SCENE II.
A dwelling street in the city, seen in an almost deserted condition. The time is early evening. The wreck of a buggy lies crushed against a curbstone; the traces are broken, the horse having released herself and disappeared. The wreck lies in shadow, and the prostrate form of a man is but dimly discerned. After a few moments of suspense and silence, slowly crawling to his feet,
Arises Dr. Thorne. (He is dressed for driving, as when he left home; his overcoat disarranged, muddy, and torn; his hat gone; his face has a singular pallor, and his whole appearance is agitated. As he rises, he throws a carriage robe back over the spot where he had been lying. He speaks.)
Dr. Thorne. That dastardly brute has done it, now! I’ll sell Donna for this.—It will play the mischief with that old injury. I shall exchange an interesting limp for crutches, now.—Hil-loa! (Walks to and fro with perfect ease.) The shock has acted like a battery on the nerve centres. Instead of a broken neck I have a cured leg. I’m a lucky fellow—as usual. (Laughs lightly; turns to examine the condition of the ruined buggy; suddenly looks confused, and puts his hand to his head.) Curious cerebral symptoms I have! Queer, there isn’t a crowd round. They must have missed the trail when Donna bolted. She’ll be at the stable by this time.—She won’t go home. Helen won’t know.... I shouldn’t like to be the man that had to tell Helen!... I must get to her—I must get home as soon as I’ve been to the Hospital. I’m afraid I was a little short with Helen. I wish— (Presses both hands to his temples as if to command himself; looks more and more bewildered.) I must have been pretty well stunned—seems to me there was a collision. I ran down somebody. It was a landau—we crashed—I saw it overturn—there were people in it I knew—patients.... Who?... Who? (Stamps the pavement peremptorily, and impatiently strikes his own head.) Who was it?—Horrible! The brain cells do not obey me—me! (Walks about frenziedly.) ... Ach—ch! It is worse to remember than to forget. I have it now—the sweetest woman of them all—Helen’s friend—the gentlest, the most obedient, most trustful, the bravest patient I ever had—Mrs. Fayth. I saw her face as the carriage went over.... She stretched out her hands, and said: “Doctor!” It was Mary Fayth. (His face falls into his hands. For a moment he sinks down on the wreck of the buggy; but springs up.) Now that accounts for it.—The crowd are all there. The accident was so bad nobody has thought of me. She is the victim. I have escaped. Dead or alive, she is done for. She never could recover from a shock like that. I must go and find her. I must find Mrs. Fayth. (Starts and hurriedly walks down the street, peering everywhere.)
[Exit Dr. Thorne.
(In his absence no person passes the street.)
Re-enter Dr. Thorne.
Strange! How strange! I cannot find her. I cannot find anything—nor anybody that a man would naturally meet under such circumstances. Not a trace of the accident—yet I’m as sure of it as I am that I’m alive. (Pronounces these words slowly, and paces the sidewalk, irresolute.) It all came from my being overdue at the Hospital. I suppose I did drive Donna pretty fast. I wonder if I struck her? I am always in such an infernal hurry—I never have had time to live. I am driven to death. (He says the last five words, not impatiently, but with a certain solemn deliberation.) I must go at once to Mrs. Fayth’s house. They must have carried Mary there—I wish I could spare time to see Helen!—I’ll go right home as soon as I’ve been to Fayth’s. Odd! How these brain symptoms last. I must have had quite a blow. I don’t—I can’t—it is mortifying to feel so confused.
[Exit Dr. Thorne.
(In his absence the street remains deserted.)
Re-enter Dr. Thorne.
Enter behind him a tall Woman. (She is
wrapped in a long ash-colored veil, or
mantle, beneath which shows a gleaming
gown of flame-color. She follows
Dr. Thorne silently. She keeps at a
distance from him. Her step is a gliding,
stealthy one. The Woman does
not speak.)
