Nothing but Money! CHAPTER 31.
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As anticipated by Dr. Hofland, the illness of Lydia was temporary; the result of over excitement and fatigue. On the second day she was entirely free from fever, and able to sit up, though exhibiting signs of weakness. On the third day, she was strong enough to go out, when she made another effort to see her father; this time going to his store. There she learned that he was confined at home by a slight illness. Still fixed in her purpose to see him, she went to the house, and, as the door was opened, glided past the servant, so as to prevent its being shut in her face, as on a former occasion.
"Can I see Mr. Guyton?" she asked, as she retired along the hall towards the entrance of one of the parlors.
"He is sick," replied the servant, "and cannot be seen."
"But I must see him." Lydia's repressed excitement now manifested itself, and turning she ran upstairs, the girl who had opened the door following quickly, and calling out, "Mrs. Guyton! Mrs. Guyton!" in a half suppressed, warning voice.
At the head of the stairway, Lydia met her stepmother, who at once disputed her further progress.
"I must see father!" exclaimed Lydia, attempting to pass; but a strong hand was laid on her shoulder.
"Didn't I say that she was not to come in!" demanded Mrs. Guyton, in a low, fierce tone, addressing the servant, at the same time that she pushed Lydia back with a strength that the poor girl could not resist.
"Indeed, ma'am, but she slipped past me before I knew it was her," answered the servant.
"If you come here again — I'll send for the police!" said Mrs. Guyton, close to the ear of Lydia, and in a voice that chilled her like a sudden icy wind! "You don't belong to this house; so keep away, if you want to keep out of trouble."
And pressing steadily on Lydia, she forced her downstairs and out into the street. Before the bewildered girl could recover herself from the sudden onset, the door shut heavily behind her. All this passed so rapidly, that Lydia scarcely realized the fact of a forcible expulsion from her father's house. But soon, an outflashing indignation fired her whole being, as her mind came up to a full comprehension of the outrage; and a wild spirit of revenge took possession of her soul.
Her pale, stern face, startled Mrs. Hofland a little while afterwards, as she came into her presence hastily.
"Why, Lydia, child! Are you sick again? What has happened?" she asked, with much apparent concern.
"Not sick, ma'am — but outraged beyond all forgiveness!" Mrs. Hofland saw a gleam of fierce anger burn up in her eyes.
"How, child? How? Did you see your father?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"He was sick at home."
"Sick?"
"Yes, and instead of permitting me to see him, I was pushed downstairs and out of the house, as if I had been a thief!"
"By whom?" asked Mrs. Hofland.
"By a woman whom he calls wife! She put her hands upon me violently. I looked into her face and saw the tiger there — fierce and cruel. I know her now; and by all that I hold sacred in life, I will neither forget nor forgive her act today! From this hour, I am her implacable enemy!" Her face, pale a little while before, grew dark with passion.
"Lydia! Lydia!" interposed Mrs. Hofland, almost frightened at the transformation which took place so suddenly. "Don't speak so."
"I'm in earnest, Mrs. Hofland," was answered, "madly in earnest! She has fully unveiled herself, and I know just what she is, and just what she means. I never liked her — never thought her my friend! — but the mask I so often tried to penetrate, has dropped from before her face, and I see her as she is! She never tried to win my love; and now I give her my undying hate!"
"Oh, Lydia! my dear young friend, hold back such thoughts. We must not speak of revenge — but forgiveness," said Mrs. Hofland, trying to calm the excited girl.
"It is too late, madam," answered Lydia, "I am only human. There are some things which cannot be forgiven, and this is one of them. As sure as I live, that woman shall see the day when suffering will come of this; suffering, if not repentance."
When Lydia went out on that morning, she was subdued in spirit; but now exhibited a fierceness that almost appalled Mrs. Hofland. She did not seem like the same individual. It was of no avail that she tried to soothe her feelings. The fire of passions burned on.
