Doctor Izard ebook

Contents

Chapter 1. No. Thirteen, Ward Thirteen

Chapter 2. Hadley’s Cave

Chapter 3. The Young Heiress

Chapter 4. Dr. Izard

Chapter 5. Nocturnal Wanderings

Chapter 6. The Portrait

Chapter 7. What The Stroke Of A Bell Can Do

Chapter 8. The House On The Hill

Chapter 9. Ask Dr. Izard

Chapter 10. An Incredible Occurrence

Chapter 11. Face To Face

Chapter 12. At Home

Chapter 13. A Test

Chapter 14. Grace

Chapter 15. The Small, Slight Man

Chapter 16. The Letter

Chapter 17. Midnight At The Old Izard Place

Chapter 18. A Decision

Chapter 19. To-Morrow

Chapter 20. Dr. Izard’s Last Day In Hamilton

Chapter 1. No. Thirteen, Ward Thirteen

It was after midnight. Quiet had settled over the hospital, and in Ward 13 there was no sound and scarcely a movement. The nurse, a strong and beautiful figure, had fallen into a reverie, and the two patients, which were all the ward contained, lay in a sleep so deep that it seemed to foreshadow the death which was hovering over them both.

They were both men. The one on the right of the nurse was middle-aged; the one on the left somewhat older. Both were gaunt, both were hollow-eyed, both had been given up by the doctors and attendants. Yet there was one point of difference between them. He on the left, the older of the two, had an incurable complaint for which no remedy was possible, while he on the right, though seemingly as ill as his fellow, was less seriously affected, and stood some chance of being saved if only he would arouse from his apathy and exert his will toward living. But nothing had as yet been found to interest him, and he seemed likely to die from sheer inanition. It is through this man’s eyes that we must observe the scene which presently took place in this quiet room.

He had been lying, as I have said, in a dreamless sleep, when something–he never knew what–made him conscious of himself and partially awake to his surroundings. He found himself listening, but there was no sound; and his eyes, which he had not unclosed for hours, slowly opened, and through the shadows which encompassed him broke a dim vision of the silent ward and the sitting figure of the weary nurse. It was an accustomed sight, and his eyes were softly reclosing when a sudden movement on the part of the nurse roused him again to something like interest, and though his apathy was yet too great for him to make a movement or utter a sound, he perceived, though with dim eyes at first, that the door at the other end of the ward had slowly opened, and that two men were advancing down the room to the place where the nurse stood waiting in evident surprise to greet them. One was the hospital doctor, and on him the sick man cast but a single glance; but the person with him was a stranger, and upon him the attention of the silent watcher became presently concentrated, for his appearance was singular and his errand one of evident mystery.

There was but one light in the room, and this was burning low, so that the impression received was general rather than particular. He saw before him a medium-sized man who sought to hide his face from observation, though this face was already sufficiently shielded by the semi-darkness and by the brim of a large hat which for some reason he had omitted to remove. Around his shoulders there hung a cloak of an old-fashioned type, and as he approached the spot where the nurse stood, his form, which had shown some dignity while he was advancing, contracted itself in such a fashion that he looked smaller than he really was.

The physician who accompanied him was the first to speak.

“Is No. Twelve asleep?” he asked.

The nurse bowed slightly, half turning her head as she did so.

The watching man was No. Thirteen, not No. Twelve, but his eyes shut at the question, perhaps because he was still overcome by his apathy, perhaps because his curiosity had been aroused and he feared to stop events by betraying his interest in them.

“I am afraid we shall have to wake him,” pursued the attendant physician. “This gentleman here, who declines to give his name, but who has brought letters which sufficiently recommend him to our regard, professes to have business with this patient which will not keep till morning. Has the patient shown any further signs of sinking?”

She answered in a cheerful tone that he had slept since ten without waking, and the two men began to approach. As they did so both turned toward the bed of the second sick man, and one of them, the stranger, remarked with something like doubt in his tones, “Is this man as low as he looks? Is he dying, too?” The answer was a qualified one, and the stranger appeared to turn his back, but presently the strained ears of the seemingly unconscious man heard a breath panting near his own, and was conscious of some person bending over his cot. Next minute the question was whispered in his hearing:

“Are you sure this man is asleep?”

