AT GUY'S HOSPITAL.
While the train is speeding on with Henry Halford to the Euston Station,
we will go back to the Friday afternoon when Arthur Franklyn was carried
in an apparently lifeless state to Guy's.
When dragged from the water many voices were raised in eager haste.
"Send for a doctor!" "Carry him to the hotel!" "No use, the man is
dead!" "Nonsense, he hasn't been five minutes in the water." This and
other confusing advice was, however, set aside by the appearance of two
policemen with a cab. Putting back the crowd, they lifted in the
apparently drowned man, and bidding the driver make haste, jumped in
with him.
The rapid movement produced an unexpected effect. Before they were half
over London Bridge the policeman who sat opposite to Arthur was startled
at seeing the eyes of the supposed dead man open suddenly, and after a
heavily drawn breath came the words, "My carpet bag! where is my carpet
bag?" The wild eyes, the unexpected recovery, and the firmly uttered
words took these officers of the law by surprise.
"All right, sir, don't you go worritting yourself about carpet bags;
yours is all safe, I daresay," was all one of them could reply in a
soothing tone before the cab stopped at the hospital entrance, to the
great satisfaction of Arthur Franklyn's companions.
The medical officers were quickly in attendance, but the shock of the
accident had so increased the feverish excitement of Arthur Franklyn,
that on being taken out of the cab he struggled with those who held him,
and exclaimed frantically, "I must go back! You shall not detain me!
Where is my carpet bag?"
Regardless of his almost frenzied manner, which they judged to arise
from incipient disease, the attendants quickly relieved Arthur of his
wet clothes; he was placed in bed, and the remedies against the
consequences of a cold bath while in such a heated state vigorously
applied.
But there were other causes at work in that excited brain at present
unknown to the hospital doctors, and before night the patient was
tossing from side to side of the bed in the alternate delirium and
stupor which attends brain fever. His clothes were eagerly searched to
find a letter or address which might give some clue to his friends, for
he was evidently a gentleman, but with no success.
Arthur's great anxiety to conceal his name and his movements, now bid
fair to elude all attempts to discover his relations. He had booked
himself for the voyage under a false name, and the initials A. F. on his
linen were of very little use.
In the midst of his delirium his words were so incoherent that none
could be distinguished but the constant cry for the "carpet bag." At
last, during the afternoon of Sunday, although still insensible to
surrounding objects, his muttered words became more distinct.
Dr. Gordon was standing by his side listening anxiously to the wandering
expressions of the patient, when Arthur Franklyn half-rose in the bed
and exclaimed, "I must go to Kilburn! Ah! Henry Halford, what have I
done! And you will tell Fanny." He sunk back exhausted as he uttered
these words in a low piteous tone.
But this was enough for Dr. Gordon. He went to the county directory and
quickly finding the name of Halford and Englefeld Grange, sent the
telegram at once.
"I have telegraphed to the gentleman named by the patient," he said to
the nurse; "he cannot be here before ten at the earliest, I will return
by that time."
It was within an hour after receiving the message that the cab taken by
Henry Halford at Euston Square reached London Bridge and drove to Guy's
Hospital.
He was admitted at once to the presence of Dr. Gordon, who received the
gentleman, whose clerical dress denoted his office, with great
cordiality.
"I presume this gentleman is my brother-in-law," was the young
clergyman's first remark, "by the initials A. F.; if so, his name is
Arthur Franklyn: is he too ill to recognise me?"
"I fear so; he has been delirious ever since he was brought here, and
until to-day he has not uttered a name with sufficient distinctness to
be understood."
"What is the nature of his complaint?" asked Henry.
"Brain fever," replied the doctor; "and we have been obliged to have his
head shaved, so that perhaps you may find a great difficulty in
recognising him."
"We have almost feared he would have some attack of this kind," said
Henry; "he has had a great amount of excitement during the last
fortnight, since the sudden death of his wife in a railway carriage."
"What!" exclaimed Dr. Gordon, "are you referring to the case of Mrs.
Franklyn? Of course, yes, that was the name. I read an account of it in
the papers, and indeed such a painful occurrence was almost sufficient
of itself to produce irritation of the brain, if this gentleman is Mr.
Franklyn."
"I have no doubt of it, doctor; but my brother-in-law had apartments in
London at the West End--how came he here?"
"I cannot ascertain the correct facts, but it appears that our patient
was crossing a plank to go on board a steamer lying in the Thames at
London Bridge, and fell into the river. He was recovered from the water
quickly and brought to the hospital; a few minutes longer would have
proved fatal to him. I have no doubt he lost his balance from giddiness,
for this brain fever had been coming on for days."
