'As so much time has slipped away since your disappearance,' said John Dale, 'it does not much matter whether a little more be sent tobogganing after it. I can't go to Mergatroyd very well just now; I am busy, and have a delicate case on my hands that I will not entrust to others. If you can and will wait my convenience, I promise you I will go. If not—go yourself. But, upon my word, I should dearly like to be at Mergatroyd to witness your resurrection.'
Jeremiah waited. He had been weakened by his illness, and had become alarmed about himself. He shrank from exertion, from strong emotion, fearing for his heart. In an amusing story by a Swiss novelist, a man believes that he has a fungus growing on his heart, and he comes to live for this fungus, to eat only such things as he is convinced will disagree with the fungus, to engage in athletic sports, with the hope of shaking off the fungus, to give up reading the newspapers, because he ceases to take interest in politics, being engrossed in his fungus, and finally to discover that he has been subjected to a delusion, the fungus existing solely in his imagination.
Mr. Pennycomequick had become alarmed about his heart; he put his finger periodically to his pulse to ascertain its regularity, imagined himself subject to spasms, to feel stabs; he suspected numbness, examined his lips and eyelids at the glass to discover whether he were more or less bloodless than the day before, and shunned emotion as dangerous to a heart whose action was abnormal. The rest from business, the relief from responsibility, were good for him. The even life at his friend's house suited him. But he did not rapidly gain strength.
He walked on the downs when the weather permitted, not too fast lest he should unduly distress his heart, nor too slowly lest he should catch cold. He was dieted by his doctor, and ate docilely what was meted to him; if he could have had his sleep and wakefulness measured as well, he would have been content, but sleep would not come when called, banished by thoughts of the past, and questions concerning the future.
John Dale was a pleasant man to be with; fond of a good story, and able to tell one; fond of a good dinner, and—being a bachelor—able to keep a cook who could furnish one; fond of good wine, and with a cellar stocked with it. He was happy to have his old comrade with him; and Jeremiah enjoyed being the guest of John Dale, enjoyed discussing old acquaintances, reviewing old scenes, refreshing ancient jokes.
Thus time passed, and passed pleasantly, though not altogether satisfactorily to Jeremiah, who was impatient at being unwell, and uneasy about his heart.
At length John Dale fulfilled his undertaking; he went to Mergatroyd to see how matters progressed there. He arrived, as has already been stated, at a moment when his appearance afforded relief to the widow. He talked with Janet, and with Salome; but he had not many hours at his disposal, and his interviews with the Cusworths were necessarily brief. He was obliged to consult with Janet about her affairs, and that occupied most of his time. From Salome he learned nothing concerning the will more than what he had already heard. She told him no particulars; and, indeed, considered it unnecessary to discuss it, as her engagement to Philip altered her prospects.
'But, bless me, this must have been a case of love at first sight!' said Mr. Dale. 'Why, Salome, you did not know him till the other day!'
'No; I had not seen him till after the death of my dear uncle, but I, somehow, often thought of and a little fretted about him. I was troubled that dear uncle had not made friends with his brother, and that he kept his nephew at arm's length. I pitied Mr. Philip before I knew him. I could not hear that he had done anything to deserve this neglect; and what little was told me about the cause of difference between uncle and his brother did not make me think that the estrangement ought to last and be extended to the next generation. In my stupid way I sometimes tried to bring uncle to another mind, and to think more kindly of them. I was so grieved to think that Mr. Philip should grow up in ignorance of the nobility and worth of his uncle's character. Do you know—Mr. Dale—one reason why I am glad that I am going to marry Philip is that I may have a real right to call Mr. Pennycomequick my uncle? Hitherto I called him so to himself, and mamma, and one or two others, but I knew that he was no relation.'
'How about the identification of Mr. Jeremiah's body?' asked the surgeon.