In the afternoon of that day, she announced her intention to return to her husband in the morning, asking for a sum of money sufficient to defray the expense, which would be refunded on her arrival at home. No opposition to this was made at the time; but, on the next morning, as she came downstairs, Mrs. Hofland met her with a sober face, and said,
"The Doctor thinks you had better remain a day longer."
"Why?" was the natural inquiry.
"You know that your father is sick."
"What of him?" A slight shade of alarm went over the face of Lydia.
"The Doctor was called in last night."
"To see father?"
"Yes."
"Is he so very ill?" Lydia's alarm increased.
"The Doctor has not said much in regard to your father; only he thinks you should not leave today."
Lydia sunk down upon the stairs, and became quite pale.
"Don't be frightened, my dear," said Mrs. Holland, "there is nothing serious, I presume."
"But there must be, or else the Doctor wouldn't say anything about my remaining. And then, isn't it strange that he should be sent for? He's never attended in our family. Where is the doctor?" And Lydia arose quickly. "I must see him."
"He went out half an hour ago," replied Mrs. Hofland.
"To see father?"
Mrs. Hofland hesitated a little before answering this question, and then said —
"Yes, I think so."
"Was he sent for again?"
"No; but the Doctor said he would step around and see how he had passed the night."
"He must be very sick." And Lydia sat down again on the stairs, like one from whose limbs strength had departed.
"I did not infer from the Doctor's manner, that your father was dangerously ill," replied Mrs. Hofland. "But, here he comes now."
The street door opened, and Doctor Hofland came in.
"Oh, Doctor! — how is father?" eagerly asked Lydia, starting to her feet, and leaning for support on the banister.
The Doctor tried to speak and look cheerful, as he answered —
"He has not passed a very good night; though I found him quiet and easy." This increased, rather than diminished the alarm of Lydia.
"What is the matter with him?" she asked, evincing the greatest anxiety.
"It is difficult to meet that question," replied Doctor Hofland. "The worst symptom is sleeplessness."
"Then, he has no bad sickness — nothing dangerous?" said Lydia, in a tone of relief.
"No, nothing that you would call dangerous." But there was something in the Doctor's manner that quickened anew, Lydia's fears.
"Tell me what it is, Doctor. I ought to know." Lydia's voice was calmer and firmer. "You think I should not leave for home today. That, as I understand it, means something serious."
She fixed her gaze, searchingly, on Doctor Hofland, and waited for reply.
"Not necessarily very serious." The Doctor smiled in an assuring way. "As I said, the worst symptom is sleeplessness. Your father cannot sleep at night, and in consequence, his nervous system has become much exhausted."
"Isn't that strange?" asked Lydia, in a doubting, perplexed way.
"The condition is unusual," remarked the doctor.
"What is the cause?"
"I am unable to answer. The mind, I apprehend, however, has most to do with it. Your father has, all his life, permitted his thoughts to run too exclusively in a single direction. Some obstruction in the swift current has disturbed him."
Lydia dropped her eyes to the floor. She was not satisfied.
"I think we shall have a favorable change by tomorrow," said the Doctor. "But, you must not think of going home today."
"Do you regard the case as very serious?" asked Mrs. Hofland, when alone with her husband.
"I do," replied the Doctor. "Mr. Guyton has not been able to sleep for or four five days, and that is bad — very bad."
"What is the cause?"
The Doctor shook his head.
"This trouble with Lydia has, no doubt, greatly disturbed him," said Mrs. Hofland.
"I think so."
"Has he mentioned her name?"
"No; but I can see that there is something on his mind about which he would like to speak with me."
"Didn't you try to lead him out?"
"Yes, but we were never alone. His wife hovers about him like a shadow. A number of times he sought to get her out of the room by asking for something — but she either rung the bell for a servant or supplied the want from resources at hand. I could see, plainly enough, that we were not to be left alone for a moment."
"She's an evil-minded woman, I'm afraid," said Mrs. Hofland.
