The Disagreeable Woman

"Much, for he requires much. He is lying in a poor lodging-house grievously ill with a fever. He has little or no money, yet he must once have been in affluent circumstances. Without a trained nurse, and the comforts that only money can buy, I fear he will not live."

"It is a sad case. I am willing to cooperate with you. What is your patient's name?"

"Philip Douglas."

"Philip Douglas!" she exclaimed, in evident excitement. "Tell me quickly, what is his appearance?"

"He is a large man, of striking appearance, with full, dark eyes, who must in earlier days have been strikingly handsome."

"And he is poor, and ill?" she said, breathless.

"Very poor and very ill."

Her breath came quick. She seemed deeply agitated.

"And where is he living?"

"In No. – West Eleventh Street."

"Take me there at once."

I looked at her in amazement.

"Dr. Fenwick," she said, "you wonder at my excitement. I will explain it. This man, Philip Douglas, and I were once engaged to be married. The engagement was broken through my fault and my folly. I have regretted it many times. I have much to answer for. I fear that I wrecked his life, and it may be too late to atone. But I will try. Lead me to him."

I bowed gravely, and we set out.

Arrived at the lodging-house I thought it prudent to go up alone. I feared that excitement might be bad for my patient.

He was awake and resting more comfortably.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"Better, doctor. Thanks to you."

"Have you no relatives whom you would wish to see—or friends?"

"I have no relatives in New York," he said.

"Or friends?"

He paused and looked thoughtful.

"I don't know," he answered, slowly. "There is one—I have not seen her for many years—but it is impossible, yet I would give my life to see Jane Blagden."

"Why not send for her?"

"She would not come. We were friends once—very dear friends—I hoped to marry her. Now I am poor and broken in health, I must give up the thought."

"Could you bear to see her? Would it not make you ill?"

"What do you mean, doctor?" he asked, quickly.

"I mean that Miss Blagden is below. She wishes to see you."

"Can it be? Are you a magician? How could you know of her?"

"Never mind that. Shall I bring her up?"

"Yes."

CHAPTER XXIII.

AT LAST

Jane Blagden paused a moment at the entrance to the room, as if to gather strength for the interview. I had never seen her so moved. Then she opened the door and entered with a firm step.

He lay on the bed with his eyes fixed eagerly on the door. As she entered he tried to raise his head.

"Jane!" he exclaimed, eagerly.

She placed her hand for a moment on her heart, as if to still its throbbing. Then she walked quickly to the bed.

"Philip!" she said.

"At last!" he cried, in a low voice.

"Can you forgive me, Philip, dear Philip?"

"If there is anything to forgive."

"There is—much. I am afraid you have suffered."

"I have."

"And so have I. Since we parted I have been lonely—desolate. I let my pride and my obstinacy come between us—but I have been punished."

She had drawn a chair to the bed-side, and sitting down took his hand in hers. It was hot, feverish.

"You are very ill, I fear."

"I shall be better now," he murmured. "It is worth much to have you beside me."

I looked at the face of the Disagreeable Woman. I saw upon it an expression I had never seen before—an expression that made her look ten years younger. I could not have believed in the tenderness, the heart-warmth which it showed.

"Philip," she said, "you must get well for my sake."

"And if I do?" he asked, eagerly.