AT GUY'S HOSPITAL.
While the train is speeding on with Henry Halford to the Euston Station, we will go back to the Friday afternoon when Arthur Franklyn was carried in an apparently lifeless state to Guy's.
When dragged from the water many voices were raised in eager haste. "Send for a doctor!" "Carry him to the hotel!" "No use, the man is dead!" "Nonsense, he hasn't been five minutes in the water." This and other confusing advice was, however, set aside by the appearance of two policemen with a cab. Putting back the crowd, they lifted in the apparently drowned man, and bidding the driver make haste, jumped in with him.
The rapid movement produced an unexpected effect. Before they were half over London Bridge the policeman who sat opposite to Arthur was startled at seeing the eyes of the supposed dead man open suddenly, and after a heavily drawn breath came the words, "My carpet bag! where is my carpet bag?" The wild eyes, the unexpected recovery, and the firmly uttered words took these officers of the law by surprise.
"All right, sir, don't you go worritting yourself about carpet bags; yours is all safe, I daresay," was all one of them could reply in a soothing tone before the cab stopped at the hospital entrance, to the great satisfaction of Arthur Franklyn's companions.
The medical officers were quickly in attendance, but the shock of the accident had so increased the feverish excitement of Arthur Franklyn, that on being taken out of the cab he struggled with those who held him, and exclaimed frantically, "I must go back! You shall not detain me! Where is my carpet bag?"
Regardless of his almost frenzied manner, which they judged to arise from incipient disease, the attendants quickly relieved Arthur of his wet clothes; he was placed in bed, and the remedies against the consequences of a cold bath while in such a heated state vigorously applied.
But there were other causes at work in that excited brain at present unknown to the hospital doctors, and before night the patient was tossing from side to side of the bed in the alternate delirium and stupor which attends brain fever. His clothes were eagerly searched to find a letter or address which might give some clue to his friends, for he was evidently a gentleman, but with no success.
Arthur's great anxiety to conceal his name and his movements, now bid fair to elude all attempts to discover his relations. He had booked himself for the voyage under a false name, and the initials A. F. on his linen were of very little use.
In the midst of his delirium his words were so incoherent that none could be distinguished but the constant cry for the "carpet bag." At last, during the afternoon of Sunday, although still insensible to surrounding objects, his muttered words became more distinct.
Dr. Gordon was standing by his side listening anxiously to the wandering expressions of the patient, when Arthur Franklyn half-rose in the bed and exclaimed, "I must go to Kilburn! Ah! Henry Halford, what have I done! And you will tell Fanny." He sunk back exhausted as he uttered these words in a low piteous tone.
But this was enough for Dr. Gordon. He went to the county directory and quickly finding the name of Halford and Englefeld Grange, sent the telegram at once.
"I have telegraphed to the gentleman named by the patient," he said to the nurse; "he cannot be here before ten at the earliest, I will return by that time."
It was within an hour after receiving the message that the cab taken by Henry Halford at Euston Square reached London Bridge and drove to Guy's Hospital.
He was admitted at once to the presence of Dr. Gordon, who received the gentleman, whose clerical dress denoted his office, with great cordiality.
"I presume this gentleman is my brother-in-law," was the young clergyman's first remark, "by the initials A. F.; if so, his name is Arthur Franklyn: is he too ill to recognise me?"
"I fear so; he has been delirious ever since he was brought here, and until to-day he has not uttered a name with sufficient distinctness to be understood."
"What is the nature of his complaint?" asked Henry.
"Brain fever," replied the doctor; "and we have been obliged to have his head shaved, so that perhaps you may find a great difficulty in recognising him."
"We have almost feared he would have some attack of this kind," said Henry; "he has had a great amount of excitement during the last fortnight, since the sudden death of his wife in a railway carriage."
"What!" exclaimed Dr. Gordon, "are you referring to the case of Mrs. Franklyn? Of course, yes, that was the name. I read an account of it in the papers, and indeed such a painful occurrence was almost sufficient of itself to produce irritation of the brain, if this gentleman is Mr. Franklyn."
"I have no doubt of it, doctor; but my brother-in-law had apartments in London at the West End—how came he here?"
"I cannot ascertain the correct facts, but it appears that our patient was crossing a plank to go on board a steamer lying in the Thames at London Bridge, and fell into the river. He was recovered from the water quickly and brought to the hospital; a few minutes longer would have proved fatal to him. I have no doubt he lost his balance from giddiness, for this brain fever had been coming on for days."
