DR. SCHNEEBERGER.
Yes; the plunge was taken, the die was cast. Torrington Torwood had
taken upon himself the personification of Philip Debenham, and by the
time that he had posted with his invalid friend from the little village
of Hornberg to the town of Freyburg, he had quite accustomed himself to
his altered circumstances.
On the outskirts of Freyburg lived a German physician, who had devoted
much time to the study of the human brain, and who had attained to
a considerable reputation in the eyes of his contemporaries. Tor’s
German education had made him conversant with the names of most of the
eminent men of the day, and very glad had he been to hear that Dr.
Schneeberger was now living near Freyburg in comparative retirement,
whilst he prosecuted his studies and gave up the bulk of his time to
the production of a scientific work, which was to make his name and his
fame all over Europe.
Tor had attended some of the doctor’s lectures in past years, and knew
him for as simple-minded and kind-hearted a little oddity as ever trod
shoe-leather; and therefore, without any misgiving or hesitation, he
drove the unconscious Phil straight to the doctor’s own modest abode.
Dr. Schneeberger was at home, and Tor was admitted to his study, where
the little spectacled, sharp-faced man was seated at his microscope,
amid heaps of manuscripts and piles of books.
The handsome young Englishman, in fluent German, made his apologies for
his intrusion, which were readily accepted, after which Tor opened his
case.
He and his friend Mr. Torwood were travelling companions, and had been
so for many years; but unfortunately his friend had been struck down
by a severe sunstroke some days ago, and had remained unconscious
ever since. Important business now summoned him, the speaker, to
England—business which admitted of no delay; and as he had heard that
Dr. Schneeberger occasionally admitted under his roof patients who
were suffering from injury to the brain, he had taken the liberty of
bringing Mr. Torwood to him, to request him, as a great favour, to
receive him as a patient, and allow him to remain there until he had
recovered, and could follow his friend to England. Dr. Schneeberger
could name his own terms; whatever sum he fixed upon should be paid.
The doctor rubbed his hands together, scratched his head, and in
affable tones asked a few questions about Herr Torwood’s constitution
and the occasion of the stroke. He seemed interested in what he heard,
and when he understood that the patient was in a carriage at his own
door, he jumped up and trotted off to have a look at him.
Tor’s cause was won. Phil’s case interested the little doctor. The
patient was carried up to a clean, bare, thoroughly German bedroom, and
Dr. Schneeberger made a most careful examination of his condition.
Tor, who had some business to get through before starting for
England, took up his quarters at the hotel, and sent off a good many
telegraphic messages; and in a few hours’ time repaired to the doctor’s
house to hear his verdict as to Phil’s condition.
‘I will undertake the case of your friend, mein Herr, for it interests
me; but I am sure there is more injury than is to be accounted for
by the sunstroke. I suspect a slight effusion on the brain, from the
rupture of some tiny vessel: there are symptoms of compression, which
are not to be explained by a simple sunstroke.’
Tor looked disturbed.
‘You do not think him seriously ill, I hope?’
‘Everything, my dear young friend, that affects the human brain is
serious. The brain is a most wonderful and complicated structure. I
could demonstrate to you, by the aid of my microscope, how——’
‘Excuse me, doctor, but you have made me anxious. You do not mean to
say that you consider my friend’s life in danger?’
Such a complication as Phil’s death, before his assumption of his own
name and position, could not be contemplated without a shudder.
The doctor raised his hands with a gesture of horror.
‘Oh no, no, no—_nein, nein_—not at all, my dear sir—not at all; pray
do not alarm yourself needlessly. Herr Torwood’s life is in no danger
at all, so far as my experience goes—none whatever; but the case is,
nevertheless, a serious one—all cases of compression are serious. He
may be a long while getting over it—he may remain many weeks in his
present state. You called him “unconscious;” but that is hardly the
correct word to use. He is in a torpid helpless state, and to you he
seems insensible; but medically speaking, it is not real coma. Still,
he is absolutely incapable of any thought or volition, and his mind is
all astray; and this condition of torpor may last some while. I heard
of a case somewhat similar, where the balance of the faculties was not
restored for above a year.’
Tor listened aghast. Dr. Schneeberger’s innocent zeal filled him with
dismay, akin to irritation.
‘You do not mean that you think my friend will be a year in
recovering?’ he asked sharply.
‘My dear sir, no, a thousand times no; such cases are _most_ rare;
it may never be my good fortune to meet with one like it. I merely
mentioned the matter to show you how impossible it was to say how
long a time will elapse before a patient will recover his full
consciousness. Your friend will, in all probability, make far more
rapid progress. Still, if there is, as I suspect, some slight effusion
of blood upon the brain, it may be some while before the system will
re-absorb it.’
‘Can nothing be done?’ questioned Tor impatiently. ‘Would any operation
hasten his recovery? As it happens just now, it is of great importance
that he should be able to return soon to England; affairs there require
his presence. Can you do nothing of that sort, doctor?’