The doctor, who was standing close by, murmured an affirmative, and the nurse to whom the questioner had apparently turned, observed without any hesitation in her slightly mystified tone:

“I have not seen him move since eight o’clock; besides, if he were awake, he would show no consciousness. He is dying from sheer hopelessness, and a cannon fired at his side would not rouse him.”

The “humph” which this assurance called forth from the stranger had a peculiar sound in it, but the attention which had been directed to No. Thirteen now passed to his neighbor, and the former, feeling himself for the instant unobserved, partially opened his eyes to see how that neighbor was affected by it. A few whispered words had accomplished what a cannon had been thought unable to do, and he was beginning to realize an interest in life, or at least in what was going on in reference to his fellow patient. The words were these:

“This is a hopeless case, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long a time do you give him?”

The tone was professional, though not entirely unsympathetic.

“Dr. Sweet says a week; I say three days.”

The stranger bent over the patient, and it was at this point that the watcher’s eyes opened.

“Three days is nearer the mark,” the visitor at last declared.

At which the attending physician bowed.

“I should be glad to have a few moments’ conversation with your patient,” the stranger now pursued. “If he is unhappy, I think I can bring him comfort. He has relatives, you say.”

“Yes, a daughter, over whose helpless position he constantly grieves.”

“He is poor, then?”

“Very.”

“Good! I have pleasant news for him. Will you allow me to rouse him?”

“Certainly, if you have a communication justifying the slight shock.”

The stranger, whose head had sunk upon his breast, cast a keen look around. “I beg your pardon,” said he, “but I must speak to the man alone; he himself would choose it, but neither you nor the nurse need leave the room.”

The doctor bowed and withdrew with marked respect; the nurse lingered a moment, during which both of the sick men lay equally quiet and death-like; then she also stepped aside. The stranger was left standing between the two beds.

Soon the sensitive ears of the watchful one heard these words: “Your little daughter sends her love.”

Opening his eyes a trifle, he saw the stranger bending over the other’s pillow. A sigh which was not new to his ears rose from his dying companion, at sound of which the stranger added softly:

“You fear to leave the child, but God is merciful. He makes it possible for you to provide for her; do you want to hear how?” A low cry, then a sudden feeble move, and No. Twelve was speaking in hurried, startled words:

“Who are you, sir? What do you want with me, and what are you saying about my child? I don’t know you.”

“No? And yet I am likely to be your greatest benefactor. But first take these few drops; they will help you to understand me. You are afraid? You need not be. I am–” He whispered a name into the sick man’s ear which his companion could not catch. “That is our secret,” he added, “and one which I charge you to preserve,”

No. Thirteen, unable to restrain his curiosity at this, stole another glance at the adjoining cot from under his scarcely lifted lids. His moribund neighbor had risen partially on his pillow and was gazing with burning intensity at the man who was leaning toward him.

“O sir,” came from the pale and working lips, as he tried to raise a feeble hand. “You mean to help my little one, you? But why should you do it? What claim has my misfortune or her innocence on you that you should concern yourself with our desperate condition?”

“No claim,” came in the stranger’s calm but impressive tones. “It is not charity I seek to bestow on you, but payment for a service you can render me. A perfectly legitimate, though somewhat unusual one,” he hastened to add, as the man’s face showed doubt.

“What–what is it?” faltered from the sick man’s lips in mingled doubt and hope. “What can a poor and wretched being, doomed to speedy death, do for a man like you? I fear you are mocking me, sir.”

“You can be the medium–” the words came slowly and with some hesitation–“for the payment of a debt I dare not liquidate in my own person. I owe someone–a large amount–of money. If I give it to you–” (he leaned closer and spoke lower, but the ears that were listening were very sharp, and not a syllable was lost) “will you give it to the person whom I will name?”

“But how? When? I am dying, they say, and–”

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