"What are you doing?" she cried. "Go back to bed."
As she faced him, he could see that her eyes were full of angry
tears. The sight checked him.
"It's--it's of no consequence," he stammered, "only I was going to
ask you to be my wife."
For answer she turned on her heel, and walked resolutely down the
steps.
Mr. Fogo stood and watched her until she disappeared, and then
crawled painfully back into the house.
"An' now, sir," said Caleb, as he led his master to bed, "warnin' et
es. This day month, I goes, unless--"
"Unless what, Caleb?"
"Well, sir, I reckons there be on'y wan way out o't, as the cat said
by the sausage-machine, an' that es--to marry Tamsin Dearlove."
"My dear Caleb," groaned Mr. Fogo, "I only wish I could! But I will
try again to-morrow."
CHAPTER XXIII.
HOW ONE LOVER TOOK LEAVE OF HIS WITS, AND TWO CAME TO THEIR SENSES.
But Mr. Fogo was not to try again on the morrow.
For Caleb, stealing up in the grey dawn to assure himself that his
master was comfortably asleep, found him tossing in a high fever, and
rowed down to Troy for dear life and the Doctor. Returning, he found
that the fever had become delirium. Mr. Fogo, indeed, was sitting up
in bed, and rattling off proposals of marriage at the rate of some
six a minute, without break or pause.
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