whispered.
“Indeed I do not,” he said quickly. “Nothing could be better. He will sleep heavily for a long time.”
“But did you notice his heavy breathing?”
“Of course I did,” said the doctor rising, “and you have no cause for alarm. Ah, Miss Mary, I did not see you at first.”
“Don’t deceive me, Doctor Asher,” said Claude, in agonised tones; “tell me the worst.”
“There is no worse to tell you, my dear child. I dare say your father will be well enough to sit up to-morrow.”
“Thank heaven!” said Claude to herself. Then, turning to the doctor: “How is poor Isaac Woodham?”
“Don’t ask me.”
“How dreadful!”
“Yes; it was a terrible accident.”
“But is there no hope?”
“You asked me not to deceive you,” said the doctor gravely. “None at all.”
Just then the sick man moaned slightly in his sleep, and made an uneasy movement which took his daughter back to his side.
“Don’t be alarmed, my child,” said the doctor encouragingly; “there is nothing to fear.”
“But I am alarmed,” said Claude; “and I look forward with horror to the long night when I am alone with him.”
“You are going to sit up with him?”
“Of course.”
“Divide the night with your cousin.”
“Yes – but – ”
“Well – what is it?”
“Oh, Doctor Asher, don’t leave him. Pray, pray, stay here.”
“But I have to go and see that poor fellow twice during the night.”
“I had forgotten him,” sighed Claude. “Couldn’t you stop here, and go and see him in the night?”
“Well, I might do that,” said the doctor thoughtfully; “but really, my child, there is no necessity.”
“If you could stop, Doctor Asher,” interposed Mary, “it would be a great relief to poor Claude, who is nervous and hysterical about my uncle’s state.”
“Very well,” was the cheerful reply. “I’ll tell you what; I’ll sit with you till about nine, and then go and see poor Woodham. Then I’ll come back and stay up with Mr Gartram till about three, when you shall be called to relieve me.”
“But I shall not go to bed,” said Claude decidedly.
“I am your medical man, and I prescribe rest,” said the doctor, smiling. “I don’t want any more patients at present. You and your cousin will go and lie down early, and then come and relieve me, so that I can go and see poor Woodham again. After that I shall return here, and you can let me have a sofa ready, to be called if wanted. There, I am the doctor, and a doctor rules in a sick house.”
“Must I do as you say?” asked Claude pleadingly.
“Yes; you must,” he replied; and so matters were settled.
Doctor Asher walked down to the quarry cottage to see his patient there, and did what he could to alleviate the poor fellow’s pain, always avoiding the inquiring look in the wife’s eyes, and then he returned to the Fort.
“How is he now?” asked Claude anxiously.
“Very bad,” was the reply.
“You will find coffee all ready on the side-table, doctor,” said Claude; “and there is a spirit lamp and the stand and glasses. There are cigars on the shelf; but you will let me sit up too?”
“To show that you have no confidence in your medical man.”
“Oh, no, no; but Mary and I might be of some use.”
“And of none at all to-morrow, my dears. You must both go to bed, and be ready to relieve me.”
“But is there anything else I can do to help you?”
“Yes; what I say – go to bed at once.”
Claude hesitated a few moments, and then walked quickly to the side of the mattress, knelt down, kissed her father lovingly, and then rose.
“Come, Mary,” she said. “And you will ring the upstairs bell if there’s the slightest need?”
“Of course, of course. There, good-night; I shall ring punctually at two.”
He shook hands, and the two girls left the room unwillingly, and proceeded slowly upstairs.
“Well lie down in your room, Mary,” said Claude; “it is so much nearer the bell. Do you know, I feel so dreadfully low-spirited? It is as if a terrible shadow had come over the place, and – don’t laugh at me – it seemed to grow darker when Doctor Asher came into the room.”
“What nonsense! Because he is all in black.”
“Do you think he is to be trusted, Mary?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like him, and I never did. He is so sleek and smooth, and I hate him to call us ‘my dear’ in that nasty, patronising, paternal sort of way.”
“Then let’s sit up.”
“No, no. It would be absurd. I daresay we should feel the same about any other doctor.”
“I do hope he will take great care of poor papa,” sighed Claude; and the door closed after them as they entered their room.
If Doctor Asher was not going to take great care of Norman Gartram, it was very evident that he was going to take very great care of himself, for as soon as he was alone he struck a match, lit the spirit lamp, lifted the lid of the coffee pot, and found that it was still very hot, and then, removing a stopper in the spirit stand, he poured out into a cup a goodly portion of pale brandy.
He had just restored the stopper to the spirit decanter, saying to himself, “Nice, thoughtful little girl!” when Gartram moaned and moved uneasily.
The doctor crossed to him directly, went down on one knee, and felt to see that his patient’s neck was well opened.
“Almost a pity not to have had him undressed,” he said to himself. “What’s the matter with you – uncomfortable? Why, poor old boy,” he continued, with a half laugh, as his hands busily felt round the sick man, “how absurd!”
He had passed a hand through the opening in Gartram’s shirt front, and after a little effort succeeded in unbuckling a cash belt which was round his patient’s waist, drawing the whole out, and noting that on one side there was a pocket stuffed full and hard as he threw the belt carelessly on the table.
“Nice wadge that for a man to lie on. There, old fellow, you’ll be more comfortable now.”
As
