The banker nodded. "I see," he responded briefly. "Yes, I think we should do what we can. By all means, I had better send for Carrington."
The doctor jotted a number on a scrap of paper, handed it to the financier, and was about to leave the room when Helen Hamilton, her face as pale as death, met him upon the threshold. "Quick, doctor," she cried, "he's delirious, and trying to get up. I've left Martin with him." And with a deep-drawn breath she added imploringly, "Oh, isn't there anything that you can do?"
The doctor, without replying, strode quickly up the stairs, the banker following at his heels, while Helen, sinking into a chair, and striving to keep back the tears, prayed imploringly to Heaven for the life of the man she loved.
They found Atherton tossing restlessly from side to side, his eyes wide-open and glassy, the flush of fever in his cheeks. Martin was at his side, but as they entered, the bell rang sharply and the butler left the room, leaving Marshall Hamilton and the Doctor alone with the injured man.
Atherton was no longer violent, but plainly enough the events of the last few weeks were passing, in chaos, through his disordered brain, for he muttered to himself unceasingly, and presently, as his voice gathered strength, they could distinguish clearly what he said, although the words seemed ironically trivial. "I like dogs," he whispered confidentially. "He's a good little pup. I'm glad he's all right."
Again Martin entered the room. "A telephone message for Doctor Rowland," he announced. "They would like him to come to Mrs. Horton's at once."
The doctor turned to the financier. "A childbirth case," he explained. "I must go, and as a matter of fact, there is very little that I can do here. The nurse will arrive at any moment; I have explained to her everything that is to be done. You had better get Carrington." And he hastily left the room.
"Shall I remain here, sir?" inquired the butler, but Hamilton shook his head. "No, look after affairs down stairs," he answered, and Martin withdrew, leaving the banker alone with the unconscious Atherton.
The mutterings ceased; then broke forth again; and presently, quite clearly and with a note of surprise in his tone, the sick man exclaimed, "Marshall Hamilton!"
The banker started. His first thought was that Atherton had suddenly regained consciousness, and involuntarily he stepped forward toward the bed, but Atherton still gazed straight before him, with no sign of recognition in his staring eyes, and whatever it was that had caused the utterance of the banker's name, it was evident that in a few brief seconds he had traversed countless miles of space and numberless hours of time, for now he was talking earnestly with some one else, his voice high-pitched and querulous with anxiety.