Part 37 (1/2)
”Yes,” he said slowly at length. ”I am afraid you have asked the impossible of me now. But, notwithstanding that, if I could see my way to it, I would place myself in your hands without reservation--and take my chance. There are times now and then--now and then--” his words quickened a little, ”when a man would almost give the very soul out of his body to be at peace--to be at peace; times when it's downright agony to watch a fly buzzing up and down the pane and know he hasn't even the strength for that--when every muscle is in torture, and every movement means h.e.l.l--” He broke off; his lips usually so steady had begun to twitch. ”I'm a fool, Capper,” he murmured apologetically. ”Make allowances for a sick man!”
”Look here!” said Capper. ”This is a big decision for you to make off-hand. You can take three months anyway to think it over. You are getting stronger, you know. By then you'll be stronger still. You won't be well. Nothing but surgical measures can ever make you well. And you'll go on suffering that infernal pain. But three months one way or another won't make much difference. I am due in London in September for the Schultz Medical Conference. I'll run over then and see if you've made up your mind.”
”Will you, doctor? That's real kind of you.” Lucas's eyes brightened. He stretched out a hand which Capper grasped and laid gently down. ”And if you undertake the job--”
”If you are fit to go through it,” Capper broke in, ”I'll do it right away before I leave. You'll spend the winter on your back. And in the spring I'll come again and finish the business. That second operation is a more delicate affair than the first, but I don't consider it more dangerous. By this time next year, or soon after, you'll be walking like an ordinary human being. I'll have you as lissom as an Indian.”
He cracked his fingers one after the other in quick succession and rose.
A moment he stood looking down at the smooth face that had flushed unwontedly at his words; then bending, he lightly tapped his patient's chest. ”Meanwhile, my friend,” he said, ”you keep a stiff upper lip, and _cherchez la femme--cherchez la femme toujours_! You'll be a sound man some day and she won't mind waiting if she's the right sort.”
”Ah!” Lucas said. ”You will have to forego that condition, doctor. I am no ladies' man. Shall I tell you what a woman said to me the other day?”
”Well?”
”That I was like a mother to her.” Again without much mirth he smiled.
His lips were steady enough now.
”I should like to meet that woman,” said Capper.
”Why?”
The doctor's hand sought his beard. ”P'r'aps she'd tell me I was like a father. Who knows?”
Lucas looked at him curiously. ”Are you fond of women?”
”I adore them,” said Capper without enthusiasm. He never satisfied curiosity.
Lucas's eyes fell away baffled. ”I'll take you to see her this afternoon if you can spare the time,” he said.
”Oh, I can spend the afternoon philandering so long as I catch the night train to Liverpool,” Capper answered promptly. ”Meanwhile you must get a rest while I go and take a dose of air and suns.h.i.+ne in the yard.”
His straight, gaunt figure pa.s.sed to the door, opened it, and disappeared with a directness wholly at variance with his lack of repose when seated.
As for Lucas, he lay quite still for a long while, steadily watching the motes that danced and swam giddily in the suns.h.i.+ne.
Nearly half an hour went by before he stirred at all. And then a heavy sigh burst suddenly from him, shaking his whole body, sending a flicker of pain across his drooping eyelids.
”_Cherchez la femme_!” he said to himself. And again with a quivering smile, ”_Cherchez la femme_! G.o.d knows she isn't far to seek. But--my dear--my dear!”
CHAPTER III
THE FIRST ORDEAL
All the birds in the Manor garden were singing on that afternoon in May.
The fruit trees were in bloom. The air was full of the indescribable fragrance of bursting flowers. There was no single note of sadness in all the splendid day. But the woman who paced slowly to and fro under the opening lilacs because she could not rest knew nothing of its sweetness.
The precious peace of the past few weeks had been s.n.a.t.c.hed from her. She was face to face once more with the problem that had confronted her for a few horror-stricken minutes on that awful evening in March. Then she had thrust it from her. Since she had resolutely turned her back upon it. But to-day it was with her, and there was no escaping it. It glared at her whichever way she turned, a monster of destruction waiting to devour. And she was afraid, horribly, unspeakably afraid, with a fear that was neither physical nor cowardly, yet which set her very soul a-trembling.