Again there was a painful silence, and Neil clasped his hands together as his arms rested upon his knees, and he closed his eyes and let his head sink down, listening intently for the sentence which Nurse Elisia had been called upon to deliver. And at last she spoke, her low, soft voice thrilling father and son: “God has spared your life,” she almost whispered, but every word was painfully audible, “and you retain the greatest gift to man—the full possession of your mental powers.”
“Yes, yes,” he whispered. “Go on—go on.”
“You will soon, now, be sufficiently strong to be out and about once more, but—”
“Go on,” he panted—“go on.”
“Forgive me, dear Mr Elthorne, for saying it. You force it from me.”
“Yes, yes; go on,” he panted—“the truth—the truth. I shall be out and about, but—”
“Never again as of old,” she continued; and low as her words were, they rang out to the ears of the listeners; “never again as of old.”
As she uttered this last word of what was almost as painful as a death sentence to such a man as Ralph Elthorne, a sob seemed to be torn from his breast, and Neil sprang up as if expectant of some fresh seizure. But his father made a sign which arrested him, and lay back gazing straight before him till many moments had elapsed. Then his lips parted, and they heard him say in a whisper:
“A helpless cripple—I? Yes, it is the truth—the truth.”