Part 19 (1/2)
He led the way, and Midwinter followed. The door closed and shut them in together.
V. THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE.
When Mr. Hawbury joined his guests in the breakfast-room, the strange contrast of character between them which he had noticed already was impressed on his mind more strongly than ever. One of them sat at the well-spread table, hungry and happy, ranging from dish to dish, and declaring that he had never made such a breakfast in his life. The other sat apart at the window; his cup thanklessly deserted before it was empty, his meat left ungraciously half-eaten on his plate. The doctor's morning greeting to the two accurately expressed the differing impressions which they had produced on his mind.
He clapped Allan on the shoulder, and saluted him with a joke. He bowed constrainedly to Midwinter, and said, ”I am afraid you have not recovered the fatigues of the night.”
”It's not the night, doctor, that has damped his spirits,” said Allan.
”It's something I have been telling him. It is not my fault, mind. If I had only known beforehand that he believed in dreams, I wouldn't have opened my lips.”
”Dreams?” repeated the doctor, looking at Midwinter directly, and addressing him under a mistaken impression of the meaning of Allan's words. ”With your const.i.tution, you ought to be well used to dreaming by this time.”
”This way, doctor; you have taken the wrong turning!” cried Allan.
”I'm the dreamer, not he. Don't look astonished; it wasn't in this comfortable house; it was on board that confounded timber-s.h.i.+p. The fact is, I fell asleep just before you took us off the wreck; and it's not to be denied that I had a very ugly dream. Well, when we got back here--”
”Why do you trouble Mr. Hawbury about a matter that cannot possibly interest him?” asked Midwinter, speaking for the first time, and speaking very impatiently.
”I beg your pardon,” returned the doctor, rather sharply; ”so far as I have heard, the matter does interest me.”
”That's right, doctor!” said Allan. ”Be interested, I beg and pray; I want you to clear his head of the nonsense he has got in it now. What do you think? He will have it that my dream is a warning to me to avoid certain people; and he actually persists in saying that one of those people is--himself! Did you ever hear the like of it? I took great pains; I explained the whole thing to him. I said, warning be hanged; it's all indigestion! You don't know what I ate and drank at the doctor's supper-table; I do. Do you think he would listen to me? Not he.
You try him next; you're a professional man, and he must listen to you.
Be a good fellow, doctor, and give me a certificate of indigestion; I'll show you my tongue with pleasure.”
”The sight of your face is quite enough,” said Mr. Hawbury. ”I certify, on the spot, that you never had such a thing as an indigestion in your life. Let's hear about the dream, and see what we can make of it, if you have no objection, that is to say.”
Allan pointed at Midwinter with his fork.
”Apply to my friend, there,” he said; ”he has got a much better account of it than I can give you. If you'll believe me, he took it all down in writing from my own lips; and he made me sign it at the end, as if it was my 'last dying speech and confession' before I went to the gallows.
Out with it, old boy--I saw you put it in your pocket-book--out with it!”
”Are you really in earnest?” asked Midwinter, producing his pocketbook with a reluctance which was almost offensive under the circ.u.mstances, for it implied distrust of the doctor in the doctor's own house.
Mr. Hawbury's color rose. ”Pray don't show it to me, if you feel the least unwillingness,” he said, with the elaborate politeness of an offended man.
”Stuff and nonsense!” cried Allan. ”Throw it over here!”
Instead of complying with that characteristic request, Midwinter took the paper from the pocket-book, and, leaving his place, approached Mr.
Hawbury. ”I beg your pardon,” he said, as he offered the doctor the ma.n.u.script with his own hand. His eyes dropped to the ground, and his face darkened, while he made the apology. ”A secret, sullen fellow,”
thought the doctor, thanking him with formal civility; ”his friend is worth ten thousand of him.” Midwinter went back to the window, and sat down again in silence, with the old impenetrable resignation which had once puzzled Mr. Brock.
”Read that, doctor,” said Allan, as Mr. Hawbury opened the written paper. ”It's not told in my roundabout way; but there's nothing added to it, and nothing taken away. It's exactly what I dreamed, and exactly what I should have written myself, if I had thought the thing worth putting down on paper, and if I had had the knack of writing--which,”
concluded Allan, composedly stirring his coffee, ”I haven't, except it's letters; and I rattle _them_ off in no time.”
Mr. Hawbury spread the ma.n.u.script before him on the breakfast-table, and read these lines: