As Neil Elthorne reached the spot where his father had fallen, the horse
dashed off at full gallop across the park, followed by one of the
grooms, who saw in it something of far greater consequence than his
master, who lay perfectly motionless upon the grass.
"Any bones broken?" cried Sir Cheltnam. "Only a bit of a spill. Here,
someone go for a doctor."
No one heeded his words; but Alison and Beck watched Neil curiously as
he was down on one knee making a hasty examination of the injured man.
"Oh, papa, papa!" cried Isabel. "Neil, Neil, is he dead?"
"Hush, my dear, be quiet."
"Hadn't you better send for a doctor?" cried Sir Cheltnam. "Nasty thing
for a horse to roll across a man."
"Be good enough to be silent, sir," said Neil sharply. "Alison, make
two of the men lift one of the light iron gates off its hinges. Isabel,
my child, be a woman. Run to the house and make them bring down a
mattress to lay upon the gate, and tell Aunt Anne to bring the brandy,
some water, and a glass."
"But, Neil, dear--"
"Don't stop to question. I know nothing yet."
"But hadn't you better send a groom at once for a doctor?"
"Confound it all, sir!" cried Beck in a low voice, "can't you see that
Mr Elthorne is in a skillful surgeon's hands?"
Sir Cheltnam gave him an angry look, and turned his back, while Beck, in
the matter of fact, cool fashion of a sailor in a time of emergency,
bent down over Neil.
"Can I help you?" he said quietly.
"Eh? Thanks, no. I can do nothing till I get him to bed. Poor old
dad!" he muttered to himself. "I little thought I was coming for this."
He had placed the injured man's head in an easy position, and in his
cursory examination found that no limb was broken or joint dislocated;
but Elthorne was perfectly insensible, and the young surgeon dreaded the
crushing in of ribs and some internal injury.
Meantime the strong, hale, imperious man of a few minutes earlier lay
there, breathing painfully, while those about him were too much occupied
to notice the soft, dull sound of horse's hoofs approaching fast.
Neil started as a shadow was thrown across him, and a sharp, metallic
voice cried:
"Hallo! What's the matter? Anyone hurt?"
"Yes; a bad fall," said Neil coldly, as his eyes met those of the
speaker, the elder of the two Lydons.
"Well, I couldn't help it," said the girl rather resentfully. "No fault
of mine."
"Poor old guardy!" cried her sister. "Don't look like a ride to-day."
"Not much," said Saxa. "Did the horse throw him?"
"Fell with him," said Sir Cheltnam.
"Looked it," cried Saxa. "I told Dan here that I didn't like the looks
of the mount, but it was no use to tell the old man. He always would
have his own way, eh, Dan?"
"Always," assented her sister.
"Burwood," cried Neil impatiently, "will you give me your help?"
"Certainly. What shall I do?"
"Take these ladies away somewhere; their talking disturbs the patient."
"Well, I'm sure!" cried Saxa with a laugh full of annoyance. "But we
will not trouble Sir Cheltnam; we know our way back."
"Here's someone else coming who will be more civil, perhaps," said Dana
to herself, as Isabel, followed by half the household, came hurrying
back.
Alison was returning too, with some of the stablemen and gardeners
bearing a light iron gate and the mattress, with the result that the
sufferer was borne carefully back to the house.
"I say, Elthorne, though," said Sir Cheltnam, as they followed behind;
"no offence to your brother, who is, I dare say, clever enough,--I
forgot that he was a doctor,--hadn't you better send to the town for the
best man they've got? I'm afraid your old gov'nor has come off badly."
"Neil will know," replied Alison. "He will do what is right."
"Oh, very well; I only suggested; but I say, hadn't you better make a
bit of a clearance? So many people about must be bad for the patient."
Alison looked at him curiously, but he said nothing, though the idea did
occur to him that it would be satisfactory if his friend were to ride
off in company with the Misses Lydon.
"How is he, Neil? What do you think of him?" said Alison, after quietly
watching his brother for some time.
"Bad," said Neil laconically. "I can say nothing yet for certain."
"Will he die?"
"Please God, no; but the symptoms are serious."
"Bones broken?"
"No; injury to the spine, I fear. I must have help and further advice."
"I'll send on to the town at once for Morrison."
"No," said Neil quietly. "This is not a case for a general
practitioner. Get me a telegraph form, and have the message sent on at
once."
"Yes," said Alison eagerly; "but tell me what you are going to do."
"Send for Sir Denton Hayle."
