een took bad. There
was a message up a couple of hours ago to know when you was expected
home. He's had a stroke, and they don't think as he'll get over
it--being a man of a full 'abit of body," said Mr Elsworthy in haste,
lest the Curate should break in on his unfinished speech, "makes it
dangerous. I've had my fears this long time past."

"A stroke," said the Curate--"a fit, do you mean? When, and how? and,
good heavens! to think that you have been wasting my time with
rubbish, and knew this!" Mr Wentworth tossed down his travelling-bag
again, and wiped his forehead nervously. He had forgotten his real
anxiety in the irritation of the moment. Now it returned upon him with
double force. "How did it come on?" he asked, "and when?" and stood
waiting for the answer, with a world of other questions, which he
could not put to Elsworthy, hanging on his lips.

"I have a deal of respect for that family, sir," said Elsworthy; "they
have had troubles as few folks in Carlingford know of. How close they
have kep' things, to be sure!--but not so close as them that has good
memories, and can put two and two together, couldn't call to mind. My
opinion, sir, if you believe me," said the clerk of St Roque's,
approaching close to the Curate's ear, "is, that it's something
concerning the son."

"The son!" said Mr Wentworth, with a troubled look. Then, after a
pause, he added, as if his exclamation had been an oversight, "What
son? has Mr Wodehouse a son?"

"To think as they should have been so close with the clergyman!" said
Elsworthy, innocently; "though he aint no credit that they should talk
of him. He's been gone out o' Carlingford nigh upon twenty year; but
he aint dead for all that; and I'm told as he's been seen about Grange
Lane this last spring. I am one as hears all the talk that's a-going
on, being, as you might say, in a public position of life. Such a
thing mightn't maybe come to your ears, sir?" he continued, looking
inquisitively in Mr Wentworth's face; "but wherever he is, you may be
sure it's something about him as has brought on this attack on the old
man. It was last night as he was took so bad, and a couple of hours
ago a message came up. Miss Wodehouse (as is the nicest lady in
Grange Lane, and a great friend to me) had took a panic, and she was
a-crying for you, the man said, and wouldn't take no denial. If I had
known where you was to be found, I'd have sent word."

"Send down my bag to my house," said the Cu