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Page 65
James did not attempt to talk to him. It seemed like mockery, this
effort to approach with sympathy this set-apart man, who was
unapproachable.
That night Gordon's wife was much worse. Gordon came down to James's
room about two o'clock. James had been awake for some time listening to
the sounds of suffering overhead, and he had lit his lamp and dressed,
thinking that he might be needed. Gordon stood in the doorway almost
reeling. He made an effort before he spoke.
"Come into my office, will you?" he said.
James at once followed him. Going through the hall the sounds of agony
became more distinct. When they entered the office Gordon fairly slammed
the door, then he turned to Elliot with a savage expression. "Hear
that," he said, as if he were accusing the other man. "Hear that, I say!
The last hypodermic has not taken effect yet, and her heart is weak. If
I give her more--"
He stopped, staring at James, his face worked like a child's. Then
suddenly an almost idiotic expression came over it, the utter numbness
of grief. Then it passed away. Again he looked intelligently into the
young man's eyes. "If I don't give her more," he gasped out, "if I
don't, this may last hours. If I do--"
The two men stood staring at each other. James thought of Clemency. "Has
Clemency been in to see her?" he asked.
"Yes, she heard, and came in. I sent her out. She is in her own room
now; Emma is with her." Suddenly Gordon gave a look of despairing appeal
at James. "I--wish you would go up and see Clara," he whispered.
James knew what he meant. He hesitated.
"Go, and send Mrs. Blair down here," said Gordon. "Tell her I want to
see her."
"Well," said James slowly.
The two men did not look at each other again. Gordon sank into his
chair. James went out of the room and upstairs. He knocked on the door
of the sick-room, and Mrs. Blair, the village nurse, answered his knock.
She was a large woman in a voluminous wrapper. Her face had a settled
expression of gravity, almost of sternness. She looked at James. The
screams from the writhing mass of agony in the bed did not appear to be
moving her, whereas she in reality was herself screwed to such a pitch
of mental torture of pity that she was scarcely able to move. She was
rigid.
"Doctor Gordon sent me," whispered James. "He wished me to see her. He
asked me to say to you that he would like to see you for a minute in the
office."
The woman did not move for a second. Then she whispered close to James's
ear, "_It is on the bureau_."
James nodded. They passed each other. James entered the room and closed
the door. A lamp was burning on a table with a screen before it. The bed
was in shadow. The screams never ceased. They were not human. James
could not realize that the beautiful woman whom he had known was making
such sounds. They sounded like the shrieks of an animal. All the soul
seemed gone from them.
James approached the bed. There was a roll of dark eyes at him. Then a
voice ghastly beyond description, like the snarl of a hungry beast, came
from between the straight white lips. "More, more! Give me more! Be
quick!"
James hesitated.
"Quick, quick!" demanded the voice.
James crossed the room to the dresser. The sick woman now interspersed
her screams with the word "quick!"
James filled a hypodermic syringe from a glass on the bureau and
approached the bed again. He bared a shuddering arm and inserted the
instrument quickly. "Now try and be quiet," he said. "You will go to
sleep."
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