Sir Timothy desired me to join you.

He feared this double blow might prove too much for your strength." "I am quite strong," said Lady Mary.
"He wished me to deliver a message," said the doctor.
"Yes." "On reflection, Sir Timothy believes that he may be partly influenced by a selfish desire for the consolation of your presence in wishing you to remain with him to-morrow.

He was struck, I believe, with something Mr.Crewys said--on this point." "God bless you, John!" said Lady Mary.
"Hush!" said John, shaking his head.
Dr.Blundell's voice sounded, John thought, as though he were putting force upon himself to speak calmly and steadily.

His eyes were bent on the floor, and he never once looked at Lady Mary.
"Sir Timothy desires, consequently," he said, "that you will consider yourself free to follow your own wishes in the matter; being guided, as far as possible, by the advice of Mr.Crewys.He is afraid of further agitation, and therefore asks you to convey to him, as quickly as possible, your final decision.

As his physician, may I beg you not to keep him waiting ?" He left them, and returned to the study.
Though it was only a short silence that followed his departure, John had time to learn by heart the aspect of the half-lighted, shadowy hall.
There are some pauses which are illustrated to the day of a man's death, by a vivid impression on his memory of the surroundings.
The heavy, painted beams crossing and re-crossing the lofty roof; the black staircase lighted with wax candles, that made a brilliancy which threw into deeper relief the darkness of every recess and corner; the full-length, Early Victorian portraits of men and women of his own race--inartistic daubs, that were yet horribly lifelike in the semi-illumination; the uncurtained mullioned windows,--all formed a background for the central figure in his thoughts; the slender womanly form in the armchair; the little brown head supported on the white hand; the delicate face, robbed of its youthful freshness, and yet so lovely still.
"John," said Lady Mary, in a voice from which all passion and strength had died away, "tell me what I ought to do." "Remain with your husband." "And let my boy go ?" said Lady Mary, weeping.