|Colin entered the little salon once more with bated breath and eager
anxiety. 'Is he alive yet, Minna?' he asked in a low tone, as she came
to meet him, pale and timid.
'Alive, Colin, but hardly more. The fever's very serious, and Miss
Russell says he's wandering in his mind terribly.'
'What's he saying, Minna? Did Miss Russell tell you?'
'Oh, yes, poor girl; she's crying her eyes out. She says, Colin, he's
muttering that he has ruined Mr. Winthrop, and that he wished he was
dead, and then they'd both be happy.' Colin went in without another word
to the sick-room, and stood awhile by the bedside, listening anxiously
to poor Audouin's incoherent mutterings. As he caught a word or two of
his troubled thoughts, he made up his mind at once as to what he must
do. Taking Hiram by the arm, he drew him quietly without a word into
the salon. 'Winthrop,' he said, 'I have something to explain to you. You
must listen to it now, though it sounds irrelevant, because it's
really a matter of life and death to Mr. Audouin. I've just sold your
Chattawauga Lake for seven thousand five hundred lire.
Hiram started in surprise for a moment, and then made a gesture of
impatience. 'What does that matter, my dear fellow,' he cried, 'when Mr.
Audouin's just dying?'
'It matters a great deal,' Colin answered; 'and if you'll wait and hear,
you'll see it may be the means of saving his life for you.'
Hiram sat down and listened with blanched face to Colin's story. Then
Colin began at the beginning and told him all he knew: how Audouin had
lost heart entirely at Hiram's want of success; how he had made a
will, practically in Hiram's favour; and how he had gone out quite
deliberately upon the Campagna, and caught the _perniciosa_, on purpose
to kill himself for Hiram's benefit. At this point Hiram interrupted him
for a moment. His lips were deadly pale, and he trembled violently,
but he said in his usual calm voice, 'You do him an injustice there,
Churchill. He didn't do it on purpose. I know him better than you do.
Whatever he did, he did half unconsciously by way of meeting fate half
way only. Mr. Audouin is quite incapable of breaking his promise.'
Colin heard him and nodded acquiescence. It was no time, indeed, for
discussing the abstract points of Audouin's character. Then he went on
with his story, telling Hiram how the picture-dealers had come to him
that morning, how he had sold Chattawauga Lake and several other of his
pieces for excellent prices, and how the influx had been wholly due to a
single paragraph in Truman's 'For-tuna Melliflua.' As he spoke he handed
Hiram the cutting to read, and Hiram read it rapidly through with an
unwonted sense of relief and freedom 'I don't know, Churchill,' he said
when he had finished. 'I can't feel sure of it. But I think it has come
in time to save his life for us.'
They concerted a little scheme shortly between them, and then they went
into the sick-room once more, where Audouin was now lying somewhat more
quietly with his eyes half open. Hiram held up his head and gave him
a dose of the mixture which had been ordered for him at moments of
feebleness. It seemed to revive him a little. Then they sat down by the
bed together, and began talking to one another in a low tone, so that
Audouin could easily overhear them. He was less feverish, for the
moment, and seemed quite sensible; so Colin said in a quiet voice, 'Yes,
I sold Chattawauga Lake to old Focacci, who acts as agent, you know, for
Magnus of London.'
Audouin evidently overheard the words, and took in their meaning
vaguely, for his eye turned towards Colin, and he seemed to listen with
some attention.
'How much did you sell it for?' asked Hiram. He hated himself for even
seeming to be thus talking about his own wretched pecuniary business
when Audouin was perhaps dying, but he knew it was the only chance of
rousing his best and earliest friend from that fatal torpor.
'Seven thousand five hundred lire,' answered Colin.
'How much is that in our money?'
'In English money, three hundred pounds sterling,' Colin replied,
distinctly.
