He received his patients in the consulting-room, visited Leroux, and went on his morning rounds. On his return, he perceived Ella at the gates of Woodlands. He raised his hat and was proceeding to turn into his own little carriage drive, when she made a gesture of arrest. He pulled up, descended from the trap, and went to meet her.
“How is poor Mr. Leroux? we have all been so anxious. Of course the nurse has reported, but we wanted to know from you.”
“I am afraid it's a serious matter,” said Sylvester.
“Do you mean that he may die?”
“Possibly.”
“I am so sorry,” she said, laying a sympathetic touch on his arm. “I know what a dear friend he was.”
“A dear friend,” he assented grimly.
“You are looking so fagged. You have been sitting up all night, I hear. Two nights.” He confessed his vigils, explained Leroux's symptoms, and gave her an authoritative report for his father. If he found any material change since the morning, he would send a message across. The topic exhausted, there was a short silence. She tried to speak, after an embarrassed glance, but his sombreness daunted her. He was taking this danger of his friend greatly to heart.
“You are coming in to see Uncle Matthew some time to-day?” she asked.
“It depends upon my work,” he said. “I have a great deal to occupy me.”