A TIRESOME PATIENT
Vivian Ormsby's illness dragged on from days into weeks. There was little
or nothing to be done but nursing, and Dora took her share willingly. He
was a very courteous, considerate person when the girl he loved was at
his bedside, but very trying to the professional nurses. He insisted upon
attending to business matters as soon as he recovered from his long
period of unconsciousness, but the physicians strictly forbade visitors
of any kind.
The patient was not allowed to read newspapers or hear news of the war.
All excitement was barred, for it was one of the worst cases of
concussion of the brain the specialists had ever known. Ormsby could not
help watching Dora's face in the mornings, when the papers arrived; he
saw her hand tremble and her eyes grow dim as she read. When the first
lists of killed and wounded came to hand, she read with ashen face and
quivering lip, but, when the name she sought, and dreaded to find, was
not there, the color came back, and she glowed again with the joy and
pride of youth.
He allowed himself idly to imagine that this was his home, and Dora his
wife. It would always be like this--Dora at hand with her gentle,
soothing touch upon his brow, her light, quick step, that he knew so
well, and could distinguish in a moment from that of any other woman
about the house, and her rich, penetrating voice, that never faltered,
and carried even in a whisper, no matter how far away from his bedside.
She laughed sometimes in talking to the nurses, finding it hard to
restrain the natural vivacity of her temperament, and it hurt him when
they hushed her down, and playfully ordered her from the room.
He loved to lie and watch her, and his great dark eyes at times exerted a
kind of fascination. She avoided them, but could feel his gaze when she
turned away, and was glad to escape. He loved her--there was no hiding
the fact; and, when he was convalescent, and the time came for him to go
away, he would declare it--if not before. The nurses discussed it between
themselves, and speculated upon the chances. They knew that there was a
rival, but he was far away, at the war--and he might never come back. The
man on the spot had all the advantages on his side, the other all the
love; it was interesting to the feminine mind to watch developments.
When there was talk of the patient getting up, he was increasingly
irritable if Dora were away. One day, he seized her hand, and carried it
to his lips--dry, fevered lips that scorched her.
"You have been very good to me," he murmured, in excuse for his
presumption. And what could she say in rebuke that would not be churlish
and ungracious?
At last, he was allowed to see Mr. Barnby, the manager at the bank, who
came with a sheaf of letters and arrears of documents needing signature.
The patient declared that he was not yet capable of attending to details,
but he wanted to see the check signed by Herresford and presented by Dick
Swinton.
"Which check?" asked Mr. Barnby; "the one for two thousand or the one for
five thousand? I have them both."
"There are two, then?"
Ormsby's eyes glistened.
"Yes, with the same strange discoloration of the ink. This is the one;
and I have brought the glass with me."
Ormsby examined Mrs. Swinton's second forgery under the magnifier, and
was puzzled.
"The addition has been cleverly made. The writing seems to be the same.
Whose handwriting is it--not Herresford's?"
"It seems to be Mrs. Swinton's. Compare it with these old checks in his
pass-book, and you will see if I am not right. She has drawn many checks
for him and frequently altered them, but always with an initial."
"Yes, the check was drawn by Mrs. Swinton in her father's presence, no
doubt; and young Swinton may have added the extra words and figures. An
amazingly clever forgery! You say he had all the money?"
"No, not all--but nearly all of it has been withdrawn."
"Then, he has robbed us of seven thousand dollars?"
"If the checks are forgeries, yes. I hope not, I sincerely hope not. If
you doubted the first check--"
"The scoundrel! Go at once to Herresford. The old man must refund and
make good the loss, or we are in a predicament."
"I'll go immediately. I suppose it is the young man's work? It is
impossible to conceive that Mrs. Swinton--his own daughter--"
"Don't be a fool. Go to Herresford."