Chailey, writing out lists, and every now and then
he went upstairs and put something quietly on the table outside Rachel's
door. That night Dr. Lesage seemed to be less sulky than usual. He
stayed voluntarily for a few moments, and, addressing St. John and
Terence equally, as if he did not remember which of them was engaged to
the young lady, said, "I consider that her condition to-night is very
grave."
Neither of them went to bed or suggested that the other should go to
bed. They sat in the drawing-room playing picquet with the door open.
St. John made up a bed upon the sofa, and when it was ready insisted
that Terence should lie upon it. They began to quarrel as to who should
lie on the sofa and who should lie upon a couple of chairs covered with
rugs. St. John forced Terence at last to lie down upon the sofa.
"Don't be a fool, Terence," he said. "You'll only get ill if you don't
sleep."
"Old fellow," he began, as Terence still refused, and stopped abruptly,
fearing sentimentality; he found that he was on the verge of tears.
He began to say what he had long been wanting to say, that he was sorry
for Terence, that he cared for him, that he cared for Rachel. Did she
know how much he cared for her--had she said anything, asked perhaps? He
was very anxious to say this, but he refrained, thinking that it was a
selfish question after all, and what was the use of bothering Terence to
talk about such things? He was already half asleep.
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