"Cold-hearted, selfish, and designing — so she impresses me," replied the Doctor. "And it is clearly evident that Mr. Guyton stands in fear of her."
"In fear!"
"Yes, fear is the word."
"I'm surprised at that. He never impressed me as a man over whom a woman could gain power," said Mrs. Hofland.
"That woman has power over him. Nothing is clearer. She moves about silently, almost stealthily; and has a low, smooth voice, over the modulations of which she holds perfect control. But, anyone educated beyond the first page in human nature, can see that she is evil and designing. Yesterday afternoon, on going with Doctor Carlson to visit Mr. Guyton, I noticed a gentleman leaving the house as we approached. Mrs. Guyton came to the door with him; I observed that. On a nearer view I saw that it was Justin Larobe."
"The lawyer?"
"Yes. He was a student in Mrs. Guyton's first husband's law office, and now, has a good practice at our bar. But, the man's reputation is bad. Cunning, shrewd, and with fair talents, he has made headway in his profession; but I think him utterly void of honest principle. Why was he there? The question has come up a dozen times since I saw him leave the house. The answer that he had law business with Mr. Guyton, and was there to consult him, does not satisfy me."
"What do you suspect?"
"I can't say that any definite suspicion has assumed shape in my mind; but I feel the shadow of something wrong."
After breakfast, and just as Doctor Hofland was preparing to go out, a messenger came from Mrs. Guyton, saying that her husband wished to see him immediately. The Doctor stepped into his carriage and drove to the residence of Mr. Guyton. In the hall, on his entrance, he met Mrs. Guyton.
"Has there been a change for the worse?" he asked, seeing more trouble on the face of Mrs. Guyton than he had yet observed there.
"He's acting very strangely, Doctor," she returned; "and insists on seeing you again this morning."
"How, strangely?" said the Doctor.
"Wildly, as if he were losing his mind. He frightened me dreadfully a little while ago."
The Doctor passed upstairs, hurriedly. He had been fearing decided symptoms of mental aberration. On reaching the door of Mr. Guyton's chamber, he found it locked.
"Who's there?" called a voice from within.
"Dr. Hofland," he replied.
The key was turned, and the door opened just a little way.
"Come in, Doctor," said Mr. Guyton, holding the door just far enough open for one person to crowd through. The instant Doctor Hofland was inside, the door was shut with a sudden movement, and the key turned.
Mrs. Guyton knocked loudly for admittance — but her husband had withdrawn the key, and now held it tightly clutched in his hand.
"You can stay where you are, madam," he said, in a chuckling tone, and with a gleam of triumph on his face, that chilled the heart of Doctor Hofland, for both too clearly gave evidence of approaching insanity.
"I wanted to see you alone, Doctor," he remarked, a moment afterwards, the flash of light going out of his face, and his tone falling to one of grave earnest. "Sit down by the bed. I must lie down again. Isn't it strange that I get so weak, and nothing the matter with me — only just sleeplessness?"
He threw himself on the bed from which he had arisen, and looked very earnestly at Doctor Hofland. He was about speaking, when someone rattled loudly at the door.
"Who's there?" he called, rising in bed.
"Me," answered a voice that was recognized as that of Mrs. Guyton.
"Well, me can't come in!" he shouted, with angry vehemence." So just go away! I'm consulting the Doctor, and won't be disturbed." Then looking at Doctor Hofland, and lowering his voice, he said:
"I can't talk before her. She watches all my words so. - You don't consider me very ill, Doctor, do you?"
"No, certainly not, Mr. Guyton. This inability to sleep is unfortunate, however, and we must overcome it in some way."
"She thinks me dangerous." An expression of painful anxiety came into his face.
"Who?"
"Mrs. Guyton."
"She has not said so to me."
"I'll tell you about it, Doctor." And the invalid leaned towards Doctor Hofland, and spoke in a hushed, confidential way. "She thinks I'm going to die."
"You imagine that," returned the Doctor, affecting a lightness of tone.
