Jack remained by my side while the unwelcome visitor slowly walked to
the door. But if one of Hawkesbury's enemies was disposed of, another
remained. Billy, who had been a fuming and speechless witness of this
last scene, now boiled over completely, and was to be kept in check no
longer.
Wasting no words, he made a wild dash at the retreating intruder and
closed with him. He would have closed with a lion, I firmly believe, if
a lion had made himself obnoxious to Jack Smith.
Hawkesbury turned suddenly to receive the assault; an angry flush
overspread his face, his hands clenched, and next moment Billy reeled
back bleeding and almost senseless into the middle of the room, and the
visitor had gone.
This was the event which put a check on my recovery.
To lie helpless and see Jack Smith insulted before my face would have
been bad enough, but to hear him taunted with the very secret I had so
miserably and treacherously let out was more than I could endure.
I don't know what I did that evening, I was so weak and so excited. I
have vague recollections of breaking out into passionate self-reproaches
and wild entreaties for forgiveness; and of Jack Smith with pale and
troubled face bending over me trying to soothe me, imploring me to be
still, telling me twenty times there was nothing left to forgive. And
then in the middle of the scene the doctor arrived, with serious face
and hushed voice. He felt my pulse more carefully than ever, and took
my temperature not once only, but several times. There was a hurried
consultation in the corner of the room, of which all I heard were the
words "most unfortunate" and "fever." My usual supper of bread-and-
butter and an _egg_ gave place to a cup of beef-tea, which I could
scarcely taste, and after that some medicine. Jack, with a face more
solemn than ever, made his bed at the foot of mine, and smoothed my
pillow for me and whispered--
"Be sure and call if you want anything."
Then everything was silent and dark, and I began to realise that I was
ill. I shall never forget that night. I tossed restlessly and
ceaselessly all through it. In whatever position I lay I found no
relief. My arm seemed to pain me more than ever before, my head ached,
I was nearly suffocated with heat. And my mind was as restless as my
body. One after another the follies and meannesses, the failures and
sins of my life in London, rose up before me and stared me in the face.
Try all I would, I could not get rid of them. I tried to think of other
things--of books I had read, of stories I had heard, of places I had
seen, of Stonebridge House, of Brownstroke--but no, the thought of my
pitiful career in London, my debts, my evil acquaintances, my treachery
to my friend, would come and come and come, and drive out all else. And
all the while I seemed to see Jack's solemn face looking reproachfully
at me from the bottom of the bed, just as it had looked at me that
morning weeks ago at Hawk Street. Once, instead of being at the bottom
of the bed, I found it close beside me, saying--
"What is it, old boy?"
"Eh? nothing. I didn't call."
"Yes you did. Do try and lie still and get some rest."
Lie still! As soon tell the waves to lie still in the storm as expect
me, with my fever-tossed body and mind, to rest!
So the night wore on, and when the morning light struggled through the
window it found me in a raging fever and delirious.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I must pass over the weeks that followed. I was very ill--as ill, so
they told me afterwards, as I well could be, and live.
Jack watched me incessantly. I don't know what arrangement he came to
at Hawk Street, but while I was at my worst he never left my bedside day
or night.
No one else was allowed up, except occasionally Billy, to relieve guard.
With these two nurses to tend me--and never a patient had two such
guardian angels!--I battled with my fever, and came through it.