Matthew started in his chair, and his face wore an expression of great anxiety.
“Impossible!” he said almost angrily.
“I only quote Roderick's explicit statement. And I fancy for once in a way he wasn't lying.”
Then he saw his father white and aged, his kind lips quivering, his breath coming fast. In concern he rose, bent over him.
“Why, you 're ill—” he began.
But Matthew pushed him away gently.
“Nonsense, my boy. It's only one of those confounded pains about my heart. There, it's all gone now. Don't worry. It's this hot room. I think I'll go out for a stroll.”
“You had better lie down,” said the physician.
“Yes, and stick out my tongue and chew that thermometer of yours! No, thank you. There!” He rose to his feet, and held himself erect. “I'm as strong as a horse.”
“I don't like your going out,” said Sylvester.