"Will he come?"
"If I ask him--yes."
The message was written and sent off. The Lydons, after waiting till
after noon, had shaken hands with the brothers, and said they were very
sorry, and then accepted Sir Cheltnam's escort home.
Neil, who had left his father's side for a few minutes to say good-bye,
heaved a sigh and turned to go back.
"They don't seem very much broken-hearted about the poor old dad, Neil,"
said Alison.
"No," cried his brother, flashing out angrily. "I wonder sometimes
whether--no, no, we can't discuss that now, with him lying like that,"
he added hastily, and he went back into the house to find that Beck
still lingered.
Neil looked at him reproachfully and the young sailor caught his arm.
"I have not gone," he said. "I'm staying in case I can be of any use."
"Thanks," said Neil shortly. Then a thought struck him, and he turned
back. "Did you speak to my father?" he said.
Beck nodded.
"What did he say?"
"That it was impossible."
Neil went hastily toward the room where his father had been carried, and
found his sister listening by the door.
"You here, Isabel?" he said.
"Yes, dear," she whispered in broken tones. "Let me go in and see poor
papa now."
"No, my child, not yet."
"But, Neil, I am not a child now. You have let Aunt Anne be with him."
"Well, she is older, and experienced, dear. Pray be patient. You will
be helping me then."
"Yes, Neil," she said with a sigh, and she reached up and kissed him.
"That is my darling sister," he said tenderly. "But, Neil, dear, one
word--pray tell me the truth. Will papa get better?"
"Heaven only knows, dear," he said solemnly. "He is very badly hurt."
He passed through the door, and closed it after him almost without a
sound, and then stopped to gaze on the scene before him, feeling a glow
of warmth in his breast toward his Aunt, who, in their freedom from
anxiety, had always seemed to him a weak, self-indulgent woman. But
self was evidently forgotten now as she knelt beside her brother's
couch, holding one of his hands against her breast, and watching the
pale, slightly drawn face as if her life depended upon her noting the
slightest change.
"Has he moved, Aunt?" said Neil softly. She started violently.
"O Neil, dear!" she exclaimed, "I did not hear you. No, no, no," she
cried, with a burst of sobbing, "he's dying! My poor brother! What
shall I do?"
"Be patient and helpful, Aunt, dear. We must not think of our now
sufferings now."
"Yes, my dear, and I will, indeed I will. But, Neil, my love," she
whispered, as she caught his hand and held it in both hers; "don't think
me unkind. I know what a good, clever boy you are, but don't you think
you ought to send for a real doctor?"
Neil smiled sadly as he bent down and kissed the agitated woman, and
thought of his diplomas, and the trust and faith of the eminent surgeon
who had chosen him for assistant in the ward of the great London
hospital.
"Yes, Aunt, dear," he said quietly. "You are quite right. I have sent
for Sir Denton."
"Oh, that's very good of you, my dear. You are so young; and I was
afraid, dear, that you would be too proud to accept any help, and--"
"Hist!" said Neil quickly; and he stepped to his father's side, for he
had seen a quick, trembling motion about the eyes, and the injured man
began to mutter.
"Quite out of the question, my lad--I have made other arrangements for
my child."
He uttered a heavy sigh.
"Ride any horse--jumps well--you did not--"
His eyes open and staring now, and fixed on his son.
"Neil!" he said aloud, "what's the matter? Here, give me your hand."
He tried to rise, and a spasm contracted his face as Neil watched him
anxiously and saw a confirmation of his fears.
"I don't understand."
"Don't try to move, father. You are a little hurt," said Neil gravely.
"Are you in much pain?"
"Pain? No," said his father irritably. "Why don't you both speak?
What does it all mean?"
"Your horse fell, sir," said Neil gently. "Lie quite still."
"My horse fell? What horse fell? How long have I been here?"
"My dear father, you must try and be calm, please."
"But I don't understand," he cried angrily. "You said my horse fell. I
can't remember."
"But you will soon. Try and go to sleep."
"Don't be absurd, boy. Here, help me to get--"
He did not finish his sentence but tried to raise himself and then lay
perfectly still, with his jaw dropped, and a look of horror in his eyes.
"Neil--my boy," he said piteously, "I can't move. This sudden
weakness--I--yes--I remember now. The Don fell with me. Quick--tell
me--am I much hurt?"
"I hope not, sir. It was a bad fall, but there are no bones broken."
"But--"
He stopped, and looked wildly at his son.
