"I wish I had brought a doctor."
"Well--for your own satisfaction. But on that point we've been lucky.
An English doctor turned up at Molde, and came along with us. He keeps
an eye on the Norwegian fellow, and is satisfied."
As to nurses, too, they had been fortunate. Not only had one been found
who spoke English, but an English nurse, going home in attendance on a
lady, had been captured, and installed.
By the time all this was told, they had reached the door of the hotel.
Colonel Martyn looked into a room.
"Blanche and Anne are out," he said. "What will you do? Go up?"
"At once, if I can."
But Wareham had to curb his impatience for half-an-hour. Colonel Martyn
left him, and at the end of that time a nurse, who astonished him by her
youth, came to tell him that he might see Mr Forbes.
"You will be careful not to excite him, sir," she said warningly.
"Does he expect me?"
"Yes. He was certain you would come." He asked no more questions. To
see and judge for himself was his thought. The dark room gave him his
first pang, it was so unlike Hugh's love of light and life. Then he
began to distinguish eyes gazing at him from hollow depths, and his
heart sank. A weak voice--not Hugh's surely--said,--
"Here you are, old fellow!"
"Come to look after you," said Wareham guardedly. "You've been tumbling
into mischief."
"Is Ella with you?"
"She's playing about in Germany somewhere, and there was no getting at
her in time. So Sir Michael approved of my coming instead."
"Poor old dad!"
"I'm going to telegraph to him presently."
"Lie to follow by post," quoted Hugh, with a weak smile.
"No. I expect to tell him that the sight of me has given you a start."
No answer came. Wareham perceived with a pang that Hugh's boyish
jollity had left him, and found himself wondering for the hundredth time
whether disappointment had--not caused, but fed the fever. He dared put
no questions, each one that suggested itself seeming to threaten
excitement. At last he remarked that, considering the stones of Bergen,
the room was fairly quiet. The nurse answered that this bedroom had
been specially chosen on that account. She came and stood at the bottom
of the bed, looking at her patient; and Wareham inquired in a low voice
whether there were anything he could get?
She thought nothing. Colonel Martyn and Miss Dalrymple were careful to
carry out all that could be suggested.
"He dozes a good deal."
To the uninstructed mind, that seemed the most hopeful thing yet
extracted; yet something in Hugh's face, dimly seen, and even in his
attitude, gave his friend a sharp pang of uneasiness. The nurse went
back to her place, her patient's eyes were closed, and Wareham's
presence seemed to be unnoticed. All was silent except for the sound of
breathing, the buzzing of a fly, and the occasional drip of melting ice
through flannel. Wareham sat like a statue. His thoughts fastened
themselves upon Anne Dalrymple's name, and wondered impatiently how he
was to learn the relations in which she and Hugh stood to each other.
Except from herself, it seemed unlikely that he would learn anything.
And how much did Hugh know? Had the letter overtaken him?
Restlessness came at intervals, and Wareham would have been sent away,
but that the name of "Dick" was audible more than once in the wandering,
and the nurse fancied that his presence had a quieting influence. It
was quite an hour and a half before he stole out of the room and down to
that which had been got ready for him.
After a bath, he had an interview with the doctor, a fair-haired young
Norwegian, sensible, and, Wareham thought, clever. It was not
reassuring. The disease had laid hold with great force, and there were
grave fears as to the strength holding out. Still youth was on the side
of hope. The doctor thought he had battled too long at first, when he
dragged himself about, though feeling ill. Now, all was being done that
could be thought of. If Mr Wareham wished for a third opinion, he
could call in the head of the hospital; perhaps before doing so he would
like to have a conversation with his compatriot? To this Wareham
agreed, and after sending as favourable a telegram to the old father as
conscience allowed, crept up to Hugh's room again to learn that there
was no change, and went down to wait for Dr Scott to return to the
hotel.
The small salon had little to offer beyond a piano and some loose pieces
of music. Wareham drew a chair to the window and sat there, watching
the passers-by in the street. He had waited for half-an-hour before the
English doctor came in, a sallow keen-eyed man, with spectacles.
"Mr Wareham?"
"And you are Dr Scott? Mr Forbes' friends are greatly indebted to
you."
The other wasted no time in disclaiming. "I am glad you are come. Mr
Forbes is very ill."
"So I gather." He had meant to have pushed the question of hope home to
this doctor, but something within him revolted. Why insist upon a form
of words?
"Of course," the other went on, "you feel that he is at a disadvantage
among strangers. But there are clever medical men here, and from what I
have seen, you may have perfect confidence in young Sivertsen." He
spoke quickly. "Were I you, I would make no change."
