'
This was not an invitation with which I cared to comply. I thought I was
going to faint. I sat on the stairs and sipped a little water, and Quince
sprinkled a little in my face, and my strength returned.
Milly must have felt her father's danger more than I, for she was
affectionate, and loved him from habit and relation, although he was not
kind to her. But I was more nervous and more impetuous, and my feelings
both stimulated and overpowered me more easily. The moment I was able to
stand I said--thinking of nothing but the one idea--
'We must see him--_come_, Milly.'
I entered his sitting-room; a common 'dip' candle hanging like the tower
of Pisa all to one side, with a dim, long wick, in a greasy candlestick,
profaned the table of the fastidious invalid. The light was little better
than darkness, and I crossed the room swiftly, still transfixed by the one
idea of seeing my uncle.
His bed-room door beside the fireplace stood partly open, and I looked in.
Old Wyat, a white, high-cauled ghost, was pottering in her slippers in the
shadow at the far side of the bed. The doctor, a stout little bald man,
with a paunch and a big bunch of seals, stood with his back to the
fireplace, which corresponded with that in the next room, eyeing his
patient through the curtains of the bed with a listless sort of importance.
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