A Woman-Hater [198]
and set upon the edge of the bed, and his coat and waistcoat taken off. Then he was laid gently down on the bed, and covered with a down quilt.
Doctress Gale then requested Ina to leave the room, while she questioned the patient.
Ina retired. In a moment or two Miss Gale came out to her softly.
At sight of her face, La Klosking said, "Oh, dear; it is more serious than we thought."
"Very serious.
"Poor Edward!"
"Collect all your courage, for I cannot lie, either to patient or friend."
"And you are right," said La Klosking, trembling. "I see he is in danger."
"Worse than that. Where there's danger there is hope. Here there is none. HE IS A DEAD MAN!"
"Oh, no! no!"
"He has broken his back, and nothing can save him. His lower limbs have already lost sensation. Death will creep over the rest. Do not disturb your mind with idle hopes. You have two things to thank God for--that you took him into your own house, and that he will die easily. Indeed, were he to suffer, I should stupefy him at once, for nothing can _hurt_ him."
Ina Klosking turned faint and her knees gave way under her. Rhoda ministered to her; and while she was so employed, Dr. Menteith was announced. He was shown in to the patient, and the accident described to him. He questioned the patient, and examined him alone.
He then came out, and said he would draw a prescription. He did so.
"Doctor," said La Klosking, "tell me the truth. It cannot be worse than I fear."
"Madam," said the doctor, "medicine can do nothing for him. The spinal cord is divided. Give him anything he fancies, and my prescription if he suffers pain, not otherwise. Shall I send you a nurse?"
"No," said Mademoiselle Klosking, _"we_ will nurse him night and day."
He retired, and the friends entered on their sad duties.
When Severne saw them both by his bedside, with earnest looks of pity, he said, "Do not worry yourselves. I'm booked for the long journey. Ah, well, I shall die where I ought to have lived, and might have, if I had not been a fool."
Ina wept bitterly.
They nursed him night and day. He suffered little, and when he did, Miss Gale stupefied the pain at once; for, as she truly said, "Nothing can hurt him." Vitality gradually retired to his head, and lingered there a whole day. But, to his last moment, the art of pleasing never abandoned him. Instead of worrying for this or that every moment, he showed in this desperate condition singular patience and well-bred fortitude. He checked his wife's tears; assured her it was all for the best, and that he was reconciled to the inevitable. "I have had a happier time than I deserve," said he, "and now I have a painless death, nursed by two sweet women. My only regret is that I shall not be able to repay your devotion, Ina, nor become worthy of your friendship, Miss Gale."
He died without fear, it being his conviction that he should return after death to the precise condition in which he was before birth; and when they begged him to see a clergyman, he said, "Pray do not give yourselves or him that trouble. I can melt back into the universe without his assistance."
He even died content; for this polished Bohemian had often foreseen that, if he lived long, he should die miserably.
But the main feature of his end was his extraordinary politeness. He paid Miss Gale compliments just as if he were at his ease on a sofa: and scarce an hour before his decease he said, faintly, "I declare--I have been so busy--dying--I have forgotten to send my kind regards to good Mr. Ashmead. Pray tell him I did not forget his kindness to me."
He just ceased to live, so quiet was his death, and a smile rested on his dead features, and they were as beautiful as ever.
So ended a fair, pernicious creature, endowed too richly with the art of pleasing, and quite devoid of principle. Few bad men knew right so well, and went so wrong. Ina buried her face for hours on his bed, and kissed his cold features and hand. She had told him before he died she would recall all her resolutions, if he would live. But he
Doctress Gale then requested Ina to leave the room, while she questioned the patient.
Ina retired. In a moment or two Miss Gale came out to her softly.
At sight of her face, La Klosking said, "Oh, dear; it is more serious than we thought."
"Very serious.
"Poor Edward!"
"Collect all your courage, for I cannot lie, either to patient or friend."
"And you are right," said La Klosking, trembling. "I see he is in danger."
"Worse than that. Where there's danger there is hope. Here there is none. HE IS A DEAD MAN!"
"Oh, no! no!"
"He has broken his back, and nothing can save him. His lower limbs have already lost sensation. Death will creep over the rest. Do not disturb your mind with idle hopes. You have two things to thank God for--that you took him into your own house, and that he will die easily. Indeed, were he to suffer, I should stupefy him at once, for nothing can _hurt_ him."
Ina Klosking turned faint and her knees gave way under her. Rhoda ministered to her; and while she was so employed, Dr. Menteith was announced. He was shown in to the patient, and the accident described to him. He questioned the patient, and examined him alone.
He then came out, and said he would draw a prescription. He did so.
"Doctor," said La Klosking, "tell me the truth. It cannot be worse than I fear."
"Madam," said the doctor, "medicine can do nothing for him. The spinal cord is divided. Give him anything he fancies, and my prescription if he suffers pain, not otherwise. Shall I send you a nurse?"
"No," said Mademoiselle Klosking, _"we_ will nurse him night and day."
He retired, and the friends entered on their sad duties.
When Severne saw them both by his bedside, with earnest looks of pity, he said, "Do not worry yourselves. I'm booked for the long journey. Ah, well, I shall die where I ought to have lived, and might have, if I had not been a fool."
Ina wept bitterly.
They nursed him night and day. He suffered little, and when he did, Miss Gale stupefied the pain at once; for, as she truly said, "Nothing can hurt him." Vitality gradually retired to his head, and lingered there a whole day. But, to his last moment, the art of pleasing never abandoned him. Instead of worrying for this or that every moment, he showed in this desperate condition singular patience and well-bred fortitude. He checked his wife's tears; assured her it was all for the best, and that he was reconciled to the inevitable. "I have had a happier time than I deserve," said he, "and now I have a painless death, nursed by two sweet women. My only regret is that I shall not be able to repay your devotion, Ina, nor become worthy of your friendship, Miss Gale."
He died without fear, it being his conviction that he should return after death to the precise condition in which he was before birth; and when they begged him to see a clergyman, he said, "Pray do not give yourselves or him that trouble. I can melt back into the universe without his assistance."
He even died content; for this polished Bohemian had often foreseen that, if he lived long, he should die miserably.
But the main feature of his end was his extraordinary politeness. He paid Miss Gale compliments just as if he were at his ease on a sofa: and scarce an hour before his decease he said, faintly, "I declare--I have been so busy--dying--I have forgotten to send my kind regards to good Mr. Ashmead. Pray tell him I did not forget his kindness to me."
He just ceased to live, so quiet was his death, and a smile rested on his dead features, and they were as beautiful as ever.
So ended a fair, pernicious creature, endowed too richly with the art of pleasing, and quite devoid of principle. Few bad men knew right so well, and went so wrong. Ina buried her face for hours on his bed, and kissed his cold features and hand. She had told him before he died she would recall all her resolutions, if he would live. But he