“Can nothing be done?” Gaunt asked in a voice that was hoarse from the
supreme effort made to control it.
“We have done everything possible. The issue is out of our hands,” Sir
Felix Hellier answered, with the ever ready sympathy which had helped
him to attain so eminent a position in his profession.
“Will she die?”
Now there was only a great despair in Gaunt’s voice. The physician
looked keenly at the famous millionaire; noted the lines of suffering
on his strong face, and wondered. To the world, John Gaunt was a hard
man, one whose only object in life was the attainment of wealth—one who
would sacrifice ruthlessly to gain that end.
Twelve months ago he had surprised every one by marrying the beauty of
the season—Lady Mildred Blythe—and the general comment was that the
bridegroom was moved by social ambition; while the bride wished to
exchange a life of aristocratic poverty for one of unlimited wealth.
And now the wife lay on a bed of sickness, fighting for her life; while
the son which she had given to her husband slumbered peacefully in an
adjoining room.
“Can nothing be done?” Gaunt repeated hoarsely.
His powerful face worked painfully, and now he made no effort to hide
his distress.
“I am a rich man—and——”
“Money cannot help you. The issue is in God’s hands,” Sir Felix said
gravely, and turned towards the door.
“You are not going to leave her?”
“I can do no more. The nurse is quite competent.”
“Stay and I will pay you any fee you like to ask,” Gaunt cried
passionately.
Sir Felix smiled slightly.
“There are patients who await me, and I may be able to help them. Here
I can do no more.”
“A thousand pounds if you will stay.”
“Don’t tempt me. If I could be of the slightest use I would remain.
Good-night.”
John Gaunt looked wildly at the door which had been closed so quietly.
Then a deep groan came from his parched lips and he fell back heavily
into an armchair.
Twelve hours ago he had been so content with his lot. Rich beyond the
dreams of avarice—a beautiful wife whom he loved—and who he believed
was beginning to care for him in return. How anxiously he had looked
forward to the birth of their child. It was upon the coming of the
babe that he had counted, to awaken in Lady Mildred’s heart a love as
passionate as his own.
Now she lay a-dying, and he could do nothing to help her. In that lay
the sting. His check-book was powerless and it seemed strange that it
should be so. If she should die—and he would never know the love that
he had sworn to arouse.
The issue lay in God’s hands.
In God’s hands, and for years the name of the Deity had never been on
his lips, save as an imprecation. In the piling up of his fortune,
there had been no place for religion, and he had left his youth behind
him with but one determination—to amass wealth—honestly if possible—but
to amass wealth. And he had succeeded beyond his most sanguine dreams.
There was not a financial pie of any magnitude in which Gaunt had not a
finger; and his rivals in the city gave him their unstinted admiration.
No brain was as keen as his when the result of a scheme meant money,
and he was not the man to allow any delicate scruple to interfere with
his plans. One principle he had—one that had helped him enormously,
for John Gaunt’s word was his bond, and if a bargain were once made,
it would be fulfilled relentlessly, even should it result in loss. But
this latter event happened very rarely.
The issue lay in God’s hands.
Could he influence His decision? His mind went back to the time when
his mother, a gracious God-fearing woman, was living—his mother—who had
endeavored to teach him the religion which had guided her every action
until the day of her death, when he was some sixteen years of age. It
had been her custom to pray with him; but her influence had not lasted
very long, for Fate took Gaunt to a strange land—to the Congo—in search
of fortune, and in that country and with that object, religion must be
left at home. So the teaching of his mother had been forgotten.
In God’s hands!
Dare he approach Him? There was still the memory of the prayers that
he had known, but there was also the black record of the past. The
scheming, the fighting, worse than that, the deliberate robbing within
the scope of the law. He shuddered to remember the countless ruined
lives which lay behind him in the pursuit of wealth.
Those terrible years on the Congo; the maiming and torturing of human
beings; the shedding of blood to acquire wealth. With these sins on his
soul could he go down on his knees and pray God to give him the life of
the woman he loved?
John Gaunt was no hypocrite and he shuddered. There was not the excuse
of ignorance; for as a boy he had gone to church and accepted God, only
deliberately to throw Him aside when Christianity would have interfered
with his ambition.
“I can’t go whining back to Him now I want something,” he said
miserably.
How still everything was! There was something ghostly in the silence
of the large library where he sat. Above him his wife lay battling
for her life, and he could do nothing to help. Again he thought over
what the famous specialist had said and he realized that in all human
probability his wife was doomed.
Even now she might be dead. He rose and walked quickly up-stairs. A
distant wail from the babe greeted his ears, and his lips were grimly
pressed into a straight line.
The son and heir that would cost him his beloved.
Very carefully he turned the handle of his wife’s room and entered. The
nurse was standing by the bed and she came to meet him.
“How is she?” he whispered hoarsely.
“No better, I am afraid.”
And he stood beside the bed where his wife lay breathing heavily. Even
in that moment of agony he was struck afresh by her great beauty. Never
had she been so dear to him, and he would willingly have given all that
he possessed in the world to keep her with him.
Suddenly he fell on his knees and took her burning hand in his. The
nurse moved away but he did not heed her. His eyes were closed, and his
lips moved; but no words could be heard.
“I believe in God but I have put Him from my life. I have lived for my
own ends and have committed many sins. I cannot hope that my prayer
will be granted for I have done nothing to deserve any favor at Your
hands.”
Formal words of prayer would not come to his unaccustomed lips. He
spoke as if he were addressing some fellow being.
“But as I have done evil in my life, so I have the power of doing
good. Give me the life of my wife—give her back to me—and I vow the
rest of my days to Your service. I will not pretend that I can become
a Christian, but I swear to You—and I keep my word—that every action
of my life shall be deliberately thought out and shall be taken in
accordance with the teaching of Christ. I will try to right the wrongs
that I have done. Grant my request and I swear by the memory of my
mother that I will keep my side of the bargain in the spirit and
the letter. Should I be in doubt at any time, I will go to the best
Christian that I know and I will implicitly carry out his advice.”
John Gaunt rose to his feet and there was a dazed look in his eyes. The
nurse drew near and looked at him with deep sympathy.
“Her breathing seems a bit easier, sir,” she whispered.