"By Jove! it's a daring proposal!" said the marquis; and, which seemed strange to Malcolm, not a single thread of ridicule ran through the tone in which he made the remark.
The next day came, but brought neither strength of body nor of mind with it. Again his professional attendants besought him, and he heard them more quietly, but rejected their proposition as positively as before. In a day or two he ceased to oppose it, but would not hear of preparation. Hour glided into hour, and days had gathered to a week, when they assailed him with a solemn and last appeal.
"Nonsense!" answered the marquis. "My leg is getting better. I feel no pain—in fact, nothing but a little faintness. Your damned medicines, I haven't a doubt."
"You are in the greatest danger, my lord. It is all but too late even now."
"To-morrow, then, if it must be. To-day I could not endure to have my hair cut, positively; and as to having my leg off—pooh! the thing's preposterous."
He turned white and shuddered, for all the nonchalance of his speech.
When to-morrow came there was not a surgeon in the land who would have taken his leg off. He looked in their faces, and seemed for the first time convinced of the necessity of the measure.
"You may do as you please," he said: "I am ready."
"Not to-day, my lord," replied the doctor—"your lordship is not equal to it to-day."
"I understand," said the marquis, and paled frightfully and turned his head aside.