Blind Policy. Fenn George Manville

horses seem to crawl. Oh, it is too horrible – too horrible! I cannot bear it!”

      By a quick, impulsive movement the speaker threw herself forward, to sink upon her knees in the bottom of the brougham, pressing her hands to her mouth, and resting her face upon them against the padded cushion by the front window; while, feeling strangely moved, Chester leaned slightly over her with his hands half raised, in the desire he dared not gratify, to raise her to her seat and whisper gentle words of comfort. At that time it did not occur to him that it seemed strange for a gentleman – he must be a gentleman; everything suggested it – to be handling a pistol at dessert. All he could think of was the terrible suffering of his companion, and his attention was centred upon her as he saw the agony she suffered, while as yet he could do nothing.

      She sprang up as suddenly as she had thrown herself down, and her voice and look thrilled him again as she said sharply —

      “I can’t pray: it is too horrible. Don’t notice me; don’t speak to me, please, doctor. I am half mad.”

      She flung herself back in the corner and covered her face with her hands, while, totally oblivious of the direction taken by the driver, Chester sat back in his own place, gazing at his companion, and weaving a romance.

      It was some story of love, he told himself – love and jealousy – for the woman at his side was beautiful enough to tempt a saint. That was it, he was sure, and the distracted husband had attempted to or had committed suicide.

      “What is it to me?” he said to himself, fiercely, and he wondered now that he should have been so strangely moved. His professional instincts had the mastery again, and for the first time he looked out through the drawn-up glass to try and see what street they were in. But at that moment his companion started again.

      “Shall we never be there?” she cried in her agony. “Ah! at last!”

      For the horses were pulled up suddenly, there was a flash of light from an open hall, and a gentleman ran down and tore open the brougham door.

      “Brought him?”

      “Yes, yes!” cried the lady, springing out and turning to snatch at the doctor’s wrist and hurry him up the steps.

      Once more the strange thrill ran through Fred Chester’s nerves and his heart throbbed heavily. Then they were inside a handsome entry, and he saw statuary, pictures, a cluster of electric lights, in rapid sequence, as he hurried over soft carpets to the back of the house, and into a handsome dining-room in which some eight or nine ladies and gentlemen in evening dress were clustered about a couch drawn up near a table covered with glass and plate, flowers, fruit, and the signs of the interrupted dessert, seen by a bouquet of soft incandescent lights.

      The sight of the figure on the couch was enough, and Chester was fully himself as his companion ran to the sufferer, threw herself on her knees, and kissed the white face there.

      “Be my own brave boy,” she whispered hoarsely. “The doctor is here.”

      “Be kind enough to leave the room, all but two of you gentlemen,” said Chester, sternly.

      “No; I shall stay,” cried the lady, firmly, as she threw off the thick mantilla and fur-lined cloak, to stand there bare-armed and palpitating. “I will not leave you, Rob,” she cooed over the wounded man. “Doctor, I will be nurse.”

      The doctor bowed his head, and as all left the room but two of the gentlemen, he hurriedly made his examination, and probed in vain for the bullet, which had passed in under the left shoulder-blade, inflicting a dangerous wound, against which, at intervals, the lady pressed her handkerchief.

      The patient bore all with remarkable fortitude, and in the moments of his greatest agony set his teeth and held on by his nurse’s hand, while she bent down from time to time from watching every movement of the doctor, and pressed her trembling lips to the sufferer’s hand.

      At last the examination was over, and the wounded man lay very white and still; while Chester made use of a finger-glass and napkin to remove the ugly marks from the white hands.

      “Drink this, doctor,” whispered one of the gentlemen who had waited upon him, no servant having been seen.

      Chester, who had had eyes only for his patient, turned sharply, and took a tumbler of Burgundy from the well-bred man who offered it, drank a few mouthfuls, and set the glass down close by the weapon which had caused the wound, and which lay near a dish containing a large pine.

      Chester raised his brows a little as he now saw the richness of the table appointments, and at the same time grasped the fact that he was in some wealthy home. Then this was endorsed as he turned and his eyes lit upon the lady kneeling on the other side of the couch, pale and beautiful, for he noted that she had magnificent diamonds in her hair, about her neck, and clasped upon her soft white wrists.

      “Say something, doctor,” she whispered pleadingly.

      “I cannot, madam, yet.”

      “But he will live?” she wailed.

      “Please God, madam. Gentlemen, the case is serious,” he said, turning to those who were watching him. “I should like someone else called in for consultation.”

      “No,” said one of the gentlemen, decisively. “If you cannot save him, no one can.”

      “Jem,” said the other, hoarsely, “it’s murder not to – ”

      “Silence!” said the first speaker, sternly. “Dr Chester will save him if he is to be saved.”

      “Oh, Jem, Jem!” moaned the lady.

      “Be quiet, Marion. He is in the right hands. No, doctor, we will have no one else called in.”

      A low moan from the wounded man took Chester’s attention, and he knelt down again to bathe his face and lips with brandy, while the two gentlemen went to a door at the other end, passed out, and a low, hurried dispute arose, all in whispers.

      Chester heard a word or two – angry words – and grasped the fact that there must have been some desperate quarrel, ending in the unfortunate man before him being shot down. A chair was overturned, and glasses and decanters upset, as if from a struggle. But the patient was apparently slipping away, and for hour after hour through that night Chester fought the grim Spectre, striving to tear the victim from his hands, seeing nothing, nothing, nothing, forgetting everything – home, Isabel, the anxious woman at his side. His every nerve was strung to the fight, and at last he felt that he had won.

      His face showed it as he rose, uttering a sigh of relief, and his fellow-watcher at the other side of the couch sprang from her knees, caught his hands in hers, and kissed them passionately, while the rest of the company came slowly back into the room.

      “Then he’ll live, doctor?” whispered the gentleman the others had addressed as Jem.

      “I hope so. He is sleeping easily now. I will come back about nine. There is not likely to be any change. If there is, of course I must be fetched.”

      “Have some refreshment, doctor,” said the gentleman he addressed. “You must not leave him.”

      Wearied out as he was, this was enough to irritate Chester.

      “I am the best judge of that, sir,” he said coldly. “Of course the patient must not be left.”

      “That is what we all feel, doctor. Ask what fee you please, but you must stay.”

      “Yes, yes; pray, pray stay, doctor,” cried the lady in a pleading voice which went to his heart.

      “It is impossible, madam. I have others to think of as well as your – friend.”

      He could not for the life of him say husband.

      “I will be back about nine.”

      “Sir, we beg of you to stay,” said the gentleman who took the lead, earnestly.

      “I have told you, sir, that I cannot. I must leave you now.”

      “No, no, doctor!” whispered the lady.

      “Madam, it is not necessary