“Don’t prevaricate—don’t look me in the face, and tell lies at this moment. Dr Johnson and Dr Keith, from London, are both up-stairs. They will tell you what you have to do. Go to them; obey their directions. There is not a moment to be lost.”
My father’s trembling hand still held my shoulder; he emphasised his words with cruel pinches. I wrenched myself away with a sudden effort.
“You hurt me when you hold me like that,” I said.
“Who cares whether I hurt you or not, child? it’s your mother’s life that hangs in the balance. What matter about you—what are you? Go up-stairs to the doctors. Listen to their directions and obey them.”
I was sobbing feebly. My father’s manner had unnerved me.
“I hate women who cry,” he said, turning away. “You have always made a great profession of caring for your mother. Go up-stairs now, and act on it.”
“How can I?” I repeated. “Father, why do you speak to me as you are doing? My mother wants money, peace, rest.”
“Exactly, Rosamund. Penury and a hard life are killing your mother. Go up-stairs. Don’t talk any more humbug. Get your mother what she wants. Gray, the lawyer, has been here this morning.”
“Oh,” I said, “and he has told you?”
“He has told me that you can be rich if you please. He has told me also the source from which the wealth can come. You think that I will shrink from that source. I shrink from nothing that will save your mother. Gray thinks it highly probable that you will act like a weak idiot.”