The Mackhai did not return home till the next morning, and his first
inquiry was why had not a doctor been fetched.
He nodded with satisfaction at the answer he received.
Tavish and Grant had sat up all night with their young master, and Max
had been to them at least a dozen times, for a consultation to be held
at daybreak, and for Tavish to agree that something must be done.
The result had been that he and Long Shon had taken the boat before
sunrise, and gone off to Port Staffey, where Grant knew a medical man to
be staying for a holiday, and to fish.
For poor Kenneth was quite delirious, and about midday, after going out
on the terrace to scan the offing eagerly for signs of the boat, The
Mackhai went back into the house, and up to his son's room, to hear the
injured lad talking at random, and a hoarse sob escaped from the
father's lips.
"My poor boy!" he groaned; "and am I to lose you? Well, better so,
perhaps--better than to live a beggar, ready to curse your weak father
for the ruin he has brought--Hah! how came you here?"
His voice had changed from a soft, appealing tone to one full of angry
annoyance, as he saw Max slowly rise up from the other side of the bed,
where he had been seated, hidden by the curtain.
"I came to sit with poor Kenneth, sir. I beg your pardon. I'll go
now."
"If you please," said The Mackhai coldly, and there was a bitterly
fierce look of dislike in his eyes, as he crossed toward the door and
threw it open for Max to pass out; but the next moment he had closed it
hastily, and he held out his hand.
Max looked at him wonderingly.
"I beg your pardon, Mr Blande," said The Mackhai, in a low voice, full
of courteous apology. "I am in trouble, and hardly know what I have
been saying."
He pointed as he spoke toward the bed, and then his countenance worked,
and he wrung the boy's hand warmly, as Max caught his, and whispered in
broken tones,--
"Oh, sir, you don't think he is so very bad?"
"I hope not, my lad, I hope not. Thank you, thank you. No, no, don't
go. You are Kenneth's visitor and friend."
"But do pray tell me what you think of him," whispered Max excitedly.
"I cannot say. We shall have the doctor here soon."
"I should like to stay and hear what he says, sir; and then--perhaps--I
ought not to--I shall be--intruding--I ought to go away."
"No, no," said The Mackhai hastily; "certainly not. My boy would not
wish you to leave him--that is, if you wish to stay."
"May I?" cried Max, with such intense earnestness that his host looked
at him wonderingly.
"I beg you will stay, Mr Blande," he said; "and let's hope that he will
be better soon. By the way, I hope you will forget what you heard me
say."
Just then Kenneth turned uneasily upon his pillow, muttering quickly the
while. Now he seemed to be talking to his dogs, now his words were a
confused babbling, and then the occupants of the darkened room started
as he burst into a fit of laughter, and said merrily,--
"No, no, Scoody; it's too bad! Poor old Max!"
Max felt the blood rise to his cheeks and gradually pale away; and then,
for quite two hours, father and visitor sat watching, the monotony of
the vigil being broken by an occasional walk to a window, which
commanded the sea, and at last Max was able to announce that the boat
was in sight.
"Thank heaven!" muttered The Mackhai.
They had to wait for a full half-hour, though, before they could be
satisfied that there was a third person in the boat--all doubt being set
at rest by The Mackhai fetching his binocular, whose general use was for
deerstalking, but by whose help he was able to see that the third party
in the boat was a stern-looking, dark, middle-aged man, who might very
well be the doctor.
The doctor it was, and, after a careful examination, he confirmed
Tavish's declaration.
"Oh no, my dear sir, I don't think it is as bad as that. The boy has
concussion of the brain, and he is a great deal hurt beside; but he is
young and vigorous, and I think I may venture to say that we'll pull him
through. It would have killed you or me, but he is a boy accustomed
evidently to a rough life."
The Mackhai wrung his hand: he could not speak for a few minutes, and
the doctor left him to go back to the bedside to replace the coverlid
Kenneth had tossed off, but The Mackhai noted that the doctor was too
late, for Max was performing this little office, and the father observed
that the lad gently laid his hand upon his son's brow.
"Of course you will stay and dine, Mr--?"
"Curzon," said the doctor, smiling.
"Mr Curzon; and then see my boy again before you go?"
"My dear sir, I shall be very glad to do so; but I think, under the
circumstances, I ought to stay the night."
"Will you?" cried The Mackhai eagerly.
"With pleasure. I am down here fishing, and one place is the same to me
as another. If I can serve you, I shall only be too glad."
"My good sir," cried The Mackhai, "you are taking a load off my mind!
Pray, pray stay, and if you care to fish, my river and loch are at your
service,--tackle, boats, keepers, everything,--while they are mine," he
added to himself.
"Then," said the doctor, smiling, "I am your private medical attendant
for the next week; and to-morrow, if you will send your boat for my
traps from the hotel at Staffey--"
"Yes, to-night," said The Mackhai hastily; and he left the room,
thankful for the ray of light which had come into his darkening life,
but hurrying back, to find Kenneth holding tightly by Max's hand as he
kept on talking, while the doctor was letting a few drops fall from a
little bottle he had brought, into a glass of water.
"There," he said, "we'll get him to take that, and I think we shall get
some sleep afterwards. To-morrow we must hope for better things."
But the morrow came, and the hope was not fulfilled. Kenneth Mackhai,
in spite of his youth and strength, was dangerously ill, and the
doctor's face wore an anxious look.
"I have ordered my men to have everything ready for you, Mr Curzon,"
said The Mackhai, with enforced calmness; and Max darted an angry glance
on the man who could think of sport at a time like that.
"What, to fish, Mr Mackhai?" said the doctor quickly. "No, thank you;
I'll wait till I can go more at ease."
"Thank you," said The Mackhai, in a husky voice; and Max darted now a
grateful look. "But pray speak plainly to me: you think my poor boy
very bad?"
"Yes, sir, very bad indeed; but, please God, we'll pull him through."
The Mackhai drew a long and painful breath, and, as Max looked towards
him, he thought he had never seen so sad a countenance before.
He stole out on tip-toe, for it seemed to him that he was not wanted
there; but, as he reached the landing, The Mackhai touched him on the
shoulder:
"Come back soon," he whispered. "Kenneth seems more restful while you
are here."
Max nodded silently, and hurried down to talk for a few moments with
Tavish and Scoodrach of the patient's state. Then he hurried back,
thinking, as he went up to Kenneth's room, that it must be months since
he came, and he wondered how it was that he could feel so much at home.