Up to Weybridge, past Shepperton and the Island, and on to the narrow black mouth of the Wey between the old gaping lock gates into the deep jaws of the newer one. After that, they were in the region of locks which they had to work themselves, and progress was very slow.
Felix had hardly a moment in which to think of Rona, though he felt that she was growing worse instead of better. He had never been so tired in his life as he was when they moored near a small village called Dunhythe, where the night was to be spent.
Doggett had an errand for him. He was to go up to the village, which lay half a mile from the little hythe or wharf, and get the blacksmith to re-fix the iron point of the long pole, damaged at Halliford. Before starting on his errand he went to look at the girl, who had been unable to eat or drink anything but water at dinner-time. She was now delirious. To his horror, she did not know him. Her face was bright red, and her eyes preternaturally bright.
Felix determined that he must call in a doctor, if he could persuade one to come without a fee. He said nothing of his intention to the Old Man, but set out for the village as fast as he could go, with the long pole over his shoulder.
Having deposited his burden with the blacksmith, and promised to call for it, he asked the way to the doctor's house, and found himself obliged to run nearly a mile. A smart motor was at the door when he arrived, and the maid said the doctor was seeing a patient, but would speak to him when disengaged. The minutes seemed hours to Felix as he sat in the hall, filled with a vast and overwhelming depression. It was of no use to struggle against his destiny. Rona, the sole thing for which he was making this last stand, was going to die.
The door opened, the doctor came out, and advanced across the hall, accompanied by an elderly lady with a plain, humorous face, and a natural charm of manner.
"Well," she said, "that is reassuring, doctor. But mind, nothing is to be spared. Let the poor fellow have port wine or tonic, or anything he ought to have, and send in the bills to me."
"You are splendid!" was the reply, in a tone of deep feeling. "What would happen without you, I wonder? Hullo, my good man, what can I do for you?"
He spoke to Felix, who could not immediately reply. He was seized with a fit of trembling, and grew white. He had seen the lady from time to time in his boyish days. She was only sister to his father's first wife—her name was Miss Rawson. She lived at Normansgrave, and kept house for Denzil Vanston.