"I suppose we cannot remove Mr. Franklyn yet?" said Henry.
"Remove him! my dear sir, no; impossible, till we can ascertain what
turn the disorder takes; but you shall see him and judge for yourself."
Henry Halford followed the surgeon up the stairs in silence. He had
never before entered an hospital, and through the open doors of the
different wards as he passed, he caught glimpses of sufferers in the
various stages and forms of disease, which reminded him of Milton's
lines--
Dire was the tossing, deep the groans; despair
Tended the sick, busied from couch to couch;
And over them triumphant death his dart
Shook, but delayed to strike.
Yet the cleanliness and calm of the place made him thank God in his
heart for these noble institutions, where the suffering poor can obtain
every comfort and care in times of sickness, as well as the most skilful
medical advice. On a bed separated by a screen from the other patients
lay Arthur Franklyn, but so changed in appearance that for a moment
Henry Halford could scarcely recognise him.
The stricken man who lay tossing to and fro on the bed had nothing to
remind us of Arthur Franklyn but his features, and even these were drawn
and distorted. The shaven head, on which lay cloths steeped in vinegar;
the flushed and heated face; the wild, dilated eyes, from which mind and
soul had departed, leaving a blank look which seemed to mock their
brilliance--all presented to the pitying eyes of the young clergyman a
sight never to be forgotten.
"It _is_ my brother-in-law, Dr. Gordon," he said at last; "but what a
wreck of himself! He does not appear to know me in the least."
"Try what your voice can do," replied the doctor; "speak to him, Mr.
Halford."
"Arthur! Arthur Franklyn!" he exclaimed, bending over the patient, "do
you know me?"
The eyes turned towards him with a vacant look, but no recognition; and
presently the muttering of delirium again commenced, in which Henry
could now and then distinguish his own name and his sister's, as well as
those of his children and his second wife.
"Is there any hope of his recovery, Dr. Gordon?" said Henry, almost in
tears. "He has four motherless children."
"Well, I cannot deny that there is hope," he said; "for Mr. Franklyn has
a good constitution, and may perhaps battle with the disease, but his
recovery will be followed by a period of painful exhaustion. There is
evidently something on his mind in addition to the excitement caused by
the death of Mrs. Franklyn. He seems also to be in great trouble about
the loss of his carpet bag, which fell with him into the water, but has
not yet been recovered."
Dr. Gordon had spoken in a low tone, yet the ear of the sufferer caught
the word. He started up in bed.
"Where is Henry? Tell him to find the carpet bag. I'll tell him what is
in it. They cannot touch me; there's nothing they can prove. Ah, let me
go for it. I must save my children!" and he attempted to get out of bed,
but fell back, too much exhausted to resist the doctor in his firm
efforts to prevent him.
"I can do no good by staying here, doctor," said Henry, after a pause;
"but if you will kindly describe the spot where the accident took place,
I can make inquiries about the carpet bag to-morrow. In the meantime, as
Mr. Franklyn cannot be moved, I am sure we may leave him safely here,
and pay whatever expenses are incurred for him while in the hospital."
"If his friends wish to do so, it can be easily arranged," said Dr.
Gordon, as he and Henry descended the stairs; "and you may depend upon
having a telegram from me should a change for the worse take place."
The two gentlemen parted at the door of the hospital, the one to wend
his way homeward after his arduous duties, and the other to find himself
in the streets of London on a Sunday night within half an hour of
midnight.
He had left his own carpet bag at an hotel near Guy's, and here, after a
day of excitement and fatigue, he was at last able to take some slight
refreshment. Although almost without appetite he felt it as a duty he
owed himself to try to eat a little.
"I must telegraph home and to the rectory in the morning," he said to
himself as he sought this pillow; "if I stay in London till to-morrow I
may perhaps hear something of this carpet bag which appears to disturb
poor Arthur's mind so terribly."
Early next morning Henry was down at the wharf described by Dr. Gordon,
and, without acknowledging his relationship, questioned those on the
spot about the gentleman who had fallen into the water on the previous
Friday.
Full particulars were soon obtained of the accident, and then his
informant remarked--
"I suppose you see'd an account of the haccident in the papers, master?"
"No," he replied, almost with a start; "what paper is it in?"
"Oh, pretty nigh all on 'em, for you see we thought for sure the
gentleman were dead; but he frightened the two bobbies that went with
him in the cab above a bit by jumping up and crying out about his carpet
bag. I suppose there was some valuables in that 'ere bag, but the Thames
searchers have been a-looking for it ever since, and they ain't seen
nothing on it yet."
Henry gave the man a gratuity, which made him touch the brim of his hat
in token of approval.
