Part 3 (2/2)
”Burney--Isabel Burney. At least, she says so.”
”Isabel Burney, you are my wife; you're Mrs. Cuthbert Grahame. I acknowledge you as my wife, and I wish all men to acknowledge you also. Are you content that it should be so?”
”I am.”
”You hear, Nannie? You hear, Twelves? You're both witnesses. I take Isabel Burney to be my wife, and she agrees.”
”I hear. But does she take you for her husband--eh, Miss Burney?”
”I do. I take Cuthbert Grahame to be my husband in the sight of G.o.d and man.”
Isabel had returned to one of her old faults--overemphasis.
There was a theatrical intensity about both her manner and her words which was singularly out of place when compared with the matter-of-fact ribaldry which seemed to mark the husky utterance of the man in the bed. Its inappropriateness seemed to strike the others. After a perceptible pause the man in the bed wheezed--
”Leave G.o.d out of it”. Presently he added, still more wheezily, ”Come here, Mrs. Cuthbert Grahame”.
The doctor moved towards her.
”Can I a.s.sist you, Mrs. Grahame, to your husband's side?” With the doctor's aid she gained the bed. ”Laird, here's your wife; can you see her?”
Isabel saw the man whom she had taken to be her husband. The sight of him shocked her. She told herself that she had never seen a more dreadful object even in her dreams. His size was abnormal. Not only was he naturally a big man, but his frame had become swollen and bloated till it was monstrous--a horror to look upon. His head and face were covered with scanty red hair, which needed cutting. He had a huge head, and his neck was so short and thick that it conveyed a grotesque impression that his head sprang directly from his trunk. His whole form seemed to be afflicted with some sort of teta.n.u.s, so that he was rigid, immovable. He lay on his back, with his arms straight down at his sides. Through his parted lips came jerky, stertorous breaths. His eyelids were partially open, but only the whites of his eyes were visible; his own words made it clear that they were of little use to him as organs of sight.
”See her? No, I can't see her. I don't want to.”
As he spoke a tremor pa.s.sed all over him. His whole frame heaved; as if seized by a sudden convulsion he began fighting for his life. The doctor spoke to her.
”You had better go, unless you'd like to see the last of him.
This is likely to be the end. He'll hardly win through another bout.”
He moved towards the bed, Nannie joining him. Isabel was left to her own devices. Powerless to move far unaided it was all she could do to stagger to the nearest chair. In it she sat, waiting, watching, listening, like an unwilling spectator in some bad dream. It was a scene which she never wholly forgot.
The dim light, the quaintly furnished room, the figures of the old man and woman bending this way, then that, as they struggled with the creature on the bed. What ailed him she did not know; she vaguely surmised that he might be in the throes of some kind of epileptic fit. His contortions shook the bed, indeed the room. He kept uttering sounds which had a disagreeable resemblance to the half-strangled yelps of some wild beast.
How long it lasted she did not know. Long enough to strain her already highly strung nerves almost beyond endurance. At last there came a lull. The man on the bed was first quieter, then still. She took advantage of the silence to exclaim:--
”Can't you take me away somewhere? You know I can't move. If I have to stay here much longer I--I shall make a fool of myself.”
The doctor and Nannie paid her no heed. Side by side they were stooping together over the silent figure. After affording them what she deemed a more than sufficient opportunity to answer, she appealed to them again.
”Can't you hear me? Take me away somewhere--I don't care where!
I'll go mad if you don't.”
The doctor did not answer her directly; he spoke to Nannie.
”Do as she bids you; take her away.”
”Where'll I take her?” the woman asked.
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