AND THUS HER HOUR HAD COME
Half an hour had gone by. The fountain pen dropped from Sir Thomas's
cramped fingers.
He had been writing, slowly but incessantly, ever since he sat down
beside the sick man, and put his first question to him. Lord
Radclyffe, with the tenacity peculiar to a strong nature, had clung to
his own strength and will power and had spoken clearly, so that Sir
Thomas could not only understand but could write down what he heard,
word for word--not omitting a phrase--accurately and succinctly.
Once or twice Doctor Newington had to interfere. The patient was in
danger of exhaustion, and brandy had again to be administered. Lord
Radclyffe took it eagerly. What will power he had left was
concentrated on the desire to keep up his strength.
From the boudoir came the gentle murmur of a tender song, whispered by
Louisa's appealing contralto voice. The sick man seemed to enjoy it:
it seemed to soothe him too, for every now and again he lay quite
still and listened attentively: and when he did so his eyes always
sought the portrait of Luke.
When all was finished, and the last word written, Sir Thomas rose and
grasped his old friend's emaciated hand.
"You'll feel better to-morrow," he whispered cheerily, "when you have
your nephew with you. The doctor here must allow you to see him, if
you see no one else."
"Lord Radclyffe must have rest now," said the doctor impatiently.
"Certainly, my dear sir," rejoined Sir Thomas. "I need not trouble you
any more. I can but hope that your patient will be none the worse for
the effort."
The doctor did not reply. The patient after the great effort was in a
dangerous state of collapse and required every attention.
Sir Thomas Ryder took his leave and going through the smaller room, he
beckoned to Louisa to follow him.
A moment later the doctor was heard ringing for the nurses. Sir Thomas
in the hall was struggling with his coat, whilst Louisa stood by,
quite still and patient. She knew that her hour would come, and she
was grateful to her uncle for taking her away from here so quickly.
She had not asked a single question and Sir Thomas had not volunteered
any information. But she was content to wait, until the time when he
told her everything.
The cab which had been called all that long while ago was still
waiting at the door. It was now past eleven o'clock. Silently Sir
Thomas and Louisa Harris stepped into the cab, Mr. Warren, sympathetic
and attentive to the last, giving the address to the chauffeur on
their behalf.
Less than five minutes later, they had arrived at the Langham Hotel,
but they had not exchanged a single word during that time.
Colonel Harris was in the sitting room, waiting for his daughter's
return. The maid had told him that her mistress had gone to Sir Thomas
Ryder's and had promised to be home again in about an hour, so he was
not really anxious, only very worried about her. Personally, he saw no
issue to the terrible tangle, and his heart ached for her, as much as
it did for Luke.
He found himself quite unable to sit at the club. Luke de Mountford's
name was in every man's mouth. The obsession was unendurable, the
countless arguments adduced by indifferent lips was positively
nerve-racking. Colonel Harris after half an hour had enough of it, and
went back to the Langham.
He did not greet his brother-in-law very warmly: he did not feel very
well disposed toward him, as he had a vague idea that Sir Thomas Ryder
was in a measure responsible for Luke's terrible fate.
"Lou dear, it's very late," he said with gentle reproach when she came
in.
"You'll have to forgive her, Will," interposed Sir Thomas, "she came
over to have a talk with me, and we went on to try and see old Rad,
who is dying, I am afraid, poor chap."
"Now, my dear," he added turning to Louisa whilst he dived into his
breast-pocket, from which he extracted a note-book, "go to your own
room and read this through very quietly while I talk to your father."
He gave her the book, which she took without a word.
"It won't," he added, "take you very long to read. When you have
finished, bring me the notes back, I want them to-night."
She kissed her father before she went out of the room. He and she had
both guessed--by that unexplainable, subtle intuition born of
sympathy--what the pages of that note-book contained.