The House of Defence v. 2 Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  It was a chill November afternoon in the autumn of the same year, andCatherine was seated at the table in her sitting-room at Thurso House,surrounded by a plentiful litter of letters and telegrams, writingbusily, fiercely almost, as if to absorb herself in what she was doingto the exclusion of other thoughts. Her secretary, to whom she had justfinished dictating a pile of business correspondence and letters lessprivate than those she was occupying herself with, had just left her,and Catherine had begun to tackle this great heap of letters which shefelt she had better answer herself--inquiries, mainly, from personalfriends. She knew she had given herself more to do than it was reallyneedful that she should, but what to her mind was needful was that sheshould be occupied in writing, and leave herself no leisure to think. Atpresent there was nothing to be gained by thinking; she could take nostep.

  Outside the day was utterly dispiriting; there had been a dense yellowfog all morning, and though it had cleared a little about midday, sothat from her window she could see the lilac-bushes of the garden thatbordered the Green Park, it hovered still overhead, and though the hourwas still not yet three in the afternoon, and her table was in thewindow, she had to light the shaded electric candle that stood on it toenable her to write. A big fire burned in the open hearth, compounded oflogs and coal, that hissed and whistled cheerfully as they blazed, andthe room was warm and fragrant. But so dense had been the fog thismorning that it had penetrated a little through the joinings of thewindows, and a haze, visible now that the electric lights were burning,hung in the atmosphere.

  The room where she sat was one of her own private suite, which she hadfitted up not long ago for occupation in those numerous flying visitsshe had to pay to town, when she intended to stop only a day or two anddo some necessary business. On these occasions it was not worth while toopen the whole house, and so she had established herself here on thethird-floor, with just the one sitting-room, and a bedroom and bathroomadjoining. Until half-way through November she had been paying a seriesof visits at different country houses ever since she came down fromScotland, while Thurso, so she then believed, had been doing the same atother houses. This week they were to have had the first big shoot attheir place in Norfolk, but all that had been put off. Ten days ago nowshe had arrived here for a couple of days' stay before going down toNorfolk, and had found her husband was in the house. He had been thereever since they came down from Scotland, alone with his valet and acouple of maidservants, one to cook and one to clean, having excusedhimself from the various houses where he had told her he should bestaying, in order to live here in the hell-paradise of opium. Catherinehad at once telegraphed for Maud, who was of more use than anybody withher brother, and the two had been here now for ten days. It was justbetter that they should be with him than that he should be alone; hestill occasionally felt ashamed of himself if they were there.

  Since last June the habit had gained on him with appalling rapidity,though for a few months he had, as she knew, made frantic, agonisingefforts to throw it off. He had seen doctors, he had done apparently allthat lay in his power to do. But now it seemed that a sort of atrophy ofhis will had set in; he no longer actively desired to be a free managain, though sometimes a sort of shame and remorse seemed to visithim; and though his will had been so completely dominated and destroyedby the drug, it had left the calculating, scheming part of his brainuntouched, and he had a thousand devices for obtaining it after thechemists with whom he habitually dealt had been warned not to give ithim. Indeed, it was ten days now since he made what appeared to be thevery last effort of will, when, on Catherine's appearance here, he hadburned the prescription which enabled him to obtain it. But withintwenty-four hours he had himself forged it again, and Lord Thurso,calling suddenly at some big pharmacy with a prescription bearing aneminent doctor's name, was naturally not refused the blue bottle withits red poison label.

  Yet busily as Catherine occupied herself with her correspondence,striving, since at the moment she could do nothing for her husband, toengage her mind rather than let it dwell on the hideous realities thatwere going on, and so vitally concerning her, she was alert for theinterruption she expected. For yesterday afternoon Thurso, underminedand weakened as he was by this habit, had had an attack of syncope, andfor an hour or two they thought he could not live. But the doctor hadpulled him round out of immediate danger, and he had regained a littlestrength during the last twenty-four hours. Sir James Sanderson had, infact, just come back for his afternoon visit, and was with him now. Hehad promised to make his report to Lady Thurso before he left the house.The news of Thurso's sudden illness had been in the evening papers lastnight, and had appeared again this morning. She was answering theinquiries of her huge circle of friends.

