“I’m afraid,” he said. “Wine maddens me if I take too much of it. You have heard of men forgetting their sorrows in drink. I tried it yesterday; it set my brains on fire; I’m feeling that glass I took just now. No! I’m not faint. It eases my head when I rest like this. Shake hands, Randal; we have never had any unfriendly words; we mustn’t begin now. There’s something perverse about me. I didn’t know how fond I was of Sydney till I lost her; I didn’t know how fond I was of my wife till I left her.” He paused, and put his hand to his fevered head. Was his mind wandering into some other train of thought? He astonished his brother by a new entreaty--the last imaginable entreaty that Randal expected to hear. “Dear old fellow, I want you to do me a favor. Tell me where my wife is living now?”
“Surely,” Randal answered, “you know that she is no longer your wife?”
“Never mind that! I have something to say to her.”
“Can _you_ do it? Will you give her a message?”
Herbert lifted his head, and laid his hand earnestly on his brother’s arm. When he said his next words he was almost like his old self again.
“Say that I’m lonely, say that I’m dying for want of a little comfort--ask her to let me see Kitty.”
His tone touched Randal to the quick. “I feel for you, Herbert,” he said, warmly. “She shall have your message; all that I can do to persuade her shall be done.”
“And you won’t forget? No, no; of course you won’t forget.” He tried to rise, and fell back again into his chair. “Let me rest a little,” he pleaded, “if I’m not in the way. I’m not fit company for you, I know; I’ll go when you tell me.”
Randal refused to let him go at all. “You will stay here with me; and if I happen to be away, there will be somebody in the house, who is almost as fond of you as I am.” He mentioned the name of one of the old servants at Mount Morven, who had attached himself to Randal after the breakup of the family. “And now rest,” he said, “and let me put this cushion under your head.”
Herbert answered: “It’s like being at home again”--and composed himself to rest.
On the next day but one, Randal arranged his departure for Sydenham, so as to arrive at the hotel an hour before the time appointed for the dinner. His prospects of success, in pleading for a favorable reception of his brother’s message, were so uncertain that he refrained--in fear of raising hopes which he might not be able to justify--from taking Herbert into his confidence. No one knew on what errand he was bent, when he left the house. As he took his place in the carriage, the newspaper boy appeared at the window as usual. The new number of a popular weekly journal had that day been published. Randal bought it.