Eustace Marchmont: A friend of the people

by Evelyn Everett-Green

Inquiring what all the commotion was about, and learning that Saul had recovered his senses, but had grown excited in his desire to see Mr. Marchmont once more, he thrust out his under lip and regarded the young man intently, his finger upon his patient’s wrist all the while. Then he spoke to him quietly and soothingly.

“I will let you see him to-morrow, if possible,” he said kindly. “I understand your feeling; but to-night you must be content to wait and gather a little strength. Mr. Marchmont is sleeping, and had better not be disturbed; but if you sleep too, the hours will soon pass. To-morrow I will do what I can to gratify you,” and having quieted Saul and administered a soothing draught, he drew Abner with him outside the door.

“Can he really do it?” asked the old man wonderingly. “I thought he was like to die at any sudden movement or exertion.”

“Yes, that is true; but there are cases where repose of mind does more than rest of body. Saul is so near to the gates of death that it matters little what he does or does not do. How the heart’s action keeps up at all in the present condition of the organ I do not know; but the end cannot be far off. If he is bent on this I shall not thwart him beyond a certain point. He may have forgotten by the morning; but if not, we must see what we can do to get him there. The distance is very short—only a few steps along this corridor, and through the swing door, and you are close to Mr. Marchmont’s room. I think the exertion of movement will try him less than the tossing and restlessness of unfulfilled expectation and desire. Let him have his night in peace, if possible. But if the desire should grow too strong upon him, let him have his way. It cannot do more than hasten the inevitable end by a brief span. I am not sure whether his strength will not desert him at the first attempt to move, and he may give it up of his own free will; but do not thwart him beyond a certain point. We doctors always try to give dying men their way. It is cruelty to thwart them save to gain some real advantage. In your grandson’s case there is nothing to be gained. He is past human skill; but if we can ease his passage by relieving his mind of any part of its burden, I should not stand in the way because it might hasten the end by a brief hour or more.”

Saul, lying with closed eyes, his senses preternaturally acute and sharpened by illness, heard every word the doctor spoke, and a quick thrill of gratitude and thankfulness ran through him. He lay quite still when his grandfather returned. He gave no sign of having heard. He was exhausted to an extent which made any sort of speech or movement impossible at the moment, and told him even more clearly than the doctor’s words had done of his close approach to the dark valley. But his mind was at rest, concentrated upon the one purpose of making his peace with man, as he had already made it with God. He felt a perfect confidence that this thing also would be permitted him, and he lay calm and tranquil, resting and thinking.

He saw his grandfather moving softly about the room, saw him put out beside the fire a suit of his own (Saul’s) clothes, evidently ready against a possible emergency. He saw a servant come in with food for them both, and watched through half-closed eyes while Abner ate his supper. Then he felt himself made comfortable in bed and fed with something strong and warm, which gave him an access of strength. He fell into a light sleep after that, and when he opened his eyes again, Abner was sleeping soundly in his chair—sleeping that deep sleep of utter exhaustion which always follows at last on a prolonged vigil.

Saul lay still and watched him, and then a sudden and intense desire took possession of him. He sat up in bed, and found himself strong beyond all expectation. A glass of some cordial was standing at the bedside. He took it and swallowed the potion, and rose to his feet. He crossed the room softly, still marvelling at the power which had come to him, and clad himself in the warm garments put out in readiness. Abner meantime slept on, utterly unconscious of what was passing. To Saul it all seemed like part of the same wonderful miracle which had been wrought upon his spirit by the power of the Eternal Spirit of God. His eyes had been opened at the eleventh hour to see the light; and now the goodness of God was giving to him just that measure of physical strength which was needed to accomplish the last desire of his heart before he should be called away from this earth.

Once dressed, there was no difficulty in finding his way to the room where Eustace lay. Saul knew something of the castle, and had once been taken by Eustace himself up the staircase in the servants’ wing, past the door of this very room, and into the rooms he occupied to look at some plant under the microscope. He opened the door softly, and found that the passage was lighted by a lamp. He was able to walk by supporting one shoulder against the wall and crawling slowly along. His breath was very short; every few steps he had to pause to pant, and there were strange sensations as of pressure upon his windpipe; but he felt that he had strength for what he purposed, and he persevered.

Through the swing door he passed, and into the carpeted corridor of the main block of building, and here a light was also burning, whilst the door he remembered to have opened before stood ajar. He paused there a moment and looked in. The room was empty, and beyond lay the sleeping chamber, its door half-open also. Pausing again to gather breath, Saul passed slowly through that door, and found himself in a dim and quiet chamber, where a man-servant kept a quiet watch in a chair beside the fire; and upon the bed, his eyes closed and his face quite peaceful, lay Eustace Marchmont.

But the entrance of this tall, gaunt, spectre-like figure produced an effect Saul had not calculated upon. The man-servant well knew Saul Tresithny by sight, and knew that he lay at the point of death in an adjoining chamber of the castle. Seeing this figure glide noiselessly through the door and up to the bed, he fully believed he saw the young fisherman’s ghost, and springing to his feet with a cry of terror, he fled precipitately from the room, overcome by invincible fear. The cry awoke Eustace, and the next moment he and Saul Tresithny were looking into each other’s eyes—almost as men might look who had passed beyond the realms of this world and had met in the land of spirits.