'
'Don't dwell on it' was all I could entreat, for the apparition at
unusual times had been mentioned as a note of doom, and not only did
it weigh on me, but it might send Clarence off in a desponding mood.
Tidings were less rapid when telegraphs were not, and railways
incomplete. Clarence did not reach Baden till ten days after the
despatch of Martyn's letter, and Griffith's condition had in the
meantime become much more serious. Low fever had set in, and he was
confined to his dreary lodgings, where Martyn was doing his best for
him in an inexperienced, helpless sort of way, while Lady Peacock
was at the salle, persisting in her belief that the ailment was a
temporary matter. Martyn afterwards declared that he had never seen
anything more touching than poor Griff's look of intense rest and
relief at Clarence's entrance.
On the way through London, by the assistance of Mr. Castleford,
Clarence had ascertained how to procure the best medical advice
attainable, and he was linguist enough to be an adequate
interpreter. Alas! all that was achieved was the discovery that
between difficulties of language, Griff's own indifference, and his
wife's carelessness, the injury had developed into fatal disease.
An operation MIGHT yet save him, if he could rally enough for it,
but the fever was rapidly destroying his remaining strength.
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