Nurse Elisia

“Hush! Beck will hear you,” said the young surgeon quickly.

“Let him stand a little farther off, then,” said Mr Elthorne peevishly; “but,” he continued, in a lower tone of voice, “Saxa feels hurt; I know she does. She tries to carry it off by being boisterous and merry, but she is piqued by your coldness.”

“You still foster that idea, then, sir?”

“Foster? That idea? Of course, sir; and I should like to see you display a little more warmth respecting the carrying out of your father’s wishes. There, I’m not going to scold now you have come down; but just keep my last letter in mind. A bright, pretty young wife with two thousand a year and more to come later on, is not to be sneered at, my boy, and you must not quite bury yourself in London over your hospital work.”

He turned sharply.

“Really, Beck,” he cried, “I’m afraid I have behaved very rudely to you.”

“Very, sir,” thought the young man. “Don’t mention it, sir,” he said aloud.

“Let’s see: you are coming with us this morning?”

“I think you asked me to come, Mr Elthorne,” said Beck quietly.

“To be sure – of course – I am very forgetful. Come in – come in. Oh, by the way, would you mind telling your father that I cannot accede to his request. I think I have done quite enough for those people, and they must now shift for themselves. One wants to be charitable, but even charity has its limits. Come, you folks, breakfast, breakfast,” he cried cheerily, as Sir Cheltnam and Alison came up with Isabel.

“Poor Beck is right,” thought Neil, as he saw his father’s particularly cordial greeting of the baronet. “It is time to speak. But too late, I fear, after all.”

“Ah, Neil, my dear,” cried Aunt Anne, kissing him affectionately. “I’m so glad to see you home again. I hope you slept comfortably. And how is poor Maria?”

“Getting well fast, Aunt, dear.”

“That’s right. I’m so glad, for I do want her back very badly.”

“Breakfast! – something solid, and less talk,” shouted Mr Elthorne loudly, and the meal progressed, the head of the house leading the conversation, and always to one topic – his new horse.

Chapter Four.
The New Horse

“Well, Isabel,” said Neil, in an undertone, as his father was loudly debating with Sir Cheltnam some vital question in which bits, bridles, and surcingles were mentioned again and again.

“Well, Neil, dear,” said the girl archly; “why do you keep looking out of the window? It is not Saxa’s time yet.”

“Thank goodness!” he said to himself. Then aloud: “Facetious this morning, eh? Two can play at that, as we used to say when I was at home. Which is it to be – Sir Cheltnam or the sailor boy?” The arch expression passed away from Isabel’s countenance on the instant. She gave a frightened glance round the table, as if dreading that the brother’s words had been overheard, and then, bending down over her cup, she whispered:

“Don’t, please, Neil, dear. You hurt me when you talk like that.”

“Then you do care for Beck?” he said in a sharp whisper.

“I – I don’t know,” she faltered.

“Well, you know that he cares for you?”

She gave him a piteous look.

“And you know, too, that he is going to speak to your father this morning?”

“O Neil, dear, he must not,” whispered the girl, in an agony of fear.

“But he must if he means to win you. I advised him to do so.”

Isabel caught hold of the cloth below the level of the table and glanced wildly at Beck, but he could not interpret the meaning of the look, and replied to it with one full of hope.

The little party rose from the table soon after and fate favoured the sailor by giving him the opportunity he sought – Mr Elthorne crossing the hall to the library, while the others went out on to the lawn.

“Eh! Want to speak to me, Beck?” said Mr Elthorne. “Come in here.”

He closed the door after the young officer, and pointed to a chair.

“Sit down, my lad,” he said pleasantly. “Now I’ll be bound to say I can guess what you are about to say.”

“You can, sir?” said Beck eagerly.

“I think so,” said Mr Elthorne, with rather a set smile on his lips. “You were going to tell me that you have to start for the East in a very few days – am I right so far?”

“Yes, sir, quite.”

“And that, as I have known you from a boy, you felt that without hesitation you might speak to me and not trouble your father. Still right?”

