“She’s dying, I think,” he said, hoarsely, “and there’s not a human being near her.”
“Good Lord!” cried Tom, “Good Lord!” The sweat started out on his forehead. He remembered what Stamps had said of her youth and her pale face, and he thought of Delia Vanuxem, and from this thought sprang a sudden recollection of the deserted medical career in which he had been regarded as so ignominious a failure. He had never mentioned it since he had cut himself off from the old life, and the women for whose children he had prescribed with some success now and then had considered the ends achieved only the natural results of his multitudinous gifts. But the thought of the desolate young creature lying there alone struck deep. He listened one moment, then made his resolve.
“Go to the stable,” he said, “and throw a saddle over the horse you will find there. I know something of such matters myself, and I shall be better than nothing, with a woman’s help. I have a woman here who will follow us.”
He went into the back room and awakened Aunt Mornin.
“Get up,” he said, “and saddle the mule and follow me as soon as you can to the cabin in Blair’s Hollow. The wife of a man who lives there needs a woman with her. Come quickly.”
When he returned to the door his horse stood there saddled, the stranger sitting on his own and holding the bridle.
Tom mounted in silence, but once finally seated, he turned to his companion.
“Now strike out,” he said.
There were four miles of road before them, but they scarcely slackened rein until they were within sight of the Hollow, and the few words they exchanged were the barest questions and answers.
The cabin was built away from the road on the side of the hill, and leaving their horses tethered at the foot of the slope, they climbed it together.