“And his friend next to him, in Number Three?” said the doctor. “Well! well! well! perhaps they are the most comfortable rooms. I’ll give my orders immediately. Don’t hurry away, Mr. Bashwood,” he called out, cheerfully, as he reached the top of the staircase. “I have left the assistant physician’s key on the window-sill yonder, and Mrs. Armadale can let you out at the staircase door whenever she pleases. Don’t sit up late, Mrs. Armadale! Yours is a nervous system that requires plenty of sleep. ‘Tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep.’ Grand line! God bless you—good-night!”
Mr. Bashwood came back from the far end of the corridor—still pondering, in unutterable expectation, on what was to come with the night.
“Am I to go now?” he asked.
“No. You are to stay. I said you should know all if you waited till the morning. Wait here.”
He hesitated, and looked about him. “The doctor,” he faltered. “I thought the doctor said—”
“The doctor will interfere with nothing that I do in this house to-night. I tell you to stay. There are empty rooms on the floor above this. Take one of them.”
Mr. Bashwood felt the trembling fit coming on him again as he looked at her. “May I ask—?” he began.
“Ask nothing. I want you.”
“Will you please to tell me—?”
“I will tell you nothing till the night is over and the morning has come.”