Lucius Davoren, Volume I by Mary Elizabeth Braddon

By this time Mr. Hossack and his friend had come from the pleasant country road into the shabbiest outskirt of Stillmington, that outskirt which contained Marlow-street. Strange that even in so select a town as Stillmington, Poverty will set up its tents.

The shop had been shut some time, but the door stood ajar, and a light burnt dimly within. Geoffrey and his companion were expected. Miss Grabbit was yawning over a tattered novel in her accustomed place behind the counter.

‘O, is it the doctor, sir? ' she exclaimed, brightening. ‘Will you walk up-stairs, please? Mother's with the little girl, and she's been sleeping beautiful. I feel sure she's took a turn.'

‘Is Mrs. Bertram up-stairs? ' asked Geoffrey.

‘No, she's lying down a bit on our sofa in there,' pointing to the closed door of communication between the shop and parlour. ‘She was right down worn out, and mother persuaded her to try and get a little rest. Mother will take all your directions, sir,' she added to Lucius.

That gentleman bowed, but said nothing. A curious mother this! The mothers he knew were wont to hang upon his words as on the sacred sentences of an oracle. He followed Geoffrey up the narrow stairs to the little bedroom where the child lay asleep. The pure spotless look of the small chamber struck him, and the beauty of the child's face was no common beauty. There was something in it which impressed him curiously-something that seemed familiar-familiar as a half-remembered dream. Good Heaven, was it not his dead sister's face that this one recalled to him-the face of the little sister who died years ago?

The fancy moved him deeply; and his hand trembled a little as he lightly raised the bedclothes from the child's throat and chest, with that gentle touch of the doctor's skilful hand, and bent down to listen to the breathing. All was satisfactory. He went through his examination calmly enough, that transient emotion once conquered; felt the slender wrist, performed that unpleasant operation with a silver spoon to which we have all submitted our unwilling throats at divers periods, and then pronounced that all was going on well.

He had gone round the bed to the side facing the door, in order to get nearer to his patient, who lay nearer this side than the other. He sat by the pillow, and gave his directions to Mrs. Grabbit without looking up from the little girl, whose hot hand lay gently held in his, while his grave eyes were bent upon the small fever-flushed face. Geoffrey had entered softly during the last few moments, and stood at the foot of the bed.

When Lucius had finished his instructions as to treatment, he looked up.

The door opposite the bed was open, and a woman stood upon the threshold-a tall slim figure dressed in black, a pale anxious face, beautiful even in its sadness.

At sight of that silent figure, the surgeon started from his seat with a smothered cry of surprise. The sad eyes met his steadily with an imploring look, a look that for him spoke plainly enough.

Geoffrey looked at him wonderingly, perplexed by that startled movement.

‘What's the matter? ' he asked.

‘Nothing. But I saw a lady looking in at that door. The mother perhaps.'

Geoffrey darted into the sitting-room. Yes she was there, standing by the window in the wan light of a week-old moon, with tears streaming down her face.

‘My dear Mrs. Bertram, pray, pray do not distress yourself! ' cried Geoffrey, to whom the office of consoler was new and strange. ‘All is going on well; nothing could be more satisfactory-Lucius says so. She will be herself again in a few days.'

‘Thank God, and thank your friend for me,' she said, in a voice choked with sobs. ‘I could not rest down-stairs; I wanted to hear what he said. Tell him I thank him with all my heart.'

‘Thank him with your own lips,' pleaded Geoffrey; ‘he will value your words far above mine. And you don't know what a good fellow he is.'

‘Let Mrs. Bertram feel assured that I am only too happy to have been of use,' said the voice of Lucius from the threshold.

Mrs. Bertram hurried to the door, where the surgeon's figure stood, tall and dark, on the unlighted landing.