walked quickly to the library, rather astonished to hear that his father was indisposed, for the bishop had never had a day’s illness in his life. He saw by the demeanour of the guests that the indisposition of their host was known, for already an uneasy feeling prevailed, and several people were departing. The door of the library was closed and locked. Cargrim was standing sentinel beside it, evidently irate at being excluded.
‘You can’t go in, Pendle,’ said the chaplain, quickly. ‘Dr Graham is with his lordship.’
‘Is this sudden illness serious?’
‘I don’t know. His lordship refuses to see anyone but the doctor. He won’t even admit me,’ said Cargrim, in an injured tone.
‘What has caused it?’ asked Gabriel, in dismay.
‘I don’t know!’ replied Cargrim, a second time. ‘His lordship saw some stranger who departed ten minutes ago. Then he sent for Dr Graham! I presume this stranger is responsible for the bishop’s illness.’
Chapter IV.
The Curiosity of Mr Cargrim
Like that famous banquet, when Macbeth entertained unawares the ghost of gracious Duncan, the bishop’s reception broke up in the most admired disorder. It was not Dr Pendle’s wish that the entertainment should be cut short on his account, but the rumour—magnified greatly—of his sudden illness so dispirited his guests that they made haste to depart; and within an hour the palace was emptied of all save its usual inhabitants. Dr Graham in attendance on the bishop was the only stranger who remained, for Lucy sent away even Sir Harry, although he begged hard to stay in the hope of making himself useful. And the most unpleasant part of the whole incident was, that no one seemed to know the reason of Bishop Pendle’s unexpected indisposition.
‘He was quite well when I saw him last,’ repeated poor Mrs Pendle over and over again. ‘And I never knew him to be ill before. What does it all mean?’
‘Perhaps papa’s visitor brought him bad news,’ suggested Lucy, who was hovering round her mother with smelling-salts and a fan.
Mrs Pendle shook her head in much distress. ‘Your father has no secrets from me,’ she said decisively, ‘and, from all I know, it is impossible that any news can have upset him so much.’
‘Dr Graham may be able to explain,’ said Gabriel.
‘I don’t want Dr Graham’s explanation,’ whimpered Mrs Pendle, tearfully. ‘I dislike of all things to hear from a stranger what should be told to myself. As your father’s wife, he has no right to shut me out of his confidence—and the library,’ finished Mrs Pendle, with an aggrieved afterthought.
Certainly the bishop’s conduct was very strange, and would have upset even a less nervous woman than Mrs Pendle. Neither of her children could comfort her in any way, for, ignorant themselves of what had occurred, they could make no suggestions. Fortunately, at this moment, Dr Graham, with a reassuring smile on his face, made his appearance, and proceeded to set their minds at ease.
‘Tut! tut! my dear lady!’ he said briskly, advancing on Mrs Pendle, ‘what is all this?’
‘The bishop—’
‘The bishop is suffering from a slight indisposition brought on by too much exertion in entertaining. He will be all right to-morrow.’
‘This visitor has had nothing to do with papa’s illness, then?’
‘No, Miss Lucy. The visitor was only a decayed clergyman in search of help.’
‘Cannot I see my husband?’ was the anxious question of the bishop’s wife.
Graham shrugged his shoulders, and looked doubtfully at the poor lady. ‘Better not, Mrs Pendle,’ he said judiciously. ‘I have given him a soothing draught, and now he is about to lie down. There is no occasion for you to worry in the least. To-morrow morning you will be laughing over this needless alarm. I suggest that you should go to bed and take a stiff dose of valerian to sooth those shaky nerves of yours. Miss Lucy will see to that.’
‘I should like to see the bishop,’ persisted Mrs Pendle, whose instinct told her that the doctor was deceiving her.
‘Well! well!’ said he, good-humouredly, ‘a wilful woman will have her own way. I know you won’t sleep a wink unless your mind is set at rest, so you shall see the bishop. Take my arm, please.’
‘I can walk by myself, thank you!’ replied Mrs Pendle, testily; and nerved to unusual exertion by anxiety, she walked towards the library, followed by the bishop’s family and his chaplain, which latter watched this scene with close attention.
‘She’ll collapse after this,’ said Dr Graham, in an undertone to Lucy; ‘you’ll have a wakeful night, I fear.’
‘I don’t mind that, doctor, so long as there is no real cause for alarm.’
‘I give you my word of honour, Miss Lucy, that this is a case of much ado about nothing.’
‘Let us hope that such is the case,’ said Cargrim, the Jesuit, in his softest tones, whereupon Graham looked at him with a pronounced expression of dislike.
‘As a man, I don’t tell lies; as a doctor, I never make false reports,’ said he, coldly; ‘there is no need for your pious hopes, Mr Cargrim.’
The bishop was seated at his desk scribbling idly on his blotting-pad, and rose to his feet with a look of alarm when his wife and family entered. His usually ruddy colour had disappeared, and he was white-faced and haggard in appearance; looking like a man who had received a severe shock, and who had not yet recovered from it. On seeing his wife, he smiled reassuringly, but with an obvious effort, and hastened to conduct her to the chair he had vacated.
‘Now, my dear,’ he said, when she was seated, ‘this will never do.’
‘I am so anxious, George!’
‘There is no need to be anxious,’ retorted the bishop, in reproving tones. ‘I have been doing too much work of late, and unexpectedly I was seized with a faintness. Graham’s medicine and a night’s rest will restore me to my usual strength.’
‘It’s not your heart, I trust, George?’
‘His heart!’ jested the doctor. ‘His lordship’s heart is as sound as his digestion.’
‘We thought you might have been upset by bad news, papa.’
‘I have had no bad news, Lucy. I am only a trifle overcome by late hours and fatigue. Take your mother to bed; and you, my dear,’ added the bishop, kissing his wife, ‘don’t worry yourself unnecessarily. Good-night, and good sleep.’
‘Some valerian for your nerves, bishop—’
‘I have taken something for my nerves, Amy. Rest is all I need just now.’
Thus reassured,
