He turned white and shuddered, for all the non-chalance of his speech.
When to-morrow came, there was not a surgeon in the land who would have taken his leg off. He looked in their faces, and seemed for the first time convinced of the necessity of the measure.
“You may do as you please,” he said. “I am ready.”
“Not to-day, my lord,” replied the doctor. “Your lordship is not equal to it to-day.”
“I understand,” said the marquis, paled frightfully, and turned his head aside.
When Mrs Courthope suggested that Lady Florimel should be sent for, he flew into a frightful rage, and spoke as it is to be hoped he had never spoken to a woman before. She took it with perfect gentleness, but could not repress a tear. The marquis saw it, and his heart was touched.
“You mustn’t mind a dying man’s temper,” he said.
“It’s not for myself, my lord,” she answered.
“I know: you think I’m not fit to die; and, damn it! you are right. Never one was less fit for heaven, or less willing to go to hell.”
“Wouldn’t you like to see a clergyman, my lord?” she suggested, sobbing.