  Her pen went rapidly from the top to the bottom of her sheets, andenvelope after envelope was directed and thrown on her pile. Awful asthe present moment was, yet, in a sense, now that a crisis like this hadcome, it was almost more bearable than the hideous growth of theanxieties and torments she had suffered before. For as the habit gainedon him, his moral perception, like his will, seemed to wither andvanish. He had conceived wholly baseless suspicions against his wife; hehad uttered them to her; he had told her in what relation he believedher to stand towards Villars. Worse even than that, he did not seem tomind it. He had spied on her; he had opened her letters, both thosewhich she received and those which she wrote--in a word, he seemed tohate her, and to delight in his hate. He made long absences, when he wasnot at his club or in the house, and gave elaborate, palpably falseaccounts of his movements when he returned. Finally, all sense ofdecency seemed to have left him, and he had brought to Thurso House,while his wife was in it, a common woman off the street. How it wouldall end she dared not think. If he lived, it seemed impossible to herthat she should go on living with him. What would happen to thechildren? what would happen to Maud? And the shame, the atrocious shameand publicity that must follow!

  * * * * *

  But the crisis which had occurred yesterday afternoon, the crisis thatconcerned life and death, had somewhat mitigated the horror of thesethings. It had also blunted the acuteness of another question that didnot concern her less. Since June last she had known that Villars lovedher now just as he had always loved her, and though, since he was agentleman, to put the matter broadly, he had not traded on her growingdisgust at the man who was her husband, it was impossible for her not toknow that her lover had moved closer. She had no moral House of Defenceto take refuge in--nothing of that nature prevented her letting the manwho loved her, the lover whom she was sure now she loved, become in deedwhat both he and she knew that he was in all else but that. Nothing,except a blind determination, which she often told herself wasirrational, that this should not be so, stood in her way. Again andagain Thurso had taunted her with a lie; he could not taunt her more ifit had been a truth. Indeed, to taunt her, as he had done, with what wasnot true was more unbearable to her than if it had been. Had Villarsbeen her lover, she almost felt as if she would have hurled that fact inhis face. For her actions never ran away with her; she was not in thehabit of doing what she was ashamed of afterwards; and certainly if shehad taken a step so momentous, so vitally affecting her life, as that ofhaving a lover, she was sure she would not have done so blindly or inany sudden flash of passion. Had she meant to live the double life shewould have done so deliberately, and for reasons which seemed to herexcellent--namely, that her husband was opium-drenched, and had vilelyinsulted her; secondly, that she loved Villars; and, thirdly, that shedid not think it wicked for her in this position to do so. And yet,though in judging others she had no moral code, she judged herself andmade her decision in obedience to some stricter law, thoughall-unformulated, than she applied to others. She knew she wasirrational and inconsistent, but she knew she could not be otherwise.

  It is probably difficult for those of high and complex moralorganisation to appreciate the workings of a nature which, on analysis,seems so rudimentary a
s hers, and the most rigid sort of moralist mayeasily say that after all there was extremely little difference betweenher and people of no morals whatever. But that is where the highermoralist would go astoundingly astray. There are plants so sensitivethat they seem to have organic life; there are amoebae so apparentlyimmobile and unsensitive that to a creature so immensely distant fromthem in point of organisation as man they may seem to be much lower inthe scale of life than the highly sensitive plant. But to the trainedbiologist the amoebae are so transcendently higher than the other thathe despairs of finding a bridge that can ever link up the two. And inthe same way, though Catherine could formulate no moral code at all, andwould unhesitatingly let any friend of hers lead any life he pleased,and yet not abate one jot of her friendship, provided only he did not dothings which were mean; the fact that when "it came to" in her own caseshe utterly refused to contemplate doing this, made the classificationof her with the moral inorganic an abysmal error. She was far stricterwith herself than with others, which shows a moral generosity, and sheblindly followed the more difficult way, which shows a faith that isperhaps the finer since it is conscious of no leading.

