“I admire and respect the grand self-denial of such ladies as yourself who devote themselves to these tasks, so do not think me unfeeling. It is that I can only attend a certain number of cases every day.”
“But you would go to some wealthy patient,” she cried imploringly, “and I will pay you whatever fee you ask.”
“You wrong me, my dear young lady,” he said gravely. “I would not go to-day to any wealthy or great patient for any sum that could be offered me. I take fees, but I hope my life is not so sordid as that.”
“Forgive me,” she said hastily. “I beg your pardon.”
“Yes,” he said, taking her hand to raise it reverently to his lips, “I forgive you, my child, and I will prove it by seeing the poor woman of whom you speak. Come.”
He led her out to the carriage waiting to take him to the hospital, and a group of the wretched dwellers in the foul street soon after stood watching the great surgeon’s carriage, while he was in the bare upstairs room of the crowded house. He stayed an hour, and came again and again, till the day came when another carriage stopped at that door, and a hushed crowd of neighbours stood around, to see Nurse Elisia’s patient carried out, asleep.
“If I only had come to you sooner!” she said.
“I could have done no more,” replied Sir Denton. “Believe me, it is the simple truth. We can both honestly say that we have done everything that human brain and hands could do.”
They were walking slowly away from the house where the woman had died.
“And now I must speak to you about yourself.”