"Yes," the old man stormed; "a witch-wife, a distracted, wild-eyed manes who has had seven devils--seventy for what I know--cast out of her and now blooms forth in pristine freshness. When witches inhabit the earth the doctors can seek another world in which to practice their vile profession of medicine; their services will not be required in this one. However, when our witch friend gets out among people she may find that she has fewer friends in her health than she had in her sickness. She may be able to ride over chimney tops on a broomstick and hobnob with black cats in the forest for a time--but it may be a short time."
Heretofore the young doctor had given little heed to his father's bluster about Mrs. Thorpe's recovery; but now he understood that his words contained a covert threat. In the course of their relations together the son had fallen into the way of arbiter between his father and his father's patients, and many times he was able to prevent his father's malevolent designs and to heal the wounds that he inflicted. Now he looked up from the book that he was reading; he did not look full into his father's face, but scanned it surreptitiously, and he admitted to himself that his father's malady was working upon him again. The harsh grating of his voice and his evil, malicious words had portrayed it; and the fleeting glance at the old man's face had revealed the purplish tinge, the swollen veins, and the murderous gleam of his eyes.
Never could he forget the day that he had discovered his father's secret--the disease that was ravaging body and brain. He had come upon him suddenly, unexpectedly, and had turned hastily from him, partly in recoil at what he saw and also to shield his father from the knowledge that he had discovered his trouble. And from that time, as he valued his life, he had given no hint of what he knew, although there was a silent understanding regarding it between him and his father. And this understanding had enabled him to know his choleric parent as he had never known him before. He felt that the anger and malignity and rancor to which his father gave vent were but the outflow, the suppuration of the horror which held him in its grasp; and he dared not put the question to himself, whether it might not be that this thing of horror was but his father's evil moods materialized in the flesh. And now he read an expression of his father's virulence in his remarks concerning the pastor and his wife, and had he read no more than this he would have made no reply, but he feared that his father's words contained a menace to the peace of those to whom he was ministering, and he believed it was time for him to ascertain the state of affairs at the parsonage.
"If Mr. Thorpe's decline is, as you say, slow and gradual," he said, "so long as there are no complications, you may as well let me take the case." His manner was quiet, free from curiosity, and indicated that he was not interested in the matter of Mrs. Thorpe's recovery. "I have calls that will take me in that part of the town to-morrow," he continued, "and I will see Mr. Thorpe for you if you like."
Dr. Eldrige Jr. felt that he had scored a victory that was worth while. His father would get a new grievance bye and bye, and then, if he saw no more of the Thorpes, he would forget this one.
He called at the parsonage the next afternoon and found Mr. Thorpe resting comfortably. The cough was better and the other symptoms less pronounced. After this he continued his calls at different times for several days; then a call came that took him out of town for a few days and the old doctor made the call on Mr. Thorpe.
After the visit he said to Mrs. Thorpe, who had accompanied him to the hall: "The present treatment seems to be working so well that it will not be necessary for me to call again until Mr. Thorpe is taken worse; but be sure and let me know at the first return of the unfavorable symptoms." He spoke of this contingency as though it were a foregone conclusion; that it was only a matter of time.
This was the first real intimation that Mrs. Thorpe had had that her husband's condition was serious. For the first moment she felt as if her heart had ceased to beat, or was it that she was blind that the daylight should be so black? Then she felt that a burden so heavy that she could not bear it had been suddenly and rudely thrust upon her. She felt that she staggered and was unsteady on her feet. But she faced the doctor and spoke as bravely as she could, although her voice sounded in her ears like a voice that she had never heard before. Yet in her consciousness there mingled with this deadly certainty that the doctor expressed something of her new-found faith in a higher power, and so she said:
"If he is taken worse we will let you know at once."
Dr. Eldrige lowered his head and looked at her over his glasses; he was in a villainous mood, and that little flame of faith that had shot out in her words had not escaped him.