Volume One—Chapter Twelve.
A Hard Night’s Work.
“Yes,” said Scales excitedly, as he bent over his patient, whom he had placed upon the floor of the study, after ordering fresh medical help to be fetched at once—“yes—there is hope.”
As he spoke, Kate Scarlett uttered a low wail, and Aunt Sophia caught her in her arms; but the stricken wife struggled to get free. “No, no; I shall not give way,” she panted; “I will be brave, and help.” For, as the doctor slowly continued his efforts to restore the circulation, there came at last a faint gasp; and soon after, the medical man from the village came in, cool and calm, to take in the situation at a glance.
By this time, Scarlett was breathing with some approach to the normal strength, and Scales turned to the new-comer. “Will you”—he began. He could say no more, from utter exhaustion and excitement, but sank over sidewise, fainting dead away, leaving the new-comer to complete his task.
It was not a long one now, for almost together James Scarlett and his friend opened their eyes and gazed about wildly.
The doctor was the first to recover himself, and he drank eagerly of the spirit and water held to his lips, and then rose and walked to the open window.
“I’m better now,” he said, returning to where his fellow professional was leaning over Scarlett, to whose wandering eyes the light of reason had not yet returned. “How is he now?”
“Coming round fast,” said the other.
“He’s dying?” moaned Lady Scarlett, as she saw her husband’s eyes slowly close once more.
“No, no,” said Scales quietly. “It is exhaustion and sleep. He’ll go off soundly now for many hours, and wake up nearly well.”
“Are you saying this to deceive me?” cried Lady Scarlett.
“Indeed, no; ask our friend here.”
Lady Scarlett looked at the other appealingly, and he confirmed his confrère’s words. But still she was not convinced, so pale and motionless Sir James lay, till the doctor signed to her to bend over and place her ear against her husband’s breast.
Then, as she heard the regular heavy pulsation of his heart, she uttered a low, sobbing, hysterical cry, turned to Scales, caught his hand in hers, kissed it again and again, and then crouched lower upon her knees at her husband’s side, weeping and praying during his heavy sleep.
The local doctor stayed for a couple of hours, and then, after a short consultation with Scales, shook hands. “You have done wonders,” he said on leaving.
“No,” said Scales quietly; “I only persevered.”
He found Aunt Sophia kneeling by Lady Scarlett’s side, pressing her to rise and partake of some tea which the old lady had ready for her, but only to obtain negative motions of the suffering little woman’s head, till Scales bent down and whispered—
“Yes, you must take it, Lady Scarlett; you will want all your strength perhaps when your husband wakes.”
His voice roused her and she rose at once, caught his hand in hers and kissed it again before going to a side-table and eating and drinking whatever Aunt Sophia placed in her hands.
“She’d make a splendid nurse,” said the doctor to himself, “so obedient and patient. I didn’t think she had it in her, but somehow I don’t quite like her and her ways.”
Just then he turned and met Prayle’s eyes fixed upon him rather curiously, and it seemed to him, in his own rather excited state, that his friend’s cousin was watching him in no very amiable way.
The thought passed off on the moment and he went down on one knee by Scarlett’s extemporised couch. For by this time the patient had been made comfortable where he lay with blankets and cushions. The doctor too had found time to change, and had prescribed for himself what he told Aunt Sophia was the tip-top of recuperators in such a case, a strong cup of tea with a tablespoonful of brandy.
“Poor old boy!” he said tenderly, as he laid his hand upon Scarlett’s breast. “Yes, your old heart’s doing its duty once again, and, and—confound it! what a weak fool I am.”
He remained very still for some minutes, so that no one should see the big hot tears that dropped in a most unprofessional fashion upon the blankets and glistened there. But it was a failure as far as one person was concerned, and he might just as well have taken out his handkerchief, wiped his eyes, and had one of those good sonorous blows of the nose indulged in by Englishmen when they feel affected; for under the most painful circumstances, however natural, it is of course exceedingly unmanly of the first made human being to cry. That luxury and relief of an overladen spirit is reserved for the Eves of creation. All the same though, there are few men who do not weep in times of intense mental agony. They almost invariably, however, and by long practice and custom, the result probably of assistance in accordance with Darwinian laws, contrive to switch the lines or rather ducts of their tears, shunt these saline globules of bitterness, and cry through the nose.
“There! he’s going on capitally now,” he said, after a time.—“Mr Prayle, you need not, stay.”
“Oh, I would rather wait,” said Prayle. “He may have a relapse.”
“Oh, I shall be with him,” said the doctor confidently. “I will ask you to leave us now, Mr Prayle. I want to keep the room quiet and cool.”
