The Man with a Shadow

“But he is very ill.”

“Ill!” said Salis. “I feel disposed to go and shake him, and rouse him up. To tell him that this is not manly on his part.”

“And yet you own that he is suffering, Hartley.”

“Suffering? Yes; but he has no business to be suffering about a woman like – there, there, I am forgetting myself. Poor fellow! he must be very ill. You see, the upset came when he was worn out with the study and intricacies of that pet theory of his, and hence it is that he is now so low.”

Mary lay back with her eyes half closed for some time, and there was silence in the room.

“Where is Leo?” said Salis, at length.

“In her room – reading.”

“Thank Heaven she seems to be settling down calmly now. Surely this life-storm is past, Mary.”

“I pray that it may be, Hartley,” she said softly; but there was a shadow of doubt in her words.

“Well,” said Salis, rising, “I must go and have a look round.”

“Going out, dear?”

“Yes. I seem to have been very neglectful of the people lately.”

“Stop a minute, Hartley,” said Mary, with a vivid colour in her cheeks.

“You want to say something?”

“Yes, dear; I wish – I wish to speak to you about Dr North.”

“Well, what about him, my child?”

“Hartley, when we were ill, he was always here. No pains seemed to be too great for him to take.”

“Yes, no man could have been more attentive.”

“And now, Hartley, he, too, is ill – seriously ill.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Then don’t you think it is a duty to try everything possible to help him in turn?”

“Of course, and I have tried; but what can I do? He will not see me, and that cousin of his, who, by the way, seems to have a great deal of business with Mrs Berens, evidently does not want me there.”

“But ought you to study that, Hartley, when your friend is ill?”

“I have thought all this out, Mary, and I feel sometimes as if I could do nothing. You see it is like this: I feel certain that North does not want to see me.”

“Why, dear?” said Mary earnestly.

“Because it reminds him too much of his trouble with Leo. He feels that very bitterly, and I know my presence would bring it up. Would it not be better to keep away, and let his nerves settle themselves?”

“No,” said Mary, in a quiet, firm way. “It was no fault of yours. It was Dr North’s own seeking, and he needs help. Go to him, Hartley.”

“Go to him?”

“Yes. He must be in sore trouble in every way. You say his cousin is there?”

“Yes, and if I went much I should quarrel with that man.”

“No, no; you must not quarrel. But recollect how Horace North used to say that he felt obliged to be civil to him, but he wished he would not come.”

“Yes: I remember.”

“Then go to him, and be at his side, dear, in case he requires help and counsel. Remember you are his friend. Even if he seemed querulous and fretful, I should stay.”

“You are right, Mary; I’ll go. I shall have some one to help me in Mrs Milt. I will stand by him.”

Mary’s eyes brightened, and she held out her hand.

“He will thank you some day, dear; even if he seems strange now.”

“He may say what he likes and do what he likes,” said Salis warmly. “I ought not to have needed telling this; but I’m going to make up for past neglect now and play the part of dog.”

Salis was a little late in his promise to play the part of watch-dog for his friend, for as he walked up to the Manor House it was to meet a carriage just driving out.

“The fly from the ‘Bull’ at King’s Hampton and a pair of horses,” said Salis as he walked on, apparently paying no heed to the inmates of the carriage. “Now, whoever would these be? White cravat, one of them; the other thin, spare, and dark. Doctors, for a sovereign, I’d say, if I were not a parson.”

Mrs Milt opened the door to him, and showed him into the drawing-room, whose window looked down the back-garden with its great clump of evergreens and shady walks, beyond which were the meadows through which the river ran.

“I’m very glad,” said Salis eagerly; “your master has had a couple of doctors to see him, has he not?”

“No, sir; oh, dear, no!” said the housekeeper sadly. “If you would only see him, and persuade him to, and get him to see a clever man, sir, it would be the best day’s work you ever did.”

“I’ll try, Mrs Milt,” said Salis; “but I’m disappointed.”

“So am I, sir. He wants doing good to, instead of trying to do good to other people. Those are some friends of Mr Thompson, sir. One of them’s got a very curious complaint that Mr Thompson said master was almost the only man who knew how to cure.”

“And did he see them?”

“Yes, sir, after a great deal of persuasion, and almost a quarrel, sir. I could hear master and Mr Thompson, sir, talking through the door, and he said master ought to be ashamed of himself if he let a gentleman who was suffering come down from town and drive all the way across from King’s Hampton in the hope of being cured, and then let him go back without seeing him.”

“Yes, Mrs Milt; go on,” said the curate eagerly.

“Well, sir, after a long fight Mr Thompson went away, but he went and tried again and master gave way directly, and went down in his dressing-gown, looking all white and scared, and saw those two gentlemen who have just gone away.”

“Well, I’m glad of that – heartily glad,” said Salis. “It is the thin end of the wedge, Mrs Milt, and we have good cause to be grateful to Mr Thompson for what he has done. Seeing patients again! This is good news indeed. He will see me now.”

Mrs Milt shook her head.