Shortly after seven o'clock, Mr. Tew, who was beginning to be a little muddled with the quantity of old port he had imbibed, bade Mrs. Budd an almost affectionate farewell (she was a widow, and, to his thinking, still a charming woman), climbed into his chaise, and was driven off on his return to Arkrigg.
Night settled down over the old house. In those remote country parts people kept early hours, and when the hall clock chimed the half-hour past ten the only light left burning in the Hall was the one in the sick man's room. Near it sat Nurse Dinkel busily knitting--for she could not bear her fingers to be idle--but watchful and alert, as she always was. The Squire did not like to be looked at as he lay there, and from where she sat she could not see him for the heavy curtains that shrouded the head of the bed, but the slightest movement of his fingers on the counterpane drew her to his side.
She was a woman of some education, and had a low and pleasant voice, and as Mr. Cortelyon's nights were often restless and wakeful, he had got into the way of occasionally asking her to read aloud to him. Her doing so took him for a time out of the dungeon of his own thoughts and sometimes brought in its train the sleep he longed for.
So to-night, after lying awake for some time, as motionless as if he were already dead, he said, "Nurse!"
"Yes, sir?"
"I want you to read to me." His voice was still very feeble, but stronger than it had been in the afternoon; such fluctuations were frequent with him.
"Yes, sir. What would you like? Shall I go on with Mr. Pope from where we left off the night before last?"
"Aye, you can't improve on him. Draw back this curtain that I may the better hear you."
When the curtain had been drawn back Nurse Dinkel did not return to her chair, but stood there, looking at her patient, nursing an elbow in either hand.
"Mr. Cortelyon, sir," she said after a brief pause, "I have something on my mind which I wish most particularly to say to you, if you will kindly give me leave to do so."