A groom
had been despatched to a large town, twenty miles distant, to summon a
medical man of some distinction. There were few railroads in those
days; no electric telegraph to summon a man from one end of the country
to another. But all the most distinguished doctors who ever lived could
not have restored Sir Oswald Eversleigh to an hour's life. All that
medical science could do now, was to discover the mode of the baronet's
death.
The crowd left the hall by and by, and the interior of the castle grew
more tranquil. All the remaining guests, with the exception of General
Desmond, made immediate arrangements for leaving the house of death.
General Desmond declared his intention of remaining until after the
funeral.
"I may be of some use in watching the interests of my dear friend," he
said to Reginald Eversleigh. "There is only one person who will feel
your uncle's death more deeply than I shall, and that is poor old
Copplestone. He is still in the castle, I suppose?"
"Yes, he is confined to his rooms still by the gout."
Reginald Eversleigh was by no means pleased by the general's decision.
He would rather have been alone in the castle. It seemed as if his
uncle's old friend was inclined to take the place of master in the
household. The young man's pride revolted against the general's love of
dictation; and his fears--strange and terrible fears--made the presence
of the general very painful to him.
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