This Man's Wife Part 105

"No, no, doctor. Pray, don't."

"Get up, sir."

"Hush! Don't speak so loudly," whispered Eaton.

"Ah-h-h! I see," said the doctor, "that's it, is it? Why how dense I am! Want to stop a few days, and be nursed, eh?"

Eaton nodded.

"Fair face to sympathise. White hands to feed you with a spoon. Oh, I say, Phil Eaton! No, no! I've got my duty to do, and I'm not going to back up this bit of deceit."

"I wouldn't ask you if there was anything to call for me, doctor,"

pleaded Eaton; "but I am hurt, there's no sham about that."

"Well, no; you are hurt, my lad. That's a nasty crack on the head, and your shoulder must be sore."

"Sore!" said Eaton. "You've made it agonising."

"Well, well, a few days' holiday will do you good. But no; I'm not going to be dragged up here to see you."

"I don't want to see you, doctor. I'm sure I shall get well without your help. Pray don't have me fetched down."

"I say, Phil," said the doctor; "look me in the face."

"Yes."

"Is it serious? You know--with her."

"Very, doctor."

"But it's awkward. The young lady's father!"

"Miss Hallam is not answerable for her father's sins," said Eaton warmly.

"But the young lady--does she accept?"

Eaton shook his head.

"Not yet," he said; "and now that the opportunity serves to clinch the matter you want to get me away. Doctor, for once--be human."

Doctor Woodhouse sat with his chubby face pursed up for a few minutes, gazing down in the young man's imploring countenance without speaking.

"Well, well," he said, "I was a boy myself once, and horribly in love.

I'll give you a week, Phil."

"And I'll give you a life's grat.i.tude," cried the young man joyfully.

"Why, by all that's wonderful," cried the doctor, with mock surprise, "I've cured him on the spot! Here, let me take off your bandages, so that you may get up and dance. Eh? Poor lad, he is a good deal hurt though," he continued, as he saw the colour fade from the young man's face, and the cold dew begin to form. "A few days will do him good, I believe. He is, honestly, a little too bad to move."

He bathed his face, and moistened his lips with a few drops of liquid from a flask, and in a few minutes Eaton looked wonderingly round.

"Easier, boy? That's it. Yes, you may stay, and you had better be quiet. Feel so sick now?"

"Not quite, doctor. Oh! I am so glad I really am ill."

The doctor smiled, and summoned Mrs Hallam, who came in with Julia.

"I must ask you to play hostess to my young friend here. He shan't die on your hands."

Julia turned pale, and glanced from one to the other quickly.

"Mr Eaton shall have every attention we can give him," said Mrs Hallam, smiling; and the doctor looked with surprise at the way her pale, careworn face lit up with tenderness and sympathy as she laid her hand upon the young man's brow.

"I'm sure he will," said the doctor, "and I'll do my best," he added, with a quick look at his patient, "to get him off your hands, for he will be a deal of trouble."

"It will be a pleasure," said Mrs Hallam, speaking in all sincerity.

"English women are always ready to nurse the wounded," she added with a smile.

"I wish I could always have such hands to attend my injured men, madam,"

said the doctor with formal politeness. "There, I must go at once.

Good-bye, Eaton, my boy. You'll soon be on your legs. Don't spoil him, ladies; he is not bad. I leave him to you, Mrs Hallam."

She followed the doctor to the door to ask him if he had any directions, received his orders, and then, with a bright, hopeful light in her eyes, she went softly back towards the dining-room. A smile began to glisten about her lips, like sunshine in winter, as she laid her hand upon the door. Then she looked round sharply, for in the midst of that dawning hope of safety for her child there was a heavy step, and the study-door opened.

She turned deadly pale, for it was Stephen Crellock's step; and the words that came from the study were in her husband's voice.

VOLUME FOUR, CHAPTER TWELVE.

MRS OTWAY ON LOVE.

"Ah! Phil, Phil, Phil!" exclaimed Mrs Otway as she sat facing Eaton some mornings later, while he lay back in a Chinese cane chair, propped up by pillows. "Come, this will not do."

He met her gaze firmly, and she went on.

"This makes five days that you have been here, tangling yourself more and more in the net. It's time I took you by the ears and lugged you out."

"But you will not?" he said, lifting his injured arm very gently with his right hand, sighing as he did so, and rearranging the sling.

Mrs Otway jumped up, went behind him, untied the handkerchief that formed the sling, and s.n.a.t.c.hed it away.

"I won't sit still and see you play at sham in that disgraceful way, Phil," she cried. "It's bad enough, staying here as you do, without all that nonsense."

"You are too hard on me."

"I'm not," she cried. "I've seen too many wounded men not to know something about symptoms. I knew as well as could be when I was here yesterday, but I would not trust myself, and so I attacked Woodhouse about you last night, and he surrendered at once."

"Why, what did he say?"

"Lit a cigar, and began humming, `Oh, 'tis love, 'tis love that makes the world go round!'"