"There's no necessity," said the Squire, with spirit, as if he took the fiat in dudgeon and did not believe it. "No occasion for you to come at all to-day. I am better; much better. I should not have stayed in bed this morning, only you ordered me."
"Very well, Squire."
Mr. Denison lay back on his pillow and shut his eyes as the door closed on his friend and physician. Aaron Stone, coming into the room a little later, thought his master was asleep, and went out without disturbing him. An hour later Mr. Denison's bell rang loudly and peremptorily. The Squire was sitting up in bed when Aaron entered the room, and the old man marvelled to see him look so much better in so short a time. "An hour since he was like a man half dead, and now he looks as well as he did a year ago," muttered Aaron to himself. There was, indeed, a brightness in his eyes and a faint colour in his cheeks, such as had not been seen there for a long time; and his voice had something of its old sharp and peremptory tone.
"Aaron, what do you think Dr. Spreckley has been telling me this morning?" he suddenly asked.
"I'm a bad hand at guessing, Squire, as you ought to know by this time," was the somewhat ungracious answer.
"He tells me that I shall not live to see the twenty-fourth of next April."
Aaron's rugged face turned as white as it was possible for it to turn; a small tray that he had in his hands fell with a crash to the ground.
"Oh! master, don't say that--don't say that!" he groaned.
"But I must say it: and what's more, I feel it may be true," returned the Squire.
"I can't believe it; and I won't," stammered the old servant: who, whatever his faults of temper might have been, was passionately attached to his master. Aaron had never seriously thought the end was so near. The Squire had had these queer attacks, it was true: but did he not always rally from them and seem as well as ever? Why, look at him now!