Then, as he was silent:--
"If you'll marry me, I'll be true to you all my life. I swear it. There will be nobody else, ever."
The sense, if not the words, of what he had sworn to Sidney that Sunday afternoon under the trees, on this very road! Swift shame overtook him, that he should be here, that he had allowed Carlotta to remain in ignorance of how things really stood between them.
"I'm sorry, Carlotta. It's impossible. I'm engaged to marry some one else."
"Sidney Page?"--almost a whisper.
"Yes."
He was ashamed at the way she took the news. If she had stormed or wept, he would have known what to do. But she sat still, not speaking.
"You must have expected it, sooner or later."
Still she made no reply. He thought she might faint, and looked at her anxiously. Her profile, indistinct beside him, looked white and drawn. But Carlotta was not fainting. She was making a desperate plan. If their escapade became known, it would end things between Sidney and him. She was sure of that. She needed time to think it out. It must become known without any apparent move on her part. If, for instance, she became ill, and was away from the hospital all night, that might answer. The thing would be investigated, and who knew--
The car turned in at Schwitter's road and drew up before the house. The narrow porch was filled with small tables, above which hung rows of electric lights enclosed in Japanese paper lanterns. Midweek, which had found the White Springs Hotel almost deserted, saw Schwitter's crowded tables set out under the trees. Seeing the crowd, Wilson drove directly to the yard and parked his machine.
"No need of running any risk," he explained to the still figure beside him. "We can walk back and take a table under the trees, away from those infernal lanterns."
She reeled a little as he helped her out.
"Not sick, are you?"
"I'm dizzy. I'm all right."
She looked white. He felt a stab of pity for her. She leaned rather heavily on him as they walked toward the house. The faint perfume that had almost intoxicated him, earlier, vaguely irritated him now.
At the rear of the house she shook off his arm and preceded him around the building. She chose the end of the porch as the place in which to drop, and went down like a stone, falling back.
There was a moderate excitement. The visitors at Schwitter's were too much engrossed with themselves to be much interested. She opened her eyes almost as soon as she fell--to forestall any tests; she was shrewd enough to know that Wilson would detect her malingering very quickly--and begged to be taken into the house. "I feel very ill," she said, and her white face bore her out.
Schwitter and Bill carried her in and up the stairs to one of the newly furnished rooms. The little man was twittering with anxiety. He had a horror of knockout drops and the police. They laid her on the bed, her hat beside her; and Wilson, stripping down the long sleeve of her glove, felt her pulse.
"There's a doctor in the next town," said Schwitter. "I was going to send for him, anyhow--my wife's not very well."
"I'm a doctor."
"Is it anything serious?"
"Nothing serious."
He closed the door behind the relieved figure of the landlord, and, going back to Carlotta, stood looking down at her.
"What did you mean by doing that?"
"Doing what?"
"You were no more faint than I am."
She closed her eyes.
"I don't remember. Everything went black. The lanterns--"
He crossed the room deliberately and went out, closing the door behind him. He saw at once where he stood--in what danger. If she insisted that she was ill and unable to go back, there would be a fuss. The story would come out. Everything would be gone. Schwitter's, of all places!
At the foot of the stairs, Schwitter pulled himself together. After all, the girl was only ill. There was nothing for the police. He looked at his watch. The doctor ought to be here by this time. It was sooner than they had expected. Even the nurse had not come. Tillie was alone, out in the harness-room. He looked through the crowded rooms, at the overflowing porch with its travesty of pleasure, and he hated the whole thing with a desperate hatred.
Another car. Would they never stop coming! But perhaps it was the doctor. A young man edged his way into the hall and confronted him.
"Two people just arrived here. A man and a woman--in white. Where are they?"
It was trouble then, after all!
"Upstairs--first bedroom to the right." His teeth chattered. Surely, as a man sowed he reaped.
Joe went up the staircase. At the top, on the landing, he confronted Wilson. He fired at him without a word--saw him fling up his arms and fall back, striking first the wall, then the floor.
The buzz of conversation on the porch suddenly ceased. Joe put his revolver in his pocket and went quietly down the stairs. The crowd parted to let him through.
Carlotta, crouched in her room, listening, not daring to open the door, heard the sound of a car as it swung out into the road.
CHAPTER XXV
On the evening of the shooting at Schwitter's, there had been a late operation at the hospital. Sidney, having duly transcribed her lecture notes and said her prayers, was already asleep when she received the insistent summons to the operating-room. She dressed again with flying fingers. These night battles with death roused all her fighting blood. There were times when she felt as if, by sheer will, she could force strength, life itself, into failing bodies. Her sensitive nostrils dilated, her brain worked like a machine.
That night she received well-deserved praise. When the Lamb, telephoning hysterically, had failed to locate the younger Wilson, another staff surgeon was called. His keen eyes watched Sidney--felt her capacity, her fiber, so to speak; and, when everything was over, he told her what was in his mind.
"Don't wear yourself out, girl," he said gravely. "We need people like you. It was good work to-night--fine work. I wish we had more like you."
By midnight the work was done, and the nurse in charge sent Sidney to bed.
