Part 51 (1/2)

She turned toward the door ready to go, but in order to reach it from where she stood, she had to go past the foot of the bed.

The nurse was busy administering restoratives, and Doctor Newington had taken up the att.i.tude dear to every Englishman: his stand upon the hearth rug, and his hands buried in the pockets of his trousers. He was treating Louisa like a disobedient child, and she had no one to appeal to in this moment of complete helplessness.

One moment only did she debate with herself. The nurse just then had gone to a side table to fetch some brandy. The patient, so Louisa heard her tell the doctor, had not actually fainted; he was merely in a state of exhaustion.

Swift and furtive, like some small animal in danger of its life, Louisa slipped in between the screen and the bed, and before the doctor or nurse could prevent her, she had bent right over the sick man and whispered close to his ear:

”Lord Radclyffe, unless you make an effort now, to-morrow Luke will be standing in the dock--branded as a felon. Make an effort for Luke's sake!”

And the spirit which had gone wandering in the land of shadows came back to earth at sound of that one name.

”Luke!” he whispered, ”Luke, my boy. I am strong. I can help you.”

”Miss Harris----” interposed the doctor sternly.

But the sick man's words had put new strength into her. She was ready to fight the doctor now. The conventional woman of the world was transformed into just a mere woman fighting for the thing she loved--child, lover, or husband, it is all the same when that womanly instinct of combat is aroused.

Doctor Newington would have had to take Louisa Harris by the shoulders now if he meant to eject her: for until the patient spoke, here she meant to remain.

”Doctor,” she quietly, ”you have another duty to perform than that of watching over your patient. An innocent man is accused of a terrible crime. Lord Radclyffe, though very weak, is fully conscious. If he can save his nephew by a word that word must be spoken to-night.”

”Send for Tom Ryder,” murmured the sick man, ”he'll understand.”

The words came in gasps, but otherwise fairly distinctly. Doctor Newington, in all his professional experience, had never been placed in such an extraordinary dilemma. He was not quite so obstinate about the whole thing as he had originally been, and a kind of hopeless bewilderment showed itself upon his face.

”Will you send for Sir Thomas, doctor?” asked Louisa. ”You see that Lord Radclyffe wishes it.”

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. The responsibility was getting all too heavy for him. Besides being a fas.h.i.+onable physician, he was also a man, and as such not altogether inhuman. He had seen much acute suffering, both mental and physical, throughout the length of his career, but never had he been brought face to face with such an acute psychological problem, and--frankly--he did not know how to deal with it.

So he sent the nurse to ask Sir Thomas Ryder once more to step up stairs, whilst he himself went up to his patient, and with the mechanical movement born of life-long habit, he placed his white, podgy fingers on the feebly fluttering pulse.

”G.o.d only knows what will be the issue,” he said almost inaudibly. ”I don't.”

The sick man, on the other hand, seemed to be husbanding his strength. He had most obediently taken the brandy which had been given him, and now he lay back quietly among the pillows, with eyes closed and lips slightly parted. The hands wandered somewhat restlessly along the smooth surface of the quilt, otherwise Lord Radclyffe lay perfectly still. It even seemed--to Louisa's super-sensitive gaze--as if an expression of content had settled over the pale face. Once the sick man opened his eyes and looked up at the portrait: the lips murmured the one word:

”Luke!” and slowly, very slowly, two tears formed in the sunken eyes and trickled down the wan cheeks.

”You had better,” said the doctor curtly, ”leave the patient to me and to Sir Thomas.”

”Certainly,” she replied. ”I'll wait in the next room.”

”Sir Thomas will call you, no doubt, if your presence is desirable.”

She was ready enough to obey now: her uncle's footstep was heard on the landing outside. Quietly she relinquished her place beside the bed, and as she did so she bent down and kissed the poor old hand, that wandered so restlessly along the folds of the quilt.

As Sir Thomas entered the room, she was just leaving it. They met under the lintel of the door.

”He seems stronger,” she whispered pointing to the sick man. ”I think that he will make an effort--for Luke's sake.”