“Yes, sir – I think so.”

“I felt it at once,” said Mr Elthorne nodding. “Well, yes, my lad, I will try and oblige you. How much do you want?”

“Want? How much?” cried the young man, starting up with his face flushing. “Did you think I wanted to borrow money, sir?”

“Yes, my lad, of course.”

“Oh, no, sir,” he cried; and, excited now by his position, he somewhat blunderingly, but with manly frankness, told how long he had loved Isabel, and asked for a sanction to his engagement.

Mr Elthorne heard him in silence to the end, and then said briefly: “Impossible.”

“Impossible, sir?”

“Quite, my lad. It is all a boy and a girl piece of nonsense. Yes; you two have known each other from children, been playfellows and the like, but I could never sanction my child’s marriage to one who leads such a life as yours.”

“But, Mr Elthorne – ”

“Hear me out, my lad. I tell you frankly, I like you and always did as a boy and the friend of my sons, but as my prospective son-in-law, once for all, it is impossible.”

“Mr Elthorne!” cried the young man appealingly.

“No, my lad, no; so give up all thought of it at once. Isabel will leave home one of these days, but not with you. You are not the man. Do you ride with us this morning?”

Beck did not answer for the moment, for he was half stunned, but an angry flush came into his cheeks just then, for Sir Cheltnam’s voice was heard through the open window. There was the cause of his rejection, he felt sure, and, full of resentment and the feeling that Mr Elthorne had not treated him well, he replied sharply:

“Yes, sir, I shall go with the party this morning, and if I tell you that I cannot give up my hopes – ”

“Ah, well,” said Mr Elthorne sharply, “you will think differently, I dare say, after the first smart of the disappointment has worn off.”

“Ready, father?” came from the window.

“Yes. Have they got the horse round?”

“All right. Burwood is going to try him over a fence or two before we start.”

“I’ll come,” said Mr Elthorne. “You like horses, Beck; come and see the leaping.”

Beck followed mechanically, cut to the heart by the half-contemptuous, cold-blooded way in which his aspirations were treated, and in a few minutes he stood with the others looking at the noble looking animal held by a groom, while Sir Cheltnam examined him after the fashion of a dealer, and then mounted.

“I’ll trot him across the park and take the hedge, and the fence as I come back. Thick in his breathing, you think?”

“Yes, I thought so,” said Mr Elthorne.

“Well, we shall soon know, and if he is, I’d make them take him back.”

Sir Cheltnam mounted and went off at a sharp trot for some hundred yards, curved round full into sight, and, increasing his pace, came toward them at a good swinging gallop, rose at a hedge, cleared it well, and then pressed the horse on toward a stiffish fence, which it also cleared capitally, and cantered back to the waiting party, where Sir Cheltnam pulled up and leaped down.

“I can detect nothing,” he said.

“You did not take him far enough to prove it,” said Mr Elthorne shortly. “I’ll canter him down to the far hedge and back.”

As he approached the horse, there was the trampling of other hoofs, the groom and helper bringing round the horses ordered for the morning ride, while just seen in the distance over the hedge which ran along by the road were the heads of the sisters coming over to join in the excursion.

The next minute Mr Elthorne was in the saddle, and the horse sprang forward at a touch.

“Your father rides well, Elthorne,” said Sir Cheltnam. “Capital seat for so heavy a man.”

“Hasn’t followed hounds thirty years for nothing,” replied Alison. “I say,” he shouted; “better take that lower down.”

For, reversing the baronet’s process, Mr Elthorne directed his course straight for the fence, and was apparently about to take it at rather an awkward spot.

“He can’t hear you, man,” said Sir Cheltnam; “but he knows what he is about. Ah, here is your sister. I say, keep that Beck along with you this morning: he monopolised her entirely the other day.” Alison did not heed his words, but started forward with a cry, just as Neil and Beck also made a rush for the spot.

