Hubert Stone halted, both in steps and thought. There flashed into his mind, he knew not why, something he had read in an old French work, recently bought: for the young fellow was a good French scholar. It was a case analogous to Mr. Denison's--where a patient had been kept alive, in spite of nature--or almost in spite of it. The means tried then, which were minutely described, might answer now. Hubert's breath quickened as he thought of it. For two hours he slowly paced the sands, revolving this and that.
A strange look of mingled excitement and determination sat on his face when he got back to the Hall. Mrs. Stone lamented to him that the dinner was over, meaning their dinner, and was all cold now. Hubert answered that he did not want dinner; but he wanted to see the Squire if he were alone. Yes, he was alone; and he seemed pretty well now. And not a word was to be breathed to Miss Ella about his illness: these were the strict orders issued.
When Hubert went in he found the Squire seated in his easy-chair in front of the fire. He looked very worn and thin, but his eyes were as resolute and his lips as firmly set as they had ever been.
"After what my grandfather told me this morning I could not help coming to see you, sir," said Hubert. "This is very sad news; but I hope that it is much exaggerated."
"There's no exaggeration about it, boy. You see before you, I fear, a dying man. Come now!"
"I am very, very sorry to hear it."
"Ay--ay--good lad, good lad! Some of you will miss me a bit, eh?"
"We shall all miss you very much, Squire: we shall never have such a master again. Of course, sir, I know that your great wish all along has been to live till your seventieth birthday had come and gone. Surely you will live to see that wish fulfilled!"
"That's just what I shan't live to see, if Spreckley's right," answered the Squire, and his face darkened as he spoke. "For my life I care little; it has been like a flickering candle these few years past. It's the knowledge that the estate will go away, from my pretty birdie, to a man whom I have hated all my life, that tries me. It is like the taste of Dead Sea apples in my mouth."
Hubert drew his chair a little nearer--for he had been bidden to sit.