“Most people would,” answered John, with sudden coldness. “Will you send for a doctor? Or shall I go myself?”
“Are you in earnest?” asked Mrs. Ralston, rising slowly from her seat and looking at him.
“I’m in earnest—yes. You seem to be. It’s rather a serious matter to doubt my word of honour—even for my mother.”
Being quite sure of himself, he spoke very bitterly and coldly. The time for appealing to her kindness, her love, or her belief in him was over, and the sense of approaching triumph was thrilling, after the humiliation he had suffered in silence. Mrs. Ralston, strange to say, hesitated.
“It’s very late to send for any one now,” she said.
“Very well; I’ll go myself,” answered John. “The man should come, if it were within five minutes of the Last Judgment. Will you go to your room for a moment, mother, while I dress? I can’t go as I am.”
“No. I’ll send some one.” She stood still, watching his face. “I’ll ring for a messenger,” she said, and left the room.
By this time her conviction was so deep seated that she had many reasons for not letting him leave the house, nor even change his clothes. He was very strong. It was evident, too, that he had completely regained possession of his faculties, and she believed that he was capable, at short notice, of so restoring his appearance as to deceive the keenest doctor. She remembered what had happened on Monday, and resolved that the physician should see him just as he was. It did not strike her, in her experience, that a doctor does not judge such matters as a woman does.
During her brief absence from the room, John was thinking of very different matters. It did not even strike him that he might smooth his hair or wash his soiled and blood-stained hands, and he continued to pace the room under strong excitement.
“Doctor Routh will come, I think,” said Mrs. Ralston, as she came in.