my business with your father was private and particular. Pray step in! Your natural anxiety may be allayed. You’ll find Mr. Craike much easier in mind and body,”—smiling blandly, and ushering my uncle into the room. The thief-catchers coming out, he bade them await him. “Pray step in, Mr. John,” he said to me, laying his hand upon my arm, and leading me in at my uncle’s heels.
My grandfather lay in his chair; though he was ghastly of look, and his body was propped up with cushions, his sweating had ceased; his eyes, if dull, were sane and steady. My uncle, looking down on him, assured him, “I’m happy to see you better, sir! Shall I ring for Thrale? Were there a physician within miles—”
“No! When I need Thrale, I’ll ring,” the old man answered huskily. “But hark ’ee, Charles, hark ’ee”—seeming to labour with his speech, his hands shaking on the arms of his chair.
“I listen, sir,” said Charles.
“Ay, that’s well! You thought me broken, Charles!”
“I am so much relieved that—”
“Oh, ay! We’re all liars, Charles! I promise there was a pretty to-do, when I was taken sick.”
“The natural alarm of your old servants.”