Chapter Fourteen.
A Suspicious Patient.
There is plenty of food for the student in the dispositions of the sick, and the way they bear their pains.
Ralph Elthorne’s was an exceptional case, and his moods were many. The principal feeling with him, in the intervals when he was free from pain, was one of irritation against fate for selecting him to bear all this trouble and discomfort. Illness had been so rare with him that at times he found it hard to realise the fact that he was lying there, utterly helpless and forced to depend upon those about him for everything, the result being that he was about as petulant and restless a patient as could be well imagined. In addition, he grew day by day more and more suspicious, lying and watching every look and act of those about him, ready to distort the most trifling things, and fancy that they were all part and parcel of some deeply laid scheme which was to interfere with his peace of mind and tend to his utter dethronement from the old position he had held so long.
On this particular morning he had been lying placidly enough, chatting with his son, while Nurse Elisia was in attendance, till Neil, feeling that the time had now come for his father to be prepared, let drop a few words about Sir Denton’s visit.
The change was almost startling. There was a wildly eager, excited look in his eyes, and suspicion in the tone of his voice, as he exclaimed:
“Coming down? Sir Denton? For what reason? Quick! Tell me why?”
He caught his son’s wrist, and his long thin fingers gripped it firmly as his troubled face, about which the grey hair was growing long since his illness, was turned searchingly to his son.