THE ORIGINAL - - WOMAN.

Otago Witness, Volume 14, Issue 2648, 14 December 1904, Page 63

THE ORIGINAL - - WOMAN.

By F. FRANKFORT NOORK,

Author of "The Girls of the House," "A Whirlwind Harvest," " IJForbid the Banns," "The Adventures of Nell Gwynn," "The Jessamy Bride," &c, &c.

[Copyright.]

CHAPTER XXVHI.

URIOUSLY enough Claire failed to think greatly of the romantic features of the situation so far as it referred to herself. Maiden, wife, wi'ow — all within the space of a few hours. It- did not even occur to her that the people downstairs were say-

ing this — coupled with whatever comments a perfect appreciation of good taste might suggest to some of them in regard to her future position as the wealthiest woman in England and the prospect of her holding out against unscrupulous fortune-hunters. (It was Colonel Gilford only who added such a comment} and it was received in silence ; there was , a general feeling that he was looking too far ahead. There are degrees of gossip.)

What was absorbing all Claire's power of thought was her recollection of the previous night — her recollection of all that she had seen when looking out upon the garden on the night of her arrival at Constant Spring — that dreadful Shape which she had seen sEadowing the footsteps of the man who was now lying motionless at the other side of that wall with the green paper on it. It had followed him through the moonlight — it had only vanished into the place of shadows when she went out. That was the last time she had seen Philip Trent until she had been led into his presence an hour ago.

How mild) she dissociate that horrible thing from the striking down of the man? She thought of it with all the sane instinct of a woman. Had she not seen the figure following the man like the Shadow of Doom in a picture? And had not the doom fallen on the man from that moment? And what was the thought that came to her as a comment on all that she had seen that night? "Thank God that he kissed me as he did! Thank God that he kissed 1 me !" she cried, starting to her feet, with clasped hands.

And then she was smitten by her memory of the last night. The Figure had' reappeared, and Stephen Urquhart had gone forth to confer with it — and flying out from tho distance of the chasm of the Blue Mountains there had come the two West Indian vultures, and had swayed on toe bough of the Devil rake tree. Stephen Urquhart had gone out to hold conference with that Creature from whose arm there depended that diabolic drapery. She shudkfered at the thought of that shrivelled leather of bat's wing, with a hooked claw at every scallop-curve down to its foot.

The only other time when she was conscious^of the same feeling of horror was on awaking in the middle of the night at Suanamara and having a sense of being apart from herself — forced to listen to a voice which spoke out of the darkness, and which she could not choose but obey. That voice had forced her to be untrue to herself — to be false toward her friend and to love Stephen Urquliart. The sequence of thought was womanlynatural — convincing. It led her to Stephen Urquhart.

And there was Stephen Urquhart, standing in the doorway before her. He had/ only taken a step within Ac room. A look of inquiry was on his face. In a second she was face to face with him— close to him. She would not let him come a step into the room. There Mas menace in her attitude — menace in he rvoice. N "Go back," she said. "You are not to c"orne here — everyone is to be shut out. Go back!" He was surprised — almost amazed. ' 'iPaor child!" Ixe gaicL in a. low., jaathetic

whispei*. "Poor child! Has it come? Has the end come? Crofton said hours."

"That was an hour ago," said Claire. She found a certain pleasure in repeating the phrase employed by Sir Ellis.

"Ah ! It cannot be long delayed," said) he, and he felt that he was apologising to her for the delay. She felt exactly the same. It was his earnest hope that she would not be so unreasonable as to blame him for the delay. He hoped that she would not accuse him of failing to keep his word to her. "If he is not sleeping I will go through to him. There are some papeis " She was standing before him. "Go back," she said. "No one is to pass through to the other room. Go back !" He paused, looked at her straight in the face. "Claire," he said, mournfully, "what do you mean by this attitude? Ah, my poor child, the strain has been too much for you." At this moment the door leading to the bediroom was opened. Sir Ellis appeared. His face told them all. But he raised a finger. "Come," he whispered. "You would like to be with him at this moment." She paid no attention to him — no attention whatever.

"Go back," she said to the other man: "I will not allow you to pass the door. lam his wife. You are not to approach him."

She went so close to him that her dress touched him. She was actually going to force him back.

Of course he yield?d. The man was dying in the other room. She had been heartless — denying the poor fellow the few minutes of happiness that she had it in her power tv grant him. She might at least, he thought, have simulated, for the sake of appearances, a little devotion — decorative devotion. But he stepped) back.

She shut the door in his face with startling promptitude — indecent promptitude.

But the poor thing was overstrung. Think of what she had undergone. Think of what she had yet to face. Happily it would soon be over.

He got a second jar when he heard the sound of the door being locked.

In another second Claire had slipped past Sir Ellis and had thrown herself ■on her knees by the bedi. The nurse had her finger on the man's wiibt.

Sir Ellis, with the expression of a man who takes a purely academic view of a case, went to the other side of the bed.

