An hour or two later, he glided into his lord's room, not without some secret trepidation, no trace of which appeared on his face.

He pulled a long histrionic countenance.

"My lord," said he, in soft, melancholy tones, "your lordship's melancholy state of health gives me great anxiety; and, with many apologies to your lordship, the doctor is sent for, my lord." "Why, Saunders, you are mad; there is nothing the matter with me." "I beg your lordship's pardon, your lordship is very ill, and Dr.
Aberford sent for." "You may go, Saunders." "Yes, my lord.

I couldn't help it; I've outstepped my duty, my lord, but I could not stand quiet and see your lordship dying by inches." Here Mr.
S.put a cambric handkerchief artistically to his eyes, and glided out, having disarmed censure.
Lord Ipsden fell into a reverie.
"Is my mind or my body disordered?
Dr.Aberford!--absurd!--Saunders is getting too pragmatical.

The doctor shall prescribe for him instead of me; by Jove, that would serve him right." And my lord faintly chuckled.
"No! this is what I am ill of"-- and he read the fatal note again.