"No,--you!--everybody!" shrieked the old man. "If you go out of
that door, I will throw myself out of this window."
The laird turned at once, and in silence waited on him like a
servant. "He must be in a fit of delirium tremens!" he said to
himself. He poured him out some cold water, but he would not use
it. He would neither eat nor drink nor wash till he was out of the
horrible dungeon, he said. The next moment he cried for water,
drank three mouthfuls eagerly, threw the tumbler from him, and
broke it on the hearth.
The instant he was dressed, he dropped into the great chair and
closed his eyes.
"Your lordship must allow me to fetch some fuel," said the laird;
"the room is growing cold."
"No, I tell you!" cried Lord Mergwain, opening his eyes and sitting
up. "When I'm cold I'll go to If you attempt to leave the room,
I'll send a bullet after you.--God have mercy! what's that at my
feet?"
"It is only my son," replied the laird gently. "We have been with
you all night--since you were taken ill, that is."
"When was that? What do you mean by that?" he said, looking up
sharply, with a face of more intelligence than he had yet shown.
"Your lordship had some sort of fit in the night, and if you do not
compose yourself, I dread a return of it."
"You well may, if I stop here," he returned--then, after a pause,
"Did I talk?" he asked.
"Yes, my lord--a good deal."
"What did I say?"
"Nothing I could understand, my lord.
Pages:
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179