Dr. Derek sat back in his cane elbow-chair. It was a sign, with him, of
elation but his face was decorously long. "Dear, dear, you don't say so?
How did it happen?"
Byron twisted his hat in his hands. In the meticulously clean room he
showed clumsy, weather-browned and out of place. "She wasn't like
herself all day, yesterday," he volunteered after a pause, during which
Dr. Derek, waiting and knowing he must wait, had occupied himself with a
retrospect. No woman could survive such injuries. If it had been one
leg or if the head had not been hurt! Her partial recovery had been the
effort of a healthy organism, a fine effort but foredoomed. The event
had justified his prognosis. "She went to bed early," continued Byron,
dragging out his words as if they were creatures with a will opposed to
his, "she thought if she did she might be better by the mornin'."
"Did she take her food?"
"She was eatin' like a 'adger last night. I couldn't 'elp noticing it.
I thought 'twas a poor sign."
"What did she have for supper?"
Byron recalled, not the articles of food but, the look of the table.
"Well, I believe as she 'ad a piece of cold pork."
"Ah!" said the doctor and, behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes
gleamed with the satisfaction of the investigator who has run a fact to
earth. "And I said she was to be careful about her food. If you
remember I recommended a light diet?"
Byron, without understanding it, had noted the satisfaction. "Iss,
doctor, but 'er mind was runnin' on pork." He did not know what a light
diet was nor that fat pork, when indulged in freely and late at night,
was unwholesome.
"A hearty meal," mused the doctor, "and a heart suffering from
overstrain. Well--what happened?"
"Since 'er accident, she've been sleepin' downstairs and I never 'eard
nothin' of 'er till Mrs. Rosevear come over early this mornin' and found
'er dead in bed." He shook his head. "It frightened all the lot of
us."
The doctor, turning to a brass dish, picked up an agate penholder.
"Very sad, Byron, very sad; but I'm afraid only what was to be
expected."
It was the countryman's turn to experience surprise. The doctor had
taken Sabina's death as a matter of course. Very satisfactory, but on
what grounds? "You don't say so, sir," he began cautiously. "I'd no
idea!"
"If people in a weak state of health will eat pork late at night, in
other words give their stomach more work than it is capable of doing,"
explained Dr. Derek and, behind his twinkling spectacles, his cold and
keen eyes emitted a friendly gleam, "the heart is apt to stop work. It's
not a bad death, Byron. She didn't suffer."
"I'm pretty and thankful to hear that, sir. We was rather afraid, poor
sawl, there by 'erself, might 'av 'ad a 'ard death."
"You can put that fear out of your mind. In all probability she passed
in her sleep, just--" he snapped his fingers--"snuffed out. Now, let's
see, do you want me to come over?"
So far, matters had gone better than Byron had dared to hope; but now
his heart sank. If Dr. Derek were to see Sabina he might realize--Byron
accredited him with miraculous powers--on what a fairy superstructure
his diagnosis was built. "Well, sir," he said, "just as you like. If
you think you ought to come, do so. I shouldn't like for people to talk
after she were buried up and say we didn't do what we ought to 'ave
done; but she's dead and stiff."
"You don't make a point of it, then?"
"I want you to zactly please yerself, sir."
"Humph!" The doctor considered. "I saw her yesterday and I'm pretty
busy. Yes, yes, it isn't necessary." His gold nib in its cool agate
holder began to run in smooth flowing style over a sheet of partly
printed paper. "Show that to the undertaker," he said, passing the
certificate to Byron.
"Thank you, doctor, and for all the trouble you've took of 'er." He
placed the paper carefully in his pocketbook and prepared to go. "Seems
rather hard that after all you couldn't pull 'er through!"
In Dr. Derek's bosom the professional man was often at war with the
scientific. "The fact is, Byron," he said honestly, "I didn't expect to
save her. I've never thought she would live so long." His experienced
glance dwelt fleetingly on the other's face. "You look pretty seedy,
yourself. If you don't take care we shall have you on the sick list."
"Well, sir, 'twas awful sudden, 'twas. I don't feel to believe she's
really gone. I'm like I'm in a dream." But, in his hidden mind, he was
wondering why the man who saw so much could not pierce to the little
more.
"Must have been a terrible shock to you. When is the funeral to be?"
"Monday, I believe, sir."
"Walking, I suppose?"