“I say,” he cried banteringly, “so that’s the modern style of nurse. Neil, old chap, is there any room for me to walk your hospital? I’m coming up to study medicine.”
Isabel looked curiously from one to the other in the semi-gloom; and, as she saw her elder brother’s face, a feeling of dislike to the newcomer which she could not have analysed arose within her, and she started as she heard the deep, hoarse tones in which Neil spoke.
“Is not this ribald style of talk out of place when our father is lying up yonder in so dangerous a state?”
“Oh, rubbish! He’s getting better. But I like your taste, I must say. Capital judge of nurses. Neil’s own selection, Bel.”
Neil turned upon him sharply, as if about to speak, but he compressed his lips and went to the foot of the stairs.
“Going up?” said Alison laughingly. “Come along, Isabel; we’ll go, too. I want another look at our new nurse.”
Neil made an angry gesture. “Isabel,” he said hoarsely, “take no notice of him. You had better not come up now.”
As he spoke he began to ascend, and Alison was silent till Neil reached the top.
“Was that the doctor talking, or brother Neil?” he said sarcastically; but there was no reply, for the young surgeon had gone on slowly toward his father’s chamber, with a strange, sickening feeling of misery and despair at his heart, as he felt that, in spite of all his resolutions, a bitter fight was commencing against fate, one which threatened to be complicated in a way that was horrible to contemplate. For his brother’s countenance, as he saw it for one brief moment when he was watching the figure on the stairs, had impressed him in a way which was startling, and as he reached the door, he stopped on the mat listening to a faint murmur, while his brow became furrowed and he muttered.
“Am I so helpless? Have I no will, and do I really love this woman after all?”