Arthur Prayle was disposed to resist; but a doctor is an autocrat in a sick-chamber, whom no one but a patient dare disobey; and the result was that Prayle unwillingly left the room.
“Got rid of him,” muttered the doctor.—“Now for the old maid,” who, by the way, has behaved like a trump.
“I don’t think you need stay, Miss Raleigh,” he whispered. “You must be very tired now.”
“Yes, Doctor Scales,” she said quietly; “but I will not go to bed. You may want a little help in the night.”
“I shall not leave my husband’s side,” said Lady Scarlett firmly.—“Oh, Doctor Scales, pray, pray, tell me the truth; keep nothing back. Is there any danger?”
“Upon my word, as a man, Lady Scarlett, there is none.”
“You are not deceiving me?”
“Indeed, no. Here is the case for yourself: he has been nearly drowned.”
“Yes, yes,” sobbed Lady Scarlett.
“Well, he has his breathing apparatus in order again, and is fast asleep. There is no disease.”
“No; I understand that,” said Lady Scarlett excitedly; “but—a relapse?”
“Relapse?” said the doctor in a low voice and laughing quietly. “Well, the only form of relapse he could have would be to tumble in again.”
“Don’t; pray, don’t laugh at me, doctor,” said Lady Scarlett piteously. “You cannot tell what I suffer.”
“O yes, I can,” he said kindly. “If I laughed then, it was only to give you confidence. He will wake up with a bad nervous headache, and that’s all.—Now, suppose you go and lie down.”
“No; I shall stay with my husband,” she said firmly. “I cannot go.”
“Well,” he said, “you shall stay.—Perhaps you will stay with us as well, Miss Raleigh,” he added. “We can shade the light; and he is so utterly exhausted, that even if we talk, I don’t think he will wake.”
“And he will not be worse?” whispered Lady Scarlett.
“People will not have any confidence in their medical man. Come, now, I think you might trust me, after what I have done.”
“I do trust you, Doctor Scales, and believe in you as my husband’s best and dearest friend,” cried Lady Scarlett. “Heaven bless you for what you have done!” She hurriedly kissed his hand; and then, after a glance at her husband’s pale face, she went and sat upon the floor beside Aunt Sophia’s chair, laid her hands upon the elder lady’s knees, and hid her face, sitting there so motionless that she seemed to be asleep.
“I wish she would not do that,” muttered the doctor; and then: “I hate a woman who behaves in that lapdog way. I never liked her, and I don’t think I ever shall.”
It was a change indeed, the long watch through that night, and it was with a sigh of relief that the doctor saw the first grey light of morning stealing through the window. Only a few hours before and all had been so bright and sunny, now all was depression and gloom. When they started for their water trip trouble seemed a something that could not fall upon so happy a home. Aunt Sophia’s fears had only been a motive for mirth, and since then, with a rapidity that was like the lightning’s flash, this terrible shock had come upon them.
“Ah, well!” mused the doctor, as he stood at the window holding the blind a little on one side so as to gaze out at the grey sky, “it might have been worse, and it will make him more careful for the future. My word though, it was precious lucky that I was in the boat.”
He yawned slightly now, for there was no denying that the doctor was terribly sleepy. It was bad enough to lose a night’s rest, but the exhaustion he had suffered from his efforts made it worse, and in spite of his anxiety and eagerness to save his friend, there was no concealing the fact that unless he had risen and walked about now and then he would have fallen asleep.
Just as the sky was becoming flecked with tiny clouds of gold and orange, the first brightness that had been seen since the evening before, a few muttered words and a restless movement made doctor and wife hurry to the extempore couch.
“Kate! Where’s Kate?” exclaimed Scarlett in a hoarse cracked voice.
“I am here, dear—here at your side,” she whispered, laying her cheek to his.
“Has the boat gone over? Save Kate!”
“We are all safe, dear husband.”
“Fool!—idiot!—to go so near. So dangerous!” he cried excitedly. “Jack—Jack, old man—my wife—my wife!”
“It’s all right, old fellow,” said the doctor cheerily. “There, there; you only had a bit of a ducking—that’s all.”
“Scales—Jack!—Where am I? Where’s Kate?”
“Here, dear love, by your side.”
“My head!” panted the poor fellow. “I’m frightened. What does it mean? Why do you all stare at me like that? Here! what’s the matter? Have I had a dream?”
“He calm, old fellow,” said the doctor. “You’re all right now.”
“Catch hold of my hand, Kate,” he cried, drawing in his breath with a hiss. “There’s something wrong with—here—the back of my neck, and my head throbs terribly. Here! Have I been overboard? Why don’t you speak?”
“Scarlett, old fellow, be calm,” said the doctor firmly. “There; that’s better.”
