“There’s cold beef, sir, and there’s———”
“That will do,” interrupted Mr. Carlton; “the cold beef. Send Ben here.”
Ben made his appearance: the same young gentleman who had been insolent to Judith Ford on the Friday evening. He stood before his master the very picture of humility.
“Any messages or letters for me, Ben?”
“There haven’t been any letters, sir,” was Ben’s answer. “Two or three folks have been in to see you, but they went away again when they found you were out. And there came a message yesterday from Captain Chesney, sir, and another from him this morning. He was worser, the black man said, and in a dreadful way at your being away; and he telled the man to say, that if you weren’t with him to day, he should call in Mr. Grey.”
“He may call in the deuce if he likes,” was Mr. Carlton’s answer, spoken in momentary irritation. “Is that all, Ben?”
“It’s all, sir.”
Ben might have said with more correctness all that he remembered. He withdrew, and Mr. Carlton stood a moment in thought. Then he went to the hall and caught up his hat, just as Hannah was coming from the kitchen at the back with a tray in her hand. She looked surprised to see her master going out, thinking he was waiting to take the refreshment.
“When I come back,” he said to her. “You can put it ready.”
He took his way to the Rise, intending to pay a visit to the gentleman who had sent the irritable messages, Captain Chesney. Some doctors might not have been so ready to go off at an inconvenience to a patient, whom they know perfectly well to be in no sort of danger: Mr. Carlton himself would certainly not, for his disposition was more of a haughty than a complaisant one; but he was swayed by a different motive from any connected with his profession.
About three months previously, Captain Chesney, a post-captain on half-pay, had settled at South Wennock, removing to it from the neighbourhood of Plymouth. The house he took was called Cedar Lodge, a small white villa, standing back from the high road amidst a wilderness of a garden. Not that it deserved the name, “wilderness,” from being badly kept, but on account of the thick shrubs and trees that crowded it. It was excellently kept; for the old naval captain was a precise man, and would insist on things being neat and nice about him, however short the money might run that kept them so. Like many another captain in our navy, his means were at all times lamentably low.
The captain had three daughters, Jane, Laura, and Lucy. There was a wide difference in their ages: as is frequently the case when the father of a family serves his country, whether by sea or by land, and his absences from home are of long duration: but there’s no time to notice these young ladies yet, and their turn will come.
Labouring under frequent attacks of gout, Captain Chesney'e naturally hot temper had grown irritable and more irritable. The gout perhaps was the chief cause: certainly the irritability was much more marked when the gout was upon him. Accident had led to his calling in Mr. Carlton. When the captain first arrived at South Wennock, he was suffering, and he sent out his black servant, Pompey, an attached man who had been with him for years, to “bring back a doctor.” Pompey, a stranger to the place, made his inquiries and arrived at the house of Mr. Grey. Mr. Grey and Mr. Stephen were both out; but their assistant promised Pompey that one of them should attend before the day closed; and it was then late in the afternoon. Pompey went back with the message, and it put the captain into one of his fits of irritation. A doctor he wanted at once, and a doctor he’d have: and Pompey was ordered out again to find another. He went direct to Mr. Carlton’s, having noted the plate upon the door in returning from Mr. Grey’s: “Mr. Lewis Carlton, Consulting Surgeon.” Mr. Carlton was at home, and from that hour to this had attended Captain Chesney. The captain during the winter had had attack upon attack, and Mr. Carlton had been in the house most days; had become, so to say, intimate with the family.
Mr. Carlton proceeded up the Rise. Captain Chesney’s house was on the right, about half-way up the hill. Opening the gate, a winding path between the thick trees took him to the house door; and it was only through that path that a glimpse of the road could be caught from the lower windows. Before those windows was a sloping green lawn, to which they opened; and a flower garden lay on the side of the house. It was a pretty place, though small; in every way, save for its size, fitted for the abode of a gentleman.
Mr. Carlton glanced at the sitting-room windows, and saw a faint glimmer of fire. But a bright light burnt in the room above, the chamber of Captain Chesney.
“Not home from church yet,” murmured Mr. Carlton to himself, as he rang the bell. “Miss Chesney generally goes to that late one at the other and of the town. I wonder if—all—are gone?”
The honest black face of Pompey shone with