Tony muttered some not very connected excuses, while his eyes turned to Dolly, who, still pale and sickly-looking, gave him one little brief nod, as though to say it were better he should go; and the old minister himself stood erect in the middle of the floor, calmly and almost coldly waiting the words “Good-bye.” “Am I to tell mother you 'll come to us to-morrow, doctor,--you and Dolly?” asked Tony, with his band on the door. “It's no on the Sabbath evening we should turn our thoughts to feastin', Master Tony; and none know that better than your worthy mother. I wish you a good-evening and a pleasant walk.” “Good-night,” said Tony, shutting the door sharply; “and,” muttered he to himself, “if you catch _me_ crossing your threshold again, Sabbath or week-day--” He stopped, heaved a deep sigh, and, drawing his hand across his eyes, said, “My poor dear Dolly, hasn't my precious temper done you mischief enough already, that I must let it follow you to your own quiet fireside?” And he went his way, with many a vow of self-amendment, and many a kind wish, that was almost a prayer, for the minister and his daughter. CHAPTER XXIX. DEPARTURES All was confusion and dismay at Tilney. Bella Lyle's cold turned out to be scarlatina, and Mark and Alice brought back tidings that old Commodore Graham had been seized with a fit, and was seriously, if not dangerously, ill. Of course, the company scattered like an exploded shell. The Graham girls hastened back to their father, while the other guests sought safety in flight, the great struggle now being who should soonest secure post-horses to get away. Like many old people rich in this world's comforts, Mrs. Maxwell had an especial aversion to illness in any shape. It was a topic she never spoke on; and, if she could, would never have mentioned before her. Her intimates understood this thoroughly, and many were the expressions employed to imply that Mr. Such-a-one had a fever, or Mrs. So-and-so was given over by her doctors. As to the fatal result itself, it was always veiled in a sort of decent mystery, as though it would not be perfectly polite to inquire whither the missing friend had retired to. “Dr. Reede says it is a very mild case of the malady, and that Bella will be up in a day or two, aunt,” said Alice. “Of course she will,” replied the old lady, pettishly. “It 's just a cold and sore throat,--they had n't that fine name for it long ago, and people got well all the sooner. Is he gone?” “No; he's talking with Mark in the library; he'll be telling him, I think, about the Commodore.” “Well, don't ask him to stop to dinner; we have sorrow enough without seeing a doctor.” “Oh, here comes Mark! Where is Dr. Reede?” “He's gone over to see Maitland. Fenton came to say that he wished to see him.” “Surely he's not ill,” said Alice. “Oh, dear! what a misfortune that would be!” cried the old lady, with real affliction in her tone; “to think of Mr. Norman Maitland taking ill in one's house.”