"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.
"Yes," he said, with a repetition of the bitter laugh."You have brought a poor devil back into the world who has no business there.Do I astonish you? Well, I have a fancy of my own for telling you what men in my situation generally keep a secret.Ihave no name and no father.The merciful law of society tells me I am nobody's son! Ask your father if he will be my father too, and help me on in life with the family name."Arthur looked at me more puzzled than ever.
I signed to him to say nothing, and then laid my fingers again on the man's wrist.No.In spite of the extraordinary speech that he had just made, he was not, as I had been disposed to suspect, beginning to get light-headed.His pulse, by this time, had fallen back to a quiet, slow beat, and his skin was moist and cool.Not a symptom of fever or agitation about him.
Finding that neither of us answered him, he turned to me, and began talking of the extraordinary nature of his case, and asking my advice about the future course of medical treatment to which he ought to subject himself.I said the matter required careful thinking over, and suggested that I should send him a prescription a little later.He told me to write it at once, as he would most likely be leaving Doncaster in the morning before Iwas up.It was quite useless to represent to him the folly and danger of such a proceeding as this.He heard me politely and patiently, but held to his resolution, without offering any reasons or explanations, and repeated to me that, if I wished to give him a chance of seeing my prescription, I must write it at once.
Hearing this, Arthur volunteered the loan of a traveling writing-case, which he said he had with him, and, bringing it to the bed, shook the note-paper out of the pocket of the case forthwith in his usual careless way.With the paper there fell out on the counterpane of the bed a small packet of sticking-plaster, and a little water-color drawing of a landscape.
The medical student took up the drawing and looked at it.His eye fell on some initials neatly written in cipher in one corner.He started and trembled; his pale face grew whiter than over; his wild black eyes turned on Arthur, and looked through and through him.
"A pretty drawing," he said, in a remarkably quiet tone of voice.
"Ah! and done by such a pretty girl," said Arthur."Oh, such a pretty girl! I wish it was not a landscape--I wish it was a portrait of her!""You admire her very much?"
Arthur, half in jest, half in earnest, kissed his hand for answer.
"Love at first sight," said young Holliday, putting the drawing away again."But the course of it doesn't run smooth.It's the old story.She's monopolized, as usual; trammeled by a rash engagement to some poor man who is never likely to get money enough to marry her.It was lucky I heard of it in time, or Ishould certainly have risked a declaration when she gave me that drawing.Here, doctor, here is pen, ink, and paper all ready for you.""When she gave you that drawing? Gave it? gave it?"He repeated the words slowly to himself, and suddenly closed his eyes.A momentary distortion passed across his face, and I saw one of his hands clutch up the bedclothes and squeeze them hard.
I thought he was going to be ill again, and begged that there might be no more talking.He opened his eyes when I spoke, fixed them once more searchingly on Arthur, and said, slowly and distinctly:
"You like her, and she likes you.The poor man may die out of your way.Who can tell that she may not give you herself as well as her drawing, after all?"Before young Holliday could answer he turned to me, and said in a whisper: "Now for the prescription." From that time, though he spoke to Arthur again, he never looked at him more.
When I had written the prescription, he examined it, approved of it, and then astonished us both by abruptly wishing us good-night.I offered to sit up with him, and he shook his head.
Arthur offered to sit up with him, and he said, shortly, with his face turned away, "No." I insisted on having somebody left to watch him.He gave way when he found I was determined, and said he would accept the services of the waiter at the inn.
"Thank you both," he said, as we rose to go."I have one last favor to ask--not of you, doctor, for I leave you to exercise your professional discretion, but of Mr.Holliday." His eyes, while he spoke, still rested steadily on me, and never once turned toward Arthur."I beg that Mr.Holliday will not mention to any one, least of all to his father, the events that have occurred and the words that have passed in this room.I entreat him to bury me in his memory as, but for him, I might have been buried in my grave.I cannot give my reason for making this strange request.I can only implore him to grant it."His voice faltered for the first time, and he hid his face on the pillow.Arthur, completely bewildered, gave the required pledge.
