He closed his eyes, because it occurred to him that to do so would be
agreeable. And he was awakened from a doze by a formidable stir on the
bed. Darius's breathing was quick and shallow, and growing more so. He
lifted his head from the pillow in order to breathe, and leaned on one
elbow. Edwin sprang up and went to him.
"Clara! Clara! Don't leave me!" the old man cried in tones of agonised
apprehension.
"It's all right; I'm here," said Edwin reassuringly. And he took the
sick man's hot, crackling hand and held it.
Gradually the breathing went slower and deeper, and at length Darius
sighed very deeply as at a danger past, and relaxed his limbs, and Edwin
let go his hand. But he had not been at ease more than a few seconds
when the trouble recommenced, and he was fighting again, and with
appreciably more difficulty, to get air down into his lungs. It entered
in quantities smaller and smaller, until it seemed scarcely to reach his
throat before it was expelled again. The respirations were as rapid as
the ticking of a watch. Despite his feebleness Darius wrenched his
limbs into contortions, and gripped fiercely Edwin's hands.
"Clara! Clara!" he cried once more.
"It's all right. You're all right. There's nothing to be afraid of,"
said Edwin, soothing him.
And that paroxysm also passed, and the old man moaned in the melancholy
satisfaction of deep breaths. But the mysterious disturbing force would
not leave him in peace. In another moment yet a fresh struggle was
commencing. And each was worse than the last. And it was always Clara
to whom he turned for succour. Not Maggie, who had spent nearly forty
years in his service, and never spoke ill-naturedly of him; but Clara,
who was officious rather than helpful, who wept for him in his presence,
and said harsh things behind his back, and who had never forgiven him
since the refusal of the loan to Albert.
After he had passed through a dozen crises of respiration Edwin said to
himself that the next one could not be worse. But it was worse. Darius
breathed like a blown dog that has fallen. He snatched furiously at
breath like a tiger snatching at meat. He accomplished exertions that
would have exhausted an athlete, and when he had saved his life in the
very instant of its loss, calling on Clara as on God, he would look at
Edwin for confirmation of his hope that he had escaped again. The
paroxysms continued, still growing more critical. Edwin was aghast at
his own helplessness. He could do absolutely naught. It was even
useless to hold the hand or to speak sympathy and reassurance. Darius
at the keenest moment of battle was too occupied with his enemy to hear
or feel the presence of a fellow-creature. He was solitary with his
unseen enemy, and if the room had been full of ministering angels he
would still have been alone and unsuccoured. He might have been sealed
up in a cell with his enemy who, incredibly cruel, withheld from him his
breath; and Edwin outside the cell trying foolishly to get in. He asked
for little; he would have been content with very little; but it was
refused him until despair had reached the highest agony.
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