They went softly up to the first floor, and entered a bedroom. Fortunately the light here was very dim, or the nurse who sat by the child’s bed must have wondered at the eccentricity with which her patient’s father attired himself. Bending over the little sufferer, Reardon felt for the first time since Willie’s birth a strong fatherly emotion; tears rushed to his eyes, and he almost crushed Amy’s hand as he held it during the spasm of his intense feeling.
He sat here for a long time without speaking. The warmth of the chamber had the reverse of an assuaging effect upon his difficult breathing and his frequent short cough—it seemed to oppress and confuse his brain. He began to feel a pain in his right side, and could not sit upright on the chair.
Amy kept regarding him, without his being aware of it.
‘Does your head ache?’ she whispered.
He nodded, but did not speak.
‘Oh, why doesn’t the doctor come? I must send in a few minutes.’
But as soon as she had spoken a bell rang in the lower part of the house. Amy had no doubt that it announced the promised visit.
She left the room, and in a minute or two returned with the medical man. When the examination of the child was over, Reardon requested a few words with the doctor in the room downstairs.
‘I’ll come back to you,’ he whispered to Amy.
The two descended together, and entered the drawing-room.