WYLDER'S HAJVD.
239
maybe, or delirium — some awful change, probably — for
Buddle did not return.
Old Major Jackson heard of it, in his early walk, at
Buddle's door. He had begun to grow more hopeful.
But hearing this he walked home, and replaced the dress-
coat and silk stockings he had ventured to remove, prompt-
ly in his valise, which he buckled down and locked —
swallowed with agitated voracity some fragments of break-
fast — got on his easy boots and gaiters — brushed his
best hat, and locked it into its leather case — placed his
rug, great-coat, and umbrella, and a rough walking-stick
for service, and a gold-tipped, exquisite cane, for duty on
promenades of fashion, neatly on top of his valise, and
with his old white hat and shooting-coat on, looking and
whistling as much as possible as usual, he popped care-
lessly into John Hobbs's stable, where he was glad to see
three horses standing, and he mentally chose the black cob
for his flight to Dollington.
"A bloodthirsty rascal that Bracton," muttered the
Major. The expenses were likely to be awful, and some
allowance was to be made for his state of mind.
'He was under Doctor Buddle's porch, and made a flimsy
rattle with his thin brass knocker. "Maybe he has return-
ed?" He did not believe it, though.
The door was opened. The Doctor peeped out of his
parlor.
"Well?" enquired the Major, confoundedly frighten-
ed.
"Pretty well, thank ye, but awfully fagged — up all
night, and no use."
"But how Is he?" asked the Major, with a dreadful
qualm of dismay.
"Same as yesterday — no change — only a little bleed-
ing- last night — not arterial; venous, you know — only
venous."