第111章

'Yes; pretty well. I've attended him for many years.'

'Always drinking, I suppose; always at it--eh?'

'He has not been a temperate man, certainly.'

'The brain, you see, clean gone--and not a particle of coating left to the stomach; and yet what a struggle he makes--an interesting case, isn't it?'

'It's very sad to see such an intellect so destroyed.'

'Very sad, very sad indeed. How Fillgrave would have liked to have seen this case. He is a very clever man, is Fillgrave--in his way, you know.'

'I'm sure he is,' said Dr Thorne.

'Not that he'd make anything of a case like this now--he's not, you know, quite--quite--perhaps not quite up to the new time of day, one might say so.'

'He has had a very extensive provincial practice,' said Dr Thorne.

'Oh, very--very; and made a tidy lot of money too, has Fillgrave. He's worth six thousand pounds, I suppose; now that's a good deal of money to put by in a little town like Barchester.'

'Yes, indeed.'

'What I say to Fillgrave is--keep your eyes open; one should never be too old to learn--there's always something new worth picking up. But no--he won't believe that. He can't believe that any new ideas can be worth anything. You know a man must go to the wall in that way--eh, doctor?'

And then again they were called to their patient. 'He's doing finely, finely,' said Mr Rerechild to Lady Scatcherd. 'There's fair ground to hope he'll rally; fair ground, is there not, doctor?'

'Yes; he'll rally; but how long that may last, that we can hardly say.'

'Oh, no, certainly not, certainly not--that is not with any certainty; but still he's doing finely, Lady Scatcherd, considering everything.'

'How long will you give him, doctor?' said Mr Rerechild to his new friend, when they were again alone. 'Ten days? I dare say ten days, or from that to a fortnight.'

'Perhaps so,' said the doctor. 'I should not like to say exactly to a day.'

'No, certainly not. We cannot say exactly to a day; but I say ten days; as for anything like a recovery, that you know--'

'Is out of the question,' said Dr Thorne, gravely.

'Quite so; quite so; coating of the stomach clean gone, you know; brain destroyed: did you observe the periporollida? I never saw them so swelled before: now when the periporollida are swollen like that--'

'Yes, very much; it's always the case when paralysis has been brought about by intemperance.'

'Always, always; I have remarked that always; the periporollida in such cases are always extended; most interesting case, isn't it? I do wish Fillgrave could have seen it. But, I believe you and Dr Fillgrave don't quite--eh?'

'No, not quite,'said Dr Thorne; who, as he thought of his last interview with Dr Fillgrave, and of that gentleman's exceeding anger as he stood in the hall below, could not keep himself from smiling, sad as the occasion was.

Nothing would induced Lady Scatcherd to go to bed; but the two doctors agreed to lie down, each in a room on one side of the patient. How was it possible that anything but good should come to him, being so guarded? 'He's going on finely, Lady Scatcherd, quite finely,' were the last words Mr Rerechild said as he left the room.

And then Dr Thorne, taking Lady Scatcherd's hand and leading her out into another chamber, told her the truth.

'Lady Scatcherd,' said he, in his tenderest voice--and his voice could be very tender when occasion required it--'Lady Scatcherd, do not hope; you must not hope; it would be cruel to bid you to do so.'

'Oh, doctor! oh, doctor!'

'My dear friend, there is no hope.'

'Oh, Dr Thorne!' said the wife, looking wildly up into her companion's face, though she hardly yet realized the meaning of what he said, although her senses were half stunned by the blow.

'Dear Lady Scatcherd, is it not better that I should tell you the truth?'

'Oh, I suppose so; oh yes, oh yes; ah me! ah me! ah me!' And then she began rocking herself backwards and forwards on her chair, with her apron up to her eyes.

'Look to Him, Lady Scatcherd, who only can make such grief endurable.'

'Yes, yes, yes; I suppose so. Ah me! ah me! But, Dr Thorne, there must be some chance--isn't there any chance? That man says he's going on so well.'

'I fear there is no chance--as far as my knowledge goes there is no chance.'

'Then why does that chattering magpie tell such lies to a woman? Ah me! ah me! oh, doctor! doctor! what shall I do? what shall I do?' and poor Lady Scatcherd, fairly overcome by her sorrow, burst out crying like a great school-girl.

And yet what had her husband done for her that she should thus weep for him? Would not her life be much more blessed when this cause of all her troubles should be removed from her? Would she not then be a free woman instead of a slave? Might she not then expect to begin to taste the comforts of life? What had that harsh tyrant of hers done that was good or serviceable for her? Why should she thus weep for him in paroxysms of truest grief?

We hear a good deal of jolly widows; and the slanderous raillery of the world tell much of conjugal disturbances as a cure for which women will look forward to a state of widowhood with not unwilling eyes. The raillery of the world is very slanderous. In our daily jests we attribute to each other vices of which neither we, nor our neighbours, nor our friends, nor even our enemies are ever guilty. It is our favourite parlance to talk of the family troubles of Mrs Green on our right, and to tell now Mrs Young on our left is strongly suspected of having raised her hand to her lord and master. What right have we to make these charges? What have we seen in our own personal walks through life to make us believe that women are devils? There may possibly have been Xantippe here and there, but Imogenes are to be found in every bush. Lady Scatcherd, in spite of the life she had led, was one of them.

'You should send a message up to London for Louis,' said the doctor.