My surprise at finding that the man had spoken the literal truth wasalmost, if not quite, equalled by my astonishment at finding myself face to face with Arthur Holliday as soon as I entered the bedroom.It was no time then for giving or seeking explanations.We just shook hands amazedly; and then I ordered everybody but Arthur out of the room, and hurried to the man on the bed.
The kitchen fire had not been long out.There was plenty of hot water in the boiler, and plenty of flannel to be had.With these, with my medicines, and with such help as Arthur could render under my direction, I dragged the man, literally, out of the jaws of death.In less than an hour from the time when I had been called in, he was alive and talking in the bed on which he had been laid out to wait for the Coroner's inquest.
You will naturally ask me, what had been the matter with him; and I might treat you, in reply, to a long theory, plentifully sprinkled with, what the children call, hard words.I prefer telling you that, in this case, cause and effect could not be satisfactorily joined together by any theory whatever.There are mysteries in life, and the condition of it, which human science has not fathomed yet; and I candidly confess to you, that, in bringing that man back to existence, I was, morally speaking, groping haphazard in the dark.I know (from the testimony of the doctor who attended him in the afternoon) that the vital machinery, so far as its action is appreciable by our senses, had, in this case, unquestionably stopped; and I am equally certain (seeing that I recovered him) that the vital principle was not extinct.When I add, that he had suffered from a long and complicated illness, and that his whole nervous system was utterly deranged, I have told you all I really know of the physical condition of my dead-alive patient at The Two Robins Inn.
When he 'came to,' as the phrase goes, he was a startling object to look at, with his colourless face, his sunken cheeks, his wild black eyes, and his long black hair.The first question he asked me about himself, when he could speak, made me suspect that I had been called in to a man in my own profession.I mentioned to him my surmise; and he told me that I was right.
He said he had come last from Paris, where he had been attached to a hospital.That he had lately returned to England, on his way toEdinburgh, to continue his studies; that he had been taken ill on the journey; and that he had stopped to rest and recover himself at Doncaster.He did not add a word about his name, or who he was: and, of course, I did not question him on the subject.All I inquired, when he ceased speaking, was what branch of the profession he intended to follow.
'Any branch,' he said, bitterly, 'which will put bread into the mouth of a poor man.'
At this, Arthur, who had been hitherto watching him in silent curiosity, burst out impetuously in his usual good-humoured way:-'My dear fellow!' (everybody was 'my dear fellow' with Arthur) 'now you have come to life again, don't begin by being down-hearted about your prospects.I'll answer for it, I can help you to some capital thing in the medical line - or, if I can't, I know my father can.'
The medical student looked at him steadily.
'Thank you,' he said, coldly.Then added, 'May I ask who your fatheris?'
'He's well enough known all about this part of the country,' repliedArthur.'He is a great manufacturer, and his name is Holliday.'
My hand was on the man's wrist during this brief conversation.The instant the name of Holliday was pronounced I felt the pulse under my fingers flutter, stop, go on suddenly with a bound, and beat afterwards, for a minute or two, at the fever rate.
'How did you come here?' asked the stranger, quickly, excitably, passionately almost.
Arthur related briefly what had happened from the time of his first taking the bed at the inn.
'I am indebted to Mr.Holliday's son then for the help that has saved my life,' said the medical student, speaking to himself, with a singular sarcasm in his voice. 'Come here!'
He held out, as he spoke, his long, white, bony, right hand.
'With all my heart,' said Arthur, taking the hand-cordially.'I may confess it now,' he continued, laughing.'Upon my honour, you almost frightened me out of my wits.'
The stranger did not seem to listen.His wild black eyes were fixedwith a look of eager interest on Arthur's face, and his long bony fingers kept tight hold of Arthur's hand.Young Holliday, on his side, returned the gaze, amazed and puzzled by the medical student's odd language and manners.The two faces were close together; I looked at them; and, to my amazement, I was suddenly impressed by the sense of a likeness between them - not in features, or complexion, but solely in expression.It must have been a strong likeness, or I should certainly not have found it out, for I am naturally slow at detecting resemblances between faces.
'You have saved my life,' said the strange man, still looking hard in Arthur's face, still holding tightly by his hand.'If you had been my own brother, you could not have done more for me than that.'
He laid a singularly strong emphasis on those three words 'my own brother,' and a change passed over his face as he pronounced them, - a change that no language of mine is competent to describe.
'I hope I have not done being of service to you yet,' said Arthur.'I'll speak to my father, as soon as I get home.'
'You seem to be fond and proud of your father,' said the medical student.'I suppose, in return, he is fond and proud of you?'
'Of course, he is!' answered Arthur, laughing.'Is there anything wonderful in that?Isn't YOUR father fond - '
The stranger suddenly dropped young Holliday's hand, and turned his face away.
'I beg your pardon,' said Arthur.'I hope I have not unintentionally pained you. I hope you have not lost your father.'
'I can't well lose what I have never had,' retorted the medical student, with a harsh, mocking laugh.
'What you have never had!'
The strange man suddenly caught Arthur's hand again, suddenly looked once more hard in his face.
