Dead Man's Love

by Tom Gallon

"I've found her!" he exclaimed, excitedly waving the paper. "I've found her!"

I snatched the paper from him, and began to read it eagerly at the place where his trembling finger had pointed. The paragraph was headed, "Strange Loss of Memory," and referred to a young lady bearing the name of Debora Matchwick, who had been found in an almost unconscious condition from privation, on a seat in a public park, and had been conveyed to the Great Southern Hospital. For a time it had been impossible to discover who she was, as she appeared to have entirely forgotten any of the past events of her life, or even her own name; but at last she had given the name, and enquiries had elicited the fact that she had a guardian living in the neighbourhood of Highgate. This gentleman—the famous scientist and retired physician, Dr. Bardolph Just—had been communicated with, and had at once visited the young lady. So soon as she had recovered she would go abroad for rest and change. There seemed to be no doubt that she would ultimately recover completely.

I almost hugged Andrew Ferkoe in my delight. I laughed to think how easily the discovery had been made. I laughed also at the remembrance of how Dr. Just had spoken of the "private nursing home," and how now I was, after all, to take the wind out of his sails. I rushed off at once to the Great Southern Hospital.

Every sort of difficulty was placed in my way. It was not an ordinary visiting day, and I could not be admitted. The young lady had been placed in a private ward, it was true, but the regulations were very strict. More than that, it was imperative that she should not be excited in any way.

"I will not excite her; I am her greatest friend, and I know that she has been longing to see me," I pleaded.

"But she has a visitor with her now," the young doctor urged. "That visitor is her guardian."

I was now more than ever determined that I would see Debora; I pleaded again that one extra visitor, under the circumstances, could surely make no difference. "Besides," I added, "I know Dr. Just very well."

So at last I had my way, and I followed the young doctor through the quiet place until I came to the little private room where Debora lay—a room formed by raising walls nearly to the ceiling in a great ward, leaving a corridor down the centre. I went in, with my heart beating heavily; and the first person I faced was Dr. Just.

I never saw a man so astonished in all my life; I was afraid he was going to lose his presence of mind, and have me bundled out then and there, after making something of a scene. But I will do him the justice to say that his conduct was admirable; he accepted the inevitable, and bowed slightly in my direction as the doctor left me inside the little room and closed the door.

Then, for the first time, I saw Debora, lying white-faced among her pillows. I noted with gratitude how her eyes lighted up as she turned slightly in my direction, and held out a white hand towards me. I could not help it; I fell on my knees beside the bed, and put the hand to my lips as the tears sprang to my eyes.