It was the Lamb who received the message about Wilson; and because he was not very keen at the best, and because the news was so startling, he refused to credit his ears.
"Who is this at the 'phone?"
"That doesn't matter. Le Moyne's my name. Get the message to Dr. Ed Wilson at once. We are starting to the city."
"Tell me again. I mustn't make a mess of this."
"Dr. Wilson, the surgeon, has been shot," came slowly and distinctly. "Get the staff there and have a room ready. Get the operating-room ready, too."
The Lamb wakened then, and roused the house. He was incoherent, rather, so that Dr. Ed got the impression that it was Le Moyne who had been shot, and only learned the truth when he got to the hospital.
"Where is he?" he demanded. He liked K., and his heart was sore within him.
"Not in yet, sir. A Mr. Le Moyne is bringing him. Staff's in the executive committee room, sir."
"But--who has been shot? I thought you said--"
The Lamb turned pale at that, and braced himself.
"I'm sorry--I thought you understood. I believe it's not--not serious. It's Dr. Max, sir."
Dr. Ed, who was heavy and not very young, sat down on an office chair. Out of sheer habit he had brought the bag. He put it down on the floor beside him, and moistened his lips.
"Is he living?"
"Oh, yes, sir. I gathered that Mr. Le Moyne did not think it serious."
He lied, and Dr. Ed knew he lied.
The Lamb stood by the door, and Dr. Ed sat and waited. The office clock said half after three. Outside the windows, the night world went by--taxi-cabs full of roisterers, women who walked stealthily close to the buildings, a truck carrying steel, so heavy that it shook the hospital as it rumbled by.
Dr. Ed sat and waited. The bag with the dog-collar in it was on the floor. He thought of many things, but mostly of the promise he had made his mother. And, having forgotten the i
njured man's shortcomings, he was remembering his good qualities--his cheerfulness, his courage, his achievements. He remembered the day Max had done the Edwardes operation, and how proud he had been of him. He figured out how old he was--not thirty-one yet, and already, perhaps--There he stopped thinking. Cold beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.
"I think I hear them now, sir," said the Lamb, and stood back respectfully to let him pass out of the door.
Carlotta stayed in the room during the consultation. No one seemed to wonder why she was there, or to pay any attention to her. The staff was stricken. They moved back to make room for Dr. Ed beside the bed, and then closed in again.
Carlotta waited, her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming. Surely they would operate; they wouldn't let him die like that!
When she saw the phalanx break up, and realized that they would not operate, she went mad. She stood against the door, and accused them of cowardice--taunted them.
"Do you think he would let any of you die like that?" she cried. "Die like a hurt dog, and none of you to lift a hand?"
It was Pfeiffer who drew her out of the room and tried to talk reason and sanity to her.
"It's hopeless," he said. "If there was a chance, we'd operate, and you know it."
The staff went hopelessly down the stairs to the smoking-room, and smoked. It was all they could do. The night assistant sent coffee down to them, and they drank it. Dr. Ed stayed in his brother's room, and said to his mother, under his breath, that he'd tried to do his best by Max, and that from now on it would be up to her.
K. had brought the injured man in. The country doctor had come, too, finding Tillie's trial not imminent. On the way in he had taken it for granted that K. was a medical man like himself, and had placed his hypodermic case at his disposal.
When he missed him,--in the smoking-room, that was,--he asked for him.
"I don't see the chap who came in with us," he said. "Clever fellow. Like to know his name."
The staff did not know.
K. sat alone on a bench in the hall. He wondered who would tell Sidney; he hoped they would be very gentle with her. He sat in the shadow, waiting. He did not want to go home and leave her to what she might have to face. There was a chance she would ask for him. He wanted to be near, in that case.
He sat in the shadow, on the bench. The night watchman went by twice and stared at him. At last he asked K. to mind the door until he got some coffee.
"One of the staff's been hurt," he explained. "If I don't get some coffee now, I won't get any."
K. promised to watch the door.
A desperate thing had occurred to Carlotta. Somehow, she had not thought of it before. Now she wondered how she could have failed to think of it. If only she could find him and he would do it! She would go down on her knees--would tell him everything, if only he would consent.
When she found him on his bench, however, she passed him by. She had a terrible fear that he might go away if she put the thing to him first. He clung hard to his new identity.
So first she went to the staff and confronted them. They were men of courage, only declining to undertake what they considered hopeless work. The one man among them who might have done the thing with any chance of success lay stricken. Not one among them but would have given of his best--only his best was not good enough.
"It would be the Edwardes operation, wouldn't it?" demanded Carlotta.
The staff was bewildered. There were no rules to cover such conduct on the part of a nurse. One of them--Pfeiffer again, by chance--replied rather heavily:--
"If any, it would be the Edwardes operation."
"Would Dr. Edwardes himself be able to do anything?"
This was going a little far.
"Possibly. One chance in a thousand, perhaps. But Edwardes is dead. How did this thing happen, Miss Harrison?"
She ignored his question. Her face was ghastly, save for the trace of rouge; her eyes were red-rimmed.
"Dr. Edwardes is sitting on a bench in the hall outside!" she announced.
