If I were to regret anything it would be that he had not found a spare half-hour to come and see me some time ago. Let me see then how his strength was and whether he could not be fortified a little for the wearing life he was leading. But then these are acts of prudence and foresight which very few ardent men of action ever find time to take. Nevertheless, it is then that advice is really efficient. It is in nine times out of ten sought too late; when it is indeed a matter of little consequence what prescription is written, or, indeed, who has written it, provided only that it does no mischief.
I should very much have liked to see him again at any time. After the first visit I always knew my patient, and felt much interested in him, although I never showed any reference to the fact, preferring to follow his own lead in reference to name, a matter he refers to in the letter of the 3rd inst.
By the way, you know, of course, I received that letter only on Monday morning, and lost not an instant in replying, telegraphing that I was doing so.
You ask me to return it—"his last letter"—as I suspected. I cannot tell you how I was valuing it, and that I intended to place it among my most treasured souvenirs, of which I have many. But I cannot refuse it to his suffering and heart-broken widow, if she desires me to return it, and will do so. It consists only of a few professional words, a patient to his doctor—nothing more, and it is addressed by yourself—as I believe. It is not here—I am writing at the club; but if you still ask me I cannot hesitate an instant, and will send it to you.
Come and see me any time you are able, by and by. I will answer any inquiries you may wish to make. I am at home (only let me know a day beforehand, if you can) every morning from 9.30 to 12—not after, except by quite special arrangement.
With sincere sympathy, believe me, dear Mrs. Parnell, yours truly, HENRY THOMPSON.
My husband was in great pain on the Monday, and seemed to feel a sudden horror that he was being held down by some strong unseen power, and asked my help—thank God, always my help—to fight against it. He tried to get out of bed, although he was too weak to stand, and I had to gently force him back, and cover him up, telling him how dangerous a chill would be. He said: "Hold me tight, then, yourself, till I can fight those others." Then he seemed to doze for a few minutes, and when he opened his eyes again it was to ask me to lie down beside him and put my hand in his, so that he could "feel" I was there. I did so, and he lay still, quite happy again, and spoke of the "sunny land" where we would go as soon as he was better. "We will be so happy, Queenie; there are so many things happier than politics."
He did not sleep that night, and the next morning (Tuesday) he was very feverish, with a bright colour on his usually white face. I wanted to send the dogs from the room, because I feared they would disturb him, but he opened his eyes and said: "Not Grouse; let old Grouse stay, I like him there."
His doctor said that for a day or two we could not look for much improvement. After his medicine that afternoon he lay quietly with his eyes closed, just smiling if I touched him. The doctor came in again, but there was no change, and he left promising to call early the next morning. During the evening my husband seemed to doze, and, listening intently, I heard him mutter "the Conservative Party."