The room was silent. Philip Trent was lying as still as a dead man. He did not seem to be breathing. Through the silence Claire fancied that she heard the sound as of something — it might have been a claw — scratching the corridor on each side of the bedroom door. The nurse also heard it, and became uneasy. Then there was the sound as of a butterfly or a. large moth on the walls of the room itself. Claire and the nurse both sent their eyes in the same direction, looking if they couldi see what it was that made that odd sound. It was like the rustling of the edges of stiff paper. Past their cheeks then came a breath of cold air, such as might be caused by the quick flight of a swallow lose to their faces.

Claire automatically jerked her head back. But nothing was visible that could have caused that breath of air.

The nurse crossed herself and looked down at the man's face. His eyes, that had been closed, were now open — staring. Then he smiled.

"Are you there?" he said) in a low voice — the monotone of the telephone, only in a weak whisper. "Ah, there is a greab conflict going on there. I should know what it means, but 1 don't."

The nurse had- her cup with its stimulant at his lips in a moment. Sir Ellis put his hand to the man's wrist. Claire saw him purse out his lips, and the expression that came to his tace was not one that suggested the realisation of the expected. He pulled out his- watch, and observed the stop seconds hand. Claire distinctly heard the ticking of the watch. It sounde<i like a death watch".

"Someone at the door," said Philip. "Didl not you hear the rap? I did. One rap at the door. I don't want anyone to be let in — only Claire — only Claire." "I am here, and no one else shall enter," said Claire,' taking the hand that the doctor's forefinger had vacated.

He turned his eyes upon her. They were quite intelligent. "I forgot for the moment," said he. "I knew that you would stay with me. Keep near me, Claire. Do not pay any attention to whatever knocks may come at the door. I think that I have made a good fight. I was pulled this way and that — quite a tussle. And they both have wings — that's the funny part. You felt the wind of a wing upon your face? I felt it. Queer."

"Better not talk," said Claire. "Be sure that I shall stay by you. Better not talk."

"Better not talk yourself," said he, smiling lustrously. She laughed quite loud.

The nurse looked slightly shocked. It was not etiquette to laugh any way except mournfully at the humour of a dying person.

The smile remained upon the man's face ; he seemed too weak to be able to change the exprssion of his face. But in a few minutes he closed his eyes, and then the bedclothes upon his chest began to rise and fall to the extent of a quarter of an inch. He was asleep. Claire allowed her fingers to remain on his for more than two hours. Her body was aching on account of the constrained position iv which she sat. But she only shook her head when the nurse made a gesture towards her suggesting her shifting her position. She would not move lest she should ijiisturb the perfect serenity of that sleefti

At the end of two and a-half hours Sir Ellis motioned the nurse to arouse the patient in order to administer nourishment to him Claire saw how at the first moment of consciousness he frowned. She had htaid of people being angry when they are snatched out of the very hands of Death — men rescued from drowning — and she could not help wondering if Philip's frown was due to the same reluctance. But in another moment the smile which had been on his face before returned to it, and lingered) there even while the nurse took his temperature later on. "You have sat there all this time," he saidi to Claire when he had been comforted with cushions at his back — hard cushions and soft pillows, the art of the trained) nurse. "How could Ido anything else? You held me with a grip of iron," said Claire, laughing again. He laughed with her. He looked at his hand. "A grip of iron," he repeated. Then his face became grave as he said : "Would to God that I could hold yo\ir love to me with a grip of iron!" He closed his eyes at once, and went asleep as gently as if he had received an anaesthetic. Sir Ellis looked puzzled. "Tell me," he said to the nurse ; "have you ever seen anything like this before ?" " "Once," she said. "I told you of it, Sir Ellis — just the same." "Do not say that he will die in this sleep," whispered Claire, going from the bedside to where they were standing. "No, he will not die in that sleep," said the doctor. "He will not awake Tor two or three hours, and you must take a mouthful of food and an hour's rest if you mean +0 sit up with "him, as- 1 know -you do, to-night. Personally, lam going to have a good diinner. I feel quite knocked up." "Would it not do for -me to have something to eat in the other room?" asked Claire, after thinking for a few moments. She had a cold thought of the possibility of the great doctor's being mistaken in his diagnosis of a malady of whicl- he had confessed that he knew nothing. She felt that she would never forgive herself if Philip were suddenly to awaken — for the last time in the world — and find her absent from his side.

"If you have set your heart on it," saidi Sir Ellis. "But do not neglect yoiu* sleep."

Claire accompanied him to the .corridor, and asked the servant who was in attendance there to bring her something to eat, cind when she had swallowed a few mouthfuls she went to the nurse.

"You remember what Dr Culverwell commanded?" she said. "We were to let no human being cross the threshold of either door. Mr Urquhart came to the other room a short time ago, and I refused to allow him to enter. I am sure that I was right in taking Dr literally. What do you think about it?"

"No one shall pass the door while you are asleep," said the nurse.

Claire went back to the dressing room, threw herself down on the sofa, and was asleep in five minutes.

She was awakened three hours later by the tinkling of one of the medicine cups.