“Business at which he’d not have you or me disturb him,” I answered.
He assented, “Ay, no doubt! But would he keep me from my father’s death-bed?”—and knocked angrily upon the door.
Awhile Mr. Bradbury paid no heed; my uncle, knocking repeatedly and failing to obtain an answer, drew away from the door; and, mastering his choler, said quizzically to me, “Well for you, John, you’re telling yourself, no doubt, that Bradbury and his hinds found their way into this house to-night. You’re bidding fair to lose your guardian and protector—eh?”
“Well for me,” I answered, “as you know, sir.”
“And does Bradbury think to keep me shivering here?”—he was beginning, but ceased, as Mr. Bradbury unlocked the door.
“Your pardon, Charles,” said Mr. Bradbury, smoothly, “but my business with your father was private and particular. Pray step in! Your natural anxiety may be allayed. You’ll find Mr. Craike much easier in mind and body,”—smiling blandly, and ushering my uncle into the room. The thief-catchers coming out, he bade them await him. “Pray step in, Mr. John,” he said to me, laying his hand upon my arm, and leading me in at my uncle’s heels.
My grandfather lay in his chair; though he was ghastly of look, and his body was propped up with cushions, his sweating had ceased; his eyes, if dull, were sane and steady. My uncle, looking down on him, assured him, “I’m happy to see you better, sir! Shall I ring for Thrale? Were there a physician within miles—”
“No! When I need Thrale, I’ll ring,” the old man answered huskily. “But hark ’ee, Charles, hark ’ee”—seeming to labour with his speech, his hands shaking on the arms of his chair.
“Ay, that’s well! You thought me broken, Charles!”
“Oh, ay! We’re all liars, Charles! I promise there was a pretty to-do, when I was taken sick.”
“The natural alarm of your old servants.”
“I picture ’em,” he croaked, chuckling, “thinking me dying. Plotting mutiny, and robbing me of what I have; thinking to lay hands on what they’ve itched for all these years.”
“Sir, you agitate yourself unnecessarily,” Charles protested. “Let me ring for Thrale to help you to bed.”
“No. I’ll have the boy by me. Richard’s son. Hey, Bradbury, you’re going and will soon be back?”
“Immediately I have carried out your instructions, Mr. Craike,” said Mr. Bradbury.