Only a few minutes before, The Don had risen and cleared the fence with the greatest ease. This time, possibly from some bad management on the part of his rider, he rushed at it so clumsily that horse and man came down together with a crash; and as Neil, who was nearest, dashed forward, he could see that his father was beneath the horse, which was plunging violently in its attempts to rise, and fell back twice, crushing his rider, before he could regain his feet.

Chapter Five.
Need of a Surgeon

As Neil Elthorne reached the spot where his father had fallen, the horse dashed off at full gallop across the park, followed by one of the grooms, who saw in it something of far greater consequence than his master, who lay perfectly motionless upon the grass.

“Any bones broken?” cried Sir Cheltnam. “Only a bit of a spill. Here, someone go for a doctor.”

No one heeded his words; but Alison and Beck watched Neil curiously as he was down on one knee making a hasty examination of the injured man.

“Oh, papa, papa!” cried Isabel. “Neil, Neil, is he dead?”

“Hush, my dear, be quiet.”

“Hadn’t you better send for a doctor?” cried Sir Cheltnam. “Nasty thing for a horse to roll across a man.”

“Be good enough to be silent, sir,” said Neil sharply. “Alison, make two of the men lift one of the light iron gates off its hinges. Isabel, my child, be a woman. Run to the house and make them bring down a mattress to lay upon the gate, and tell Aunt Anne to bring the brandy, some water, and a glass.”

“But, Neil, dear – ”

“Don’t stop to question. I know nothing yet.”

“But hadn’t you better send a groom at once for a doctor?”

“Confound it all, sir!” cried Beck in a low voice, “can’t you see that Mr Elthorne is in a skillful surgeon’s hands?”

Sir Cheltnam gave him an angry look, and turned his back, while Beck, in the matter of fact, cool fashion of a sailor in a time of emergency, bent down over Neil.

“Can I help you?” he said quietly.

“Eh? Thanks, no. I can do nothing till I get him to bed. Poor old dad!” he muttered to himself. “I little thought I was coming for this.”

He had placed the injured man’s head in an easy position, and in his cursory examination found that no limb was broken or joint dislocated; but Elthorne was perfectly insensible, and the young surgeon dreaded the crushing in of ribs and some internal injury.

Meantime the strong, hale, imperious man of a few minutes earlier lay there, breathing painfully, while those about him were too much occupied to notice the soft, dull sound of horse’s hoofs approaching fast.

Neil started as a shadow was thrown across him, and a sharp, metallic voice cried:

“Hallo! What’s the matter? Anyone hurt?”

“Yes; a bad fall,” said Neil coldly, as his eyes met those of the speaker, the elder of the two Lydons.

“Well, I couldn’t help it,” said the girl rather resentfully. “No fault of mine.”

“Poor old guardy!” cried her sister. “Don’t look like a ride to-day.”

“Not much,” said Saxa. “Did the horse throw him?”

“Fell with him,” said Sir Cheltnam.

“Looked it,” cried Saxa. “I told Dan here that I didn’t like the looks of the mount, but it was no use to tell the old man. He always would have his own way, eh, Dan?”

“Always,” assented her sister.

“Burwood,” cried Neil impatiently, “will you give me your help?”

“Certainly. What shall I do?”

“Take these ladies away somewhere; their talking disturbs the patient.”

“Well, I’m sure!” cried Saxa with a laugh full of annoyance. “But we will not trouble Sir Cheltnam; we know our way back.”

“Here’s someone else coming who will be more civil, perhaps,” said Dana to herself, as Isabel, followed by half the household, came hurrying back.

Alison was returning too, with some of the stablemen and gardeners bearing a light iron gate and the mattress, with the result that the sufferer was borne carefully back to the house.

“I say, Elthorne, though,” said Sir Cheltnam, as they followed behind; “no offence to your brother, who is, I dare say, clever enough, – I forgot that he was a doctor, – hadn’t you better send to the town for the best man they’ve got? I’m afraid your old gov’nor has come off badly.”

“Neil will know,” replied Alison. “He will do what is right.”

“Oh, very well; I only suggested; but I say, hadn’t you better make a bit of a clearance? So many people about must be bad for the patient.”

