The Man with a Shadow

“Why, how fagged you look! Who is ill?”

“Ill? Who is ill?” said North wonderingly. “Oh, I see! Well, I am.”

“Yes, that’s plain enough,” said Salis anxiously. “My dear fellow, you are not at all up to the mark.”

“Not up to the mark, old chap? Right as the mail! Here, come in, and have some breakfast.”

This was said with so much boisterous, coarse jollity, that the curate could not help a wondering look. North saw it, and his countenance assumed a look of intense pain.

“Did you want me?” he said, closing the breakfast-room door, and speaking in a different tone entirely.

“Well, old fellow, I thought I’d run over just to consult you.”

“Not ill?” said North, in a voice full of anxiety, but only to supplement it with a sharp, back-handed blow in the chest, and exclaim, in quite a rollicking way: “See! you! I say, you’re in tip-top condition!” And then he burst into a hearty roar.

“I don’t know about tip-top condition,” said Salis tartly, “for I’m not at all well. I’m a good deal bothered, old fellow, about – about some matters; and you’ll not mind my coming to see you about things that one would not go to a doctor about, but to a friend.”

“I am very, very glad to have you come to me as a friend, Salis,” said North earnestly. “Anything I can do I – is it money?”

“Money? Tut – tut! No! When did you ever know me a borrower, man? I beg your pardon, North,” he added, beaming at his friend. “That’s just like you – so good and thoughtful; but no, no – no money! Old Polonius was right.”

Just then Mrs Milt entered with the coffee, toast, and a covered dish, a second cup and saucer being on her tray.

“Well, yes; I’ll have another cup,” said Salis, smiling and nodding; and, directly after, the old friends were seated together opposite to each other, but with North leaving his breakfast untasted, while Salis seemed to enjoy his number two.

“You’re not eating, old fellow! I say, you know you’re ill. It’s my turn now to prescribe.”

“Only a little feverish. I have been and had a long walk.”

“Ah, that’s right. Nature is splendid for that sort of thing.”

“Yes,” said North quickly. “Now, what can I do for you?”

He winced as he spoke, for he expected to hear something about Leo.

“Well, the fact is, old fellow, you know that my surplice was stolen.”

North shrank again, but nodded sharply.

“Well, old fellow, I banteringly said something about the loss being severe to a poor man.”

“I – I wish I had known,” said North, with a frank smile.

“You mean if you had you would have given me one.”

“Yes, that is what I mean,” said North.

“And if you had, I’d have cut you, sir, dead! Sure it was not you?”

“Not me?”

“Who sent me a present of a remarkably fine new surplice.”

“Certainly not.”

“Then it was she.”

“I do not understand you.”

“Look here! there is only one person who could have sent such a present, and it must be Mrs Berens.”

“Ah, you sly dog! Oh, shame! shame! Ha – ha – ha!” roared North. “The pretty widow – eh? That’s pulse-feeling, and putting out the tongue, and how are we this morning! Ha – ha – ha!”

Hartley Salis had a small piece of broiled ham upon his fork, being a man of excellent appetite; and at his friend’s first words, uttered in a most singular tone, he let the fork drop with a clatter, pushed his chair a little way back, and stared!

“I – I’m very sorry,” faltered North, in a most penitent tone.

“My dear North! Why, what is the matter with you?”

“A little – er – feverish, I think; that is all!”

“One is not used to hear such outbursts from you, old fellow,” said Salis; and there was a tinge of annoyance in his tone.

“Pray, pray go on. I – er – hardly know what I said.”

Salis drew his chair up again, picked up the fork, raised the piece of brown ham once, set it down, and then took up his cup and sipped the coffee, with his face resuming its unruffled aspect.

“I’m not cross, old fellow – only nettly. It’s so unlike you to attempt to – well, to use our old term – chaff me. Besides which, this thing is a great source of annoyance to me. I feel as if I cannot accept the present – as if it laid me under an obligation to Mrs Berens; and, really, I should be glad to have your advice. What would you do?”

“What would I do?” cried North, in a coarse, rasping voice. “Why, you know what you want me to say. Get out, you jolly old humbug!”

“Sir!”

“Go along with you! What are you to do with the surplice? Why, wear it, and lend it to old May afterwards when he comes down to marry you and the pretty widow.”

“Horace North!” cried the curate indignantly.

“Sit down, and none of your gammon, you transparent old humbug! Why, I can see right through you, just as if you were so much glass.”

Salis had pushed back his chair, and now rose, just as North burst out passionately:

“No, no, Salis; don’t go – for pity’s sake don’t go. I have so much to say to you.”

“If it is of a piece with what you have already said, Horace North, I would prefer to be ignorant of its import.”

The doctor had risen too, and caught the back of his chair, which he stood grasping with spasmodic force, as, suffering an agony he could not have expressed, he saw his friend stalk solemnly along the path to the great gate, which swung after him to and fro for some seconds before the iron latch closed with a loud click.

“Heaven help me! – what shall I do?” groaned North, as he threw himself upon the couch, and covered his face with his hands. “What does this mean? What new horror is this? Have I lost all power over thought and tongue?”