A porter opened the door.
“My father, Mr Cruden, is here; how is he?”
“Is it the gentleman that was brought in in a fit?”
“Yes, in his carriage—is he better?”
“Will you step in and see the doctor?”
The doctor was not in his room when the boy was ushered in, and it seemed an age before he entered.
“You are Mr Cruden’s son?” said he gravely.
“Yes—is he better?”
“He was brought here about half-past three, insensible, with apoplexy.”
“Is he better now?” asked Horace again, knowing perfectly well what the dreaded answer would be.