Alison looked at him curiously, but he said nothing, though the idea did occur to him that it would be satisfactory if his friend were to ride off in company with the Misses Lydon.

“How is he, Neil? What do you think of him?” said Alison, after quietly watching his brother for some time.

“Bad,” said Neil laconically. “I can say nothing yet for certain.”

“Will he die?”

“Please God, no; but the symptoms are serious.”

“Bones broken?”

“No; injury to the spine, I fear. I must have help and further advice.”

“I’ll send on to the town at once for Morrison.”

“No,” said Neil quietly. “This is not a case for a general practitioner. Get me a telegraph form, and have the message sent on at once.”

“Yes,” said Alison eagerly; “but tell me what you are going to do.”

“Send for Sir Denton Hayle.”

“Will he come?”

“If I ask him – yes.”

The message was written and sent off. The Lydons, after waiting till after noon, had shaken hands with the brothers, and said they were very sorry, and then accepted Sir Cheltnam’s escort home.

Neil, who had left his father’s side for a few minutes to say good-bye, heaved a sigh and turned to go back.

“They don’t seem very much broken-hearted about the poor old dad, Neil,” said Alison.

“No,” cried his brother, flashing out angrily. “I wonder sometimes whether – no, no, we can’t discuss that now, with him lying like that,” he added hastily, and he went back into the house to find that Beck still lingered.

Neil looked at him reproachfully and the young sailor caught his arm.

“I have not gone,” he said. “I’m staying in case I can be of any use.”

“Thanks,” said Neil shortly. Then a thought struck him, and he turned back. “Did you speak to my father?” he said.

Beck nodded.

“What did he say?”

“That it was impossible.”

Neil went hastily toward the room where his father had been carried, and found his sister listening by the door.

“You here, Isabel?” he said.

“Yes, dear,” she whispered in broken tones. “Let me go in and see poor papa now.”

“No, my child, not yet.”

“But, Neil, I am not a child now. You have let Aunt Anne be with him.”

“Well, she is older, and experienced, dear. Pray be patient. You will be helping me then.”

“Yes, Neil,” she said with a sigh, and she reached up and kissed him.

“That is my darling sister,” he said tenderly. “But, Neil, dear, one word – pray tell me the truth. Will papa get better?”

“Heaven only knows, dear,” he said solemnly. “He is very badly hurt.”

He passed through the door, and closed it after him almost without a sound, and then stopped to gaze on the scene before him, feeling a glow of warmth in his breast toward his Aunt, who, in their freedom from anxiety, had always seemed to him a weak, self-indulgent woman. But self was evidently forgotten now as she knelt beside her brother’s couch, holding one of his hands against her breast, and watching the pale, slightly drawn face as if her life depended upon her noting the slightest change.

“Has he moved, Aunt?” said Neil softly. She started violently.

“O Neil, dear!” she exclaimed, “I did not hear you. No, no, no,” she cried, with a burst of sobbing, “he’s dying! My poor brother! What shall I do?”

“Be patient and helpful, Aunt, dear. We must not think of our now sufferings now.”

“Yes, my dear, and I will, indeed I will. But, Neil, my love,” she whispered, as she caught his hand and held it in both hers; “don’t think me unkind. I know what a good, clever boy you are, but don’t you think you ought to send for a real doctor?”

Neil smiled sadly as he bent down and kissed the agitated woman, and thought of his diplomas, and the trust and faith of the eminent surgeon who had chosen him for assistant in the ward of the great London hospital.

“Yes, Aunt, dear,” he said quietly. “You are quite right. I have sent for Sir Denton.”

“Oh, that’s very good of you, my dear. You are so young; and I was afraid, dear, that you would be too proud to accept any help, and – ”

“Hist!” said Neil quickly; and he stepped to his father’s side, for he had seen a quick, trembling motion about the eyes, and the injured man began to mutter.

“Quite out of the question, my lad – I have made other arrangements for my child.”

