“At once,” Audley answered, and he went off in the direction of the Great House.
“I’ve seen him as bad before, Miss,” Toft said. “I found that he had gone out without his hat and I followed him, but I could not trace him at once. I don’t think you need feel alarmed.”
Certainly the face had lost its mottled look, the eyes were now shut, the limbs lay more naturally. “If he were only at home!” Mary answered. “But every moment he is exposed to the cold is against him. He must be wet through.”
She induced the patient to swallow another mouthful of brandy, and with their eyes on his face the two watched for the first gleam of consciousness. It came suddenly. John Audley’s eyes opened. He stared at them.
His mind, however, still wandered. “I knew it!” he muttered. “They could not be there and I not know it! But the wall! The wall is thick—thick and——” He was silent again.
The rambling mind is to those who are not wont to deal with it a most uncanny thing, and Mary looked at Toft to see what he made of it. But the servant had eyes only for his master. He was gazing at him with an absorbed face.
“Ay, a thick wall!” the sick man murmured. “They may look and look, they’ll not see through it.” He was silent a moment, then, “All bare!” he murmured. “All bare!” He chuckled faintly, and tried to raise himself, but sank back. “Fools!” he whispered, “fools, when in ten minutes if they took out a brick——”
The servant cut him short. “Here’s his lordship!” he cried. He spoke so sharply that Mary looked up in surprise, wondering what was amiss. Lord Audley was within three or four paces of them—the carpet of yew leaves had deadened his footsteps. “Here’s his lordship, sir!” Toft repeated in the same tone, his mouth close to John Audley’s ear.
The servant’s manner shocked Mary. “Hush, Toft!” she said. “Do you want to startle him?”
“His lordship will startle him,” Toft retorted. He looked over his shoulder, and without ceremony he signed to Lord Audley to stand back.