He understood, and was somewhat uneasy, but made no resistance. Mr. Byass presented himself. He had a very long face, and obviously brought news of grave import. Joseph shook hands with him.
“You don’t know my wife, I think. Mr. Byass, Clem. Nothing wrong, I hope?”
Samuel, having made his best City bow, swung back from his toes to his heels, and stood looking down into his hat. “I’m sorry to say,” he began, with extreme gravity, “that Mr. Snowdon is rather ill—in fact, very ill. Miss Jane asked me to come as sharp as I could.”
“Ill? In what way?”
“I’m afraid it’s a stroke, or something in that line. He fell down without a word of warning, just before ten o’clock. He’s lying insensible.”
“I’ll come at once,” said Joseph. “They’ve got a doctor, I hope?”
“Yes; the doctor had been summoned instantly.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Clem, in a tone of decision.
“No, no; what’s the good? You’ll only be in the way.”
