Soon afterwards Joseph came in with a message.If there was no immediate necessity for his presence in the bedchamber,Mr.Engelman would go out to get a breath of fresh air,before he retired for the night.There was no necessity for his presence;and I sent a message downstairs to that effect.
An hour later Mr.Engelman came in to see his old friend,and to say good-night.After an interval of restlessness,the sufferer had become composed,and was dozing again under the influence of his medicine.
Making all allowances for the sorrow and anxiety which Mr.Engelman must necessarily feel under the circumstances,I thought his manner strangely absent and confused.He looked like a man with some burden on his mind which he was afraid to reveal and unable to throw off.
"Somebody must be found,David,who does understand the case,"he said,looking at the helpless figure on the bed.
"Who can we find?"I asked.
He bade me good-night without answering.It is no exaggeration to say that I passed my night at the bedside in a miserable state of indecision and suspense.The doctor's experiment had failed to prove absolutely that the doctor's doubts were without foundation.In this state of things,was it my bounden duty to tell the medical men what I had seen,when I went back to the house to look for Mr.Keller's opera-glass?The more Ithought of it,the more I recoiled from the idea of throwing a frightful suspicion on Minna's mother which would overshadow an innocent woman for the rest of her life.What proof had I that she had lied to me about the sketch and the mantlepiece?And,without proof,how could I,how dare I,open my lips?I succeeded in deciding firmly enough for the alternative of silence,during the intervals when my attendance on the sick man was not required.But,when he wanted his medicine,when his pillows needed a little arrangement,when I saw his poor eyes open,and look at me vacantly--then my resolution failed me;my indecision returned;the horrid necessity of speaking showed itself again,and shook me to the soul.Never in the trials of later life have I passed such a night as that night at Mr.Keller's bedside.
When the light of the new day shone in at the window,it was but too plainly visible that the symptoms had altered for the worse.
The apathy was more profound,the wan pinched look of the face had increased,the intervals between the attacks of nervous trembling had grown shorter and shorter.Come what might of it,when Dr.Dormann paid his promised visit,I felt I was now bound to inform him that another person besides the servants and ourselves had obtained access secretly to Mr.Keller's room.
I was so completely worn out by agitation and want of sleep--and I showed it,I suppose,so plainly--that good Mr.Engelman insisted on my leaving him in charge,and retiring to rest.I lay down on my bed,with the door of my room ajar,resolved to listen for the doctor's footsteps on the stairs,and to speak to him privately after he had seen the patient.
If I had been twenty years older,I might have succeeded in carrying out my intention.But,with the young,sleep is a paramount necessity,and nature insists on obedience to its merciful law.I remember feeling drowsy;starting up from the bed,and walking about my room,to keep myself awake;then lying down again from sheer fatigue;and after that--total oblivion!When I woke,and looked at my watch,I found that Ihad been fast asleep for no less than six hours!
Bewildered and ashamed of myself--afraid to think of what might have happened in that long interval--I hurried to Mr.Keller's room,and softly knocked at the door.
A woman's voice answered me,"Come in!"
I paused with my hand on the door--the voice was familiar to me.I had a moment's doubt whether I was mad or dreaming.The voice softly repeated,"Come in!"I entered the room.
There she was,seated at the bedside,smiling quietly and lifting her finger to her lips!As certainly as I saw the familiar objects in the room,and the prostrate figure on the bed,I saw--Madame Fontaine!
"Speak low,"she said."He sleeps very lightly;he must not be disturbed."I approached the bed and looked at him.There was a faint tinge of color in his face;there was moisture on his forehead;his hands lay as still on the counterpane,in the blessed repose that possessed him,as the hands of a sleeping child.I looked round at Madame Fontaine.
She smiled again;my utter bewilderment seemed to amuse her."He is left entirely to me,David,"she said,looking tenderly at her patient."Go downstairs and see Mr.Engelman.There must be no talking here."She lightly wiped the perspiration from his forehead;lightly laid her fingers on his pulse--then reclined in the easy chair,with her eyes fixed in silent interest on the sleeping man.She was the very ideal of the nurse with fine feelings and tender hands,contemplated by Doctor Dormann when I had last seen him.Any stranger looking into the room at that moment would have said,"What a charming picture!What a devoted wife!"
CHAPTER XIX
"A tumbler of the old Marcobrunner,David,and a slice of the game pie--before I say one word about what we owe to that angel upstairs.Off with the wine,my dear boy;you look as pale as death!"With those words Mr.Engelman lit his pipe,and waited in silence until the good eating and drinking had done their good work.
"Now carry your mind back to last night,"he began."You remember my going out to get a breath of fresh air.Can you guess what that meant?"I guessed of course that it meant a visit to Madame Fontaine.
"Quite right,David.I promised to call on her earlier in the day;but poor Keller's illness made that impossible.She wrote to me under the impression that something serious must have happened to prevent me,for the first time,from keeping an appointment that I had made with her.