"I declare I think it a very mad excursion, and the only thing certain to come of it will be a heavy cold or a fever."
"And we face the same risks every day for nothing. I'm sure wet weather never kept you from joining the hounds."
This home-thrust about the very point on which he was then smarting decided the matter, and he arose and left the room without a word.
"Yes," muttered he, as he mounted the stairs, "there it is! That's the reproach I can never make head against. The moment they say, 'You were out hunting,' I stand convicted at once."
There was little opportunity for talk as they breasted the beating rain on their way to Castello; great sheets of water came down with a sweeping wind, which at times compelled them to halt and seek shelter ere they could recover breath to go on.
"What a night," muttered be. "I don't think I was ever out in a worse."
"Is n't it rare fun, George?" said she, laughingly. "It's as good as swimming in a rough sea."
"And which I delighted in! Whatever taxes one's strength to its limits, and exacts all one's courage besides, is the most glorious of excitements. There's a splash; that was hail, George."
He muttered something that was lost in the noise of the storm; and though from time to time she tried to provoke him to speak, now by some lively taunt, now by some jesting remark on his sullen humor, he maintained his silence till he reached the terrace, when he said,--
"Here we are, and I declare, Julia, I 'd rather go back than go forward."
"You sha' n't have the choice," said she, laughing, as she rang the bell. "How is your master, William?" asked she, as the servant admitted them.
"No better, miss; the Dublin doctor's upstairs now in consultation, and I believe there's another to be sent for."
"Mind that you don't say I 'm here. I 'm going to Mrs. Eady's room to dry my cloak, and I don't wish the young ladies to be disturbed," said she, passing hastily on to the housekeeper's room, while L'Estrange made his way to the drawing-room. The only person here, however, was Mr. Harding, who, with his hands behind his back and his head bowed forward, was slowly pacing the room in melancholy fashion.
"Brain fever, sir," muttered he, in reply to the curate's inquiry. "Brain fever, and of a severe kind. Too much application to business--did not give up in time, they say."