“Well, it seems to me,” he continued, “that in bringing him back as it were to life, I left part of my work undone.”
“O no!” cried Lady Scarlett.
“Yes: I brought back his body to life and activity, but I seem to have left behind much of his brain. That seems half dead. He is no longer the man he was.”
“No,” sighed Lady Scarlett. “What you say is true; but surely,” she cried, “you can cure him now.”
The doctor remained silent and thoughtful for a few minutes. “I think when I was down here—at the time of the accident—I told you at the table about a patient I was attending—a gentleman suffering from a peculiar nervous ailment.”
“O yes, yes!” cried Lady Scarlett. “I remember. It seems to be burned into my brain, and I’ve lain awake night after night, thinking it was almost prophetic.”
“I’ve thought so too,” said the doctor drily, “though I never fancied that I was going to join the prophets.”
“But you cured your patient?” cried Lady Scarlett anxiously.
“No; I am sorry to say that my efforts, have been vain. It is one of my failures; and I think it would be a pity for me to take up poor Scarlett’s case.”
“But he wishes it—I wish it.”