"I suppose we cannot remove Mr. Franklyn yet?" said Henry.
"Remove him! my dear sir, no; impossible, till we can ascertain what turn the disorder takes; but you shall see him and judge for yourself."
Henry Halford followed the surgeon up the stairs in silence. He had never before entered an hospital, and through the open doors of the different wards as he passed, he caught glimpses of sufferers in the various stages and forms of disease, which reminded him of Milton's lines—
Dire was the tossing, deep the groans; despair
Tended the sick, busied from couch to couch;
And over them triumphant death his dart
Shook, but delayed to strike.
Yet the cleanliness and calm of the place made him thank God in his heart for these noble institutions, where the suffering poor can obtain every comfort and care in times of sickness, as well as the most skilful medical advice. On a bed separated by a screen from the other patients lay Arthur Franklyn, but so changed in appearance that for a moment Henry Halford could scarcely recognise him.
The stricken man who lay tossing to and fro on the bed had nothing to remind us of Arthur Franklyn but his features, and even these were drawn and distorted. The shaven head, on which lay cloths steeped in vinegar; the flushed and heated face; the wild, dilated eyes, from which mind and soul had departed, leaving a blank look which seemed to mock their brilliance—all presented to the pitying eyes of the young clergyman a sight never to be forgotten.
"It is my brother-in-law, Dr. Gordon," he said at last; "but what a wreck of himself! He does not appear to know me in the least."
"Try what your voice can do," replied the doctor; "speak to him, Mr. Halford."
"Arthur! Arthur Franklyn!" he exclaimed, bending over the patient, "do you know me?"
The eyes turned towards him with a vacant look, but no recognition; and presently the muttering of delirium again commenced, in which Henry could now and then distinguish his own name and his sister's, as well as those of his children and his second wife.
"Is there any hope of his recovery, Dr. Gordon?" said Henry, almost in tears. "He has four motherless children."
"Well, I cannot deny that there is hope," he said; "for Mr. Franklyn has a good constitution, and may perhaps battle with the disease, but his recovery will be followed by a period of painful exhaustion. There is evidently something on his mind in addition to the excitement caused by the death of Mrs. Franklyn. He seems also to be in great trouble about the loss of his carpet bag, which fell with him into the water, but has not yet been recovered."
Dr. Gordon had spoken in a low tone, yet the ear of the sufferer caught the word. He started up in bed.
"Where is Henry? Tell him to find the carpet bag. I'll tell him what is in it. They cannot touch me; there's nothing they can prove. Ah, let me go for it. I must save my children!" and he attempted to get out of bed, but fell back, too much exhausted to resist the doctor in his firm efforts to prevent him.
"I can do no good by staying here, doctor," said Henry, after a pause; "but if you will kindly describe the spot where the accident took place, I can make inquiries about the carpet bag to-morrow. In the meantime, as Mr. Franklyn cannot be moved, I am sure we may leave him safely here, and pay whatever expenses are incurred for him while in the hospital."
"If his friends wish to do so, it can be easily arranged," said Dr. Gordon, as he and Henry descended the stairs; "and you may depend upon having a telegram from me should a change for the worse take place."
The two gentlemen parted at the door of the hospital, the one to wend his way homeward after his arduous duties, and the other to find himself in the streets of London on a Sunday night within half an hour of midnight.
He had left his own carpet bag at an hotel near Guy's, and here, after a day of excitement and fatigue, he was at last able to take some slight refreshment. Although almost without appetite he felt it as a duty he owed himself to try to eat a little.
"I must telegraph home and to the rectory in the morning," he said to himself as he sought this pillow; "if I stay in London till to-morrow I may perhaps hear something of this carpet bag which appears to disturb poor Arthur's mind so terribly."
Early next morning Henry was down at the wharf described by Dr. Gordon, and, without acknowledging his relationship, questioned those on the spot about the gentleman who had fallen into the water on the previous Friday.
Full particulars were soon obtained of the accident, and then his informant remarked—
"I suppose you see'd an account of the haccident in the papers, master?"
"No," he replied, almost with a start; "what paper is it in?"
"Oh, pretty nigh all on 'em, for you see we thought for sure the gentleman were dead; but he frightened the two bobbies that went with him in the cab above a bit by jumping up and crying out about his carpet bag. I suppose there was some valuables in that 'ere bag, but the Thames searchers have been a-looking for it ever since, and they ain't seen nothing on it yet."
Henry gave the man a gratuity, which made him touch the brim of his hat in token of approval.
