As he approached he made out the figure of the doctor, moving along with a huge bundle in his arms, which at once he knew to be the muffled form of Rona.
His girl! They were taking her away! A rebellion now tore at his heart, as unlike as possible to that despair of lethargy which had filled his soul before the coming of Rona into his life. In spite of his sore feet he ran as hard as he could, crossed the bridge, and came panting up, just as the doctor was carefully placing the sick girl in the motor.
"What are you doing?" cried Felix, in a voice that did not belong to a barge-boy.
It surprised the doctor, but, as it happened, Miss Rawson was out of earshot. She had remained to offer Mr. Doggett half a sovereign for his humane care of the invalid. "Lord love yer, I'd 'a done twice as much if I'd 'a bin arst," said he, with a geniality few were privileged to perceive in his usual manner. "Love the gal as if she was me own I do, and 'er brother'll tell yer jest the syme if you was to arst 'im."
The brother at the moment was standing there all a-quiver, his extremely beautiful dark gray eyes appealing to the doctor in a passion of protest.
"It's all right, my man, your sister will be nursed and taken care of like a Princess," said Dr. Causton. "Miss Rawson runs a cottage hospital at Aylfleet, and we are taking her there. I fear there is internal inflammation. The bargee says you and he are going to Basingstoke, and coming back by the same route. Well, she won't be wanting to see you for some days to come, I'm afraid; and you can stop on the way back and come up to find out how she is."
There was one master question at the back of Felix's mind, and he asked it straight out, and with no hesitation, "Will she die?"
The doctor looked at him with a puzzled interest. But he had seen a good deal in his London hospital days, and he knew that such a thing as a deep fraternal devotion is not unknown, though certainly rare, among the lowest classes. "No, I hope not," he said; "she has a fine constitution, and I don't see why she should not pull through."
Felix turned to look at the girl, moaning and tossing in her wrappings. She knew nobody, she had no need of him, she was going to be taken care of—he must let her go. With a rush the conviction came to him that he should never see her again. He had not wept for years, but tears blinded him now. They overflowed his eyes, and, to his fury, he had to lift his hand and dash them away.
Who was he, the acquaintance of a moment, to have any claim upon her? Perhaps when she was rational again she would not remember that she had ever seen him. He had read of such things in books. Miss Rawson hurried up.