Dreading a recall of his commission, Malcolm slipped from the room,
sent Mrs Courthope to take his place, and sped to the schoolmaster.
The moment Mr Graham heard the marquis's message, he rose without
a word, and led the way from the cottage. Hardly a sentence passed
between them as they went, for they were on a solemn errand.
"Mr Graham 's here, my lord," said Malcolm.
"Where? Not in the room?" returned the marquis.
"Waitin' at the door, my lord."
"Bah! You needn't have been so ready. Have you told the sexton to
get a new spade? But you may let him in. And leave him alone with
me."
Mr Graham walked gently up to the bedside.
"Sit down, sir," said the marquis courteously--pleased with the
calm, self possessed, unobtrusive bearing of the man. "They tell
me I 'm dying, Mr Graham."
"I 'm sorry it seems to trouble you, my lord."
"What! wouldn't it trouble you then?"
"I don't think so, my lord."
"Ah! you're one of the elect, no doubt?"
"That's a thing I never did think about, my lord."
"What do you think about then?"
"About God."
"And when you die you 'll go straight to heaven of course--"
"I don't know, my lord. That 's another thing I never trouble my
head about."
"Ah! you 're like me then! I don't care much about going to heaven!
What do you care about?"
"The will of God. I hope your lordship will say the same."
"No I won't. I want my own will."
"Well, that is to be had, my lord."
"How?"
"By taking his for yours, as the better of the two, which it must
be every way.
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