King of the Castle. Fenn George Manville

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no danger this time, I hope?”

      “Not a bit. He’ll feel the shock for a few days. That’s all.”

      “And the other patient?”

      “Hah, yes; I’m just going over there.”

      “He is very bad, you say?”

      “Bad! I expect to find him gone.”

      The doctor nodded, and left the room.

      “Bah! how I do hate them,” said Glyddyr. “I’d have walked down with him, but I always feel as if I were smelling physic.”

      Glyddyr stood tapping the bottom of his watch, which he had just taken from his pocket, as he talked in a low tone, just as if he were conversing with the little round face before him.

      “How wild the old boy was – just after he had been talking to me as he had. Pshaw! I don’t mind. Rustic bit of courtship. Half-bumpkin sort of fellow, and poor as Job. Old man wouldn’t have him at any price. The gipsy! Been carrying on with him, then, eh? Well, it’s always the way with your smooth, drooping little violets. Regular flirtation. I don’t mind. I wouldn’t give a dump for a girl without a bit of spirit in her. It’s all right. Friends at court – a big friend at court. But no more fits for friends – at present, I hope. I’ll get him to come on a cruise, and bring her. Tell the old boy it will do him good. Get the doctor on my side, and make him prescribe a trip round the islands, with him to come as medical attendant. Nothing to do, and unlimited champagne. Real diplomacy. By Jupiter, Parry, you are a clever one, though you do get most awfully done on the turf!”

      “Yes,” he said, after another look at the watch, for the purpose now of seeing the time, “that’s the plan – a long sea trip round the islands, with sentiment, sighs and sunsets; and, as they said in the old melodramas, ‘Once aboard the lugger, she is mine.’ For, lugger read steam yacht, schooner-rigged Fair Star, of Cowes; Parry Glyddyr, owner.”

      He laughed in a low, self-satisfied way, and then moved toward the door.

      “Well, it’s of no use to wait here,” he said. “They will not show up again. I can call, though, as often as I like. Come again this evening, and see her then. She can’t refuse. I’ll go now and see how the salmon fisher is getting on.”

      Volume One – Chapter Six.

      In Charge

      “Mary, dear, don’t deceive me for the sake of trying to give me comfort,” said Claude, as she knelt in the study, beside the mattress upon which her father lay breathing stertorously.

      “Claude, darling, I tease you and say spiteful things sometimes, but you know you can trust me.”

      “Yes, yes, dear, I know; but you don’t answer me.”

      “I have told you again and again that your father is just like he was last time, and the best proof of there being no danger is Doctor Asher staying away so long.”

      “It’s that which worries me so. He promised to come back soon.”

      “Don’t be unreasonable, dear. You know he went to the quarry where that man is dangerously hurt.”

      “Yes. Poor Sarah! How she must suffer! It is very terrible. But look now, Mary – that dark mark beneath papa’s eyes.”

      “Yes, I can see it,” said Mary, rising quickly, and going to the table, where she changed the position of the lamp, with the result that the dark shadow lay now across the sleeper’s lips. “There, that is not a dangerous symptom, Claudie.”

      “Don’t laugh at me, Mary. You can’t think how I alarmed I am. These fits seem to come more frequently than they used. Ought not papa to have more advice?”

      “It would be of no use, dear. I could cure him.”

      “You?”

      “Yes; or he could cure himself.”

      “Mary!”

      “Yes,” said the little, keen-looking body, kneeling down by her cousin’s side; “uncle has only to leave off worrying about making more money and piling up riches that he will never enjoy, and he would soon be well again.”

      Claude sighed.

      “See what a life he leads, always in such a hurry that he cannot finish a meal properly; and as to taking a bit of pleasure in any form, he would think it wicked. I haven’t patience with him. Yes, I have, poor old fellow – plenty. He has been very good to miserable little me.”

      “Of course he has, dear,” said Claude, throwing her arms about her cousin’s neck and kissing her, with the result that the sharp-looking, self-contained little body uttered an hysterical cry, clung to her, and burst out sobbing wildly, as if all control was gone.

      “Mary, darling, don’t, pray don’t. You distress me. What is the matter?”

      “I’m miserable, wretched,” sobbed the poor girl, with her face hidden in her cousin’s breast. “I always seem to be doing something wrong. It’s just as if, when I tried to make people happy, I was a kind of imp of mischief, and caused trouble.”

      “No, no, no! What folly.”

      “It isn’t folly; it’s quite true. See what I did this morning.”

      Claude felt her cheeks begin to burn, and she tried to speak, but the words would not come.

      “I knew that Chris Lisle had gone up the east river fishing, and I was sure he longed to see you, and I was quite certain you wanted to see him.”

      “Mary, be silent,” cried Claude, in an excited whisper; “it is not true.”

      “Yes, it is, dear. You know it is, and I could see that he was miserable, and had been since you went on board Mr Glyddyr’s yacht, so I felt that it would be quite right to take you round there, so that you might meet and make it up. And see what mischief I seem to have made.”

      “Yes,” said Claude gravely, as she metaphorically put on her maiden mask of prudery; “and you know now that it was very, very thoughtless of you.”

      “Thoughtless!” said Mary, looking up with a quick look, half-troubled, half-amused; “didn’t I think too much?”

      “Don’t talk, Mary,” said Claude primly. “You may disturb poor papa. It was very wicked and meddlesome and weak, and you don’t know what harm you have done.”

      Mary Dillon’s face was flushed and tear-stained, and her eyes looked red and troubled; but she darted a glance at her cousin so full of mischievous drollery, that Claude’s colour deepened, and she turned away troubled, and totally unable to continue the strain of reproof.

      She was spared further trouble by a cough heard in the hall.

      “Wipe your eyes quickly, Mary,” she whispered; “here is Doctor Asher at last.”

      Mary jumped up, and stepped to the window, where she was half hidden by the curtains, as there was a gentle tap at the door, the handle was turned, and the doctor, looking darker and more stern than ever, entered the room.

      He

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