Chapter III

Asshlin scarcely spoke again during the early portion of that day. The immense effort of his explanation to Milbanke left him correspondingly weak; though through all his exhaustion, a look of peace and satisfaction was visible in his eyes.

During the whole morning Milbanke remained at his bedside, only leaving the room to partake--at Clodagh's urgent request--of a hurried meal in the deserted dining-room. At twelve o'clock the nurse resumed her duties, and soon afterwards the dispensary doctor from Carrigmore drove over to see his patient. Before he came into the sick-room Milbanke left it; but when--his examination over--he departed with a whispered injunction to the nurse, he found the stranger waiting for him in the corridor.

Milbanke stepped forward as he appeared, and silently motioned him down the passage to his own room, inviting him to enter with a punctilious gesture.

"Doctor Gallagher, I believe?" he said. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Milbanke. I am a very old friend of your patient."

With a slow but friendly gesture, the young man held out his hand.

"Oh, I know all about you!" he said. "I'm glad to make your acquaintance."

His voice, with its marked Irish accent, was soft and pleasant, and his glance was good-natured; but his tanned skin and rough shooting-suit suggested the sportsman rather than the medical practitioner.

Milbanke eyed him quickly.

"Then you won't misunderstand anything I may say?"

Gallagher smiled.

"Not a bit of it!" he answered nonchalantly. "And what's more, I think I know what it's going to be."

A shade of confusion passed over the Englishman's face. His understanding was still unattuned to the half-shrewd, half-inquisitive tendencies of the Irish mind. With a shadowy suspicion that he was being unobtrusively ridiculed, he became a degree colder.

"I am grieved beyond measure at Mr. Asshlin's condition, Doctor Gallagher," he said, "and it has struck me--it has been suggested to my mind that possibly----" He stopped uncertainly. "That possibly----"

"That perhaps there ought to be another opinion?" Gallagher looked at him complacently. "Well, maybe you're right. 'Tisn't because _I_ condemn him that he shouldn't appeal to a higher court."

Milbanke started.

"Then you think poorly of his chances?"

Gallagher shook his head expressively.

"You despair of him?"

A pang of unexpected grief touched Milbanke. He realised suddenly how distant, vague, and yet how real a part the ideal of his youth had played in his life and thoughts; how deep a niche, unknown to them both, Asshlin had carved for himself. With a sense of loss altogether disproportionate to circumstances, he turned again to the doctor.

"Yes, I should like another opinion," he said quickly. "The best we can get--the best in Ireland. We can't get a man from town sooner than to-morrow, and time is everything. I suppose Dublin is the place to wire to? Not that I am disparaging you," he added. "I feel confident you have done everything."

Gallagher smiled.

"Oh, I'm not taking offence. It's only human nature to think what you do. I'll meet any one you like to name. But he'll say the same as me."

"And that is?"

"That he's done for." Gallagher lowered his voice. "He hasn't the stamina to pull through, even if we could patch him up. He's been undermining that big frame of his for the last ten years. No man nowadays can sit up half the night drinking port without paying heavily for it. Many a time, driving home from a late call, I've seen the light in these windows at three in the morning."

Milbanke pulled out his watch.

"But these Dublin doctors," he said. "Tell me their names."

Gallagher pondered a moment.

"Well, there's Dowden-Gregg and Merrick," he said. "And of course there's Molyneaux. Molyneaux is a magnificent surgeon. If any man in Ireland can make a suggestion, he will. But of course his fee----"

Milbanke interrupted sharply.

"Molyneaux let it be," he said decisively. "Wire for him when you get back to Carrigmore. Wire urgently. The expenses will be my affair. What they may amount to is of no consideration."

A look of involuntary respect crossed Gallagher's face.

"I understand," he said. "I'll wire at once. And you can comfort yourself that you'll have the best opinion in the country."

He nodded genially, the new considerations for Milbanke tinging his usually careless manner; and with an inaudible word of farewell, turned on his heel.

Once alone, Milbanke went in search of Clodagh. He suffered no small trepidation at the thought of communicating his action to her, and he bestowed much silent consideration upon the manner in which he should couch his information. Failing to find her in the house, he wandered out into the grounds. The rain had ceased, and a watery gleam of sunshine was falling on the wet gravel of the drive. Picking his way carefully, he turned in the direction of the yard; but he had scarcely reached it, when Clodagh's clear voice reached him, directing Burke as to some provisions required from Muskeere.

On seeing her guest, she came forward at once. Her face looked brighter and happier than he had seen it since his arrival. Her mercurial nature had responded instantly to the apparent change in Asshlin.

"Oh, isn't it lovely that he's so much better?" she cried. "You must have the gift of healing; it's like as if you had set a charm."

Milbanke made no response.

"Why don't you say something?" she asked quickly. "Don't you think he's better? Doesn't the doctor think he's better?"

Her quick mind sprang like lightning from one conclusion to another.

"Mr. Milbanke," she added, "you're keeping something back! There's something you don't like to say!"

Then at last Milbanke found voice.

"Indeed no, Miss Clodagh. You are wrong--quite wrong, believe me. There is nothing to be alarmed at--nothing. It is only----"

"Only what?"

"Now don't be alarmed! I beg you not to be alarmed!" The sudden whiteness that had overspread her face unnerved him. "It is only that I, as a Londoner, am a little doubtful of your village doctor. A mere prejudice, I know. But Gallagher is broadminded and willing to humour me. And he--I--that is, we both think that another opinion will do no harm. It's nothing to be alarmed at. Nothing, believe me! A mere formality."