"Father, you must try and be calm," said Neil firmly.
"Ralph, dearest--pray--pray--be calm," said Aunt Anne.
"Silence, woman!" he cried harshly; and the great drops of perspiration
began to gather on his brow. "Yes," he continued hoarsely, "I begin to
remember clearly now. The brute fell and rolled over me. Here, Neil,
you are a surgeon--tell me--not seriously hurt?"
"You are hurt, father, and it is absolutely necessary that you should be
quite calm."
"Calm, sir! How can I be calm? Do you take me for a child? Send for a
proper doctor at once--a man who can understand, and who will tell me
the truth."
"I am telling you the truth, father. I repeat--it is absolutely
necessary that you should lie still and try to be calm."
"But--"
He uttered that word angrily, and clutched at the side of the couch to
try again and raise himself, but his arm fell nervelessly by his side,
and he gave his son a piteous look.
"My back," he groaned. "No feeling; Neil, my boy, you know and you will
not speak. Don't, don't, tell me I am to be a cripple."
"My dear father," cried Neil huskily, as he grasped his hand, "I dare
not tell you that, for I am not sure. I have sent up for Sir Denton,
and he will, I know, come by the earliest possible train. I hope that
my fears are wrong."
"Then they are right," said the sufferer with a groan. "I know now.
Great Heavens!"
He closed his eyes, and lay perfectly still, but the dew upon his
contracted face told plainly enough of the mental agony he suffered.
Aunt Anne drew back, and signed to Neil to come to her side.
"Speak to him," she whispered. "Try and say something to comfort him,
dear."
"It would be folly," replied Neil sadly, "and only increase his
irritation."
"Oh, but, my dear!" she whispered.
"Aunt, it was what I feared, and he has grasped the truth."
"Neil!"
"Wait till Sir Denton comes, and let him decide."
He went back to the side of the couch, and sat down to watch and wait,
ready to try and alleviate pain, and wipe the drops of agony from the
sufferer's brow from time to time.
And so an hour passed without the patient once unclosing his eyes, but
it was plain that he did not sleep; a sharp twitch across the face now
and again eliciting a faint groan.
Aunt Anne had been out twice to speak to Isabel, who was weeping
silently in the adjoining room.
And so the dreary day crept on with a strange silence pervading the
place where all, as a rule, was bustle and activity. Alison softly
paced the hall hour after hour, waiting patiently for news of which Aunt
Anne was the bearer.
But she had little to communicate, and night was coming on fast when the
sound of carriage wheels was heard, and a fly from the station drove up
to the door, out of which stepped the famous London surgeon, who had
arrived quite a couple of hours sooner than had been expected.
Neil hurried out, leaving Aunt Anne to take his place while he welcomed
the visitor.
"Thank you," he said simply, as he grasped the old man's hand.
"I came down at once. How is he?"
Neil shook this head, and led the way at once into the room where Mr
Elthorne lay with his eyes tightly closed; but he opened them at once as
Sir Denton approached, showing that he had been keenly conscious of
every sound.
Aunt Anne rose from his side, bent down again to kiss him, and then
hurried out of the room to hide her tears, leaving the great surgeon to
decide upon what her brother's future was to be.
Isabel and Alison were outside, and the three waited together anxiously
for the great man's verdict, and all oppressed by the strange sensation
produced by the sudden shock which had fallen upon the family.
Everything seemed strange, and the very silence to be charged with
portents.
Alison strode up and down the room, while his sister crouched by Aunt
Anne's side, holding her hands tightly, and starting at every sharp turn
her brother made.
It seemed an age before they heard the opening of a door and steps in
the hall; and as Isabel started up, listening excitedly, Neil appeared,
looking white and anxious.
"Go to my father, Aunt," he said, and then drew back to lead Sir Denton
into a little room much affected by the young man, half study, half
museum, where the surgeon sank into a chair and leaned back gazing at
the worn, troubled face before him, as if waiting for his companion to
speak.
"Well, sir?" he said at last, for Sir Denton remained silent.
"Well, Elthorne," said Sir Denton gravely.
"Don't trifle with me. I am in agony."
"Naturally, my dear fellow, and I am not trifling with you. I only
shrank from giving you pain."
"Then you think--" began Neil.
"No; I am sure, Elthorne. My dear boy, you have not worked with me for
years without being able to come to a decision at once upon such a case
as this. I can quite understand your feelings. In your horror and
despair you mistrusted yourself, or tried to mistrust yourself, hoping,
I presume, that you might be wrong, and sent at once for me. Is it not
so?"
