John Gaunt’s eyes were fixed eagerly on his wife and the suspense was
unbearable. Yes, her breathing did seem to be more regular. He took the
nurse almost savagely by the arm and dragged her from the room.
“Tell me—is she dying?” he demanded hoarsely.
“No, sir. I think your wife is better. Take your hand away. You hurt
me,” she said gently.
“Sir Felix. Did he expect this change for the better?”
“No. He thought that she would gradually get worse.”
“Is there a chance that she will live?” he asked, and his voice was
tense with suppressed emotion.
“How can I tell? I am not a doctor.”
“No—you’re a fool,” he said savagely.
He ran along the corridor and down-stairs to the library. There he
seized the telephone book and looked up a number which he gave to the
Exchange.
“Is that Sir Felix Hellier’s house?—Is your master in?—Tell him that he
is wanted immediately—Mr. Gaunt, Park Lane—I will come round myself.”
His face worked with passion as he strode from the room.
“The car at once.”
He gave the order to the butler and looked at his watch. Eleven
o’clock.
“So he’s not to be disturbed. We’ll soon see about that,” he muttered
as he walked up and down the hall waiting to hear the sound of the car,
and as soon as it arrived he rushed away.
“62A Harley Street, as quickly as possible.”
The chauffeur looked at his master in surprise, but at the sight of his
face he pressed in the clutch. There was no thought of tires or police
as he speeded along to pull up with a jerk at the house. In answer to
the ring a butler appeared and Gaunt walked into the hall.
“I must see Sir Felix at once. It is imperative,” he said fiercely.
“My master gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. He is not well
and has gone to bed. Mr. Percival will attend to any urgent case.”
“Take my name up to your master.”
“I dare not,” the servant answered respectfully.
“Then stand aside.”
So saying Gaunt passed and ran up the stairs. When he reached the
landing he called forth.
“Sir Felix.”
All was silent save for the heavy breathing of the butler who had
followed, under the impression that he had to deal with a lunatic.
“Which is your master’s room?” Gaunt demanded roughly.
“Who is there? What’s the meaning of this?”
A door had opened and Sir Felix, clothed in a dressing-gown, appeared.
“It is John Gaunt. You must come at once. The nurse says that my wife
is better.”
“Mr. Gaunt, you forget yourself, I think.”
“I only remember that you are my wife’s doctor. She needs you, and you
must come.”
“You are acting very strangely. I left instructions that Mr. Percival
should attend to any pressing cases.”
“Sir Felix, you will come back with me at once. You told me that you
could do no more. You said the issue was in God’s hands. I believe that
He has decided the issue. But I am taking no risks. You may be able to
help, and must come with me.”
“I think you cannot quite be responsible for what you are saying. I am
not used to——”
Gaunt almost pushed him back into his room.
“Get your clothes on and don’t talk. I won’t leave this spot until you
promise to accompany me. Do you understand?”
The look of anger left Sir Felix’s face and he smiled faintly.
“That’s better. If my wife lives, there’s a blank check, which you can
fill in for any amount,” Gaunt continued eagerly.
A few minutes later they were seated in the car and the rapid pace made
Sir Felix utter an ejaculation.
“Is this quite safe?” he said deprecatingly.
There was no answer for hope had surged to Gaunt’s heart and he could
only think of what the next few hours would bring forth.
“I don’t think you had better come in with me. You shall know, at the
earliest possible moment,” Sir Felix said suavely, when they reached
the door of the bedroom.
“I shall be in the library.”
And there Gaunt went. An abstemious man—he poured out half a tumbler of
neat brandy, which he gulped down. His hands trembled as he endeavored
to light a cigar.
The moments passed, oh, so slowly, and his agitation increased. What
would be the verdict? Death, and with it the vanishing of all life’s
sweetness. Life—and—his wife.
How long it was he knew not, but at last Sir Felix entered.
“Lady Mildred has taken a turn for the better.”
“She will live?”
“I cannot say yet, but there is hope. Why don’t you lie down and rest?
It may be an hour or two before I can tell you definitely.”
“Rest—what do you think I’m made of? Have you any idea what my wife
means to me?” Gaunt asked hoarsely.
“Still I think you should rest. You have evidently been enduring a
great strain,” Sir Felix persisted gently.
“Go back to her, and I will await your verdict.”
“Your wife has a wonderful constitution. Ninety-nine out of a hundred
women would have already succumbed.”
Sir Felix cast a curious look at the bowed head of the millionaire and
went back to his patient. The nurse was standing by the side of the bed
and holding a spoon to Lady Mildred’s lips.