But Clodagh's lips had paled. She stood looking at him silently, her large, questioning eyes reminding him disconcertingly of Asshlin's.

"Miss Clodagh," he said again, "don't be alarmed!--don't be alarmed! It's only to satisfy an old sceptic----"

"Oh no, it isn't!" she said suddenly. "Oh no, it isn't! I know--I know quite well. It means that he's going to die."

Her voice caught; and, with a swift movement, she turned and fled out of the yard, leaving Milbanke pained, bewildered, and alarmed.

The afternoon passed in weary, monotonous waiting. Half an hour after the conversation in the yard, Clodagh appeared in her father's room. She was pale and subdued, and her eyelids looked suspiciously red, but she took her place quietly at the foot of the bed. She sat very still, her eyes fixed on Asshlin's face, apparently heedless of both the nurse's deft movements and Milbanke's silent, unobtrusive presence. At three o'clock the acute pains that had tormented the patient at intervals ever since the accident had occurred, returned with a violence that seemed accentuated by the respite he had obtained during the morning. For an hour or more he writhed and groaned in unspeakable agony, while those about him suffered a reflected torment, and chafed impotently at the distance that cut off Carrigmore and the possibility of any fresh medical relief. The nurse was unceasingly vigilant; but the mild and cautious remedies ordered by Gallagher were powerless to soothe the violent pain. At last Nature mercifully intervened, and the exhausted sufferer fell into a sleep that lasted for several hours.

At seven o'clock there was a stir of excitement through the house, as the whisper passed from one to another that the Dublin surgeon had arrived. When the news reached the sick-room, Milbanke drew a breath of intense relief; but Clodagh's pale face went a shade whiter.

The great man arrived attended by Gallagher, and was shown directly to the patient's room. There was a confused moment of introduction; then Milbanke and Clodagh slipped quietly into the passage, leaving the doctors and nurse to their work.

During a long interval of indescribable suspense Molyneaux made his examination. Then, without a word, he and Gallagher emerged from the room and descended solemnly into the dining-room.

While this final conference lasted Clodagh--who had returned to her vigil immediately the doctors had left the sick-room--sat silent and motionless beside the bed; outside in the corridor, Mrs. Asshlin wandered to and fro, weakly tearful and agitated, while Nance stood beside her father's door, afraid to enter and yet reluctant to remain outside. Downstairs in the hall, Milbanke paced up and down in nervous perturbation, awaiting his summons to the conclave.

At last the door opened, and Gallagher looked out.

"Mr. Milbanke," he said, "Doctor Molyneaux would like to see you."

With a little start of agitation Milbanke went forward.

In the dining-room a great peat fire was burning as usual, lighting up the faces of Asshlin's ancestors; but the candles in the silver sconces were unlighted and the window curtains had not been drawn. In the dull light from the three long windows the large, placid face of Molyneaux looked preternaturally long and solemn. Milbanke felt his heart sink.

In formal silence the great man rose and motioned him forward, and the three sat down at the centre table.

"Mr. Milbanke," he began in slow and unctuous tones, "I suppose you would like me to come to the point with as little delay as possible? Professional details will not interest you."

Milbanke nodded mechanically.

Molyneaux hesitated, studying his well-kept hands; then he looked up with the decorous reserve proper to the occasion.

"I regret to inform you, Mr. Milbanke," he said softly, "that my visit is of little--I might say of no--avail. Doctor--er--Gallagher's diagnosis of the case is satisfactory--perfectly satisfactory. Beyond mitigating his sufferings, I fear we can do nothing for our poor friend."

"Nothing!" Milbanke felt a sudden dryness in his throat.

Molyneaux shook his head with becoming gravity.

"Nothing, Mr. Milbanke. The injuries to the ribs and hip we might have coped with, but the seat of the trouble lies deeper. The internal----"

But Milbanke held up his hand.

"I beg you to give me no details," he said weakly. "This--this is a great shock to me."

He covered his face with his hands and sat silent for a few seconds.

Molyneaux tapped lightly upon the table with his finger-tips.

"It was merely that your mind might be fully satisfied, Mr. Milbanke----" he said a trifle pompously.

Milbanke started.

"Forgive me! I understand--I fully understand. It is only the thought of what lies before us--the thought of his children's grief----"

Molyneaux made a gracious gesture of comprehension.

"Ah, yes," he murmured. "Very distressing! Most distressing!"

He looked vaguely round the room; and Gallagher, as if anticipating his thought, pulled out his watch.

Milbanke rose quickly.

"I thank you very much, Doctor Molyneaux," he said, "for your--your valuable opinion. I think Miss Asshlin wishes to know if your train will permit you to partake of some dinner before you leave us?"

Molyneaux smiled with the air of a man who has put an unpleasant duty aside.

"Ah, thank you!" he said suavely. "Thank you! If Doctor--Gallagher gives me permission I shall be charmed. He understands your local time-tables, and has promised that I shall catch the night mail to Dublin."

He smiled again and glanced genially round the firelit room.

"What interesting family portraits our poor friend possesses!" he added with pleasant affability.

But Milbanke did not seem to hear.

"If you will excuse me for a moment," he said hastily, "I will see that you are caused no unnecessary delay. You can understand that we--that we are a somewhat demoralised household."

His voice was agitated, his step uneven as he crossed the room and passed into the hall.

Molyneaux followed him with a conventional glance of sympathy; then his eyes turned again to the pictures with the gratified glance of a dilettante.

"Do you happen to know if this is a Reynolds?" he said to Gallagher, rising and crossing the room.