Volume Three—Chapter Twelve.
John Huish Gets Back Part of his Brains.
More than once during the severe attack of brain-fever from which John Huish lay prostrate at Highgate, Dr Stonor compressed his lips and asked himself whether he would save his young friend’s life. At such times, as he sat by the bedside and gazed in his patient’s face, the lineaments brought back the scene by the pit and his father’s agony, as Captain Millet lay apparently dying.
“How time has gone!” the doctor would mutter, “and how like he looks to his father now!”
But a change for the better came at last, and after a long and weary convalescence he was once more about, month after month gliding by, and the brain refusing to accompany the body on its way to health.
He was very quiet and gentle, but he seemed to have no recollection of what had gone by, neither did he evince any desire, but passed his time mostly in the doctor’s study, where an unrolled mummy had apparently so great an attraction for him that he would sit near and watch it hour after hour when no one was by.
“Must get him better first,” the doctor would say. “I can’t run the risk of bringing on a relapse.”
So John Huish remained in utter ignorance of the fact that his young wife had been confined to her bed at the gloomy house in Wimpole Street, so prostrated by all she had had to pass through, that the doctors called in advised total rest and quiet, combined with careful nursing. Nothing calculated to excite her was to reach her ears. Hence, when in his turn Dr Stonor called, his lips were sealed respecting John Huish’s state; and poor Gertrude never mentioned his name.
After leaving Renée by her sister’s side, the doctor had a long chat with his old friend, whose white hand trembled as he thrust it forth to be taken by the visitor.