"No, sir; there's no imagination about it! It's just as I say." Guyton's manner grew excited. But he changed in a moment, and speaking low and confidentially again, said —
"Doctor, we were old friends."
"Yes."
"Maybe it was my fault that we haven't always been friends." There was a conscious weakness in Guyton's voice that touched the Doctor.
"We have not been enemies, even though friendly intimacy ceased," said Doctor Hofland, with kind encouragement in his tones. "And now, if I can serve you in any way — consider me as your best friend."
"Oh, thank you, Doctor — you are very kind." He spoke with animation. Then, as his voice fell to a sadder key, he continued. "She thinks I'm going to die; and, maybe I wrong her — but, in some cases you know, the wish is father to the thought."
A shiver ran along the Doctor's nerves.
"She's a deep woman," resumed Mr. Guyton, seeing both surprise and incredulity in the Doctor's face. "You don't know her as I do. She only married me for my money. That is just between us, Doctor. Of course, you'll not speak of it to anyone. But, I want you to know it."
Guyton sat upright in bed, and seemed debating whether to take the Doctor still farther into his confidence or not.
"I can trust you — yes — you're discreet; and besides you're an old friend," he went on, looking at the Doctor with a strange blending of weak confidence and solemnity. She had a lawyer here yesterday!"
"Indeed!" The Doctor affected surprise.
"Yes. And what do you suppose she wanted me to do?"
"I'm sure I cannot tell."
"Make a will!"
"What?"
"Make a will!"
"Oh, that has been attended to long and long ago," said the Doctor, smiling. "You are not the man to neglect so important a thing."
"Of course I am not. But, don't you see what's in her mind?"
The Doctor did not answer.
"She wanted a will to suit herself, and then — "
A look of fear, almost horror, darkened the face of Mr. Guyton.
"I'm sure you wrong her," said Doctor Hofland.
"I'm sure I do not. She's deep, deep, deep as the sea. You don't know her as I do. But, you don t think I'm going to die, Doctor?"
"Assuredly not."
Guyton's face brightened.
"I've made my will," he said, leaning towards the Doctor, and laying a hand on his arm. "But, it won't do. I must have a new will. Suppose I write one now. You'll be witness."
"Two witnesses are required, I believe," replied the Doctor, putting him off. "So it wouldn't stand if made. If you have a fair will, let it remain in force for the present. After you are able to go about again — a new one can be executed. That is my advice."
This seemed to pacify him, and he laid himself down in bed, breathing forth, as he did so, a long sigh.
"Shall I let your wife in now?" asked the Doctor. "Oh, no! no!" quickly answered the sick man, starting up in bed again, and exhibiting a great deal of excitement. "I've got more to say; and she mustn't hear a word of it. What about my daughter Lydia?" This question was put abruptly, and with visible signs of pain.
"She is still at my house," replied the Doctor.
"Why doesn't she go to her precious husband?" His voice grew suddenly stern and angry.
"She was all ready to leave this morning."
"Well, why didn't she go?"
"I thought it best for her to remain a day or two longer."
"You did! For what reason?" Guyton knit his brows, and looked suspiciously at the Doctor.
"She's been sick, and has not regained her full strength."
"Was that your only reason?" The eyes of the sick man still looked keenly into the Doctor's face.
"And you are sick."
"Ha! I thought so!" Guyton jerked the words out sharply.
"Thought what?" The Doctor spoke very calmly, yet in a slight tone of surprise, not letting his eyes waver a moment in their return of the sick man's gaze.
"O, nothing," said Guyton — "Nothing. It's just my foolishness." And he turned himself away, shrinking down in the bed. As he did so, the Doctor arose, and was crossing the room, for the purpose of unfastening the door, when, hearing the movement, he started up and called out, eagerly,
"No, no, no! Don't do that! Don't let her in. Come back here. I've a great deal more to say."
The Doctor returned to his patient.
"I got your letter about Lydia," said Guyton, assuming a degree of calmness.
"And I received your answer."
"Well?"