"I don't dream of it, and what you say is very satisfactory. The utmost
I thought of was the advisability of another opinion in consultation.
If the case is so grave, it might be desirable for his father's sake."
"Certainly. I agree with you. Sivertsen thought this would be your
wish."
"I hope you are not leaving?"
"Not necessarily at once. My holiday is longer than usual, owing to its
being a recruiting after illness, and I can remain another week."
Wareham expressed his pleasure. The doctor took up an old illustrated
paper.
"If it had been practicable for him to have gone straight to England
from Molde," he went on, "it would doubtless have been better for his
family, but it is unlikely that it would have made any difference in the
disease."
"I suppose no steamer was available?"
"No. Though Lord Milborough's Yacht arrived just after we had got him
on board, and followed us here."
"Lord Milborough! Is he in Bergen?"
"You may see his yacht if you go round to the harbour. I rather think
that Mrs Martyn and Miss Dalrymple may be on board."
This struck strangely on Wareham's ears, though, after all, there was
nothing very strange about it. He asked if he might go up to Hugh, and
was advised not. Quiet was, of all things, necessary, for the
temperature rose as the day went on, and with increase of fever came
delirium.
"I'm not a bad nurse," he pleaded. "Can't I relieve guard?"
"Oh, you will be useful, but not in that way," said the doctor
inexorably. "Will you come out for a turn? I have been over the leper
hospital, and shall not be sorry for a whiff of fresh air."
The day was grey and colourless; the water had grown leaden. Wareham
found himself longing to look at the yacht, but too much ashamed of the
wish to express it. It was, however, in the doctors mind, and they
found themselves gazing down from the Frederiksberg. There in the broad
harbour lay two or three yachts. Wareham inquired which was Lord
Milborough's.
"She lies behind. The _Camilla_. White."
"Oh, the schooner."
"Beautifully fitted up, they say."
Wareham kept his eyes fixed upon the yacht, where fancy planted Anne,
dispensing smiles. He did not listen while his companion talked of
novel inventions introduced into his _Camilla_ by Lord Milborough. He
heard, however, that he daily sent the ice wanted for Hugh. By way of
saying something, Wareham at last remarked that he had never met Lord
Milborough.
"You have seen many others of his pattern. He is emphatically the young
man of the age; kind-hearted, indifferent, self-pleasing. His
inclination is towards refined pleasures."
The description sounded too tolerant to Wareham, who had adopted a rapid
distrust of Lord Milborough, for which he would have found it difficult
to account. He believed that his companion was merely quoting stock
phrases, which had done duty until they had lost the freshness of a
sketch from life. He painted his own picture of the subject, working
out that word, self-pleasing, until the likeness was chiefly shadow. An
intuitive sense of unfairness, however, enabled him to keep the portrait
to himself.
Dr Scott's energy soon began to fidget for exercise. He wanted to walk
a mile or two. Wareham would have chosen rather to wait and see whether
Anne put off in one of the boats buzzing round the yacht; to see her
especially from his vantage height. But he became aware that folly was
fighting for the upper hand, and walked away discontentedly.
He was taken briskly through the town, along streets of white-painted,
red-tiled houses. Lofoden boats were in the harbour, laden with
_klipfisk_, or oil. The greyness turned to drizzling rain, and the view
from the Floien, which was the object of their walk, had vanished into
mist. Dr Scott advised his companion to come early one morning.
On the way back, Wareham put a question. Had Hugh seen either Mrs
Martyn or Miss Dalrymple since they reached Bergen? Dr Scott's answer
came after a momentary hesitation.
"Once. To say the truth, we have not encouraged their visits. Mrs
Martyn--well, Mrs Martyn was not intended by nature for a sick-room,
and though Miss Dalrymple showed extreme tact and kindness, the sight of
her sent up his temperature." He added dryly--"I imagine she not
infrequently has a disturbing effect upon heads and hearts?" and without
waiting for an answer, went on--"So far _we_ have succeeded in warding
it off; it is, however, highly probable that he will insist, in which
case--"
"He is to see her?"
"Certainly. The irritation of refusal would be more harmful than the
other sort of excitement."
"One question. When do you expect a crisis?"
He was answered that this was difficult to say, owing to their not
knowing the time that he was attacked. Things pointed, however, to a
day early in next week. Dr Scott hoped not longer, then turned the
conversation.
They were met at the door of the hotel by Colonel Martyn.
"Just back from the yacht," he announced. "Milborough wanted us to dine
on board. As we wouldn't, he's coming here. I've been up, doctor, and
seen one of your dragons. No change."
The doctor nodded and began to mount the stairs. He turned to say to
Wareham--"What's your number? I'll send for you if I think it
desirable."