"Good God! this is just what might have been expected," was his
immediate thought. If his prophetic soul had been urged to
particularize, it seemed to him that "fits" would have been the
definite expression alighted upon. He asked his informant, the butler,
whether the doctor had been sent for. The butler never knew his master
to want the doctor before; but would it not be right to send for a
physician?
When Sir James entered the library, however, Mr. Casaubon could make
some signs of his usual politeness, and Dorothea, who in the reaction
from her first terror had been kneeling and sobbing by his side now
rose and herself proposed that some one should ride off for a medical
man.
"I recommend you to send for Lydgate," said Sir James. "My mother has
called him in, and she has found him uncommonly clever. She has had a
poor opinion of the physicians since my father's death."
Dorothea appealed to her husband, and he made a silent sign of
approval. So Mr. Lydgate was sent for and he came wonderfully soon,
for the messenger, who was Sir James Chettam's man and knew Mr.
Lydgate, met him leading his horse along the Lowick road and giving his
arm to Miss Vincy.
Celia, in the drawing-room, had known nothing of the trouble till Sir
James told her of it. After Dorothea's account, he no longer
considered the illness a fit, but still something "of that nature."
"Poor dear Dodo--how dreadful!" said Celia, feeling as much grieved as
her own perfect happiness would allow. Her little hands were clasped,
and enclosed by Sir James's as a bud is enfolded by a liberal calyx.
"It is very shocking that Mr. Casaubon should be ill; but I never did
like him. And I think he is not half fond enough of Dorothea; and he
ought to be, for I am sure no one else would have had him--do you
think they would?"
"I always thought it a horrible sacrifice of your sister," said Sir
James.
"Yes. But poor Dodo never did do what other people do, and I think she
never will."
"She is a noble creature," said the loyal-hearted Sir James. He had
just had a fresh impression of this kind, as he had seen Dorothea
stretching her tender arm under her husband's neck and looking at him
with unspeakable sorrow. He did not know how much penitence there was
in the sorrow.
"Yes," said Celia, thinking it was very well for Sir James to say so,
but _he_ would not have been comfortable with Dodo. "Shall I go to
her? Could I help her, do you think?"