There was a little rustling in the bed, an attempt to sit up feebly, and
then Audouin asked in a parched voice, 'How many dollars?' 'Hush, hush,
Mr. Audouin,' Colin said gently, pretending to check him, but feeling in
his own heart that their little ruse had almost succeeded already. 'You
mustn't excite yourself on any account.'
Audouin was silent for a moment; then he said again, in a somewhat
stronger and more decided manner, 'How many dollars, I say: how many
dollars?'
'Five into seven thousand five hundred' Hiram reckoned with a slight
shudder, 'makes fifteen hundred, doesn't it, Churchill? Yes, fifteen
hundred. Fifteen hundred dollars, Mr. Audouin.'
Audouin fell back upon the pillow, for he had raised his head slightly
once more, and seemed for a while to be dozing quietly. At lust he asked
again, 'Who to, did you say?'
'Focacci of the Piazza di Spagna, agent for Magnus and Hickson of
London.'
This time, Audouin lay a long while ruminating in his fevered head over
that last important disclosure. He seemed to take it in faintly bit by
bit, for after another long pause he asked even more deliberately, 'How
did Magnus and Rickson ever come to hear of you, Hiram?'
Colin thought the time had now come to tell him briefly the good news
in its entirety, if it was to keep him from dying of disappointment.
'Truman has written very favourably about Winthrop's abilities as a
landscape painter,' he said gently, 'in his “Fortuna Melliflua,” and
a great many London dealers have sent telegrams to buy up all his
pictures. I have been round to the studio this morning, and sold almost
all of them at high prices.
Truman has spoken so well of them that there can be very little doubt
Winthrop's fortune is fairly made in real earnest.'
They watched Audouin carefully as Colin spoke, for they feared the
excitement might perhaps have been too much for him: it was a risky
card to play, but they played it in all good intention. Audouin listened
quite intelligently to the end, and then he suddenly burst out crying.
For some minutes he cried silently, without even a sob to break the
deathlike stillness. The tears seemed to do him good, too; for as he
cried, Gwen, hanging over him eagerly, noticed that little beads of
moisture were beginning to form faintly upon his parched forehead. In
their concentrated anxiety for Audouin's life, neither she nor Hiram had
yet found time adequately to realise their own good fortune; they could
only think of its effect upon the crisis of that terrible fever.
Audouin cried on without a word for ten minutes, and then he asked once
more, in a weak voice, 'What did Truman say? Have you got “Fortuna?”'
Colin took out the paragraph once more and read it all over, omitting
only the Babylonian Woe, which he feared might have the effect of
distressing Audouin. When he had finished, Audouin smiled, and answered,
smiling faintly, with a touch of his wonted self, 'Then, like Wolfe, I
shall die happy;' and after a moment he added, in a feebly theatrical
fashion, 'They run. Who run? The Philistines, to buy his pictures. Then
I die happy.'
'No, no, Mr. Audouin,' Gwen cried passionately, lifting his white hand
to her lips and kissing it fervidly. 'You mustn't die. For our sakes,
you must try to live and share all our happiness.'
Audouin shook his head slowly. 'No, no,' he said; 'the fever has got too
strong a hold upon me. I shall never, never recover.'
'You must, Mr. Audouin,' Colin Churchill said resolutely. 'If you go and
die after all, I shall never forgive you. You've got nothing to die for
now, and you mustn't think of going at last and doing anything so wicked
and foolish.'
Audouin smiled again, and turning over on his side, began to doze off
in a feverish sleep. He slept so long and so soundly that Gwen was
frightened, and insisted upon sending for the doctor. When the doctor
came, it was growing dark, and Audouin lay still and peaceful like a
child in the cradle. The doctor felt his pulse without awakening him.
'Why,' he cried in surprise, 'he seems to have been very much excited,
but his pulse is decidedly fuller and slower than it was this morning.
Something unexpected must have occurred to make an improvement in his
condition. I think the crisis is over, and he'll get round again in time
with good nursing.' Gwen and the hired nurse sat up all that night with
him.