Dr. Schneeberger shook his head, and his odd, expressive face put on a
shrewd look of gravity.
‘Mein Herr, I would not attempt such a thing, save as a last resort.
If Nature can do her work alone, be sure she will do it best herself,
and in her own way, and at her own time. Do you know the secret
of my success in my profession? Simply this, that I study Nature
closely, and let her alone whenever it is possible. If she cannot work
unassisted, I give her what assistance lies in my power; but I never
interfere with her unless I am obliged. Nature will cure your friend
in due course if she has her way. My part is to stand by and see fair
play, that is all.’
Tor pulled at his moustache, and considered.
‘Well, doctor,’ he said at length, ‘you know your own business best, of
course, and I must leave the matter in your hands. You lay me under a
great obligation by undertaking the case. Will you grant me one favour
more? The moment you see any sign of returning consciousness will you
telegraph to me? I am most anxious to be with my friend when he comes
to himself. I will travel night and day to secure that object.’
The little doctor rubbed his hands together—his favourite gesture when
in any doubt—and smiled benignantly upon his young English friend.
‘Mein Herr, I will do all I can to facilitate your wishes; but you
know it is quite possible your friend may recover his faculties quite
suddenly—in an hour—in a moment of time. No one can say how it will be
in such cases; whether recovery will come by slow degrees or like a
lightning-flash. If possible, I will give you due warning; in any case,
you will be immediately summoned; but that you can be with him at the
moment of his recovery no one can promise.’
‘Oh, he may come to himself any minute, may he?’ mused Tor half aloud;
and a momentary expression of perplexity crossed his face.
It cleared away quickly, however, and the young man turned to the
doctor with a frank smile.
‘In that case, doctor, I will mention to you rather a curious thing
that happened a few months back, when my friend was seized with cramp
whilst bathing, and became unconscious before I could get him to
shore. When he came to himself he was completely confused for several
hours as to his own identity and mine. He could not rid himself of the
notion that he was Philip Debenham—myself, that is; whilst I was, he
declared, Torrington Torwood, which is, as you know, his own name. I
do not know, of course, whether he would do the same thing again after
a prolonged period of unconsciousness; but in case he should wake up
under the strange conviction that he is Philip Debenham, and inquire
anxiously for his friend Torwood, you will know better what to make of
it.’
‘Quite so, quite so; a most unusual phase; a most interesting
circumstance. Mr. Debenham, your friend shall receive every care I can
bestow upon him. His brain interests me much. Confusion of identity! A
most remarkable thing!’
The simple-minded little doctor gave all credence to what Tor told him.
Suspicion was no part of his nature. He looked at everything from a
psychological and professional point of view, and was delighted to get
hold of any patient whose symptoms might give him a clearer insight
into his favourite subject.
Dr. Schneeberger had a sister Gretchen, as kind-hearted and
simple-minded as himself, and given over, in true German fashion, to
household cares and domestic management. She was highly prepossessed in
favour of the distinguished-looking young Englishman and his helpless
friend, and made many protestations as to the care the latter should
receive whilst under their roof.
Tor’s mind was relieved of all fear on Phil’s account, feeling
confident that he would be well looked after, and only dismayed by the
length of time which might possibly ensue before he should recover
sufficiently to assume his own name and position, and free Tor from the
_rôle_ he had assumed.
Tor dined with the doctor and his sister, and was put through quite a
catechism by the innocently-inquisitive Gretchen, as to his history
and antecedents, and his prospective visit to England. It seemed
ungracious to be too reserved towards those who had shown him kindness
and consideration; so Tor told the little German Hausfrau how he had
come into a property in the west of England, and had to go over to
take possession, and to see his relatives, from whom he had long been
absent. He did not say more than was needful, feeling strange in his
adopted character, and rather fearful of making a slip; but one thing
led to another, one question to many more, and before they rose from
table Tor felt that he was indeed Philip Debenham, and that no drawing
back was possible now.
‘I did not mean to say so much,’ he mused, as he went slowly upstairs
to Phil’s room; ‘but, after all, what does it matter? It is good
practice. A slip here would matter little; over there it might be
fatal. Confound that fellow! Why can’t he wake up and act for himself?
Suppose he lies like that for months? a devil of a mess I may have got
myself into by that time! Was I a great fool ever to make this attempt?
If that Belassis wasn’t such an old scoundrel, and didn’t lead that
poor girl such a life, I don’t suppose I should ever have thought of
such a thing. Well, I’m in for it now; I can’t draw back; I must go
through with it till Phil comes to himself, and then I can vanish like
Mephistopheles, and never appear again. I think I can manage to annoy
Uncle Belassis more than a little before I abdicate in favour of Phil.
Uncle Belassis, I have some very strong suspicions as to your honesty
and integrity. I think you and I will enjoy some private conversations
together which poor old easy-going Phil might have spared you.’
By which speech it may be seen that Tor looked forward with mixed
feelings to his _début_ in England as Philip Debenham, but that, on the
whole, the careless daring of his nature inclined him to relish the
situation more than he feared it.