Neil bowed his head; and then quickly, as drowning men catch at straws,
he said:
"But, Sir Denton, do you feel absolutely certain?"
"My dear Elthorne, would to Heaven I could say that there is a doubt.
There is none. You know there is none."
Neil uttered a low groan.
"It comes hard from one who feels toward you as I do, my dear brother,"
said the old man gently; "but we doctors and surgeons can have no
concealment from each other. Your examination must have shown you that
the spine is hopelessly injured."
"Yes, yes," groaned Neil; "but I clung to the hope that I might be
wrong. Then you can give me no hope?"
"Yes, I can do that. With careful nursing you may save his life, and he
may have many years before him. There will be little physical
suffering, and fortunately for him, being a wealthy man, he can palliate
much of this by attendants and the many contrivances our mechanicians
have invented for the benefit of the injured. It is a terrible case,
but nothing compared to what it would be if some poor breadwinner had
suddenly been stricken down--a case such as we have seen hundreds of
times. Your father has everything to soften the hardship, and, above
all, the love of his children."
"Then you feel that nothing more can be done?"
"Frankly, nothing. It is the greatest kindness to tell you so,
Elthorne. As you well know, the treatment is of the simplest. Time,
and a thoroughly good, trustworthy nurse. There is the prescription
that forty years of earnest study have taught me to offer you."
"Yes," said Neil, after a pause, "I felt all this--thanks to your
teachings. Poor old father!" he continued as if to himself; "so full of
vitality, so determined and energetic, so full of plans, and in an
instant all at an end."
"Oh, no," said Sir Denton. "You must look at the brighter side of the
accident, my dear fellow. He will--I am speaking plainly--he will be
utterly paralysed in his lower limbs, but in all probability the mental
faculties will be sharpened, and from what I have seen of your father I
should say he will be more energetic and active than ever."
"Thank you," said Neil warmly; "thank you--"
"Now go and break the bad news to your people at once, and all of you
face the worst. You are spared a great deal. You know as well as I do
that his accident might have meant a few hours' hopeless struggle
against death and then the end."
"Yes, yes," said Neil. "You are right, and I will try--we will all
try--to face the trouble as we should. But you will stay the night and
see him in the morning."
"No, I can do no good. You will act in everything exactly as I should,
and there are others waiting in agony for my return."
"But--"
"You know in your heart what I say is just, my dear Elthorne. Come,
pupil, your old master trusts you," said the surgeon, taking his hand.
"Forget for the time being that the patient is a relative; sink
everything in the scientific aspects of the case; do your duty, and
trust yourself. Now, God bless you, and good-bye."
He grasped the young surgeon's hands warmly and turned to go, but
stopped short.
"I shall get someone to come and lend me a hand, so that you can stay
down here as long as is necessary, but you will be able to come up for a
day or two at the end of a week. Of course the first thing is to send
you down an efficient nurse. Everything will depend upon her, as you
know."
"Yes," said Neil huskily, and he walked out into the hall.
"I will not ask to see your sister or your aunt, Elthorne. My kindest
regards, and I hope to renew my friendship with them at some happier
time."
He stepped into the waiting fly and looked at his watch.
"Tell him to drive fast, and I shall just catch the last up-train.
Good-bye."
The wheels grated on the gravel drive, and the sounds were dying away as
Neil turned to find that the drawing-room door had opened.
Isabel ran to him and threw her arms about his neck, trying vainly to
speak, as he held her to his breast, while her eyes looked imploringly
into his.
"What does he say, Neil?" said Alison huskily. "Tell us the worst."
"The worst," replied Neil gloomily.
"Then he will die?" cried Alison excitedly.
"No, no."
"But he has gone so soon. Don't keep it back, man. He said he could do
nothing?"
"He said that with care our father will live, but--"
He stopped short for a few moments and a sigh that was almost a groan
escaped him.
"The poor old dad. Al," he said softly, "I am afraid he will be a
hopeless cripple if the knowledge of his state does not kill him right
off."
"What's that? What's the matter?" cried Alison sharply, as the door
opened and the butler appeared. "We are engaged."
"Beg pardon, sir," said the man. "Mrs Barnett, sir, rang the bell.
Master wants Mr Neil directly."
"O Neil, he is worse," sobbed Isabel; and, as her brother hurried out of
the room and across the hall, she followed, and they all entered
together, just as Aunt Anne was coming to summon them, her ruddy face
looking blanched and strange in places, while her eyes were wide open
and she seemed to have been scared.