"I did not think it the right answer, Mr. Guyton. She is still your child — bone of your bone, and flesh of your flesh; and wrong doing on her part cannot alter the relation."
"The wrong is too great, sir. — The sin too deep. I have cast her off!" Guyton's manner was stern.
"Not greater than our wrong-doing and sin against God; but he never casts us off. Suppose He were as implacable as you are trying to be, what hope would we have in dying? Alas, death would then be full, indeed, of terrors! We might well tremble as it approaches. We must forgive — if we would be forgiven. He has told us, that, in the measure we meet out to others — it shall be measured to us again. — That if we do not forgive, we cannot be forgiven. Think of this, Mr. Guyton."
He did think of it, as was plain from the fixed, solemn aspect of countenance, all at once assumed.
"You don't believe I will die?" he said, speaking half in confidence, half in fear; remembering the Doctor's assurances a little while before.
"With God are the issues of life," answered the Doctor. "We are in His hands, and He calls us in His own good time. It is for us to be always ready. Some fall, suddenly, as you know, without warning; while others linger in wasting sickness. Of the day and the hour of his departure, knows no man."
Mr. Guyton's countenance became even more troubled. His eyes, that were very restless, glancing from one object to another, continually, had a staring look.
"Do you believe in a Hell, Doctor?" he said, abruptly.
"Yes," replied the Doctor.
"Well, I don't, then! You can't frighten me with your fire and brimstone." He grew angry and excited. There was a wild play of all the facial muscles; and a fierce gleaming of the eyes. "So don't talk to me about Hell and damnation! It is all nonsense!"
A hand rattled at the door. "Let me open it," said the Doctor. "It is your wife."
"No! No! No! I say No!" Guyton shouted the last utterance of the word "No," with a mad vehemence. "She isn't going to come in here," he added, lowering his voice. "Do you know, Doctor," leaning closer and speaking in a hushed tone, "that I'm afraid of her. She's got evil designs on my life — I'm sure of it."
"Don't, I beg you, entertain so absurd an idea," answered the Doctor.
"There's one thing to be considered," said Guyton brightening up, "She hasn't got the new will out of me yet; and I'm safe until that work is done. Ha! Ha! I'm ahead of her, Doctor — aren't I?" He laughed in a low, chuckling way, that chilled the Doctor's blood.
"This being the case, there is no fear of any harm, and so I will admit your wife," replied the Doctor crossing to the door, against the sick man's remonstrance, and opening it. As Mrs. Guyton, on whose face the Doctor read doubt and questioning suspicion, glided into the room, her husband shrunk down, and, turning his face to the wall, lay motionless as if asleep. Crossing to the bed, she spoke in a kind voice; but he made no response. Two or three times she addressed him; but he still refused to recognize her presence.
Doctor Hofland retired from the chamber, silently motioning to Mrs. Guyton, as he did so. She followed him out.
"It will not do to leave him alone, madam," said the Doctor.
"He's not growing violent, is he!" Mrs. Guyton turned a little pale.
"His condition is such, that harm might come of his being left to himself. The door was locked when I came. Has that occurred before?"
"No."
"It must not occur again."
As the Doctor said this, Mrs. Guyton, who stood near the chamber door, which was partly closed, moved forward with a spring. As she did so, it was shut with a quick jar, and the key turned on the inside. Her movement was too late.
The Doctor and Mrs. Guyton looked at each other in surprise and alarm. Then the former caught at the door, and rattled it violently, calling, in a demanding tone —
'Mr. Guyton! Mr. Guyton! Open this door!"
"You can't come in; so, there's no use in making a noise!" answered Guyton resolutely.
"If you will go downstairs, ma'am," said the Doctor, "I think he will open the door for me. Where is Henry?"
"At the store."
"Send for him immediately."
"I don't think that necessary, Doctor. And besides, Henry is only a boy, and has little influence with his father. If you can induce him to open the door — I will not leave the room again."