  And, poor soul, she knew but too well that her trials in this respecthad not really begun; she had only been told to look at the rack whereshe was soon to be placed. For Rudolf Villars was her real stand-by inthese dark passages in her life. Maud was splendid, too: she felt shecould not have got through the days without her; but Maud was a woman,and she was a woman, and Villars was a man. Therefore he could help herin a way that Maud could not. For humankind is created male and female,and those of different sex can and must help each other in a mannerimpossible for those of the same sex. That is the glory of the world andits shame.

  Villars had known about this drug habit on the Sunday he had spent withthem in June, for he had seen Thurso by chance when the ecstasy of thedose was on him; and since then, day by day, she owed more to him, tillthe debt was mounting up into huge figures. And though she knew wellthat to him the debt was non-existent--he never would add it up, that isto say, and present the bill--it was fearfully existent to her. Inpayment of it she could only give him one thing--herself; and that shewould not. True, he had made no absolutely direct declaration of hislove, but in a hundred ways he showed it, and day by day, as she saw, itwas getting harder for him to be silent. And what would happen then? Shehad made her determination. She would have to declare it. That was all... oh yes, that was all.

  For the time, however, the acuteness of these perplexities had lost itssharpness, since Thurso's attack yesterday, and such thoughts, thesummary of her inner life for the last two or three months, did not getbetween her pen and her paper. She had to answer these letters andtelegrams inquiring about him, and to regret her unavoidable absencefrom the various engagements of the next few weeks. She knew, too, thatit had become a matter of common knowledge what was the matter with him;she had even talked to certain friends about it, and she had to word heranswers carefully. But it was no use any longer to pretend that nothingwas wrong; the whole world knew that something was wrong.

  But the interruption for which she had been waiting soon came, and SirJames Sanderson was shown in. He looked extraordinarily unlike aneminent doctor, and resembled nothing so much as a captain on somerespectable line of steamers. He had a toothbrush of a moustache, aplump, bronzed, and ruddy face, and wore a black frockcoat, with yellowboots and a red tie. He was awkward, cheerful, embarrassed, andnautical, and played golf whenever possible, which was not often, withboyish enthusiasm and remarkable inability. But, incidentally, he hadsaved more lives and restored more health, which he personallyconsidered of greater importance, than any other two doctors puttogether.

  He shook hands with Catherine, and sat down on a small chair, whichbroke into fragments beneath his extremely ponderous frame, leaving himcouched in splinters on the floor. He said "Damn!" quite distinctly,and struggled to his feet.

  "Oh, I am so sorry," said Catherine. "I hope you are not hurt?"

  "Not in the least, but the chair is," he said. "Yes, I have been withyour husband for the last hour."

  He found a more reliable seat.

  "Now, be brave," he said.

  Then his wonderful skill in dealing with people, whether the sick or thewhole, showed itself. There was dreadful news he had to tell to thisbeautiful woman, but in spite of the obsoleteness of the phrase"breaking the news," news could still be prepared for. It was wise tostart like that, to say "Be brave," and then, since he knew he wasdealing with a brave woman, to wait for her bracing herself up to it.

  "I know I am allowed to smoke a cigarette," he said, thus securing hismoment's pause, "though it is most unprofessional."

  Catherine's courage had sunk for a moment, like the mercury in athermometer exposed to zero, but in that pause she recalled it again. Itwas that he had been waiting for.

  "Lord Thurso has lived through twenty-four hours," he said, "andimmediate danger is really over. The attack he had was enough to killmost people. It has not killed him, and he will not now die of thisattack. He may have others, but I don't see why he should, unless heprovokes them himself."

  He flicked the charred end of his cigarette.

  "That is the bright side," he said. "Now we must talk about the other.He came to me in July, you know, and told me about it. Probably he didnot tell me all. You must do that, my dear lady. I guess a good dealfrom what I have seen to-day. I want to know all. Has he lost the powerof will, do you think? There is nothing, I may say, that you can tell mewhich will be worse than what I conjecture."