“She has recovered consciousness, sir,” she whispered.
The eyes of the sick woman followed the doctor as he approached, and
her lips moved.
“My baby.”
“Fetch the child, nurse.”
“Doctor, I thought I was dead—am I dying?”
“No—not if you want to live. It rests with yourself.”
The sound of a cry—not feeble, but almost shrill, and that wonderful
“mother-look” came into Lady Mildred’s eyes. The baby was placed by her
side, and as it nestled to her breast, she sighed.
“I shall not die—with this——”
The words, little more than a whisper, could scarcely be heard. The
nurse held her breath and bent down to her patient, while Sir Felix’s
fingers rested on Lady Mildred’s pulse, and it was evident that he,
too, was full of anxiety.
“My little baby.”
Her breathing now was more regular, and the faintest tinge of color
came to her cheeks.
“She is asleep,” the nurse whispered triumphantly.
“Hush!”
Neither of them moved, and the pulsations told their tale to the
physician. It was a long time that they waited, and at last Sir Felix
withdrew his hand. And now his thoughts were of the husband. Only too
well did he know the reputation of John Gaunt—heartless in his pursuit
of fortune—and yet he must love this woman to distraction. The world,
too, had its opinion of Lady Mildred. Her life, until a month or two
ago, had been that of the ultra-fashionable woman of to-day. Apparently
thoughtless of everything save the extraction of every possible
enjoyment from each moment of her life. What was there in her to arouse
so great a passion in such a man as John Gaunt? True she was very
beautiful, but that in itself was not sufficient to account for such a
love.
“The man behaved like a madman,” he muttered to himself.
Should he go down and relieve him of his anxiety? No. This time there
should be no mistake, and he would wait until he could be absolutely
certain.
In the meantime John Gaunt was pacing restlessly to and fro. Deep lines
had appeared on his face, and his eyes were strained. The stronger a
man’s character, the greater his capacity for suffering, and Gaunt was
a strong man. As the minutes passed his agitation lessened—not that he
suffered any the less acutely—but his mind had become dazed.
He thought over each event of the day. His actions in the City, and
he vividly remembered his interview with Braithwaite. Had the man
succeeded in obtaining money, or was his family still without food? Not
that he felt any greater sympathy for him—he only wondered.
Then the deal in Amanti shares, and he muttered an exclamation of anger
when he remembered that he had forgotten to leave instructions with
Foster.
“Surely he will have the sense to realize,” he muttered.
Yes. That was a smart piece of business, and would net in a few
thousands.
Then came the visit from the parson. He was glad that he had been
generous, and he smiled wanly at the memory of his abrupt departure.
What agony he had suffered as he hastened home—what hours of torture
which had culminated in that moment when he had knelt by his wife’s
side.
He, John Gaunt, had prayed. Every word that he had said was burnt into
his brain.
“_Give me the life of my wife, and I vow the rest of my life to Your
service. Every action of my life shall be deliberately thought out, and
shall be in accordance with the teaching of Christ._”
He trembled when he remembered the words, and a feeling of awe
overwhelmed him as he realized what he had promised. The trembling
increased until it reached every limb, and his step was a stagger as he
endeavored to reach a chair into which he fell back heavily.
“I have made a bargain with God,” he said hoarsely.
It was immediately after he had risen from his knees that the nurse had
told him that his wife seemed to be a little better. Was that an answer
to his prayer? Had the bargain been ratified from above?
To John Gaunt the silence of the room seemed death-like. He tried to
moisten his parched lips and then suddenly leapt to his feet.
“What was that sound?”
The handle of the door turned, and Sir Felix appeared; a reassuring
smile on his face.
“My dear sir, I am happy to tell you that your wife is out of danger.”
Gaunt staggered, fell back and clutched wildly at the chair. Sir Felix
ran to the table and brought a glass of brandy.
“Drink this. Ah! That’s better. Now you must go to bed. A good sleep
and you will be all right.”
Still Gaunt did not speak. His eyes had a vacant look and his lips were
tremulous.
“Thank you, Sir Felix. Don’t stay any longer. It was good of you to
come. Good-night.”
“Take my advice and go to bed. Good-night,” Sir Felix said drily.
John Gaunt never knew how long he rested there motionless, save for
the twitching of his limbs. There was much to be thought out. His wife
would live. God had decided the issue, and now there was his own side
of the bargain to be fulfilled.
His quick mind told him what the vow meant—the upheaval of his life—the
changing of everything—“red rubber” must go—the Amanti deal—everything
must be different.
Could he carry out what he had promised—honestly, and completely?