Henry turned again as he moved to go—"Do you know the men who are searchers of the Thames?" he asked.
"Yes, sir, I knows 'em well."
"Tell them, then, that if they find this bag, and will send it to the Terminus Hotel, London Bridge, I will take care they are paid well for their trouble."
"I'll tell 'em, sir, all right," said the man.
Henry Halford returned to the hotel, and made an arrangement with the waiter respecting the missing bag.
"You can telegraph to me when it arrives," said Henry; "and if the men refuse to leave it, tell them to bring it again in a few hours and wait for me. Here is my card and address. You will be sure to attend to this, for it is very important."
"You may depend upon me, sir," said the man.
And then Henry turned his steps once more to Guy's Hospital.
Dr. Gordon was absent, but the house surgeon sent for Mr. Halford to his private room.
"I do not consider Mr. Franklyn worse or better," he said, in answer to Henry's inquiries. "He is quieter to-day, but with no lucid intervals. I think, however, that the disease is working itself out, and there is nothing for us but patience. Will you see him?"
"No, thank you, I think not to-day; but you will let me know when a change takes place?"
"Without fail, Mr. Halford, you may depend upon that."
The gentlemen parted cordially, and Henry, calling a cab, was driven to the Euston Station, almost dreading the return home, where he should appear as the bearer of such painful tidings.
While in the train Henry Halford reflected anxiously on what could be deposited in this carpet bag to cause his brother-in-law such painful anxiety. He had also not been able to discover to what steamer he was proceeding when attempting to cross the plank. All he could ascertain from the men about the wharf was that two or three steamers were moored alongside each other, one of them being a large Melbourne packet.
"Arthur could not have intended to leave England, or his children," said Henry to himself, "without informing us of his intentions, or taking leave of them."
This idea seemed so utterly improbable that Henry dismissed it from his mind as absurd.
"I will say nothing to excite suspicion at home," he thought. "There is real trouble enough in his illness without adding to it by conjecture of evil. We must wait patiently, and hope and pray for the poor fellow's recovery."
Henry Halford did not know that Arthur's boxes had been carried on shore from the Melbourne packet at Gravesend because the passenger whose name they bore was not on board when the ship arrived there. But the name on these boxes was not Franklyn.
Henry's appearance at Englefield Grange was hailed with trembling anxiety.
"Oh, uncle Henry," exclaimed Clara, with pale lips, "how is dear papa? We know all about the accident—it's in the Times."
"Stay, Clara dear," said Kate Marston; "your uncle looks tired and anxious. Only tell us one thing, Henry: have you seen Arthur, and is he still living?"
"Yes, Kate; he is in Guy's Hospital, and receiving every attention and kindness, but he is indeed most seriously ill. Don't grieve, my dear Clara," he continued, putting his arm round his niece as she burst into tears at his words, and leading her into the little breakfast parlour; "for grandpapa's sake, and your sister and brothers, keep up a brave spirit. Your dear father is in God's hands, and we must pray and hope."
Clara dried her tears and listened with painful interest to her uncle Henry's description of her poor father's accident, and the illness from which he now suffered.
But her uncle's words had aroused her usual calm self-possession, and she determined to subdue her own sorrow for the sake of those whom she loved so well.
Henry Halford, during the first few days of this sad week, was making himself acquainted with his duties as a curate, and while thus engaged, or busy in the schoolroom, he could banish from his mind the vague suspicions about Arthur which still troubled him when unemployed.
He was mourning over the impossibility of obtaining time to visit the hospital more frequently, when he was one morning surprised soon after breakfast by the appearance of Mr. Drummond and a gentleman whom he introduced as his nephew, George Longford.
On entering the drawing-room, Mr. Drummond came forward with eager sympathy, and taking Henry's offered hand, he exclaimed—
"My dear Henry, I am indeed grieved to hear of these overwhelming troubles which have fallen upon your family in such quick succession, and I and my nephew are come to offer our services if agreeable."
"Pray be seated," said Henry, placing chairs for his visitors.
"Thank you, no; we have only a few moments to stay, and our business is soon told. My nephew George, who is staying with us for a short time, is walking the hospitals. He will be at Guy's every day, and will gladly bring you news—good news, I hope—respecting Mr. Franklyn on his return each evening to my house."
"It is indeed a very kind proposal," said Henry, "I shall be most grateful, for we have my brother-in-law's four children here, and the elder ones are of course very anxious about their father. Unfortunately, it is my first initiation into parish work this week, and as we are within a fortnight of the midsummer vacation my presence is required in the schoolroom almost constantly, and I cannot visit the hospital as often as I could wish."