He uttered a heavy sigh.

“Ride any horse – jumps well – you did not – ”

His eyes open and staring now, and fixed on his son.

“Neil!” he said aloud, “what’s the matter? Here, give me your hand.”

He tried to rise, and a spasm contracted his face as Neil watched him anxiously and saw a confirmation of his fears.

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t try to move, father. You are a little hurt,” said Neil gravely. “Are you in much pain?”

“Pain? No,” said his father irritably. “Why don’t you both speak? What does it all mean?”

“Your horse fell, sir,” said Neil gently. “Lie quite still.”

“My horse fell? What horse fell? How long have I been here?”

“My dear father, you must try and be calm, please.”

“But I don’t understand,” he cried angrily. “You said my horse fell. I can’t remember.”

“But you will soon. Try and go to sleep.”

“Don’t be absurd, boy. Here, help me to get – ”

He did not finish his sentence but tried to raise himself and then lay perfectly still, with his jaw dropped, and a look of horror in his eyes.

“Neil – my boy,” he said piteously, “I can’t move. This sudden weakness – I – yes – I remember now. The Don fell with me. Quick – tell me – am I much hurt?”

“I hope not, sir. It was a bad fall, but there are no bones broken.”

“But – ”

He stopped, and looked wildly at his son.

“Father, you must try and be calm,” said Neil firmly.

“Ralph, dearest – pray – pray – be calm,” said Aunt Anne.

“Silence, woman!” he cried harshly; and the great drops of perspiration began to gather on his brow. “Yes,” he continued hoarsely, “I begin to remember clearly now. The brute fell and rolled over me. Here, Neil, you are a surgeon – tell me – not seriously hurt?”

“You are hurt, father, and it is absolutely necessary that you should be quite calm.”

“Calm, sir! How can I be calm? Do you take me for a child? Send for a proper doctor at once – a man who can understand, and who will tell me the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth, father. I repeat – it is absolutely necessary that you should lie still and try to be calm.”

“But – ”

He uttered that word angrily, and clutched at the side of the couch to try again and raise himself, but his arm fell nervelessly by his side, and he gave his son a piteous look.

“My back,” he groaned. “No feeling; Neil, my boy, you know and you will not speak. Don’t, don’t, tell me I am to be a cripple.”

“My dear father,” cried Neil huskily, as he grasped his hand, “I dare not tell you that, for I am not sure. I have sent up for Sir Denton, and he will, I know, come by the earliest possible train. I hope that my fears are wrong.”

“Then they are right,” said the sufferer with a groan. “I know now. Great Heavens!”

He closed his eyes, and lay perfectly still, but the dew upon his contracted face told plainly enough of the mental agony he suffered.

Aunt Anne drew back, and signed to Neil to come to her side.

“Speak to him,” she whispered. “Try and say something to comfort him, dear.”

“It would be folly,” replied Neil sadly, “and only increase his irritation.”

“Oh, but, my dear!” she whispered.

“Aunt, it was what I feared, and he has grasped the truth.”

“Neil!”

“Wait till Sir Denton comes, and let him decide.”

He went back to the side of the couch, and sat down to watch and wait, ready to try and alleviate pain, and wipe the drops of agony from the sufferer’s brow from time to time.

And so an hour passed without the patient once unclosing his eyes, but it was plain that he did not sleep; a sharp twitch across the face now and again eliciting a faint groan.

Aunt Anne had been out twice to speak to Isabel, who was weeping silently in the adjoining room.

And so the dreary day crept on with a strange silence pervading the place where all, as a rule, was bustle and activity. Alison softly paced the hall hour after hour, waiting patiently for news of which Aunt Anne was the bearer.

But she had little to communicate, and night was coming on fast when the sound of carriage wheels was heard, and a fly from the station drove up to the door, out of which stepped the famous London surgeon, who had arrived quite a couple of hours sooner than had been expected.

Neil hurried out, leaving Aunt Anne to take his place while he welcomed the visitor.

“Thank you,” he said simply, as he grasped the old man’s hand.

