"This is your doing, Dr Heston," said Mr Girtle, returning to the
dining-room, indignantly, with a card in his hand.
He had been seated at lunch with the doctor, Katrine, and Artis, when
Preenham had entered the room, to say that a gentleman wished to see him
on important business.
"I dare say it is," said the doctor, "but what have I done?"
"We--the family--had decided to refrain from communication with the
police, so as not to draw attention to the peculiar circumstances that
have taken place in this house, and I agreed somewhat unwillingly,
knowing Mr Capel's feelings as to what has gone before."
"Well," said the doctor, coolly, for the old man seemed to have lost his
self-control.
"No, sir, it is not well. Someone has communicated with the police."
He held out the card in his hand, and Katrine winced, while Artis gave
her an uneasy look.
"No work of mine, my dear sir; my hands are too full of my patient.
Surely he does not say--"
"No, no," said Mr Girtle, hurriedly. "I have not seen him yet. I was
so angry that I returned at once. I really beg your pardon, but all
this trouble has rather taken me off my balance."
He nodded, and left the room, and Katrine glanced at the doctor.
"Over-work and anxiety, my dear madam," he said. "I shall have to give
him a little advice. Now, if you will excuse me, I'll go up-stairs."
"But doctor," cried Katrine; "is Mr Capel really better?"
"It is hardly just to call him better while this delirium continues; but
you know what Sir Ronald said."
He went out of the dining-room, and ascended the stairs, leaving Katrine
with Artis.
"Where are you going?" said the latter.
"Up to Capel's room."
"What, again?"
"Yes," she said, "again."
"But what have you found out?"
"Wait and see."
"Wait and see? I'm sick of it all," he cried, angrily. "I feel as if I
were buried alive, and to make matters worse, you're always away. Look
here, I don't like your going and nursing that fellow."
"You stupid boy!" she said softly; and she turned upon him a look that
made him catch her in his arms and press his lips to hers.
For a few moments she made no resistance, but seemed to be returning his
caress. Then, with an angry wrench, she extricated herself from his
grasp.
"How dare you!" she cried.
"How dare? Oh, come, that's good."
"You are acting like a fool!"
She sailed out of the room just as Preenham opened the door, and as he
drew back for her to pass, Artis threw himself into a chair, while
Katrine slowly ascended the stairs, listening intently to the low murmur
of voices in the library.
A few minutes before, the quiet, grave-looking professional nurse had
ascended to the sick room from the housekeeper's room, where she had
just partaken of her dinner, and found, as she entered, silently, Lydia
on her knees by the bedside, with a straight bar of light from the
window throwing her into bold relief against the dark curtains.
The nurse advanced softly, and glanced at Capel, who seemed to be
sleeping easily, and then lightly touched Lydia on the shoulder.
"Asleep, miss?" she said.
Lydia raised her white face, haggard and livid with sleeplessness and
anxiety.
"No," she said softly, as she let herself sink into the low chair at the
bed's head. "No, not asleep."
"But you are quite done up, miss," said the nurse. "Now, pray do go and
lie down for a few hours. He is better, I'm sure of it. I do know,
indeed. I've seen so much of this sort of thing. I was in the French
hospitals all through the war."
"But, are you sure?"
"I'm quite certain, miss. Now, you can't go on like this. You must
have rest. Take my advice, and go and have a good sleep, and then you
can come and watch again."
"But if--"
"If anything happens, miss, I'll call you."
"You promise me?"
"Faithfully, miss. There, trust to me."
Lydia had risen, and she tottered as she took a step or two, when the
nurse caught her in her arms, and the poor girl's strength gave way
entirely now.
The nurse's confident words that Capel was getting better, robbed her of
the last bond of self-control, and, as the woman tenderly supported her,
and whispered a few soothing words, Lydia's head went down on the
nurse's breast, and she burst into a low, passionate fit of hysterical
tears.
"There, you'll be better now," whispered the nurse, as Lydia raised her
piteous white face. "Now go and have a few hours' sleep."
Lydia nodded, recovered her self-command, and went to the bed, bent over
and gazed earnestly in the patient's face, and then left the room.
"Poor dear!" said the nurse, after a glance at the patient, "how she
does love him! Ah, miss, how you made me jump!"
"Did I, nurse?" said Katrine. "I was obliged to come in gently. How is
he?"
"Better, miss, I think."
"That's well. You look very tired, nurse."
"Me, miss? Oh, dear, no."
"But your strength ought to be saved for nights. I can't watch at
night--I get too sleepy; but I can now, and I'll take your place."
"Do you really wish it, miss?"
"Yes. Please," said Katrine, firmly; and the woman quietly left the
room, to take no walk, but to go up to the chamber set apart for her
use, and, from long habit in catching rest when it could be found, she
threw herself upon her bed, and was soon breathing heavily--fast asleep.
In the adjoining room lay Lydia, with her eyes closed, hour after hour,
but painfully awake. No sleep would come to her weary brain, which
seemed to grow more terribly active as the time rolled on. She told
herself that her love for Capel was madness. Then hope tortured her
with the idea that he might turn to her, while her indignant maiden
nature bade her forget him and show more pride. "But he is poor," Hope
seemed to say; "his fortune is gone, and you are comparatively wealthy.
Wait, and he will love you yet."
There was a hopeful smile dawning upon her lips, as she softly left her
room, and went down the stairs, with a feeling of restful content in her
breast, and then her heart seemed to stand still, and a horrible feeling
of self-reproach attacked her as she felt that she had left her post
just as some terrible crisis had been about to happen.
For there, at the door where she had crouched in agony, waiting to know
the great physician's verdict, now stood Gerard Artis, gazing in as he
held it partly open.
Lydia was as if turned to stone for the moment. Then the reaction came,
and she quickly ran to the door, to lay her hand upon Artis's shoulder.
He turned upon her a face distorted with jealous rage, and then his
countenance changed, and, indulging in a malicious laugh, he drew on one
side, holding the curtain back, and pointed mockingly to the scene
within.