Nurse Elisia Part 58

Sir Denton stood gazing in Neil's face for some moments before he spoke again, and then in a weary, helpless way he said sadly:

"And I have been studying human nature all through my long life, to find myself an ignorant pretender after all. Let me go and think. Refused you?--your brother? Ah, well--till to-night, my dear boy--and after all I thought--There, there, it is only the body I have been studying, not the soul. Bless my heart!" he muttered, as he went down to his carriage: "and I felt so sure. Ah, dear me--dear me! it takes a cleverer man than I to read a woman through and through."

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

THE CLOUDS DISPELLED.

Neil Elthorne was more himself as a cab set him down at Sir Denton Hayle's that evening, where the quiet, old-fashioned butler received him in a solemn, old-fashioned way, and ushered him at once into his master's study, for, though there was a fire and lights in the great first-floor drawing room, they were only for form's sake, when the old surgeon had company; and upon occasions like the present it was almost certain not to be used.

Sir Denton received his pupil as warmly as if he had been his son, and they were soon after seated face to face in the gloomy dining room, where the table was reduced to the smallest proportions to which it could be screwed.

It was a thoroughly good, old-fashioned dinner, at which the butler handed very old East India sherry, which was hardly touched; and, after clearing the cloth, left on the nearly black, highly polished table, three ma.s.sive silver decanter stands, in which glowed, like liquid gems, port, claret, and burgundy.

These shared the fate of the sherry, and stood untouched, while, now that they were alone, the important subject of the appointment was discussed, and Sir Denton gave his views concerning the mission.

"Yes; it makes me wish I were thirty years younger, Neil," said the old surgeon. "People talk about it as a forlorn hope, but I maintain that there is victory to be won, and I am sure that you will win it. People are dying off as we read of their dropping away during the plague.

There must be a reason for this, and you are going to discover it, and put a stop to this terrible bill of mortality. Ah, I wish I were going with you to work hand in hand, advising and asking advice."

"I wish you were going, sir," said Neil quietly. "Too old--too old, my dear boy--much too old. Now tell me, where shall you attack the demon first?"

"Clean out his den," said Neil, smiling.

"Good; of course. Sanitation. An Augean task, my young Hercules, but that is it. People will not believe it, but dirt is the nursery bed for most of the germs of disease; and the wonder to me is, not that so many people in our more crowded parts are smitten down, but how they manage to live. Now where you are going, that deadly fever runs riot. I do not believe it could ever exist if everything possible were done to cleanse the place."

"I suppose not," said Neil thoughtfully.

"It could not. I've been thinking it all over, my dear boy, and I have no fear whatever for you. Work will keep you healthy; and now I suppose you would like me to give you a couple of valuable recipes in which I have enormous faith."

"By all means," said Neil eagerly. "Will you write them down?"

"No: you can remember them. As to quant.i.ties, give them _a discretion_--extravagantly. Here they are: pure water and whitewash.

They are death destroyers, my dear boy, and--bless me, I did not want to be disturbed this evening."

The butler entered the room and went up behind his master's chair.

"I am too much engaged to see anyone," said the old man testily.

The butler said a few words in a low tone.

"Bless me! Oh, yes; of course. I'll come directly. Will you excuse me for a few minutes, Elthorne? Pray help yourself to wine."

"Certainly," replied Neil, and the old man went hurriedly out of the room, leaving his guest to his thoughts, and he sat there with rugged brow thinking over the past and his future, and asking himself whether he, a surgeon, had done right in accepting the post.

His musings were long, for the few minutes extended into an hour, but; he did not notice the lapse of time. There was so much to think about.

His father? Well, he could have done no more if he had stayed. His sister? That difficulty would settle itself, for, girl as she was, Isabel had plenty of their father's will and determination; and he felt sure that she would never marry one man while she loved another.

His brother?

He drew his breath hard, and the struggle within him was long, but he mastered his feelings at last, and calmly and dispa.s.sionately reviewed the matter.

There was nothing unfair. His brother had not taken any mean advantage of him. He had been struck by the woman he loved at their first encounter, and what wonder? No: there had been nothing unfair. It had been a race between them, and his brother had won the prize.

His duty stood out plainly enough before him, but he was weak, and it was hard to do that duty. Some day--it would be years first in this case--he would look her in the face, and take her hand as his sister, and grasp his brother's hand with all due warmth. But not yet--not yet.

He must have time, and he felt that he would act wisely in going right away.

There was a sad pleasure in reviewing these events of the past, and there was a kind of solace in being alone there in that gloomy room, so shut in that the rattle of wheels in the square outside sounded subdued and calming to his weary spirit. He began thinking then once more of the future, of the great battle he had to fight.

"And I will fight manfully," he said softly, as he sat gazing at the fire, "against self as well as against disease. And if I fall--well, better men die daily. I shall have done some good first, and I will fight to the last."

His chin sank down upon his breast, and he sat there picturing in imagination the place to which he was going. How long he had been thinking thus he did not know, and he felt half resentful as Sir Denton's hand was laid lightly on his shoulder.

"Asleep?"

"Oh, no: only thinking deeply."

"Of--of--" said the old man nervously.

"Of my work, sir? The great work to come? Yes."

"That's right--that's right, my dear boy; but you have had no wine. I'm so sorry I was called away, but you will forgive me, I know."

"Don't name it, Sir Denton," said Neil quietly. "I have had so much to think about that the time has not seemed long."

"Indeed? It has to me. But fill your gla.s.s, my dear boy--a gla.s.s of port."

Neil shook his head.

"Then I think," said Sir Denton in a hurried, nervous way, "we will go up to the drawing room. It is getting late--the--er--the butler was waiting at the door as I came down--er--to clear away."

"And your patient?" said Neil, making an effort to take an interest in his host's affairs. "Better?"

"Eh? My patient? Yes, yes, I think so. Along interview, though."

He led the way to the door, and then up the broad staircase of the great sombre old house, but only to halt on the landing.

"Go in," he said. "I will join you soon."

Neil entered slowly, and the door was closed behind him, as he went on across the wide, dim room to where a fire glowed. His eyes were cast down, and the place was so feebly lit by the shaded lamps and a pair of wax candles that he had reached the middle before he became aware that a figure in black had risen from a chair by the fire and was standing supporting itself by one hand resting upon the great marble mantelpiece.

Neil stopped short, with his heart beating violently. Then, after taking a couple of steps forward with outstretched hands, he checked himself again.

"You here?" he cried hoa.r.s.ely; and he crossed to the other side of the fireplace. "Sir Denton did not tell me. I did not know."

"I have been here more than an hour," was said in a low voice which trembled slightly.

There was a pause, during which Neil fought hard with the feeling--half indignation that he should have been forced into such a situation--half despair.

"You have left my father, then," he said at last, in an unnaturally calm voice.