Naturally, a few days’ consideration had made him think more seriously
of his scheme than he had done at first, and the fear that Phil might
be long in coming to his relief added not a little to his perplexities.
However, as he said to himself, it was too late now to draw back, and
all that remained to be done was to take every care that the truth
should not leak out before the appointed time.
His first idea had been to leave amongst Phil’s possessions a sealed
paper, informing him briefly of his accession to wealth, and what step
he (Tor) had taken to defeat Uncle Belassis, and release Maud and the
aunt from his guardianship. On second thoughts, however, he decided to
leave behind no such dangerous document, which, were a suspicion once
aroused, and an inquiry instituted, would damn him, and, for aught he
knew, clap him into prison at once.
No, he would leave no evidence of any kind behind him. He and Phil
had not been close friends for nearly eighteen years for nothing. No
misunderstanding could arise in Phil’s mind concerning Tor’s actions;
and besides that, the moment he showed any sign of consciousness Tor
was to be summoned. Even should Phil awake suddenly, he must wait where
he was until his friend came to him, and then all would be made clear,
and the two could return together to install Phil in his own rightful
place.
That point settled, there only remained to make an interchange of such
little possessions as bore upon them the names of their respective
owners. Fortunately none of their clothes were marked, for Tor’s
greater height would have rendered an exchange of garments impossible;
but a few little trifles, as knives, pocket-books and cigar-cases, had
initials traced upon them, and these were all carefully sorted out and
allotted to their wrong-owners.
Phil’s watch and chain and a signet-ring upon his finger had been
already appropriated, for both had belonged to Mr. Debenham, and would
be strong evidence as to identity.
‘I don’t suppose it will occur to anyone to dispute that, however,’
said Tor to himself, ‘for I don’t know how a man sets to work in a
general way to prove that he’s himself. Anyway, I could quite as easily
prove myself Philip Debenham as Torrington Torwood, if it comes to
that, and I suppose that is all that is necessary.’
That same evening Tor said farewell to the kind little doctor and his
sister, and to the unconscious Phil, and started on his journey to
England.
He had left with Dr. Schneeberger the money that had been sent to Phil
by the lawyer; but he was put out and vexed to find, when he had got
twelve hours on his way to England, that he had carelessly left behind
amongst Phil’s things the £500 he had drawn out of his own bank, which
was nearly all in English notes. He remembered how the blunder had been
made; it was during the exchange of personal effects. He had exchanged
pocket-books and had omitted to change the contents, and the £500 was
left in the possession of his friend.
It was too late to recover the money now, he could not go back for it;
and he was not afraid that anyone in that simple, primitive household
would even discover its existence, much less appropriate it. In his
easy-going way he decided to let it remain there, unknown to anyone,
until he visited Phil, and then he could decide what was to be done.
‘After all, it does not much matter,’ he said to himself; ‘that
£500 must be Phil’s, and I will draw out £500 of his in its place.
I meant only to use his money for the house and estate; but after
all, when I first arrive it would seem odd not to want any cash for
personal expenses. Yes; I must be careful not to do anything to excite
suspicion. Nobody will have any reason to be suspicious, that I can
see; still Uncle Belassis would be an ugly customer to deal with, I
doubt not, if he did get any idea of the sort into his head, and he
will naturally pry into everything, until I have succeeded in kicking
him out. I shall do that as speedily as possible, but undue rashness
and heat may defeat their own ends. I must be circumspect.’
So Tor smoked and meditated and slept at intervals, during his hasty
night and day journey, and became more and more at home with his new
name and dignity.
On board the boat that bore him across the Channel, the idea of the
meeting with his kindred was the uppermost in his mind.
‘I suppose I must kiss Maud—a man is always expected to kiss his
sisters, of course. Well, she won’t be shy, so I suppose I need not be
either; and at my time of life it would be a needless fabrication to
pretend I had never kissed a pretty girl before—nobody would believe
it. It may be a little awkward for us both when the true hero appears,
but that cannot be helped, and I shall so soon vanish into obscurity
that matters cannot become trying.
‘I fancy in the capacity of nephew I must embrace Aunt Olive, too. What
a capital thing it is the old lady and Maud being such cronies! Maud
could never have come to Ladywell without the aunt, and I should have
been sadly put about for an excuse for keeping her away; but with the
two there appearances will be saved, Mrs. Grundy silenced (when the
true heir turns up), and I can come and go as I please.
‘I hope I shall be equal to the occasion if unknown relations or
ancient friends turn up; but I think I know as much about everybody
there as Phil does, except for the blind Mr. Meredith whom I do not
think he ever mentioned to me. There is Matilda with the singed front
locks, and Bertha with the false ones; and the son Lewis who is sure
to be a cad, and whose marriage with Maud I am to stop, which I am
convinced I shall do _con amore_. Yes, I feel equal to the ordeal; my
spirits rise to the occasion. I am quite anticipating the happy meeting
between my long-lost family and myself!’