Henry turned again as he moved to go--"Do you know the men who are
searchers of the Thames?" he asked.
"Yes, sir, I knows 'em well."
"Tell them, then, that if they find this bag, and will send it to the
Terminus Hotel, London Bridge, I will take care they are paid well for
their trouble."
"I'll tell 'em, sir, all right," said the man.
Henry Halford returned to the hotel, and made an arrangement with the
waiter respecting the missing bag.
"You can telegraph to me when it arrives," said Henry; "and if the men
refuse to leave it, tell them to bring it again in a few hours and wait
for me. Here is my card and address. You will be sure to attend to this,
for it is very important."
"You may depend upon me, sir," said the man.
And then Henry turned his steps once more to Guy's Hospital.
Dr. Gordon was absent, but the house surgeon sent for Mr. Halford to his
private room.
"I do not consider Mr. Franklyn worse or better," he said, in answer to
Henry's inquiries. "He is quieter to-day, but with no lucid intervals. I
think, however, that the disease is working itself out, and there is
nothing for us but patience. Will you see him?"
"No, thank you, I think not to-day; but you will let me know when a
change takes place?"
"Without fail, Mr. Halford, you may depend upon that."
The gentlemen parted cordially, and Henry, calling a cab, was driven to
the Euston Station, almost dreading the return home, where he should
appear as the bearer of such painful tidings.
While in the train Henry Halford reflected anxiously on what could be
deposited in this carpet bag to cause his brother-in-law such painful
anxiety. He had also not been able to discover to what steamer he was
proceeding when attempting to cross the plank. All he could ascertain
from the men about the wharf was that two or three steamers were moored
alongside each other, one of them being a large Melbourne packet.
"Arthur could not have intended to leave England, or his children," said
Henry to himself, "without informing us of his intentions, or taking
leave of them."
This idea seemed so utterly improbable that Henry dismissed it from his
mind as absurd.
"I will say nothing to excite suspicion at home," he thought. "There is
real trouble enough in his illness without adding to it by conjecture of
evil. We must wait patiently, and hope and pray for the poor fellow's
recovery."
Henry Halford did not know that Arthur's boxes had been carried on shore
from the Melbourne packet at Gravesend because the passenger whose name
they bore was not on board when the ship arrived there. But the name on
these boxes was not Franklyn.
Henry's appearance at Englefield Grange was hailed with trembling
anxiety.
"Oh, uncle Henry," exclaimed Clara, with pale lips, "how is dear papa?
We know all about the accident--it's in the _Times_."
"Stay, Clara dear," said Kate Marston; "your uncle looks tired and
anxious. Only tell us one thing, Henry: have you seen Arthur, and is he
still living?"
"Yes, Kate; he is in Guy's Hospital, and receiving every attention and
kindness, but he is indeed most seriously ill. Don't grieve, my dear
Clara," he continued, putting his arm round his niece as she burst into
tears at his words, and leading her into the little breakfast parlour;
"for grandpapa's sake, and your sister and brothers, keep up a brave
spirit. Your dear father is in God's hands, and we must pray and hope."
Clara dried her tears and listened with painful interest to her uncle
Henry's description of her poor father's accident, and the illness from
which he now suffered.
But her uncle's words had aroused her usual calm self-possession, and
she determined to subdue her own sorrow for the sake of those whom she
loved so well.
Henry Halford, during the first few days of this sad week, was making
himself acquainted with his duties as a curate, and while thus engaged,
or busy in the schoolroom, he could banish from his mind the vague
suspicions about Arthur which still troubled him when unemployed.
He was mourning over the impossibility of obtaining time to visit the
hospital more frequently, when he was one morning surprised soon after
breakfast by the appearance of Mr. Drummond and a gentleman whom he
introduced as his nephew, George Longford.
On entering the drawing-room, Mr. Drummond came forward with eager
sympathy, and taking Henry's offered hand, he exclaimed--
"My dear Henry, I am indeed grieved to hear of these overwhelming
troubles which have fallen upon your family in such quick succession,
and I and my nephew are come to offer our services if agreeable."
"Pray be seated," said Henry, placing chairs for his visitors.
"Thank you, no; we have only a few moments to stay, and our business is
soon told. My nephew George, who is staying with us for a short time, is
walking the hospitals. He will be at Guy's every day, and will gladly
bring you news--good news, I hope--respecting Mr. Franklyn on his return
each evening to my house."
"It is indeed a very kind proposal," said Henry, "I shall be most
grateful, for we have my brother-in-law's four children here, and the
elder ones are of course very anxious about their father. Unfortunately,
it is my first initiation into parish work this week, and as we are
within a fortnight of the midsummer vacation my presence is required in
the schoolroom almost constantly, and I cannot visit the hospital as
often as I could wish."
