The
good doctor, sincerely reluctant to quit Thaddeus (whom he still knew
by no other name than Constantine), ordered the dispatch-chaise to
the hotel door. When it was announced, he shook hands with the now
lonely survivor of his departed friend in this stranger land,
requested that he might hear from him before he left that part of the
country for London again, and bidding him many cordial adieus,
continued to look out of the back window of the carriage, until the
faint light of the moon and the receding glimmer of the village
candles finally hid the little spot that yet contained this young and
sadly-stricken exile from his lingering eyes.
CHAPTER XLIII.
THE OLD VILLAGE HOTEL.
For the first time during many nights, Thaddeus slept soundly; but
his dreams were disturbed, and he awoke from them at an early hour,
unrefreshed and in much fever.
The simple breakfast which his attentive host and hostess set before
him was scarcely touched. Their nicely-dressed dinner met with the
same fate. He was ill, and possessed neither appetite nor spirits to
eat. The good people being too civil to intrude upon him, he sat
alone in his window from eight o'clock (at which hour he had arisen)
until the cawing of the rooks, as they returned to the Abbey-woods,
reminded him of the approach of evening. He was uneasy at the absence
of Somerset, not so much on his own account, as on that of Sir
Robert, whose increased danger might have occasioned this delay;
however, he hoped otherwise.
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