“Yes; I’ll lie still. What a frightful headache! But tell me what it all means.—Ah! I remember now. The oar broke, and I went under. I was beaten down.—Jack—Kate, dear—do you hear me?”
“Yes, yes, dear love; yes, yes,” whispered Lady Scarlett, placing her arm round his neck and drawing his head upon her breast. “It was a nasty accident; but you are quite safe now.”
“Safe? Am I safe?” he whispered hoarsely. “That’s right, dear; hold me—tightly now.” He closed his eyes and shuddered, while Lady Scarlett gazed imploringly in the doctor’s face.
“The shock to his nerves,” he said quietly. “A bit upset; but he’ll be all right soon;” and as he spoke, the doctor laid his hand upon his friend’s pulse.
Scarlett uttered a piercing cry, starting and gazing wildly at his old companion. “Oh! It was you,” he panted, and he closed his eyes again, clinging tightly to his wife, as he whispered softly, “Don’t leave me, dear—don’t leave me.”
He seemed to calm down then and lay quite still muttering about the boat—the oar breaking—and the black water.
“It kept me down,” he said with another shudder, and speaking as if to himself. “It kept me down till I felt that I was drowning. Jack Scales,” he said aloud, “how does a man feel when he is drowned?”
“Don’t know, old fellow. Never was drowned,” said the doctor cheerily.—“Now, look here; it’s only just sunrise, so you’d better go to sleep again, and then you’ll wake up as lively as a cricket.”
“Sunrise?—sunrise?” said Scarlett excitedly—“sunrise?” And as he spoke he looked round from one to the other. “Why, you’ve been sitting up all night! Of course, I’m down here. Have I been very bad?”
The doctor hesitated for a few moments, and then, deeming it best to tell him all, he said quietly:
“Well, pretty bad, old fellow, but we brought you to again, and it’s all right now.”
“Yes, it’s all right now. It’s all right now,” muttered Scarlett, looking from one to the other, and then clinging tightly to his wife’s hand he closed his eyes once more, lay muttering for a time, and then seemed to be fast asleep.
Lady Scarlett kept following the doctor’s every movement with her wistful eyes till he said in a whisper: “Let him sleep, and I’ll come back presently.”
“Don’t you leave me, Kate,” cried Scarlett, shuddering.
“No, no, dear,” she said tenderly; and the poor fellow uttered a low sigh, and remained with his eyes closed, as the doctor softly left the room, beckoning to Aunt Sophia to follow him.
“I’m going to get a prescription made up,” he said. “I’ll send off the groom on one of the horses; there will be a place open in the town by the time he gets there.”
“Stop a moment,” said Aunt Sophia, clutching at his arm. “Tell me what, this means. Why is he like this?”
“Oh, it is only the reaction—the shock to his nerves. Poor fellow!” he muttered to himself, “he has been face to face with death.”
“Doctor Scales,” said Aunt Sophia, with her hand tightening upon his arm—“shock to his nerves! He is not going to be like that patient of yours you spoke of the other day?”
The sun was up, and streaming in upon them where they stood in the plant-bedecked hall, and it seemed as if its light had sent a flash into the soul of John Scales, M.D., as he gazed sharply into his querist’s eyes and then shuddered. For in these moments he seemed to see the owner of that delightful English home, him who, but a few hours before, had been all that was perfect in manly vigour and mental strength, changed into a stricken, nerveless, helpless man, clinging to his wife in the extremity of his child-like dread.
For the time being he could not speak, then struggling against the spell that seemed to hold him fast, he cried angrily—
“No, no! Absurd, absurd! Only a few hours’ rest, and he’ll be himself.”
He hurried into the study, and hastily wrote his prescription, taking it out directly to where the groom was just unfastening the stable-doors.
“Ride over to the town, sir? Yes, sir.—But, beg pardon, sir—Sir James, sir? Is he all right?”
“Oh, getting over it nicely, my man. Be quick.”
“I’ll be off in five minutes, sir,” cried the groom; and within the specified time the horse’s hoofs were clattering over the stable-yard as the man rode off.
“Like my patient of whom I spoke!” said the doctor to himself. “Oh, it would be too horrible! Bah! What an idiot I am, thinking like that weak old lady there. What nonsense, to be sure!”
But as he re-entered the room softly, and saw the shrinking, horror-stricken look with which at the very slight sound he made his friend started up, he asked himself whether it was possible that such a terrible change could have taken place, and the more he tried to drive the thought away the stronger it seemed to grow, shadowing him like some black mental cloud till he hardly dared to meet the young wife’s questioning eyes, as she besought him silently to help her in this time of need.