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.