"I had some idea of all these difficulties," said Mr. Drummond, "but my
nephew's reports will relieve you of this anxiety, so make yourself easy
on the matter."
"You may depend upon me," said George Longford, as the gentlemen hurried
away after shaking hands warmly; "you shall have the latest information
every evening. I will call here on my way home."
Henry Halford parted from the gentlemen with cordial and earnest thanks.
It would be a great mental relief to him as well as to Kate Marston to
receive daily information respecting Arthur. They already began to feel
the responsibility which the care of Arthur's children involved, not so
much on account of the additional expense, but from their motherless
condition.
"I do hope poor Arthur wont die and leave these poor children fatherless
as well as motherless," said Kate Marston on the day Mr. Drummond had
called, "but I suppose there will be plenty of money to support them in
case of such a sad event."
"No matter if there is not, Kate; my father would never forsake dear
Fanny's children. Neither would I, even if they were left penniless."
"I know that well," she replied, her eyes filling with tears. "Uncle has
been a second father to me for half my life--since I was left an
orphan."
"We must not anticipate evil, Kate," said her cousin. "I hope all will
end well with poor Arthur, although it would grieve you painfully to see
how he is changed. But where is the _Times_? I have not read the
paragraph Clara spoke of yesterday."
Kate fetched the paper, and pointing to the paragraph, placed it in his
hands.
Henry took it nervously. The mystery of the carpet bag still haunted
him, and seemed ominous of evil. He glanced hurriedly over the account,
which ran as follows:--
"DANGEROUS ACCIDENT.--On Friday afternoon a gentleman, in attempting to
cross a plank from the shore near London Bridge to reach a distant
steamer, lost his footing and fell into the water. With great difficulty
he was brought to land by the activity and energy of those around him.
He was immediately taken in a cab to Guy's Hospital, but recovering
animation before he reached there, he showed by evident signs that he
must have been under the influence of incipient brain fever, for he
called frantically for his carpet bag, which had fallen with him into
the river. He is now lying in a very precarious state at the hospital.
We understand from good authority that the gentleman who has had such a
narrow escape from drowning is Mr. Arthur Franklyn, whose wife died
suddenly in a railway carriage a few weeks since. His present state, and
the accident that preceded it, may therefore be easily accounted for
under such painful circumstances."
"It is no more than I expected," said Kate, as her cousin threw down the
paper. "Arthur has looked dreadfully ill since poor Louisa's death. Do
you know, Henry, I fear he has no claim on her property after all."
"What makes you think so?" asked Henry, in surprise.
"Oh, the remark he made to me on the day he started for London after you
left. I understood him to say that he had taken no steps to ascertain
his position with regard to his wife's property before his marriage."
"I had some suspicions that such was the case," replied Henry, "when he
asked me to recommend him a lawyer; and I believe he had been with Mrs.
Franklyn to call on Mr. Norton for the purpose of arranging for him to
witness certain signatures on the day of her sudden death. It certainly
will be a disappointment to Arthur if his second wife's property is all
lost to him; but from his own account of his position and means I do not
suppose he will feel it much--at all events we must hope so."
Kate made no reply. She had seen more of Arthur Franklyn during his
visit than her cousin, and she could not get rid of the idea that a
great deal of the uneasy and perturbed state of mind so evident in his
manner and appearance was caused by anxiety about money.
George Longford, according to his promise, brought to Englefield Grange
daily accounts of Arthur Franklyn's state--at times alarming, at others
hopeful.
More than once Henry visited the hospital to obtain personally the
opinion of the surgeons, yet nearly a week passed before his
brother-in-law was able in a lucid interval to recognise him.
But this recognition was attended with painful results. For a few
minutes the sick man spoke calmly to Henry, and listened to his kind and
hopeful words. Suddenly, as if stung by some painful recollection, he
exclaimed--
"Go, go; you are come to reproach me! O Fanny, Fanny, what have I done!
My children, my children! Don't revenge yourself on them, Henry, by
letting them starve!"
Poor Henry was hurried away, and returned home agonised by the thought,
not only that his presence at the hospital might have hastened his
brother-in-law's death, but also by the terrible fear which his words
had suggested. What, oh! what had poor Arthur done?
Nothing now remained but patience and hope, yet as week after week
passed by all hope seemed to die in the hearts of his children and the
loving friends in whose care they were placed.
Not till the second week in July could Arthur Franklyn be pronounced out
of danger; and in this hopeful condition we will leave him, to return to
our friends at Kilburn.