“Not I. The pair of you hatched the swindle, I’ll be bound. Take care of this man, and he is to have no spirits or meat yet, but I’ll come in and see him again.”
Wrigley said no more, and the Doctor marched out with his head up, gave Jessop a short nod, and strode back to continue his watching by Clive Reed’s couch; but, on entering the room, he gave a start, for his patient’s eyes turned to him directly.
Dinah suppressed a cry, and the Doctor made her a sign to be silent, while he quickly sat down and took his patient’s hand, which closed softly upon his fingers. Then, as the eyes still gazed in his in a dreamy way, there was a faint smile of recognition. Soon after the lids dropped softly, like those of a weary infant; and as the Doctor bent lower, there was a sigh, and the regular rise and fall of his breath.
Dinah stood back with her hands clasped, her pupils widely dilated, and a beseeching look of agony in her eyes, as the Doctor slowly rose. Then, seeing the dread and horror painted in her face, he smiled, took her hand, and led her, trembling with hope and apprehension, out of the room.
“Dying?” she cried, in a low, piteous, wailing tone.
“Yes: we’ve killed the fever, and he is sleeping as peacefully as a child.”
“Ah!”
One low, piteous sigh, and Dinah would have fallen to the floor had not the Doctor caught her in his arms, for she fainted dead away.
The Major, who was, in his dread, always upon the qui vive, joined them on the instant, and helped to bear his child to a couch.
“Overcome?” he whispered.