“I came down at once. How is he?”

Neil shook this head, and led the way at once into the room where Mr Elthorne lay with his eyes tightly closed; but he opened them at once as Sir Denton approached, showing that he had been keenly conscious of every sound.

Aunt Anne rose from his side, bent down again to kiss him, and then hurried out of the room to hide her tears, leaving the great surgeon to decide upon what her brother’s future was to be.

Isabel and Alison were outside, and the three waited together anxiously for the great man’s verdict, and all oppressed by the strange sensation produced by the sudden shock which had fallen upon the family. Everything seemed strange, and the very silence to be charged with portents.

Alison strode up and down the room, while his sister crouched by Aunt Anne’s side, holding her hands tightly, and starting at every sharp turn her brother made.

It seemed an age before they heard the opening of a door and steps in the hall; and as Isabel started up, listening excitedly, Neil appeared, looking white and anxious.

“Go to my father, Aunt,” he said, and then drew back to lead Sir Denton into a little room much affected by the young man, half study, half museum, where the surgeon sank into a chair and leaned back gazing at the worn, troubled face before him, as if waiting for his companion to speak.

“Well, sir?” he said at last, for Sir Denton remained silent.

“Well, Elthorne,” said Sir Denton gravely.

“Don’t trifle with me. I am in agony.”

“Naturally, my dear fellow, and I am not trifling with you. I only shrank from giving you pain.”

“Then you think – ” began Neil.

“No; I am sure, Elthorne. My dear boy, you have not worked with me for years without being able to come to a decision at once upon such a case as this. I can quite understand your feelings. In your horror and despair you mistrusted yourself, or tried to mistrust yourself, hoping, I presume, that you might be wrong, and sent at once for me. Is it not so?”

Neil bowed his head; and then quickly, as drowning men catch at straws, he said:

“But, Sir Denton, do you feel absolutely certain?”

“My dear Elthorne, would to Heaven I could say that there is a doubt. There is none. You know there is none.”

Neil uttered a low groan.

“It comes hard from one who feels toward you as I do, my dear brother,” said the old man gently; “but we doctors and surgeons can have no concealment from each other. Your examination must have shown you that the spine is hopelessly injured.”

“Yes, yes,” groaned Neil; “but I clung to the hope that I might be wrong. Then you can give me no hope?”

“Yes, I can do that. With careful nursing you may save his life, and he may have many years before him. There will be little physical suffering, and fortunately for him, being a wealthy man, he can palliate much of this by attendants and the many contrivances our mechanicians have invented for the benefit of the injured. It is a terrible case, but nothing compared to what it would be if some poor breadwinner had suddenly been stricken down – a case such as we have seen hundreds of times. Your father has everything to soften the hardship, and, above all, the love of his children.”

“Then you feel that nothing more can be done?”

“Frankly, nothing. It is the greatest kindness to tell you so, Elthorne. As you well know, the treatment is of the simplest. Time, and a thoroughly good, trustworthy nurse. There is the prescription that forty years of earnest study have taught me to offer you.”

“Yes,” said Neil, after a pause, “I felt all this – thanks to your teachings. Poor old father!” he continued as if to himself; “so full of vitality, so determined and energetic, so full of plans, and in an instant all at an end.”

“Oh, no,” said Sir Denton. “You must look at the brighter side of the accident, my dear fellow. He will – I am speaking plainly – he will be utterly paralysed in his lower limbs, but in all probability the mental faculties will be sharpened, and from what I have seen of your father I should say he will be more energetic and active than ever.”

“Thank you,” said Neil warmly; “thank you – ”

“Now go and break the bad news to your people at once, and all of you face the worst. You are spared a great deal. You know as well as I do that his accident might have meant a few hours’ hopeless struggle against death and then the end.”

“Yes, yes,” said Neil. “You are right, and I will try – we will all try – to face the trouble as we should. But you will stay the night and see him in the morning.”

“No, I can do no good. You will act in everything exactly as I should, and there are others waiting in agony for my return.”

