British -- India -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
Flora drew back reluctantly, and Mabel ran across the courtyard. At
the door of the sick-room, which was a makeshift structure erected
since the earthquake at the corner where two verandahs joined, she met
Dr Tighe.
“So I hear you want to play at nursing a little, Miss North?” he said,
not unkindly, but by no means as if he regarded her intention as
serious. “Do you think you won’t fall asleep? Can you keep cool,
whatever happens? Not that you could do much harm if you went into
hysterics,” he added, half to himself. “The poor fellow wouldn’t be
disturbed.”
Even this slighting estimate of her powers did not provoke Mabel to
protest. “What have I to do?” she asked, with determined calmness, and
the doctor looked at her curiously.
“I want you to sit beside him and watch for any sound or movement. If
there is the least change, send for me at once. I must spend the night
over at the hospital, but I am leaving my boy in the verandah here,
and he will fetch me whenever you want me.”
“Wait, please. May I speak to him?”
“Who--the boy? Oh, the patient. Yes, of course, as much as you like,
if it will ease your mind. Didn’t I tell you that he couldn’t hear
you?” He glanced sharply at her, but she turned away from him, and
went into the room without saying anything, leaving him puzzled. “I
feel a bit of a brute,” he said to himself, as he crossed to the
passage leading into the hospital, “but she must keep up. I don’t want
her on my hands in hysterics, in addition to all the rest.”
Mabel sat down quietly beside the bed. A smoky native lamp shed a
flickering light through the little room, rendering dimly visible the
swathed figure which lay absolutely motionless in its shroud of
bandages. Of the face nothing could be seen, and the bandaged hands
were stretched straight at the sides. A great terror seized Mabel.
Surely he must be dead? She laid her hand timidly on the wrist nearest
her, so lightly as scarcely to touch it, but the contact served to
reassure her. He was still living, and she resigned herself to her
silent and solitary watch.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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