  Catherine required no further stimulus to enable her to brace herself tothis hideous recital, and she began at once, telling Sir James the wholehistory of the case as far as she knew it. Once only did he interrupther, and that early in the tale, when she told him that the originalcause of Thurso's taking opium was those frightful attacks of neuralgiato which he was subject. To that Sir James said:

  "Quite so. I gave him the authorisation myself."

  Then, month by month, she went through the tragic history; she spoke ofthat week up in Scotland when he began to take it more frequently, when,too, Maud began to suspect that he was taking it not only for relief ofpain, but for the effects of it on his nerves and brain. Then came thestealthy dose in the train, then the scenes at Bray. But as she spoke,though he attended very carefully to all she said, he watched her notfor that reason alone. It was not so unlikely, he saw, that he mighthave another patient on his hands, for it was as much as she could do toget through with what she was saying.

  Then the tale became harder of telling: from that day he had seemed tohave begun to hate her, and with hate there grew and flourished in hismind ignoble suspicions. He had taken to spying on her, to opening herletters; then came the infamous taunts he had levelled at her, and thefinal insult. And when she had finished there was silence.

  * * * * *

  She had spoken quite calmly, arranging and reviewing the events of thosehideous months in orderly manner, and stopping only when she could notquite command her voice. And without any long pause after she had done,Sir James went on with what had to be told her.

  "The opium habit," he said, "even when one begins to treat it quiteearly, is the most difficult thing in the world to cure. Give me tendrunkards who want to get over the habit, and I will very likely cureeight, but give me ten opium-eaters or laudanum-drinkers--for the two,of course, are exactly the same--who are equally desirous to amend, andI may cure one of them. God knows why it is so, Lady Thurso, but thisparticular drug, this poppy of the fields, binds body and soul in a waythat no other habit binds, not alcohol, nor sensualism, nor anything.And your husband's case has not been taken early. He is completelyundermined by it. It is impossible to imagine a more serious case."

  Catherine shifted her chair a little; she was so overwhelmingly tired,now that she had ceased writing, that it was something of an effort tomeet the doctor's eye.

  "And now you need your braver
y again," he said. "He might have died anyminute during those first six hours after his attack. And, dear lady,it might have been better if he had. It might have saved God knows whatsuffering and misery to himself and others. Sometimes I think that wedoctors do a cruel kindness in snatching poor folk out of death's jaws.Of course, one cannot, and I do not, say that any case is incurable,because, thank God, miracles still happen. But I cannot see how he canbe cured. As he gets stronger from this attack, his craving for the drugwill get stronger also; he has already asked for it. Unless youabsolutely shut him up he will find means of getting hold of it. He willprobably begin with smaller doses, for the poison will have more effectwhen he is still weak, and he will increase them and increase them untilthis or something like it happens again. His digestion, too, is in themost feeble condition. I do not suppose he has eaten a pound ofnourishing food in the last week.

  "No; he has hardly touched it," said she. "He says it gets in the way.But if we could succeed in keeping him away from the drug by--by anymeans, would there not be hope?"

  The kind old doctor gave a long sigh. He hated this part of hisbusiness, and the braver people were, the more cruel he seemed tohimself.

  "No," he said; "I think he would probably go off his head without it.One can't tell, but I should fear that. You see, it is not the time forme to keep anything from you. And you are bearing it splendidly: you arebearing it in the way we are meant to bear these terrors of life. We mayget white with pain, as you did just now, we may feel sick with theanguish of it all, but we ought still to be able to clench our teeth andnot cry out. And, do you know, that is such a sound policy. Being bravecarries its dividends quicker than any investment I know. For everyeffort of the sort that we make strengthens us, exactly as gymnasticsstrengthen our muscles."

  Something in this arrested her attention very strongly; for the momentshe was led away from the thought of Thurso to another matter thatconcerned her quite as vitally. She turned round to him again.

  "Do you mean that if--if we resist anything our powers of resistance areincreased?" she asked. "Resistance seems to tire me, to make me lessable to make an effort."

  Sir James took this in also; his eye, trained to observe obscurities,saw that for the moment she was not thinking of her husband.

  "Temporarily it tires you," he said, "just as exercise does. But you arereally the stronger for it. The opposite holds, too, as you and I andpoor Lord Thurso know very well; not to resist, to yield, weakens ourpower of resistance. The body is built up and made strong by effort, andso, I am sure, is the soul."

  She thought over that for a space of silence, noting down in her mindhow it concerned that of which the doctor knew nothing.

  "Tell me all you fear about Thurso," she said. "I want to know what youthink the end will be, and when, since I gather that, as far as youknow, you regard him as incurable. I want to hear from you, quietly andfully, what I must bring myself to expect, the thoughts which I have gotto get used to."

  "I have told you the worst," he said, "and I think you understand it.But, more in detail, it will be this: He will be very weak for a fewdays, and will, of course, be in bed. But I fully expect that hisrecovery from this attack will be rapid, because he will be properlyfed, and not allowed to make the smallest exertion, but chiefly becauseopium, which was the direct cause of it, will be cut off. As he getsstronger the craving will get stronger."

  "Then, you advise----"

  "I advise nothing till I see how he pulls round. What I most fear isthat his whole will-power, his very capability to form a resolution, hasbeen atrophied, made ineffective, by this drug. He--I am telling you allmy worst fears, of course, because this is not a time to buoy you upwith false hopes--he is, I fear, from what you tell me, incapable ofresistance. That is the real and fatal danger. Now, is there any motive,any thought, or aim, or desire that was his, which we can make use of,on which, so to speak, we can prop up and train the will-power, which islying like a creeper that has been torn from its supports? His devotionto you, for example? His love for his children?"

  Catherine turned on him a perfectly hopeless look, and shook her head.The waters of Marah were in that gesture.

  The doctor spoke again, gently, tenderly.

  "Then, who has the most influence over him?" he asked.

  "Oh, Maud," said she--"his sister, you know I have no doubt whateverabout that. I think," she added quietly--"I think he hates me."

  She spoke quite quietly, as if stating the most commonplace of facts,and the very simplicity of the words were intensely pathetic to the kindman. But they were best passed over without comment.

  "Then, may I consult with her before I go," he said, "as to anything shecan suggest which can appeal to him, support him? He is drowning, hemust drown as far as purely medical skill can help him, and we want--dowe not?--to throw any sort of life-buoy to him which may keep himafloat."

  "Hypnotism? That sort of thing?" she asked.

  "I do not think it possible that hypnotism or suggestion can help him,"he said. "There must be something to hypnotise, something to suggest to,and that something is will-power. One cannot say it is wholly destroyed,because I suppose that would mean death, but it is in so feeble andimpotent a state that I know of nothing which can touch it."

  Though Catherine had taken all this very quietly, her quietude waspartly that of someone who is stunned, and now her mind recurred, as sherecovered herself, to one of those sentences which, so to speak, haddealt the blow.

  "You mean that only a miracle can restore him?" she said.

  "Yes, but I believe in miracles," said he, "though, unfortunately, youcannot produce a miracle as you can produce a bottle of medicine."

  Catherine got up.

  "How strange that you should say that!" she said. "Because Maud believesin them, as you do, but she thinks them most accessible. Only she nolonger calls them miracles--she calls them Christian Science!"

  Sir James could not have looked cynical or sneering if he had tried,and he certainly did not try. But there was an uncommon dryness in histone.

  "The lady in Boston?" he inquired.

  "No; a man in Caithness," said Catherine. "I will ring; she shall comeand tell you if she is in."

  He put up his hand to stop her.

  "Ah, one moment, please," he said. "I want to have two words with youabout yourself. My dear lady, you are not well: you are very muchoverwrought. You have had, you know, a terrible and trying time, and ifyou had finished with it, I should tell you to go to bed for a week. Butyou can't do that. Now, it has told on you more than you guess. Do notgive yourself more tasks than you need; for instance, are you notover-taxing yourself unnecessarily here?"

  He pointed to the crowded writing-table and the pile of answeredletters, which she had been working at when he came in.

  "You mean I had better sit down and think over all this terribletragedy," she said, her voice beginning to break a little, "rather thanfind relief and rest in employment?"

  "No; I do not actually say that you must not answer your letters,especially if you find it more bearable to work than to do nothing, butI strongly advise you to rest yourself as much as you can, and to avoidanything agitating beyond that which you must bear. There is plentythat, as your husband's wife, you have got to bear. But if there areother things that worry you, I entreat you to shut the door in theirfaces. Exercise your will-power over that, and make it strong byresistance. Save yourself from anything harassing or troubling. I speak,of course, quite at random, but I feel sure that there are other thingswhich are trying you most acutely."

  Then, without warning, the breaking-point came for her. All these monthsof ceaseless anxiety about Thurso had been a greater drain on her nerveforce than she had known, and of set purpose she had not abated one jotof the numerous activities of her life, and had not allowed herself toconsider how tired and drained she was. And simultaneously with that hadcome this storm and tempest into the secret life of her soul.

  She gave a sudden shriek of laughter that
did not sound like mirth.

  "Oh, you conjurers!" she cried. "You doctors are like X rays! They seeright into one's inside. Good heavens! I should think I had enough totry me, and you don't guess the half. If it was only Thurso it would bequite a holiday. Oh, how very funny----"

  Sir James got up quickly, placed himself directly in front of her, andclapped his hands violently close to her face.

  "Now, none of that!" he cried. "I haven't come here to listen tohysterical ravings. Make an effort; pull yourself together. I'm ashamedof you."

  Catherine checked suddenly in the middle of her sentence; two or threetears, the precursors of the hysterical storm that had been on the pointof bursting forth, had found their way onto her cheeks, and she wipedthem off. The attack was arrested as suddenly as it had begun, and shestood silent a moment, still hearing the reverberation of his clappedhands.

  "Yes, quite right," she said. "Thank you very much."

  Sir James waited till he felt certain of her. Then he took up one of herhands and kissed it.

  "You dear, brave woman!" he said. "But that shows you the truth of whatI said. Be kind to your fine nerves and senses. Treat them well."

  She was quite quiet again now, and sat down in the chair from which shehad jumped up.

  "Never mind me," she said. "I can manage my own affairs, and I promiseyou I will be as sensible as I find it possible. Oh yes, there are otherworries. You are perfectly right."

  He paused a moment.

  "Now about this man in Caithness," he said. "He was there, I suppose,when Lord Thurso and Lady Maud were up during the typhoid. Now, I am notbigoted on the subject; I know quite well that these ChristianScientists have got hold of a big truth, but many of them mix suchfloods of nonsense up with it that it is quite dissolved. They tell methat if you have a compound fracture, and only say to yourself thatcompound fractures don't exist, the bones will join. That, of course, issilly. But where you deal with the will, or the nerves, or theimagination, it is a different sort of thing altogether."

  Lady Thurso got up again, quietly this time.

  "I will see if Maud is in," she said. "There was very virulent typhoidup there, you know, in the summer, and Mr. Cochrane is believed by herto have cured one or two extremely grave cases--in fact, she believesmore than that."

  She rang the bell, and in the interval, before it was answered, only acouple of words passed.

  "And you will spare yourself?" said Sir James.

  Maud had come in half an hour ago, but hearing that her sister-in-lawwas with the doctor, she had not interrupted them. As she entered now,Catherine shook hands with Sir James.

  "Maud, this is Sir James Sanderson," she said. "He wants to talk to you.Good-bye, Sir James. I shall see you, of course, to-morrow morning."

  She left the room, and Maud was alone with the doctor. She had no ideawhat he wanted to talk to her about, and waited, wondering why Catherinehad left them.

  But he instantly approached the subject.

  "Lady Maud," he said, "I want to hear about Caithness and the typhoidand Mr. Cochrane."

  Maud was taking off her gloves, but stopped in sheer surprise. There wasnothing that she expected less than this.

  "What for?" she said.

  "For your brother," said he.

  He asked but few questions in her story, for it was a plain and simplenarrative. She described just what had passed in connection withDuncan's wife; she described all that she had seen with regard to SandieMackenzie; she mentioned the curious and complete cessation of theepidemic itself.

  "And I think I believe exactly what Mr. Cochrane told me," she said."Indeed, it seems the simplest explanation to suppose that it was thedirect power of God, in whose presence neither sickness, nor disease,nor pain can exist."

  "You say you think so only," said he. "You are not sure?"

  "No, not quite."

  "But Mr. Cochrane is?"

  She smiled.

  "I should say it was the only thing he was absolutely sure of," shesaid.

  He thought in silence over this for some time, and then spoke as if hehad suddenly made his mind up.

  "Medical science, as far as I am acquainted with it," he said, "can donothing for Lord Thurso--at least, I fear not. Therefore, if there was aman outside in the Park there with a barrel-organ and a monkey who saidhe could cure the opium habit, I should welcome him in. Personally, Idon't believe in Christian Science for cases of compound fracture, butit doesn't matter what I believe. It is my duty to try everything Ican. Now, you must let me have a consultation with you about it all."

  Again he paused. He wanted to put his thoughts clearly, not only to her,but to himself.

  "We are situated like this," he said. "I have no notion how to cure yourbrother, and all that I feel myself able to do is to palliate hissufferings. But the moment--assuming, that is, which I feel justified indoing, that he gets over this attack--that I begin to make his dayspainless, I aggravate his disease. You, Lady Maud, I know, believe thatthere is a chance for him: I do not; but since I cannot professionallysuggest any other chance, all I can say is, 'Do what you can, and God bewith you.' Now, as regards practical details, what are we to do? Whereis this Mr. Cochrane? But I suppose there are plenty of these healers,are there not? If he is not handy, we can get another."

  Maud strove for a moment to separate the strands of her two desires,that seemed inextricably intermingled. The one was to see Thursodelivered from this drug-possession, the other to put him in the handsof Mr. Cochrane--him only.

  "I have knowledge of only one Christian Scientist whom I really believein," she said, "and that is Mr. Cochrane. You see, I saw him with my owneyes restore to life a man who was dying. I know there are plenty ofothers. I could ask Mrs. Yardly."

  Sir James laughed suddenly.

  "Why that?" asked Maud.

  "She came to me a few months ago for a tonic," he said. "She had beensuffering from general catarrh. She explained to me why this was notinconsistent, but I failed to follow her."

  Maud laughed too.

  "Oh, Alice!" she said to herself.

  "But Mr. Cochrane, you think, is not like her," said Sir James.

  "You can't imagine a more totally different personality," she said. "Hegives confidence, anyhow, and he is not silly. I think there is a greatdeal of what is silly about the whole thing, but I believe that thedirect power of God can come and heal people. That is about the biggestthing possible, isn't it?"

  Sir James nodded quietly.

  "Yes, my dear young lady," he said. "I believe in that possibility, too,and that is why I am consulting you. Oh, but compound fracture," he saidsuddenly--"what ridiculous nonsense!"

  He was silent for a moment after this irrepressible burst ofprofessional indignation.

  "And this Mr. Cochrane," he asked--"where is he?"

  "In America," said Maud. "I heard from him two days ago. He is in NewYork."

  "I have read some of their literature," said Sir James, "and I haveheard about some of their cures. Now, as a doctor, I can't recommendyour employing Mr. Cochrane, but you can, if you choose, send him atelegram acquainting him with the state of affairs. You see, I don'tthink he can hurt your brother, and we doctors can't benefit him."

  "Am I to get Mr. Cochrane to come here, then?" asked Maud.

  "No; in the first place it is a good deal to ask, and in the second, ifonly you or Lady Thurso could persuade Lord Thurso to go, I am convincedthat a sea-voyage, though it will not in the smallest degree cure him,will be generally beneficial. Now, do you think it is in your power topersuade him to go? You needn't say anything about a Christian Sciencehealer waiting for him at the other end; there will be plenty of timefor that when you get him on board ship."

  Maud thought over this. There was a suggestion that she felt she hadbetter make, which was rather difficult for her to put to him.

  "Yes; I think I might be able to persuade him," she said, "becausecertainly he used often to listen to me when he would listen to no oneelse. And woul
d you think it odd if I suggested that he and I wentalone, without Lady Thurso?"

  "I should have suggested it if you had not," said the doctor. "But tellme why you did."

  "Ah! poor Thurso is mad," said she. "He is not in the least himself. Butever since the summer he has been behaving to Catherine as if he hatedher."

  The doctor nodded.

  "I know; she feels that, too. Now, you cannot see your brother to-day,but to-morrow, if he goes on well, I think you might. We shall see. Ishall be back early to-morrow to look at him."

  For a man who had passed through so dangerous an attack, weakened, too,as he was, by months of the opium habit, Thurso showed extraordinaryrecuperative power, and next day he asked of his own accord whether Maudmight come and see him. This Sir James at once allowed.

  "I will let her know when I go," he said. "It will do you good."

  He waited for a moment, but Thurso said nothing about wishing to seeCatherine, and shortly after the doctor left him, and told Maud shemight pay him a short visit. The nurse was with him when Maud entered,but went to her room next door, leaving brother and sister alone. He wasstill lying flat, without pillows, but he smiled a welcome at Maud whenshe came in.

  "Come close, Maud," he said in a minute. "I want to talk to you."

  His voice was still no more than a whisper from weakness, but his wordswere quite audible.

  "I don't want to see Catherine," he said, "and you must keep her awayfrom me. I think the sight of her would send me off my head. It's shewho has brought me to this. It was she who ruined my nerves by alwaysrushing and flying about in every direction----"

  Maud interrupted him gently.

  "Ah! never mind that," she said. "At present all you have to do is tolie quiet, and not worry about anything, and get well."

  But Thurso broke in again.

  "Oh, don't imagine I don't know how atrociously I have behaved to her,"he said; "but she drove me mad. She despised me; I saw that. Well, Igave her something to despise me for."

  "Oh, dear Thurso, don't talk like that," she said. "If you don't want tosee Catherine, of course you shall not. But your saying that reminds meof a plan you and I might think of when you get better."

  "What's that?"

  "I've already spoken to Sir James about it, and he approves. You willhave to go somewhere to pick up again, so how about you and me going ona voyage together? We both like the sea, so why not go to America on oneof those big liners that are so comfortable? We could stay at that houseof Catherine's on Long Island for a week or two, if you liked."

  "Without Catherine, you mean?" he asked.

  "She loathes the sea, you remember. You couldn't expect her to come."

  His eye brightened.

  "Yes; I should like that," he said. "You and I have had jolly timestogether by ourselves. But I won't go if she goes."

  His voice had risen sharply over this, and he was silent afterwards,breathing rather quickly. Then he looked at Maud as she sat beside thebed, and something in her youth and beauty stirred some chord ofvibrating memory in him, and his mind, which, for all the deadlyweakness of his body, was quite clear, went back to early days when heand she had been together so much, bound in an intimacy and affectionthat seldom exists between brother and sister. She had always been sucha good friend to him, such a capital quick-sympathising comrade, andnow, he felt, there must for ever stand between them the horror of theselast months. For the moment he got outside himself and judged himself,and saw how hideous he had been.

  "I've made a pretty good mess of it all," he said.

  She laid her hand on his. It was no time to preach: she could onlyconsole.

  "Yes, dear Thurso," she said. "We've all made mistakes. But, thank God!it is never too late."

  Then that moment of regret, that nearly amounted to contrition, passedfrom him. It had been brief as a sudden ray of sun piercing through someunconjectured rent in blinding storm-clouds.

  "But it's Catherine's fault," he said.

  * * * * *

  But the ray had been there. His soul, though sick to death, still lived.And that was the only piece of consolation that Maud could carry awaywith her.