"I want to see him about again," said he.

"Sir Charles is not the man to lie in bed if he was really better.

As for the doctors, they flatter a fellow till the last moment.
Let me see him on his legs, and then I'll believe he is better." Strange to say, obliging Fate granted Richard Bassett this moderate request.

One frosty but sunny afternoon, as he was inspecting his coming domain from "The Heir's Tower," he saw the Hall door open, and a muffled figure come slowly down the steps between two women: It was Sir Charles, feeble but convalescent.

He crept about on the sunny gravel for about ten minutes, and then his nurses conveyed him tenderly in again.
This sight, which might have touched with pity a more generous nature, startled Richard Bassett, and then moved his bile.