The Day of Judgment Part 65

Mary began to explain Mrs. Stepaside's relationship to the accused man in Manchester and of the sufferings through which she had gone.

"I know all about that," said the doctor. "But tell me the immediate cause of this."

As may be imagined, this was a difficult task, but Mary's ready wit helped her through with it.

"I brought her from Manchester this morning," she said. "She did not seem very well then, and she asked me to come with her. Then, then----" And her eyes rested upon the newspaper which she had been reading.

"Oh, I see," said the doctor. "It was a sudden shock. Yes; it's quite understandable--long weeks of suspense and agony, and then this on the top of it!" He did not ask any further questions, for Dr. White was a wise man. He knew the whole circ.u.mstances of Paul's arrest, and was therefore able to estimate the truth.

"Mrs. Stepaside has had a great shock. Of course, I need not repeat that, and she may lie like this for some days. One cannot tell the developments which will take place."

"Do you think she will die?" asked Mary anxiously.

"She's had enough to kill her, anyhow!" replied the doctor, "but she may pull through. We'll do our best. Whatever happens, nothing must be said or done to agitate her--you understand that? I fancy she will have fleeting periods of consciousness, but she must be always met with a smile. I am sure you understand this?"

"But how long will it be before--before she is allowed to talk?"

"Weeks!" replied the doctor shortly; and the word seemed like a knell of death. If Paul's mother were not allowed to speak, if she could not make her confession, then Paul might die! The thought was horrible, yet what could she do? Even if she became strong enough to speak and to make her confession, it would not be of any value. Any judge or jury would regard it as the ravings of a disordered mind.

"You're here alone," went on the doctor. "Of course I understand why you came with her," and again he looked at the newspaper which Mary had been reading.

The girl did not reply, and the doctor went on. "But you must have help. It would be madness for you to remain here alone. Of course the servants are in Manchester. They have been summoned as witnesses. But do not trouble; I'll help you. I'll send a nurse at once, and I think I can manage about the servants, too--that's the best of knowing everyone, Miss Bolitho. I'll call again in a couple of hours.

Good-day."

To Mary the man's conduct seemed utterly brutal. He uttered no word of comfort. The few words he spoke were curt, almost harsh; and yet she knew he was a kind man. She continued to sit by the bed, looking at the sick woman's face, her heart filled with a great dread. She could do nothing. She must only remain there and wait and watch.

In about an hour Dr. White returned. This time there was a nurse with him. Mary did not know that he had, on leaving her, driven to the hospital at a speed which endangered the community, obtained the services of a nurse, and then came back at the same headlong pace. She did not know, either, that he had set means on foot whereby a capable woman would be secured to look after the house. Dr. White was not a man who talked much, but he did a great deal. He seemed to be pleased with the patient's condition on his return. As far as he could judge there were no evil signs.

"Now, Miss Bolitho," he said as he went away, "I want you to understand that Paul Stepaside's mother is not the only patient I have. You are another. You must go to bed immediately."

"I could not--I could not!" she cried.

"Very well, then," said the doctor. "I noticed as I came up that there was a fire in Stepaside's study. There's a comfortable sofa there. Go and lie down."

"I could not lie down!"

"But I say you can, and you must!" said the doctor. "Here, I've brought something for you."

He poured a powder into a gla.s.s of water, and bade Mary drink it. The girl obeyed him.

"Now," he said. "Come down at once."

He led her downstairs by the arm into Paul's study, and having arranged the cushions on the sofa, he insisted on her lying down. Seizing a rug, he wrapped her up in it just as a father might.

"I'm not going to have you ill," he said. "Remember that! I'll call again to-night, but not before ten o'clock. I've a busy evening before me. In less than half an hour you'll be asleep, and you'll sleep for at least three hours; then you'll wake up better. By that time some dinner will be ready for you. What a grand thing it is to have a meddling fellow who takes everything out of your hands, isn't it?" and he gave the ghost of a laugh.

A few minutes later Mary felt a sense of drowsiness creeping over her, and then became unconscious.

When she awoke again it was to find her father sitting by her side.

She started up from the couch, for the moment unable to realise the situation. At first she thought she was back in the hotel in Manchester, but in a few seconds she realised the truth.

"Father!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, Mary. I felt sure you'd come here. Directly I could get away I came as fast as I could, but the trains are terribly slow. I've only been here a few minutes."

For a few seconds there was a silence between them. Each seemed to know all that the other was thinking.

"I felt I must have a talk with you, Mary," said Judge Bolitho at length. "There are so many things to say, and so many things to do.

Could I stay here to-night, I wonder? I must go back to Manchester again to-morrow morning."

"Why, father?"

"Of course you have read the newspapers. You know what took place in Manchester this morning?"

He spoke calmly and collectedly now. In one sense it seemed as though a great burden had been lifted from his mind. From the way he spoke, too, he might regard his confession as of little import.

"Father," cried the girl, "it's so bewildering, so terrible!"

"Yes, yes; I know. I've a great deal to tell you some time, Mary, but not now. You see I've pa.s.sed through a great deal during the last twenty-four hours. All life has changed. What the future may bring forth G.o.d only knows. But I've done the right thing now. I sometimes think, Mary, that one of the greatest sins in life, the sin which leads the way to more than any other, is that of cowardice; and I was a coward. My G.o.d! what a coward I was! And I'm paying for it now. But for that I might have been a happy man; I might have had----"

He rose to his feet as he spoke and walked across the room. He seemed to be pondering deeply.

"Of course you despise me, Mary," he said. "You cannot help it.

Everyone despises me. It's right and natural. I needn't tell you any further about it now, need I? You've read what is in the paper? You understand?"

"Yes, I think, I--I--I think I understand. But, father, we must save Paul! Whatever happens, we must save Paul!"

"If it is possible," said the judge. "For, oh! G.o.d helping me---- Yes, I should die! It would kill me if--if the worst comes to the worst! That's why I came, Mary. I must have another talk with her. I think after to-morrow I shall be free; but I must go to Manchester then, perhaps to London. There are so many formalities to be complied with. But never mind, formalities or no formalities, nothing must stand in the way of his salvation."

"He's not guilty, father; you know that? He's been shielding someone all the time. That's why he would have no one to defend him. That's why he confided in no one. I'm sure of it!"

The judge nodded his head. He, too, had been thinking deeply, and his trained mind had gone farther into the matter than that of Mary.

"Yes; I've been thinking of that," was his reply. "In fact, I felt almost sure of it when I went to see him to-day."

"You've, been to see him to-day? What? Since what you said in the court? What did he say? How did he look? Did he--did he----"

"The thing that troubles me," said the judge, interrupting, "is this--who is Paul trying to shield?"

The girl looked anxiously around the room, then went to the door and peered into the pa.s.sage outside.

"Can't you think, father? Whom would he be likely to shield? I accused her of it this afternoon. I could not help it. The doctor doesn't know, but that's why she's so ill now. When she realised what I meant, she seemed like one struck down by a blow."

"You mean to say," he gasped, "that you believe Jean--that is, his mother--was----" He did not finish the sentence. It seemed too horrible, too terrible.

"No, Mary," he continued at length. "That's not it."

"But it must be, father."