“No, my brave little nurse, no. It would have been extremely nice for him, but what he requires now is absolute rest and quiet. Come, come. You are too strong-minded a little woman to be superstitious. Go where you will, in old houses, there has generally been a death in some of the bedrooms; but believe me, that does not affect the living. Why, if that were the case, what should we do at the hospitals? You are going to install yourself here, then, as nurse? That’s right. Let my instructions be carried out, and I’ll come in again at noon.”
Whispered conversation went on all through the house that day, but though there had been the attempt at burglary, Mr Girtle hesitated about calling in the police again, and on consulting the doctor, he quite agreed that it would be better not to have them there.
“It will only disturb my patient,” he said, “and, depend upon it, with a light and people sitting up, the scoundrels will not come again.”
“Well,” said Mr Girtle, “we will not communicate with the police at present.”
The doctor came in at one, and again at five; and, on leaving, looked rather serious.
“If he is not different to this at about nine, when I come in again, I’ll get Sir Ronald Mackenzie to see him. I’ll warn him at once that he may be wanted.”
“Then you think his case serious?”
“Brain injuries always are.”
At nine o’clock, when the doctor came, his manner startled Lydia, who had patiently watched the sufferer all day.
“Yes,” he said; “I will have Sir Ronald’s opinion. I shall be back in half-an-hour.”