“My poor husband,” I said, “he’s dying.”
The next moment he was walking beside me, as I thought to show me where the doctor lived, and it was nearer the market-place where the show stood.
“Come in here,” he said, opening a door with a key, when feeling trembling and suspicious, I hung back, but the light falling upon my new companion, showed me a pleasant faced old man, and I followed him into a surgery, where he put something into a bottle, and five minutes after we were standing in the booth where Balchin and his wife and a couple more of the company were standing about the bed where poor Dick lay, breathing so heavily that it was pitiful to hear him, and me not daring to wake him for fear of his cough.
“God bless my soul,” muttered the doctor I had so fortunately met; “what a place and what a night! Can’t you move him to a house?”
“No,” said Dick, suddenly sitting up. “I’ll die here. This is good enough for a rogue and a vagabond of a strolling player. But doctor,” he said, with his eyes almost blazing, “can you cure my complaint?”
“Well, well! we’ll see,” said the doctor, laying his hand upon poor Dick’s chest.
“No, no; not there, sir,” said Dick. “It’s here—here—in my heart, and it’s sore about that poor girl and this little one: that’s my complaint, not this cough. What are they to do? Where are they to go? Who’s to keep them when I’m gone? Not that I’ve done much for them, poor things.”
“Dick, Dick,” I said, reproachfully.
“My girl!” he says, so softly and tenderly and with such a look, that I was down next moment upon my knees beside him, when he threw one arm round my neck and rested his head again my cheek so loving, so tender, while his other arm was round the little one now fast asleep.
And there we all stayed for a bit; no one speaking, for the doctor stood with his head bent down and his hat off, while the light of the candle shone amongst his silver-looking hair. Two or three times over I saw Balchin and his wife and the others look hard at him, and once Balchin touched him on the sleeve, but he stood still looking on, while poor Dick lay there with his head upon my shoulder, and me, not crying but confused and struck down, and dazed like with sorrow.