Part 47 (1/2)

”Yes, Dr. Morris Grant, from Ma.s.sachusetts,” the latter replied, his surprise increasing when Wilford rejoined:

”Send Satan himself sooner than he. I hate him.”

The words dropped hissingly from the firmly set teeth, and Wilford fell back upon his pillow, exhausted with excitement and anger that Morris Grant should be there in the same building and offered as his physician.

”Never while my reason lasts,” he whispered to himself, with hatred of Morris growing more intense with every beat of his wiry pulse.

Wilford was very sick, and when next the surgeon came around he knew by the bright, restless eyes that reason was tottering.

”Shall I send for your friends?” he asked, and Wilford answered, savagely:

”I have no friends--none, at least, but what will be glad to know I'm dead.”

And that was the last, except the wild words of a maniac, which came from Wilford's lips for many a day and night. When they said he was dangerous, Marian Hazelton the ”new nurse,” sought and obtained permission to attend him, and again the eyes of the other occupants of the room were turned wonderingly toward her as she bent over the sick man, parting his matted hair, smoothing his tumbled pillow, and holding the cooling draught to the parched lips which muttered strange things in her ear, talking of Brighton, of Alnwick and Rome--of the heather on the Scottish moors, and the daisies on Genevra's grave, where Katy once sat down.

”She did not know Genevra was there,” he said. ”She never guessed there was a Genevra; but I knew, and I felt almost as if the dead were wronged by that act of Katy's. Do you know Katy?” and his black eyes fastened upon Marian, who, with the strange power she possessed over her patients, soothed him into quiet, while she told him she knew Katy, and talked to him of her, telling of her graceful beauty, her loving heart, and the sorrow she would feel when she heard how sick he was.

”Shall I send for her?” she asked, but Wilford answered:

”No, I am satisfied with you,” and holding her hand he fell away to sleep.

This was the first day of her being with him, but there were other days when he was not so quiet, when all her strength and that of Morris, who, at her earnest solicitation, came to her aid, was required to keep him on his bed. He was going home, he said, going back to Katy's; he had punished her long enough, and like a giant he writhed under a force superior to his own, and which held him down and controlled him, while his loud outcries filled the buildings, and sent a shudder to the hearts of those who heard them. As the two men, who at first had occupied the room with him, were well enough to leave for home, Marian and Morris both begged that unless absolutely necessary no other one should he sent to that small apartment, where all the air was needed for the patient in their charge. And thus the room was left alone for Wilford, who grew worse so fast that Morris wrote to Katy, while Marian followed the letter with a telegram, bidding her come at once.

Slowly the wintry night was pa.s.sing, the fifth since Morris' letter was sent to Katy, and Morris sat by Wilford's cot, wondering if the morning would bring her to him, when suddenly he met Wilford's eyes fixed upon him with a look of recognition he could not mistake.

”Do you know me?” he asked, so kindly and with so much of genuine sympathy in his voice that the heavy eyelids quivered for an instant, as Wilford nodded his head, and whispered:

”Dr. Grant.”

There had been a momentary flash of resentment when he saw who was the watcher beside him, but Wilford was too weak, too helpless to cherish that feeling long, and besides there were floating through his still bewildered mind visions of some friendly hand, which had ministered to him daily, of a voice and form, distinct from the one he thought an angel's, and which was not there now with him. That voice, that form, he felt sure belonged to Morris Grant, and remembering his past harshness toward him, a chord of grat.i.tude was touched, and when Morris took his hand he did not at once withdraw it, but let his long, white fingers cling around the warm, vigorous ones, which seemed to impart new life and strength.

”You have been very sick,” Morris said, antic.i.p.ating the question Wilford would ask, ”You are very sick still, and at the request of your nurse I came to attend you.”

A pressure of the hand was Wilford's reply, and then there was silence between them, while Wilford mastered all his pride, and with quivering lips whispered:

”Katy.”

”We have sent for her. We expect her every train,” Morris replied, and Wilford asked:

”Who is we? Who has been with me--the nurse, I mean? Who is she?”

Morris hesitated a moment, and then said:

”Marian Hazelton--she who took care of baby.”

”I know--yes,” Wilford said, having no suspicion as to who was the woman standing now just outside his door, and listening, with a throbbing heart, to his rational questions.

In all their vigils held together no sign had ever pa.s.sed from Dr.

Grant to Marian that he knew her, but he had waited anxiously for this moment, knowing well that in his present state Wilford must not be shocked, as a sight of Marian would shock him. He knew she was outside the door, and as Wilford turned his head upon the pillow, he went to her, and leading her to a safe distance, said softly: