The Firm of Girdlestone | Page 5

fortune of the dying man.
Girdlestone pushed open the iron gate and strode down the gravel walk
which led to his friend's house. A bright autumn sun shining out of a
cloudless heaven bathed the green lawn and the many-coloured
flower-beds in its golden light. The air, the leaves, the birds, all spoke
of life. It was hard to think that death was closing its grip upon him
who owned them all. A plump little gentleman in black was just

descending the steps.
"Well, doctor," the merchant asked, "how is your patient?"
"You've not come with the intention of seeing him, have you?" the
doctor asked, glancing up with some curiosity at the grey face and
overhanging eyebrows of the merchant.
"Yes, I am going up to him now."
"It is a most virulent case of typhoid. He may die in an hour or he may
live until nightfall, but nothing can save him. He will hardly recognize
you, I fear, and you can do him no good. It is most infectious, and you
are incurring a needless danger. I should strongly recommend you not
to go."
"Why, you've only just come down from him yourself, doctor."
"Ah, I'm there in the way of duty."
"So am I," said the visitor decisively, and passing up the stone steps of
the entrance strode into the hall. There was a large sitting-room upon
the ground floor, through the open door of which the visitor saw a sight
which arrested him for a moment. A young girl was sitting in a recess
near the window, with her lithe, supple figure bent forward, and her
hands clasped at the back of her head, while her elbows rested upon a
small table in front of her. Her superb brown hair fell in a thick wave
on either side over her white round arms, and the graceful curve of her
beautiful neck might have furnished a sculptor with a study for a
mourning Madonna. The doctor had just broken his sad tidings to her,
and she was still in the first paroxysm of her grief--a grief too acute, as
was evident even to the unsentimental mind of the merchant, to allow
of any attempt at consolation. A greyhound appeared to think
differently, for he had placed his fore-paws upon his young mistress's
lap, and was attempting to thrust his lean muzzle between her arms and
to lick her face in token of canine sympathy. The merchant paused
irresolutely for a moment, and then ascending the broad staircase he
pushed open the door of Harston's room and entered.

The blinds were drawn down and the chamber was very dark. A
pungent whiff of disinfectants issued from it, mingled with the dank,
heavy smell of disease. The bed was in a far corner. Without seeing
him, Girdlestone could hear the fast laboured breathing of the invalid.
A trimly dressed nurse who had been sitting by the bedside rose, and,
recognizing the visitor, whispered a few words to him and left the room.
He pulled the cord of the Venetian blind so as to admit a few rays of
daylight. The great chamber looked dreary and bare, as carpet and
hangings had been removed to lessen the chance of future infection.
John Girdlestone stepped softly across to the bedside and sat down by
his dying friend.
The sufferer was lying on his back, apparently unconscious of all
around him. His glazed eyes were turned upwards towards the ceiling,
and his parched lips were parted, while the breath came in quick,
spasmodic gasps. Even the unskilled eye of the merchant could tell that
the angel of death was hovering very near him. With an ungainly
attempt at tenderness, which had something pathetic in it, he moistened
a sponge and passed it over the sick man's feverish brow. The latter
turned his restless head round, and a gleam of recognition and gratitude
came into his eyes.
"I knew that you would come," he said.
"Yes. I came the moment that I got your message."
"I am glad that you are here," the sufferer continued with a sigh of
relief. From the brightened expression upon his pinched face, it seemed
as if, even now in the jaws of death, he leaned upon his old
schoolfellow and looked to him for assistance. He put a wasted hand
above the counterpane and laid it upon Girdlestone's.
"I wish to speak to you, John," he said. "I am very weak. Can you hear
what I say?"
"Yes, I hear you."
"Give me a spoonful from that bottle. It clears my mind for a time. I

have been making my will, John."
"Yes," said the merchant, replacing the medicine bottle.
"The lawyer made it this morning. Stoop your head and you will hear
me better. I have less than