Dr. Rumsey's Patient Part 23

"Then before G.o.d," began Awdrey--he stepped back, the words were arrested on his lips, and he fell fainting to the floor.

Dr. Rumsey had him removed to his own room, and with some difficulty the unhappy man was brought back to consciousness. He was now lying on his bed.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"In your room, on your bed. You are better now, dearest," said Margaret.

She bent over him, trying valiantly to conceal her own anguish in order to comfort him.

"But what has happened?" he asked. He suddenly sat up. "Why are you here, Rumsey? Margaret, why are your eyes so red?"

Margaret Awdrey tried to speak, but the words would not come to her lips.

Rumsey bent forward and took Awdrey's hand.

"It has pleased Providence to afflict you very sorely, my poor fellow,"

he said, "but I know for your wife's sake you will be man enough to endure this fearful blow with fort.i.tude."

"What blow, doctor?"

"Your child," began the doctor.

"My child?" said Awdrey. He put his feet on the floor, and stood up.

There was a strange note of query in his tone.

"My child?" he repeated. "What child?"

"Your child is dead, Awdrey. We did what we could to save him."

Awdrey uttered a wild laugh.

"Come, this is too much," he exclaimed. "You talk of a child of mine--I, who never had a child. What are you dreaming about?"

CHAPTER XV.

On the evening of that same day Awdrey entered the room where his wife was silently giving way to her bitter anguish. She was quite overcome by her grief--her eyelids were swollen by much weeping, her dress was disarranged, the traces of a sleepless night, and the fearful anguish through which she was pa.s.sing, were visible on her beautiful face.

Awdrey, who had come into the room almost cheerfully, started and stepped back a pace or two when he saw her--he then knit his brows with marked irritation.

"What can be the matter with you, Margaret?" he cried. "I cannot imagine why you are crying in that silly way."

"I'll try not to cry any more, Robert," she answered.

"Yes, but you look in such dreadful distress; I a.s.sure you, it affects me most disagreeably, and in my state of nerves!--you know, don't you, that nothing ever annoys me more than weak, womanish tears."

"It is impossible for me to be cheerful to-night," said the wife. "The pain is too great. He was our only child, and such--such a darling."

Awdrey laughed.

"Forgive me, my dear," he said, "I really would not hurt your feelings for the world, but you must know, if you allow your common sense to speak, that we never had a child. It has surely been one of our great trials that no child has been given to us to carry on the old line. My poor Maggie," he went up to her quite tenderly, put his arm round her neck, and kissed her, "you must be very unwell to imagine these sort of things."

She suddenly took the hand which lay on her shoulder between both her own.

"Come with me, Robert," she said, an expression of the most intense despair on all her features, "come, I cannot believe that this blight which has pa.s.sed over you can be final. I'll take you to the room where the little body of our beautiful child is lying. When you see that sweet face, surely you will remember."

He frowned when she began to speak; now he disengaged his hand from her clasp.

"It would not be right for me to humor you," he said. "You ought to see a doctor, Maggie, for you are really suffering from a strong delusion.

If you encourage it it may become fixed, and even a.s.sume the proportions of a sort of insanity. Now, my dear wife, try and restrain yourself and listen to me."

She gazed at him with wide-open eyes. As he spoke she had difficulty in believing her own ears. A case like his was indeed new to her. She had never really believed in the tragedy of his house--but now at last the suspected and dreaded blow had truly fallen. Awdrey, like his ancestors before him, was forgetting the grave events of life. Was it possible that he could forget the child, whose life had been the joy of his existence, whose last looks of love had been directed to him, whose last faltering words had breathed his name? Yes, he absolutely forgot all about the child. The stern fact stared her in the face, she could not shut her eyes to it.

"You look at me strangely, Margaret," said Awdrey. "I cannot account for your looks, nor indeed for your actions during the whole of to-day. Now I wish to tell you that I have resolved to carry out Rumsey's advice--he wants me to leave home at once. I spent a night with him--was it last night? I really forget--but anyhow, during that time he had an opportunity of watching my symptoms. You know, don't you, how nervous I am, how full of myself? You know how this inertia steals over me, and envelops me in a sort of cloud. The state of the case is something like this, Maggie; I feel as if a dead hand were pressed against my heart; sometimes I have even a difficulty in breathing, at least in taking a deep breath. It seems to me as if the stupor of death were creeping up my body, gradually day by day, enfeebling all my powers more and more.

Rumsey, who quite understands these symptoms, says that they are grave, but not incurable. He suggests that I should leave London and at once. I propose to take the eight o'clock Continental train. Will you come with me?"

"I?" she cried. "I cannot; our child's little body lies upstairs."

"Why will you annoy me by referring to that delusion of yours? You must know how painful it is to listen to you. Will you come, Maggie?"

"I cannot. Under any other circ.u.mstances I would gladly, but to-night, no, it is impossible."

"Very well then, I'll go alone. I have just been up in my room packing some things. I cannot possibly say how long I shall be absent--perhaps a few weeks, perhaps a day or two--I must be guided in this matter by my sensations."

"If you come back in a day or two, Robert, I'll try and go abroad with you, if you really think it would do you good," said Margaret.

"I'll see about that," he replied. "I cannot quite tell you what my plans are to-night. Meanwhile I find I shall want more money than I have in the house. Have you any by you?"

"I have twenty-five pounds."

"Give it to me; it will be quite sufficient. I have about fifteen pounds here." He touched his breast-pocket. "If I don't return soon I'll write to you. Now good-by, Maggie. Try and conquer that queer delusion, my dear wife. Remember, the more you think of it, the more it will feed upon itself, until you will find it too strong for you. Good-by, darling."

She threw her arms round his neck.

"I cannot describe what my feelings are at this awful moment," she said.

"Is it right for me to let you go alone?"

"Perfectly right, dearest. What possible harm can come to me?" he said with tenderness. He pushed back the rich black hair from her brow as he spoke.

"You love me, Robert?" she cried suddenly--"at least your love for me remains?"

He knit his brows.

"If there is any one I love, it is you," he said, "but I do not know that I love any one--it is this inertia, dearest"--he touched his breast--"it buries love beneath it, it buries all emotion. You are not to blame. If I could conquer it my love for you would be as full, as fresh, and strong as ever. Good-by now. Take care of yourself. If those strange symptoms continue pray consult Dr. Rumsey."

He went out of the room.

Margaret was too stricken and stunned to follow him.