"Pray come to him, my dear," she whispered. "He frightens me."
"What is that?" said Mr Elthorne sharply. "What is the meaning of that
whispering? Am I to lie here without any attention because I have had a
bit of a fall? Here, Neil, quick. It is disgraceful. Anne--Isabel--
you can go. I want to talk to Neil." Isabel crept deprecatingly to the
speaker's side and bent down to kiss him.
He responded to her kiss, and then seemed annoyed with himself, as if he
considered his conduct weak.
"There, there," he cried. "Don't hang about me, my dear. You make me
hot. There is nothing much the matter. Go and nurse up your aunt, and
try to teach her to be sensible."
"Oh, papa, dear!"
"Now, don't you begin to be absurd too. I'm hurt and in pain. Let me
ask you one question--Is it likely to do me good to have a foolish woman
sitting close to me soaking her pocket handkerchief?"
"Ralph, dear, I was only sympathetic," cried Aunt Anne.
"I don't want sympathy," cried Mr Elthorne. "I want help. I want you
to go now. Shut the door after them, Alison. You can stop. Now," he
continued angrily, as soon as they were alone, and he fixed his eyes
fiercely upon his elder son's, "you chose to be a doctor, sir, and I
gave way unwillingly. I studied no expense, and you have gone on
studying up your profession. But, once for all, if I am to take any of
your assistance, I warn you that I will have none of the tricks of your
trade played upon me."
"My dear father, pray be calm," said Neil anxiously.
"Did you hear what I said, sir? Be calm! Am I not calm? There you are
bringing out all your medical stock in trade--medical cant to bear."
Neil looked at him anxiously, and saw that he was wild in his manner,
and that there was a curiously excited glare in his eyes which troubled
him a good deal, and affected his words as he replied.
"Now," cried his father, "tell me at once, what did Sir Denton say?"
"That you must be kept perfectly quiet, sir, and be troubled by nothing
exciting."
"Why?" said Mr Elthorne sharply. "Did he say that my case was
hopeless, and that I must die?"
"No; decidedly not. Nothing of the kind, sir. He told me that you only
needed proper nursing to recover."
"To recover my health?"
"Yes, sir."
"And strength?" said Mr Elthorne, gazing at him searchingly.
Neil was silent.
"Why don't you speak, boy?" said the old man sternly. "No; you need not
speak. A man is a physician or a fool at forty. I am long past forty,
and not quite a fool, boys, as you both know. He told you that I should
be a hopeless cripple."
"He told me, I repeat, that you must be kept perfectly quiet, father,
and I must insist upon your now trying to help me by following out his
wishes."
"A cripple--a helpless cripple," said the injured man, without paying
the slightest heed to his son's words, but speaking as if to someone he
could see across the room. "I did not want telling that. A man knows.
But what does it mean? Wreck? Utter helplessness? Being led about by
the hand? No, no, no; not so bad as that. The brain is right. I am
strong there. You boys are not going to usurp everything yet. Do you
hear? I say you boys are--you boys--I say--the doctor--quick--the
doctor--ah!"
His eyes glared wildly as the fit of excitement rapidly increased, till
he almost raved like one in a fit of delirium, and every attempt to calm
him by word or action on the part of his son only seemed to intensify
his excitement, till a sudden spasm made his face twitch, and his head
fell back with the angry light dying out of his eyes.
"Quick!" whispered Neil. "Run up to my room and bring down the little
case on the drawers."
He raised his father's head as he spoke, and, after glancing at him in a
frightened manner, Alison hurried out of the room.
An hour later Ralph Elthorne was lying perfectly insensible, with his
son watching by his bedside. It was no new, thing to him this tending
of a patient in a serious strait consequent upon an accident, but their
relative positions robbed him of his customary _sang-froid_, and again
and again he asked himself whether he had not done wrong in accepting so
onerous a task, and whether Sir Denton had not placed too much
confidence in his knowledge of the treatment such a case demanded. When
such thoughts mastered him he was ready over and over again to send a
fresh message to the great surgeon, and it was only by a strong effort
that he mastered himself and maintained his calmness. For he knew in an
ordinary way a doubt of his capacity would never enter his head; all he
had to do, he told himself, was to strive as he would have striven for
another.
"But he is my father," he muttered, "and it is so hard to feel
confidence when one knows that the patient mistrusts every word and
act."