Part 5 (2/2)
They put old Jacob Dolph to bed in the room which he had always occupied, in his married as in his widowed days. He never spoke again; that day, indeed, he hardly moved. But on the next he stirred uneasily, as though he were striving to change his position. The doctor bled him, and they s.h.i.+fted him as best they could, but he seemed no more comfortable. So the doctor bled him again; and even that did no good.
About sunset, Aline, who had watched over him with hardly a moment's rest, left the room for a quarter of an hour, to listen to what the doctors had to say--there were four of them in the drawing-room below.
When she and her husband entered the sick-room again, the old man had moved in his bed. He was lying on his side, his face to the windows that looked southward, and he had raised himself a little on his arm. There was a troubled gaze in his eyes, as of one who strains to see something that is unaccountably missing from his sight. He turned his head a little, as though to listen. Thus gazing, with an inward and spiritual vision only, at the bay that his eyes might never again see, and listening to the waves whose cadence he should hear no more, the troubled look faded into one of inscrutable peace, and he sank back into the hollow of his son's arm and pa.s.sed away.
The next time that the doctor was in the house it was of a snowy night a few days after New Year's Day. It was half-past two o'clock in the morning, and Jacob Dolph--no longer Jacob Dolph the younger--had been pacing furiously up and down the long dining-room--that being the longest room in the house--when the doctor came down stairs, and addressed him with his usual unruffled precision:
”I will request of you, Dolph, a large gla.s.s of port. I need not suggest to you that it is unnecessary to stint the measure, for the hospitality of this house is----”
”How is she, doctor? For G.o.d's sake, tell me--is she--is she----”
”The hospitality of this house is prover--” the precise doctor recommenced.
”d.a.m.n the hospitality!” cried Jacob Dolph: ”I mean--oh, doctor--tell me--is anything wrong?”
”Should I request of you the cup of amity and geniality, Mr. Dolph, were there cause for anything save rejoicing in this house?” demanded the physician, with amiable severity. ”I had thought that my words would have conveyed----”
”It's all over?”
”And bravely over!” And the doctor nodded his head with a dignified cheerfulness.
”And may I go to her?”
”You may, sir, after you have given me my gla.s.s of port. But remember, sir----”
Dolph turned to the sideboard, grasped a bottle and a gla.s.s, and thrust them into the doctor's hand, and started for the door.
”But remember, sir,” went on the unperturbed physician, ”you must not agitate or excite her. A gentle step, a tranquil tone, and a cheerful and encouraging address, brief and affectionate, will be all that is permitted.”
Dolph listened in mad impatience, and was over the threshold before the doctor's peremptory call brought him back.
”What is it now?” he demanded, impatiently.
The doctor looked at him with a gaze of wonder and reproach.
”It is a male child, sir,” he said.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
Jacob Dolph crept up the stairs on tiptoe. As he paused for a moment in front of a door at the head, he heard the weak, spasmodic wail of another Dolph.
”There's no help for it--I've got to do it,” said Jacob Dolph.
It was another wintry morning, just after breakfast. The snow was on the ground, and the sleigh-bells up in Broadway sent down a faint jingling.
Ten winters had come and gone, and Mr. Dolph was as comfortably stout as a man should be who is well fed and forty. He stood with his back to the fire, pulling at his whiskers--which formed what was earlier known as a Newgate collar--with his right thumb and forefinger. His left thumb was stuck in the armhole of his flowered satin waistcoat, black and s.h.i.+ny.
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