THE LETTER COMES
As Diana and the great specialist passed through the lower hall the
ambulance bell sounded, sharply.
They mounted the stairs together.
"Ambulance call from Euston Station," shouted the porter, from below.
Diana sighed. "That will most likely mean another bad operation
to-night," she remarked to Sir Deryck. "These fogs work pitiless havoc
among poor fellows on the line. We had a double amputation this
afternoon--a plate-layer, with both legs crushed. The worst case I have
ever seen. Yet we hope to save him. How little the outside world knows
of the awful sights we are suddenly called upon to face, in these
places, at all hours of the day and night!"
"Does it try your nerve?" asked the doctor, as they paused a moment at
the entrance to the ward.
Diana smiled, meeting his clear eyes with the steadfast courage of her
own.
"No," she said. "My hunting-field experiences stand me in good stead.
Also, when one is responsible for every preparation which is to ensure
success for the surgeon's skill, one has no time to encourage or to
contemplate one's own squeamishness."
The doctor smiled, comprehendingly.
"Hospital life eliminates self," he said.
"All life worth living does that," rejoined Diana, and they entered the
ward.
Half an hour later they stood together near the top of the staircase,
talking, in low voices, over the case in which Sir Deryck was
interested. They heard, below, the measured tread on the stone floor, of
the ambulance men returning with their burden. It was the "call" from
Euston Station.
The little procession slowly mounted the stairs: two men carrying a
stretcher, a nurse preceding, the house surgeon following.
Diana rested her hand on the rail, and bent over to look.
A slight, unconscious figure lay on the stretcher. The light fell full
on the deathly pallor of the worn face. The head moved from side to
side, as the bearers mounted the steps. One arm slipped down, and hung
limp and helpless.
"Steady!" called the house-surgeon, from below.
The nurse turned, gently lifted the nerveless hand, and laid it across
the breast.
Diana, clutching the rail, gazed down speechless at the face, on which
lay already the unmistakable shadow of death.
Then she turned, seized Sir Deryck's arm, and shook it.
"It is David," she said. "Do you hear? Oh, my God, it is David!"
The doctor did not answer; but, as the little procession reached the top
of the staircase, he stepped forward.
"Found unconscious in the Liverpool train," said the house-surgeon.
"Seems a bad case; but still alive."
The bearers moved towards the ward; but Diana, white and rigid, barred
the way.
"Not here," she said, and her voice seemed to her to come from miles
away. "Not here. Into the private ward."
They turned to the left and entered a small quiet room.
"It is David," repeated Diana, mechanically. "It is David."
They placed the stretcher near the bed, which the nurse was quickly
making ready.
As if conscious of some unexpected development, all stood away from it,
in silence.
Diana and the doctor drew near. Their eyes met across the stretcher.
"It is David," said Diana. "He has come back to me. Dear God, he has
come back to me!"
Her grey eyes widened. She gazed at the doctor, in startled unseeing
anguish.
"Just help me a moment, Mrs. Rivers, will you?" said Sir Deryck's quiet,
steady voice. "You and I will place him on the bed; and then, with Dr.
Walters's help, we can soon see what to do next. Put your hands so....
That is right. Now, lift carefully. Do not shake him."
Together they lifted David's wasted form, and laid it gently on the bed.
"Go and open the window," whispered Sir Deryck to Diana. "Stand there a
moment or two; then close it again. Do as I tell you, my dear girl. Do
it, _for David's sake_."
Mechanically, Diana obeyed. She knew that if she wished to keep control
over herself, she must not look just yet on that dear dying face; she
must not see the thin travel-stained figure.
She stood at the open window, and the breath of night air seemed to
restore her powers of thought and action. She steadied herself against
the window frame, and lifted her eyes. Above the forest of chimney
stacks, shone one brilliant star.
Her Boy was going quickly--beyond the stars. But he had come back to her
first.
Suddenly she understood why he had stopped the correspondence. He was on
the eve of his brave struggle to reach home. And why he had begged her
to remain in England--oh, God, of course! Not because he did not want
her, but because he himself was coming home. Oh, David, David!
She turned back into the room.
Skilful hands were undressing David.
Something lay on the floor. Mechanically Diana stooped and picked it up.
It was his little short black jacket; the rather threadbare "old
friend."
Diana gave one loud sudden cry, and put her hand to her throat.
Sir Deryck stepped quickly between her and the bed; then led her firmly
to the door.
"Go to your room," he said. "It is so far better that you should not be
here just now. Everything possible shall be done. You know you can
confidently leave him to us. David himself would wish you to leave him
to us. Sit down and face the situation calmly. He may regain
consciousness, and if he does, you must be ready, and you must have
yourself well in hand."
The doctor put her gently out, through the half-open door.
Diana turned, hesitating.
"You would call me--if?"
"Yes," said the doctor; "I will call you--then."
Diana still held David's jacket. She slipped her hand into the
breast-pocket, and drew out a sealed envelope.
"Sir Deryck," she said, "this is a letter from David to me, which I was
to receive after his death. Do you think I may read it now?"
The doctor glanced back at the bed. A nurse stood waiting with the
hypodermic and the strychnine for which he had asked. The house surgeon,
on one knee, had his fingers on David's wrist. He met the question in
the doctor's eyes, and shook his head.
"Yes, I think you may read it now," said Sir Deryck gently; and closed
the door.