“Drive as direct as you can to St. Phillip’s Hospital,” he told the cabman.
At the great hospital which I here call St. Phillip’s Webster had suddenly remembered that he was a personal friend of the house surgeon, Doctor Brentwood. He remembered also that private patients could find accommodation there, and that there were private rooms where May could be nursed and taken care of.
Until she had fainted he had not known where to take her. Now her illness settled the matter, and half an hour later May was borne into the great gloomy building, where the sick and suffering spent their weary hours. But first Webster had a short, whispered conversation with his friend the house surgeon.
“Remember, money is no consideration, Brentwood,” this conversation ended with; “but she must not be left alone; a nurse must never leave her.”
Doctor Brentwood nodded his head and went to look after his new patient. Webster had told him as much of May’s story as he deemed necessary, and the doctor quite understood.
“She is a woman in terrible grief,” Webster had said, “and she might do something desperate unless she is well looked after.”
Thus when May regained complete consciousness she found herself in a small, neat, clean room, with a bright fire burning in the grate, and a neat hospital nurse standing by her bedside. Doctor Brentwood was also in the room, and when May looked round and asked the nurse where she was, he too went up to the bedside.
“Well, you are better now, I see,” he said, cheerfully.
“Where am I?” asked May again. “I think I must have fainted.”
“You are in the private patients’ ward in St. Phillip’s Hospital. Yes, you fainted, but I hope you will soon be all right after you have had a night’s rest.”