Who in Hilton House had any interest in his death, except that one
person who was above the possibility of suspicion?
He sat by his solitary breakfast-table on the morning after his
interview with the physician, and watched Jarvis as he moved to and
fro, waiting on his master with what seemed affectionate attention.
Douglas ate little. A failing appetite had been one of the symptoms
that accompanied the low fever from which he had lately suffered.
This morning, depression of spirits rendered him still less inclined to
eat.
He was thinking of Jarvis and of the past--those careless, happy,
childish days, in which this man had been second only to his own
kindred in his boyish affection.
While he meditated gravely upon this most painful subject, deliberating
as to the manner in which he should commence a conversation that was
likely to be a very serious one, he happened to look up, and perceived
that he was watched by the man he had been lately watching. His eyes
met the gaze of his old servant, and he beheld a strange earnestness in
that gaze.
The old man did not flinch on meeting his master's glance.
"I beg your pardon for looking at you so hard, Mr. Douglas," he said;
"but I was thinking about you very serious, sir, when you looked up."
"Indeed, Jarvis, and why?"
"Why you see, sir, it was about your appetite as I was thinking.
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