He then stopped suddenly short, shook himself, and
looked anxiously at the reflection of his flushed and varying
countenance in the magnificent chimney-glass.
'I do not look, I think--or, at least shall not, in a darkened
room--odder, more out of the way--that is, more agitated--than one
might, that one _must_ appear, after hearing of the dangerous illness
of--of--an aunt?'
'You look better, sir, than you did awhile since.'
'Yes, yes; much better, much better. I am glad to hear you say so.
That was my wife's bell. She is anxious, no doubt, to see me.'
He left the apartment; was gone perhaps ten minutes; and when he
returned, was a thought less nervous than before. I rose to go. 'Give
my respects,' he said, 'to the good rector; and as an especial
favour,' he added, with strong emphasis, 'let me ask of you not to
mention to a living soul that you saw me so unmanned as I was just
now; that I swallowed brandy. It would appear so strange, so weak, so
ridiculous.'
I promised not to do so, and almost immediately left the house, very
painfully affected. His son was, I concluded, either dead or dying,
and he was thus bewilderedly casting about for means of keeping the
terrible, perhaps fatal tidings from his wife. I afterwards heard that
he left Elm Park in a postchaise, about two hours after I came away,
unattended by a single servant!
He was gone three clear days only, at the end of which he returned
with Mrs Danby and--his son--in florid health, too, and one of the
finest babies of its age--about nine weeks only--I had ever seen.
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