"I think you had better send for Henry, ma'am. We may need him. There is no telling how violent he may become."
"Then you really think he's losing his mind? O, dear!" And Mrs. Guyton clasped her hands together, and put on a look of the deepest distress.
"We are losing time, ma'am," said the Doctor, in an anxious, impatient "way. "Go downstairs, and send for Henry."
The Doctor waited until Mrs. Guyton was out of hearing; then putting his mouth close to the chamber door, he called, in a loud whisper,
"Let me in, Mr Guyton! She's gone downstairs."
But no answer came.
"Mr. Guyton!" He repeated the call two or three times — but with no better success.
Listening intently, the Doctor heard the sick man moving about the floor. Then there was a noise like the opening of a window. A thrill of fear went through his heart.
"Mr. Guyton!" He cried loudly, and struck the door two or three times with imperative raps.
"You can't come in," answered Guyton, now speaking for the first time.
"Open the door! I've something very important to communicate."
"What is it?" The voice sounded nearer, to the Doctor's inexpressible relief.
"Let me in, quickly, before she comes upstairs."
"Ha, Doctor! I understand your trick. But it won't do. She's standing just behind you," was answered back.
"Upon my honor, no!" replied the Doctor.
"What do you want to say? Whisper it through the key hole — I can hear."
"I shall do no such thing," replied the Doctor, assuming the tone of one slightly offended. "And I must say, that I'm surprised at your singular conduct. Is this the way for a gentleman to treat another, and in his own house? Open the door, or I shall go away immediately."
All was silent for several moments. Then the Doctor's quick ear detected a stealthy sound in the lock. The bolt sprung with a sudden click. He pushed, instantly, on the door, and it gave way to the pressure. Guyton only permitted a small aperture to be made, and as the Doctor crowded through, shut the door and locked it again instantly.
"Now, sir, what have you of importance to communicate?" demanded Guyton, turning upon the Doctor, with doubt and suspicion in his eyes.
"What am I to do with your daughter?" said Doctor Hofland, meeting the question, promptly, with one that involved important considerations.
This was unexpected on the part of Mr. Guyton, as his momentarily suspended breath and blank countenance gave witness. He stood looking at the Doctor for a little while, in a confused way, as though he did not clearly understand him.
"What about my daughter?" he asked, at length.
"She is at my house. Your daughter Lydia."
"Oh!" A flash broke into his face, as we sometimes see it light up a cloud. "Lydia!" His voice was angry.
"Yes. You know she has been sick."
"Haven't I said my say about her, Doctor? Why do you annoy me further on that subject?" The manner of Guyton was more subdued as he thus spoke.
"I have no wish to annoy you, sir," replied Doctor Hofland. "But you are her father."
"I'm not! I disown her!" He grew angry.
"Words are nothing against facts," said the Doctor, calmly. "You are her father. Think! I put it to your reason, and to your humanity."
This appeal staggered the invalid's weak brain.
"Now, what I wish to say," continued the Doctor, "is, that Lydia — your daughter — now at my house, does not possess the means of going to her husband — she has no money."
"Oh, well, if that's all, the remedy is plain. I'll send her some money. There was an air of relief about Mr. Guyton, as he arose, and going to a wardrobe, opened it, and took from the pocket of his coat a pocket-book. "How much will she need?"
"Send her a good supply. If you will turn her from your door, don't let it be empty-handed," said the Doctor.
Guyton looked at him sharply for a moment, and then opening the pocket book, selected four five dollar bills.
"Will that do?" he asked, as he held them out.
"If it is best you can do, yes; but I think you should be more liberal. Remember, that she is to be no further cost to you — that her husband will support her now — and under this view, send her a liberal sum of money."
"You're a sharp one, Doctor!" A cunning smile flickered over the lips of Guyton.
"Isn't there reason in what I say?"
"Maybe there is." And he commenced counting over the bank bills which had been removed from the pocket-book. "Fifty dollars. Shall I send all that?"