"I had some idea of all these difficulties," said Mr. Drummond, "but my nephew's reports will relieve you of this anxiety, so make yourself easy on the matter."
"You may depend upon me," said George Longford, as the gentlemen hurried away after shaking hands warmly; "you shall have the latest information every evening. I will call here on my way home."
Henry Halford parted from the gentlemen with cordial and earnest thanks. It would be a great mental relief to him as well as to Kate Marston to receive daily information respecting Arthur. They already began to feel the responsibility which the care of Arthur's children involved, not so much on account of the additional expense, but from their motherless condition.
"I do hope poor Arthur wont die and leave these poor children fatherless as well as motherless," said Kate Marston on the day Mr. Drummond had called, "but I suppose there will be plenty of money to support them in case of such a sad event."
"No matter if there is not, Kate; my father would never forsake dear Fanny's children. Neither would I, even if they were left penniless."
"I know that well," she replied, her eyes filling with tears. "Uncle has been a second father to me for half my life—since I was left an orphan."
"We must not anticipate evil, Kate," said her cousin. "I hope all will end well with poor Arthur, although it would grieve you painfully to see how he is changed. But where is the Times? I have not read the paragraph Clara spoke of yesterday."
Kate fetched the paper, and pointing to the paragraph, placed it in his hands.
Henry took it nervously. The mystery of the carpet bag still haunted him, and seemed ominous of evil. He glanced hurriedly over the account, which ran as follows:—
"Dangerous Accident.—On Friday afternoon a gentleman, in attempting to cross a plank from the shore near London Bridge to reach a distant steamer, lost his footing and fell into the water. With great difficulty he was brought to land by the activity and energy of those around him. He was immediately taken in a cab to Guy's Hospital, but recovering animation before he reached there, he showed by evident signs that he must have been under the influence of incipient brain fever, for he called frantically for his carpet bag, which had fallen with him into the river. He is now lying in a very precarious state at the hospital. We understand from good authority that the gentleman who has had such a narrow escape from drowning is Mr. Arthur Franklyn, whose wife died suddenly in a railway carriage a few weeks since. His present state, and the accident that preceded it, may therefore be easily accounted for under such painful circumstances."
"It is no more than I expected," said Kate, as her cousin threw down the paper. "Arthur has looked dreadfully ill since poor Louisa's death. Do you know, Henry, I fear he has no claim on her property after all."
"What makes you think so?" asked Henry, in surprise.
"Oh, the remark he made to me on the day he started for London after you left. I understood him to say that he had taken no steps to ascertain his position with regard to his wife's property before his marriage."
"I had some suspicions that such was the case," replied Henry, "when he asked me to recommend him a lawyer; and I believe he had been with Mrs. Franklyn to call on Mr. Norton for the purpose of arranging for him to witness certain signatures on the day of her sudden death. It certainly will be a disappointment to Arthur if his second wife's property is all lost to him; but from his own account of his position and means I do not suppose he will feel it much—at all events we must hope so."
Kate made no reply. She had seen more of Arthur Franklyn during his visit than her cousin, and she could not get rid of the idea that a great deal of the uneasy and perturbed state of mind so evident in his manner and appearance was caused by anxiety about money.
George Longford, according to his promise, brought to Englefield Grange daily accounts of Arthur Franklyn's state—at times alarming, at others hopeful.
More than once Henry visited the hospital to obtain personally the opinion of the surgeons, yet nearly a week passed before his brother-in-law was able in a lucid interval to recognise him.
But this recognition was attended with painful results. For a few minutes the sick man spoke calmly to Henry, and listened to his kind and hopeful words. Suddenly, as if stung by some painful recollection, he exclaimed—
"Go, go; you are come to reproach me! O Fanny, Fanny, what have I done! My children, my children! Don't revenge yourself on them, Henry, by letting them starve!"
Poor Henry was hurried away, and returned home agonised by the thought, not only that his presence at the hospital might have hastened his brother-in-law's death, but also by the terrible fear which his words had suggested. What, oh! what had poor Arthur done?
Nothing now remained but patience and hope, yet as week after week passed by all hope seemed to die in the hearts of his children and the loving friends in whose care they were placed.
Not till the second week in July could Arthur Franklyn be pronounced out of danger; and in this hopeful condition we will leave him, to return to our friends at Kilburn.