The Lock and Key Library: The most interesting stories of all nations: American
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The Lock and Key Library: The most interesting stories of all nations: American
Detective and mystery stories; Short stories, American
Go, wretch! torment me not with thy presence and thy prayers.—
Forgive thee? Will that avail thee when thy fateful hour shall
arrive? Be thou acquitted at thy own tribunal, and thou needest
not fear the verdict of others. If thy guilt be capable of blacker
hues, if hitherto thy conscience be without stain, thy crime will
be made more flagrant by thus violating my retreat. Take thyself
away from my sight if thou wouldst not behold my death!
Thou art gone! murmuring and reluctant! And now my repose is
coming—my work is done!
Fitzjames O’Brien
The Golden Ingot
I had just retired to rest, with my eyes almost blind with the
study of a new work on physiology by M. Brown-Sequard, when the
night bell was pulled violently.
It was winter, and I confess I grumbled as I rose and went
downstairs to open the door. Twice that week I had been aroused
long after midnight for the most trivial causes. Once, to attend
upon the son and heir of a wealthy family, who had cut his thumb
with a penknife, which, it seems, he insisted on taking to bed with
him; and once, to restore a young gentleman to consciousness, who
had been found by his horrified parent stretched insensible on the
staircase. Diachylon in the one case and ammonia in the other were
all that my patients required; and I had a faint suspicion that the
present summons was perhaps occasioned by no case more necessitous
than those I have quoted. I was too young in my profession,
however, to neglect opportunities. It is only when a physician
rises to a very large practice that he can afford to be
inconsiderate. I was on the first step of the ladder, so I humbly
opened my door.
A woman was standing ankle deep in the snow that lay upon the
stoop. I caught but a dim glimpse of her form, for the night was
cloudy; but I could hear her teeth rattling like castanets, and, as
the sharp wind blew her clothes close to her form, I could discern
from the sharpness of the outlines that she was very scantily
supplied with raiment.
“Come in, come in, my good woman,” I said hastily, for the wind
seemed to catch eagerly at the opportunity of making itself at home
in my hall, and was rapidly forcing an entrance through the half-
open door. “Come in, you can tell me all you have to communicate
inside.”
She slipped in like a ghost, and I closed the door. While I was
striking a light in my office, I could hear her teeth still
clicking out in the dark hall, till it seemed as if some skeleton
was chattering. As soon as I obtained a light I begged her to
enter the room, and, without occupying myself particularly about
her appearance, asked her abruptly what her business was.
“My father has met with a severe accident,” she said, “and requires
instant surgical aid. I entreat you to come to him immediately.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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