Suddenly his face cleared and he rose. There was a steady light in his
eyes and his lips were pressed firmly together.
“God has kept His side of the bargain, and, by Heaven, I’ll keep mine,”
he said in a low voice.
At last he slowly made his way up-stairs and paused at the door of the
room where his wife lay. Sir Felix had been mistaken in saying that she
would die, so might he not be equally mistaken in his judgment that she
would live? As he entered the nurse looked at him, a sympathetic smile
on her face.
“Don’t make a sound, sir. She is sleeping so peacefully,” she whispered.
He stood by the side of the bed and he was reassured, for the change
was wonderful. At her breast the child lay, and the sight brought
a choking sensation to his throat. This atom of humanity was their
child—his son and hers. Now there was no doubt in his mind that Lady
Mildred would love him, and in time, as passionately as he loved
her. How strenuously he had fought to win her. With what care he had
considered his every action towards her. And the result had been
negative. Each overture had been received with a smile and deftly
turned aside. Since their wedding day there had been no frankness
between them. Perhaps Lady Mildred had discovered the intensity of his
feeling towards her, and was half afraid of it.
The baby moved restlessly and in an instant the nurse had taken it up,
and was hurrying into the next room.
“Please don’t take him away.”
Lady Mildred had awakened and she spoke appealingly to the nurse.
“Very well, my lady. But you mustn’t let him disturb you.”
“He won’t trouble me,” Lady Mildred answered softly, as the child once
more nestled to her breast.
Then for the first time she realized that her husband was present, and
a faint tinge of color came to her cheeks.
“Isn’t he a dear?” she whispered, and he bent over and reverently
touched her forehead with his lips.
“You must not talk,” the nurse said firmly.
“Just a few words more,” Lady Mildred said, and her eyes were fixed on
her husband.
Gaunt gave a little gasp at what he saw in them. There was something
akin to love, and he bent down eagerly to hear what she was about to
say.
“I thought I was dying, John. I imagined that my soul had left my body
when you came and took me by the hand—it was you, John; and yet you
were very different. Don’t laugh at me, dear, but it almost seemed as
though an angel were by my side. Your face was very beautiful, and your
eyes shone with a strange light. And as you held my hand I felt that
I was not dead, but that I must struggle to live. Your lips moved and
uttered strange words of prayer. I struggled to live, and then—I can
remember no more. But wasn’t it a funny dream? Just think of it—John
Gaunt an angel!” she whispered whimsically.
“Mr. Gaunt, I must ask you to leave the room at once. It is essential
that my patient should rest,” the nurse said severely.
“Run away, dear. I want to get well,” and Lady Mildred turned to her
baby.
Gaunt once more kissed his wife, and then, with a sense of awe, his son.
His step was buoyant as he walked to his room. His valet, drowsy-eyed,
rose to perform his nightly duties, but was summarily dismissed. But
Gaunt had no wish for bed, for he knew only too well that sleep was far
away. There was so much to be thought over—the wonderful love that he
had seen in his wife’s eyes, and a few hours ago he had imagined that
she was lost to him. A shudder shook him at the memory of it, and then
his mind naturally turned to the vow that he had made. Now that his was
relieved of immediate anxiety about Lady Mildred, he had time to think
what it really meant.
He had promised that every action of his life should be in keeping with
the teachings of Christ. There could be no shuffling from the issue,
for a solemn bargain had been made. God had fulfilled His part, and the
rest remained with himself. A grim smile twitched at his mouth as he
began to understand the revolution to which he was bound. Slowly memory
was returning and his thoughts went back to his boyhood.
The teaching of one’s youth is never really forgotten. It may lie
dormant for years, but even in old age it will return.
At fourteen years of age religion had been a very real thing to him,
thanks to his mother’s influence, and he had striven to follow her
teaching. He could remember that his nightly prayer was not merely the
formal utterance of words, but was the expression of what was truly in
his mind. Yes; as a boy he had honestly endeavored to lead a Christian
life, and he had been neither a prig nor a hypocrite.
And for the last fifteen years his every thought had been of self. His
only guide had been ambition, and its accompanying desire for wealth.
The brain has an odd way of turning to subjects that are out of keeping
with one’s frame of mind, and Gaunt found himself wondering if Foster
had sold the Amanti shares, and if the price had been a suitable one.
Why had those shares been bought? Because of his knowledge of the fraud.
There could be no doubt that if he intended to keep his vow, it was not
possible for him to participate in such profits.
And thus it was brought acutely to his mind what his future life must
be, unless he would perjure himself.
A follower of Christ in the City, and he laughed discordantly at the
idea.