Harry had returned to his room when the surgeon, Mr Curtis, arrived.
“Pulse is not as satisfactory as I should have wished,” he observed. “We must keep you quiet, Mr Harry, and I must request you to remain in your room till I see you again.”
“What!” exclaimed Harry. “I thought of taking a ride to-morrow. I am very anxious to go over to Downside.”
“Totally out of the question, Mr Harry. You would very likely bring on a fever, and I could not answer for the consequences.”
“Have you seen the Miss Pembertons lately?” asked Harry.
“Yes. Miss Jane, though she generally considers her skill superior to mine, sent for me to attend the young lady who lives with them, and I suspect, Mr Harry, that you had something to do with her illness, though I am happy to say there is nothing serious. She heard somewhat abruptly of your having been attacked by the robbers, and it was said that you had only just time to reach the hall and fall down in a dead faint. When I assured her that you were in no danger at all, and would soon recover if you followed my advice, she quickly got better, and I hope to find her quite well when I next call.”
“Though I may not ride, could I not drive there?” asked Harry. “I must see her, or she may still be fancying that I am worse than is the case.”
“Not with my leave, certainly,” said the doctor. “I will take care to let her know how you are getting on, and if, as I suspect, you are not indifferent to the young beauty, I shall be happy to bring you any message she may send you.”
“I will write to her,” exclaimed Harry. “I will not detain you long.”
“No, no, my friend, I am happy to convey any verbal message, but must decline being the carrier of written despatches. I might possibly hand them to the wrong persons, and instead of a prescription which I had intended to leave, some demure middle-aged maiden might find herself in possession of a love letter. I know well enough all you have to say, and trust me for making the young lady understand you.”