He ran to the door. “If that man’s condition is serious, you had better summon a doctor,” he cried to the porter, whom he saw engaged in the effort to prop Van Hupfeldt’s body against a chair. David was pitiless, perhaps; he had not recovered from the shock of finding Violet lying prostrate.
“He mustn’t be allowed to fall down, sir,” said Jim, anxiously, “or he will choke. I’ve seen a kise like this before.”
David, though quickly subsiding from his ferment, was divided between the claims of Violet and the demands of humanity. Personally, he thought that the Dutchman would be no loss to the world; but the man was helpless. And now Violet, recovering strength and recollection with each more regular breath, knew what had happened. She stood up tremblingly.
“Let us go to him,” she said, with the fine chivalry of woman, and soon, kneeling on each side of Van Hupfeldt, they supported him, and endeavored to stanch the outpouring from his lips.
The porter hurried away. David, wondering what to do for the best, held his enemy’s powerless body a little inclined forward, and asked Violet if she would bring a wet towel from the bath-room. She did this at once, and wrapped it round Van Hupfeldt’s forehead. The relief thus afforded was effective, and the flow of blood had ceased when the porter returned with a doctor who lived in the next block of dwellings.
The doctor made light of the hemorrhage; but he detected a pulse which made him look up at the others gravely.
“This is a bad case of heart failure,” he said. “The rupture of a blood-vessel is a mere symptom. Has he had a sudden shock?”
“I fear so,” said David. “What can we do for him?”