The Major declared upon his honour, that if he could be of any use he would rush to Pen’s chambers. As it was, Morgan should go and see that everything was right. The Doctor must write to him by every post to Stillbrook: it was but forty miles distant from London, and if anything happened he would come up at any sacrifice.
Major Pendennis transacted his benevolence by deputy and by post. “What else could he do,” as he said? “Gad, you know, in these cases, it’s best not disturbing a fellow. If a poor fellow goes to the bad, why, Gad, you know he’s disposed of. But in order to get well (and in this, my dear Doctor, I’m sure that you will agree with me), the best way is to keep him quiet—perfectly quiet.”
Thus it was the old gentleman tried to satisfy his conscience and he went his way that day to Stillbrook by railway (for railways have sprung up in the course of this narrative, though they have not quite penetrated into Pen’s country yet), and made his appearance in his usual trim order and curly wig, at the dinner-table of the Marquis of Steyne. But we must do the Major the justice to say, that he was very unhappy and gloomy in demeanour. Wagg and Wenham rallied him about his low spirits; asked whether he was crossed in love? and otherwise diverted themselves at his expense. He lost his money at whist after dinner, and actually trumped his partner’s highest spade. And the thoughts of the suffering boy, of whom he was proud, and whom he loved after his manner, kept the old fellow awake half through the night, and made him feverish and uneasy.
On the morrow he received a note in a handwriting which he did not know: it was that of Mr. Bows, indeed, saying that Mr. Arthur Pendennis had had a tolerable night; and that as Dr. Goodenough had stated that the Major desired to be informed of his nephew’s health, he, R. B., had sent him the news per rail.
The next day he was going out shooting, about noon, with some of the gentlemen staying at Lord Steyne’s house; and the company, waiting for the carriages, were assembled on the terrace in front of the house, when a fly drove up from the neighbouring station, and a grey-headed, rather shabby old gentleman jumped out, and asked for Major Pendennis. It was Mr. Bows. He took the Major aside and spoke to him; most of the gentlemen round about saw that something serious had happened, from the alarmed look of the Major’s face.
Wagg said, “It’s a bailiff come down to nab the Major,” but nobody laughed at the pleasantry.
“Hullo! What’s the matter, Pendennis?” cried Lord Steyne, with his strident voice;—“anything wrong?”
“It’s—it’s—my boy that’s dead,” said the Major, and burst into a sob—the old man was quite overcome.
“Not dead, my Lord; but very ill when I left London,” Mr. Bows said, in a low voice.
A britzka came up at this moment as the three men were speaking. The Peer looked at his watch. “You’ve twenty minutes to catch the mail-train. Jump in, Pendennis; and drive like h——, sir, do you hear?”