Guardian and ward -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Love stories
"Here he is!" cried Jenny; and Leigh sprang from his seat to hurry down,
but restrained himself, and to his sister's despair, stood waiting.
"Pierce, dear," she whispered, "pray go."
"I have no right," he said huskily; and Jenny wrung her hands and tried
vainly for what she deemed the correct words to say.
The painful silence was broken by the appearance of the maid.
"A gentleman to see you, sir; very important."
"Mr Wilton?" cried Jenny.
"No, ma'am, a strange gentleman," said the girl. "Someone very bad."
Leigh exhaled his pent-up breath with a sigh of relief, and went quickly
down to where his visitor was waiting, looking wild and ghastly.
Garstang!--the man he had been watching for months without result, but
who looked at him as one whom he had never met before.
"Will you come with me directly?" he cried. "My house--only in the next
street. I'd better tell you at once, so that you may bring some
antidote with you. I need not explain--a young lady--my wife--a foolish
quarrel--a little jealousy--and she has taken some of that new sedative,
Xyrania--a poisonous dose, I fear."
"A young lady--my wife," rang in Leigh's ears like the death knell of
all hopes. Then he was right: this man had carried her off with her
consent, and it had come to this.
"Do you not hear me, sir?" cried Garstang; "Mr--I don't know your name;
I came to the first red lamp. You are a doctor?"
"Yes, yes, of course," cried Leigh, hastily.
"Then, for God's sake, come on before it is too late!"
Leigh was the calm, cold, collected physician once again, and he spoke
in a strange tone that he did not know as his own.
"Xyrania," he said; and he went to a case of bottles and jars, took down
one of the former, poured a small quantity into a phial, corked it, and
said solemnly--
"Lead the way, sir--quick; but I must tell you that an overdose of that
drug means sleep from which there is no awaking."
Garstang uttered a low, harsh sound, and motioned towards the door,
leading the way; while Leigh followed him, with his brain feeling, in
addition to the terrific crushing weight of depression as if all the
world were nothing now, confused and strange, as he wondered that the
man did not recognise him; and too much stunned to grasp the fact that
he who had filled so large a measure of his thoughts for months had
never met him face to face--probably had never heard of him, save as
some doctor in practice at Northwood.
Then, as they hurried along the pavement, and at the end of another
hundred yards turned into Great Ormond Street, Leigh felt oppressed by
another thought--that after all, Kate, if it were she he was being taken
to see, must have been for months past in the house he had so often
gazed at in passing, with an intense desire to enter, but had always
crushed down that desire, telling himself that it was insane.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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