"Better make it five hundred," said the Doctor. "Haven't you a blank check in your pocket-book?"
"Five hundred dollars!" Guyton looked confounded.
"She would have cost you twice that sum, probably, in a single year — but for her marriage," answered Doctor Hofland, with the utmost composure. "Don't you see?"
"That's so!" Guyton's feeble mind was taken by this assault.
"Of course it's so! And as you are going to turn her out into the world — to cast her off from heart and home — don't let her depart in poverty as well as tears.
If you will not see the poor child, nor give her your blessing — at least send her enough to keep the gaunt wolf, hunger, from her door!"
"I'll think about that," answered Guyton, knitting his brows. "Here are fifty dollars for her, handing the bank bills to Doctor Hofland. "I never carry checks in my pocket-book, so I can't fill up one if I wanted to."
"But you could give me an order on your firm to receive a certain sum for Lydia," urged the Doctor, not willing to give up the matter.
"Of course I could; but then, you see, I'm not going to do it. I'm too old a bird to be caught by your chaff, Doctor." And Guyton smiled with an affected shrewdness, that was painful to witness. Then as a shadow came over his face, he asked —
"Hadn't you better give me a receipt for that money?"
The Doctor took a pencil and slip of paper from his pocket, and wrote a formal receipt, specifying that the fifty dollars were for Lydia.
"Will that answer?" he inquired, as he gave the receipt to Mr. Guyton, who read it carefully.
"Yes, sir, that will do. I'm a man of business you must understand, Doctor. Never pay money without taking a receipt." And he folded the narrow bit of paper carefully, and laid it in his pocket book.
"I'll call around again towards evening," said Doctor Hofland, rising from the table at which he had pencilled the receipt. "I don't see that I can do anything for you now, unless you will permit the use of sedatives for inducing rest. And this I would most earnestly advise. It has already been delayed too long. Think, Mr. Guyton; it is almost a week since you have had a refreshing sleep. Nature cannot stand this much longer."
"No — no — no! I've said no fifty times, Doctor! — haven't I?" responded Guyton to this, showing much disturbance.
"And you may say 'No,' once too often," answered the Doctor, very gravely. "I see no help for you without a medicine to quiet your nerves. Sleep is the only medicine that will reach your case, and I tell you, Mr. Guyton, it must be had."
"I'll have the room darkened and kept very still. Sleep will come soon; I'm sure of it."
"A few light doses of morphine can do you no harm. Depend on it, my dear sir, nothing else will avail now." The Doctor's manner was very impressive. As he looked at Mr. Guyton, he saw a glance of terror in his face. His eyes were directed to a remote part of the room. Suddenly he started up, partly raising his hands; a dead pallor overspreading his countenance. For a moment, his attitude was fixed; then as if some fearful apparition had faded from his vision, he caught his breath with signs of relief, and throwing himself back on a pillow, said, with considerable solemnity of manner,
"Doctor; I wish you'd say no more about morphine. The very name of it sends a shiver along my nerves. I've always had a horror of morphine in any form — an idiosyncrasy, no doubt."
He closed his eyes and tried to keep very still; but, the Doctor noticed a constant twitching of the muscles in his face, accompanied by slightly spasmodic movements of the limbs.
"Very well, Mr. Guyton," said the Doctor. "The responsibility must rest with you. Keep very quiet; have the room darkened; compose your thoughts. I will call again late in the afternoon; or, should you wish to see me at an earlier hour — send to my office. Good day!"
As Doctor Hofland opened the chamber door, he quietly removed the key, and placed it in the hands of Mrs. Guyton, whom he knew would be found on the other side.
"There is no hope for him," he whispered, "but in the administration of a sedative. Unless sleep can be thus procured, wreck of mind, if not death, will be inevitable. Watch him. carefully. A man should be in the room all the while. Have you sent for Henry?"
"Yes." But the woman spoke falsely.
"I will be here again, with Doctor Carlson, in the afternoon. Good day!" And the Doctor retired.
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