“But – ”

“You know in your heart what I say is just, my dear Elthorne. Come, pupil, your old master trusts you,” said the surgeon, taking his hand. “Forget for the time being that the patient is a relative; sink everything in the scientific aspects of the case; do your duty, and trust yourself. Now, God bless you, and good-bye.”

He grasped the young surgeon’s hands warmly and turned to go, but stopped short.

“I shall get someone to come and lend me a hand, so that you can stay down here as long as is necessary, but you will be able to come up for a day or two at the end of a week. Of course the first thing is to send you down an efficient nurse. Everything will depend upon her, as you know.”

“Yes,” said Neil huskily, and he walked out into the hall.

“I will not ask to see your sister or your aunt, Elthorne. My kindest regards, and I hope to renew my friendship with them at some happier time.”

He stepped into the waiting fly and looked at his watch.

“Tell him to drive fast, and I shall just catch the last up-train. Good-bye.”

The wheels grated on the gravel drive, and the sounds were dying away as Neil turned to find that the drawing-room door had opened.

Isabel ran to him and threw her arms about his neck, trying vainly to speak, as he held her to his breast, while her eyes looked imploringly into his.

“What does he say, Neil?” said Alison huskily. “Tell us the worst.”

“The worst,” replied Neil gloomily.

“Then he will die?” cried Alison excitedly.

“No, no.”

“But he has gone so soon. Don’t keep it back, man. He said he could do nothing?”

“He said that with care our father will live, but – ”

He stopped short for a few moments and a sigh that was almost a groan escaped him.

“The poor old dad. Al,” he said softly, “I am afraid he will be a hopeless cripple if the knowledge of his state does not kill him right off.”

“What’s that? What’s the matter?” cried Alison sharply, as the door opened and the butler appeared. “We are engaged.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” said the man. “Mrs Barnett, sir, rang the bell. Master wants Mr Neil directly.”

“O Neil, he is worse,” sobbed Isabel; and, as her brother hurried out of the room and across the hall, she followed, and they all entered together, just as Aunt Anne was coming to summon them, her ruddy face looking blanched and strange in places, while her eyes were wide open and she seemed to have been scared.

“Pray come to him, my dear,” she whispered. “He frightens me.”

“What is that?” said Mr Elthorne sharply. “What is the meaning of that whispering? Am I to lie here without any attention because I have had a bit of a fall? Here, Neil, quick. It is disgraceful. Anne – Isabel – you can go. I want to talk to Neil.” Isabel crept deprecatingly to the speaker’s side and bent down to kiss him.

He responded to her kiss, and then seemed annoyed with himself, as if he considered his conduct weak.

“There, there,” he cried. “Don’t hang about me, my dear. You make me hot. There is nothing much the matter. Go and nurse up your aunt, and try to teach her to be sensible.”

“Oh, papa, dear!”

“Now, don’t you begin to be absurd too. I’m hurt and in pain. Let me ask you one question – Is it likely to do me good to have a foolish woman sitting close to me soaking her pocket handkerchief?”

“Ralph, dear, I was only sympathetic,” cried Aunt Anne.

“I don’t want sympathy,” cried Mr Elthorne. “I want help. I want you to go now. Shut the door after them, Alison. You can stop. Now,” he continued angrily, as soon as they were alone, and he fixed his eyes fiercely upon his elder son’s, “you chose to be a doctor, sir, and I gave way unwillingly. I studied no expense, and you have gone on studying up your profession. But, once for all, if I am to take any of your assistance, I warn you that I will have none of the tricks of your trade played upon me.”

“My dear father, pray be calm,” said Neil anxiously.

“Did you hear what I said, sir? Be calm! Am I not calm? There you are bringing out all your medical stock in trade – medical cant to bear.”

Neil looked at him anxiously, and saw that he was wild in his manner, and that there was a curiously excited glare in his eyes which troubled him a good deal, and affected his words as he replied.

“Now,” cried his father, “tell me at once, what did Sir Denton say?”