"VERE"

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16434, 24 May 1921, Page 4

"VERE"

OUR SERIAL,

By

L. G. MOBERLY

OH A PTEK ll.—Continued. “ "Well, perhaps I ought, not to sav he has asked precisely lor you,’ 7 the distant voice answered with hesitation “ he is too far gone to ask very definitely for anything. But : o repeats vour name over and over again, and is evidently in deep distress or anxiety which we imagine you could relieve. The idea of you seems to haunt tic poor chap. Can von come and see fun?” "Come and see him now?” Raymond asked, Mivnri.se in his ton--«. “ He’s nut iil>ely to hist until morning Ho is barely cons;*ions now. But lie has been railing your name for the last two hours, and at last wo looked you up in the telephone directory in the. bare hope that we might find you. Can vou conic?” "Of course T wil 1 come” Trenton said promptly, ‘ one ain't refuse a dying man. I’ll come as fast as the Tube can bring me. You haven’t fold me the man's name.” But whether the house surgeon was satisfied by .n> decision to go at once, or whether lhe young lady at the exc uinge thought it advisable to cut short the conversation no one can say- but no answer came to Raymond’s question. Ibo man at the far end v)f the telephone had obvious!v gmic, and the mod for haste prevented Trenton from ringing him up again. Alter all, the name of the dtin<c man mattered little for the moment. "What mattered was that he should go post haste to St Paul s Dos pitul to see vlie. poor fellow before be died, lie could inquire at the hospita for Mr Deane the house surgeon- and from him learn the name «i the patient ho bad come to sec. Ibe great hospital loomed grey and dark agj?mst a skv set thick with sta-s, as lieu.on passed through the iron gates and across the courtyard to the poi tei s lo< 'Lv.-int to see a patient -'” tbo porter sair! doubtfully : “ well, -n . it s near v ten o’eiock : it isn’t Usual for people t.m romp seeing patients .-t ilus time of nis-M ” I conclude not •" Tin yin and answerr<f ironically, “ It is not li tivne .one would u.uallv select, for hospital visitincr But one of vour house surgeons, Mr Harold Deane, telephoned to ask mo to come, and I should be fslad to speak to him as soon as pothible. The man was at once obsequiousness itself, and Raymond was led into the surgery, where a. bright-eyed. erect young doctor was dealing with a handfid of minor cases, issuing shprt commands to dressers, and soothing a sobbing woman who was suffering rum llio combined injuries of a small burn and a great deal of brandy. All m ono breath the young man seemed to> tackle lii.s various duties, so it. seemed to Raymond, and he turned to the visitor with a promptitude which in no way hindered his watchful eyes lrom observing all that went on about him. " Tt is awfully good of you to come down, Air Trenton,” he said, when Raymond introduced himself; “we felt we ought not to leave a stone unturned if we could in any way give some relief to that poor fellow in Matthew Ward. .Jackaon, will you see to this good lady whilst i take Mr Trciito-n upstairs?” And handing over the subbing old woman to one of his subordinates, the brisk young house surgeon led. Raymond up a staircase and along a low corridor to the door of Matthew Ward, talking with humorous kindliness as lie went, about the handful oi patients in the surgery. " Number Twenty-six is the patient we want,” h© said in an undertone as

he opened the ward door and ushered Trenton into the long, dimly lighted place with its nows ol ied-guiltcd beds. “ I’ll just tell nurse you have conic,” and he went at a quick pace down the. v ard to a corner where two nurses stood near a hod nearly surrounded by a screen. One of the nurses, moved forward to meet him, and together they came to Raymond’s side. ‘"‘Nurse says lie is going fast.” the house surgeon said in a low voice, ” bin he still goes on repeating your name, and she thinks lie is still conscious.” And as he spoke he hurried Trenton on towards the corner where the screen stood about the bed. The dim light, the red-quilted beds, each w ith its silent sleeping occupant, affected Raymond curiously. He felt like a person walking m a strange dream, and so obsessed was he by the strangeness of his surroundings that only when he reached the screen round the corner bed, did he remember that he had not asked the house surgeon the name of patient Twenty-six. The novelty of his quest, the novelty indeed of everything about him, had put the question out of his mind, and now he was being ushered round the screen into the presence of the dying man. There was more light here than was shown in the rest of the ward, and as the special nurse on duty by the patient stood hack from the bed. the face on the pillow came fully into Trent on’B view. And seeing it he stood stock still., as though he were turned to stone, looking at the man in the bed with fixed staring gaze. Eighteen years had rolled by since lie last saw that face—but changed as it was by suffering—white, lined apd weary, and very unlike the handsome, debonair face which bad lived so long in his memory, Trenton recognised him. His old famiiiar friend. Ronald M’Earthy, lay before him; his old friend wluo bad stolon Ins love, broken bis heart, embittered bis life ! Ronald McCarthy lias Number Twenty-six, dying in Matthew Ward, St Raul’s Hospital. And as Trenton stood motionless gazing at the changed features and the hands that weakly crept about, the coverlet, the sick man’s voice spoke his name. “ Raymond Trenton,” he said, and there was pitiful anguish, pitiful appeal in the tones. “ Raymond Trenton —Raymond Trenton.” For one moment. the first moment after recognition, Raymond’s impulse had been to turn away and leave the ward, to put as great a distance.,as possible between himself and this man who bad done him so great an injury. But the weak, appealing voice held him in spite of himself. He watched those restless* (lands clawing at the bed clothes with something of the fascination with which the other day he bad watched the hands of the girl carried unconscious into his house. Instead off turning away be moved nearer to the bed.

*' Speak to him,” young Deane whis. pered. “ see if he knows your voice. I believe there, must be some special thing he wants to tell you. or to ask you to do. He’s got something on hif mind, T’m certain.’

In almost mechanical obedien Trenton bent over the sick man.

'‘Do you want me, M’Oarthy?” he said, speaking very slowly and clearly . ”is there anything 1 can do for you?” The eyes of the man in the bed bad been closed. At the sound of the questioning voice they opened wide, and looked! straight up into Raymond’s face. A strange look erept into them, a, look thiit seemed in seme ©xtraordinary way to combine dislike, four and appeal. "Hast thou found me, oh! min© enemyP” he said, with great gasps for breath between each word, and then he lauerhed, a weak. thin laugh, which -mad© Trerßen shudder. Then his eyes shut again, and lie began to repeat one© mbre like a monotonous refrain--“Raymond Trenton—Raymond Tren-ton—R-aymond Trent cm.” “ Speak again,” the house surgeon whispered. The nurses bad moved a little away, and again Trenton said clearly: hat _ can l do for you, McCarthy?” Once more his voice brought tlie dying man back to consciousness, once more lps eves opened, but it was plain that iii those lew

seconds tho end had come much A--trust ” lie gasped out. and then came a long silence whilst lie seemed to be struggling to got his thoughts into shape, and to put them into words. -Will—you- ” hr began again with a last terrible effort. "I - did not marry Muriel— Will you and then his voice failed utterly, his eyes which now held nothing bin pitiful appeal, closed, his hands fluttered for one second more over the coverlet and then were still, his slow, difficult breathing ceased. Ronald M’Unitin' had gone down into the Great Silence with his last message to Raymond Trenton unspoken. (To be continued.)