Her voice rang out. K. heard her and raised his head. His attitude was weary, resigned. The thing had come, then! He was to take up the old burden. The girl had told.
Dr. Ed had sent for Sidney. Max was still unconscious. Ed remembered about her when, tracing his brother's career from his babyhood to man's estate and to what seemed now to be its ending, he had remembered that Max was very fond of Sidney. He had hoped that Sidney would take him and do for him what he, Ed, had failed to do.
So Sidney was summoned.
She thought it was another operation, and her spirit was just a little weary. But her courage was indomitable. She forced her shoes on her tired feet, and bathed her face in cold water to rouse herself.
The night watchman was in the hall. He was fond of Sidney; she always smiled at him; and, on his morning rounds at six o'clock to waken the nurses, her voice was always amiable. So she found him in the hall, holding a cup of tepid coffee. He was old and bleary, unmistakably dirty too--but he had divined Sidney's romance.
"Coffee! For me?" She was astonished.
"Drink it. You haven't had much sleep."
She took it obediently, but over the cup her eyes searched his.
"There is something wrong, daddy."
That was his name, among the nurses. He had had another name, but it was lost in the mists of years.
"Get it down."
So she finished it, not without anxiety that she might be needed. But daddy's attentions were for few, and not to be lightly received.
"Can you stand a piece of bad news?"
Strangely, her first thought was of K.
"There has been an accident. Dr. Wilson--"
"Which one?"
"Dr. Max--has been hurt. It ain't much, but I guess you'd like to know it."
"Where is he?"
"Downstairs, in Seventeen."
So she went down alone to the room where Dr. Ed sat in a chair, with his untidy bag beside him on the floor, and his eyes fixed on a straight figure on the bed. When he saw Sidney, he got up and put his arms around her. His eyes told her the truth before he told her anything. She hardly listened to what he said. The fact was all that concerned her--that her lover was dying there, so near that she could touch him with her hand, so far away that no voice, no caress of hers, could reach him.
The why would come later. Now she could only stand, with Dr. Ed's arms about her, and wait.
"If they would only do something!" Sidney's voice sounded strange to her ears.
"There is nothing to do."
But that, it seemed, was wrong. For suddenly Sidney's small world, which had always sedately revolved in one direction, began to move the other way.
The door opened, and the staff came in. But where before they had moved heavily, with drooped heads, now they came quickly, as men with a purpose. There was a tall man in a white coat with them. He ordered them about like children, and they hastened to do his will. At first Sidney only knew that now, at last, they were going to do something--the tall man was going to do something. He stood with his back to Sidney, and gave orders.
The heaviness of inactivity lifted. The room buzzed. The nurses stood by, while the staff did nurses' work. The senior surgical interne, essaying assistance, was shoved aside by the senior surgical consultant, and stood by, aggrieved.
It was the Lamb, after all, who brought the news to Sidney. The new activity had caught Dr. Ed, and she was alone now, her face buried against the back of a chair.
"There'll be something doing now, Miss Page," he offered.
"What are they going to do?"
"Going after the bullet. Do you know who's going to do it?"
His voice echoed the subdued excitement of the room--excitement and new hope.
"Did you ever hear of Edwardes, the surgeon?--the Edwardes operation, you know. Well, he's here. It sounds like a miracle. They found him sitting on a bench in the hall downstairs."
Sidney rais
ed her head, but she could not see the miraculously found Edwardes. She could see the familiar faces of the staff, and that other face on the pillow, and--she gave a little cry. There was K.! How like him to be there, to be wherever anyone was in trouble! Tears came to her eyes--the first tears she had shed.
As if her eyes had called him, he looked up and saw her. He came toward her at once. The staff stood back to let him pass, and gazed after him. The wonder of what had happened was growing on them.
K. stood beside Sidney, and looked down at her. Just at first it seemed as if he found nothing to say. Then:
"There's just a chance, Sidney dear. Don't count too much on it."
"I have got to count on it. If I don't, I shall die."
If a shadow passed over his face, no one saw it.
"I'll not ask you to go back to your room. If you will wait somewhere near, I'll see that you have immediate word."
"I am going to the operating-room."
"Not to the operating-room. Somewhere near."
His steady voice controlled her hysteria. But she resented it. She was not herself, of course, what with strain and weariness.
"I shall ask Dr. Edwardes."
He was puzzled for a moment. Then he understood. After all, it was as well. Whether she knew him as Le Moyne or as Edwardes mattered very little, after all. The thing that really mattered was that he must try to save Wilson for her. If he failed--It ran through his mind that if he failed she might hate him the rest of her life--not for himself, but for his failure; that, whichever way things went, he must lose.
"Dr. Edwardes says you are to stay away from the operation, but to remain near. He--he promises to call you if--things go wrong."
She had to be content with that.
Nothing about that night was real to Sidney. She sat in the anaesthetizing-room, and after a time she knew that she was not alone. There was somebody else. She realized dully that Carlotta was there, too, pacing up and down the little room. She was never sure, for instance, whether she imagined it, or whether Carlotta really stopped before her and surveyed her with burning eyes.
"So you thought he was going to marry you!" said Carlotta--or the dream. "Well, you see he isn't."
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