What I have to say will keep till to-morrow.'
Lord Hartfield and his wife followed Mrs. Steadman downstairs to the low
dark hall, where an old eight-day clock ticked with hoarse and solemn
heat, and a fine stag's head over each doorway gave evidence of some
former Haselden's sporting tastes. The door of a small panelled parlour
stood half-way open; and within the room Lord Hartfield saw James
Steadman asleep in an arm-chair by the fire, which burned as brightly as
if it had been Christmas time.
'He was so chilly and shivery this afternoon that I was obliged to light
a fire,' said Mrs. Steadman.
'He seems to be sleeping heavily,' said Hartfield. 'Don't awaken him.
I'll see him to-morrow morning before I go to London.'
'He sleeps half the day just as heavy as that, my lord,' said the wife,
with a troubled air. 'I don't think it can be right.'
'I don't think so either,' answered Lord Hartfield. 'You had better call
in the doctor.'
'I will, my lord, to-morrow morning. James will be angry with me, I
daresay; but I must take upon myself to do it without his leave.
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