Dr. Thorne. There must be serious cerebral congestion. I cannot find the street. I cannot find Fayth’s house. What part of this bewitched town am I in? I have lost my way—I, Esmerald Thorne, with a clientele of twenty years from end to end of the city—I cannot find my way.
Enter a Suburban, a Loafer, and a
Priest. (The Woman draws her veil,
and looks solemnly at Dr. Thorne
as she passes. Her face is pale and
wretched, but possesses singular
beauty.)
[Exit the Woman.
(Dr. Thorne does not notice the Woman.)
(The Loafer leans against a post. He stares stupidly at the wreck.)
(The Priest walks slowly, reciting an Ave.)
(The Suburban hurries on, making a wide circle to avoid the ruins of the carriage.)
Dr. Thorne (addressing the Suburban). Can you tell me?—Here! Hold on a minute! Man, can’t you answer a civil question? Will you tell me—
The Suburban (pays no attention to Dr. Thorne, but hurries on. Consults his watch; speaks.) I shall lose my train!
[Exit Suburban, running.
Dr. Thorne (with puzzled impatience, addressing the Loafer). Here!—You! Why, it’s Jerry! Just tell me, will you, Jerry, where the accident was, and how much was the lady hurt?
(The Loafer stares stupidly at Dr. Thorne, but makes no answer.)
[Exit Loafer.
Dr. Thorne (with trouble on his face, more gently addresses the Priest, whom he slightly touches on the arm). Sir!—Oh, Father Sullivan! Look here, Father! I’m ashamed to confess, I have lost my way. Would you direct me to the house of the well-known merchant, Frederick Fayth? I am due there on an urgent professional errand, and—I cannot explain the phenomenon—but I have lost my way!
(The Priest repeats an Ave under his breath. He looks Dr. Thorne full in the face, but does not reply.)
Dr. Thorne. And will you be so kind as to tell me whether you have heard of a carriage accident down-town—and how much was the lady hurt? Did you—
Priest(looks blindly over Dr. Thorne’s head; mutters). Nay—Nay. I see nothing. (He crosses himself). Ave Sanctissima! Ora pro nobis! (He lifts his arms and, with a troubled and confused expression, makes the sign of the cross in the air over Dr. Thorne. Priest passes on.)
Dr. Thorne (gently). Thank you, Father.
[Exit Priest.
Dr. Thorne (stands sunken in thought for a few moments; suddenly starts and knots his hands together, then separates them with the motion of one blind or of one feeling his way in the dark). I must see Helen! I must go to Helen!—Helen! Helen!
(Sudden darkness settles. When it passes, the wreck of the buggy is removed.)
Enter Dr. Thorne. (Walks rapidly and
perplexedly, still with the manner of a
man who has lost his way.)
[Exit.
Re-enter.
[Exit.
Re-enter (speaks).
I must get home. I will get home. I will see Helen! (Stops sharply, as if smitten by an unseen force; cannot take another step; contends, as if with an invisible power; droops, as if vanquished; turns, and retraces his way; his head hangs to his breast. He speaks.) What thwarts me from my home? Who constrains me from my wife? (Lifts his face angrily to the sky.) Is this hypnotism? (Laughs sarcastically.) Am I an infant—or a maniac? It must be anæsthesia passing off. Perhaps I was etherized by some blank fool after that shock.—The accident! That is it, of course, of course! It is the cerebral concussion—a simple case.... I shouldn’t like this to get out. I believe I’ll go into my office—if I can find my office—and wait till this passes off. It is a perfectly simple case. (Walks feverishly up and down the street, searching for his own office; mutters.) Ever since I yielded to that demand for a noon office hour downtown for business men—it has crowded me without mercy. If they hadn’t been my old patients, I wouldn’t have succumbed to it. It’s just another strand in the whiplash that has driven me to death. Well (draws a long breath)—I seem to be out of sorts to-night. I shall get over all this nonsense when I see Helen. Helen will set me right. Helen will make a live man of me again.
End of Scene II.