A Duel

A CONVERSATION WITH THE DOCTOR

"So you've come, have you, at last! I suppose that old hag told you you had better before I came to you? I should have come in half an hour."

That was the greeting the angry lady accorded her tardy visitor.

Dr. Twelves seemed to be in no haste to answer. Coming to within a foot or two of her bed-side he stood and eyed her. He looked very old in the daylight, older than she had thought he was. Short; thin to the point of emaciation. There was something almost sinister in his attitude, in the way in which, inclining his head a little forward, his arms held close to his sides, he examined her keenly, as if he were some bird of prey, and she an object on which he was doubtful whether or not to pounce. As she gave him glance for glance she understood that this was a person who was not so frail as he might at first sight appear. But want of courage was not a deficiency which could justly be laid to the lady's charge. When he did reply it was with a question.

"Why do you speak to me like that?"

"You know very well why! You promised that first night that you would attend to my foot; but though I've asked for you again and again you've never been near me once, till you were afraid that I should be after you."

"You've been in good hands. Nannie has done all for you that I could have done."

"I don't doubt that."

"Then of what do you complain?"

"You've kept me a prisoner."

"Kept you a prisoner! I! Madam, you jest. Has not your foot had something to do with your confinement? Is it not holding you a prisoner still?"

"It won't do long, so don't you think it. I'll be out and about before the day's over, and when I am I'll make things hum. Is my husband dead?"

"Your husband?"

"My husband! Are you deaf?"

"No, madam, not yet. So far age has not robbed me of my hearing. But to whom do you refer when you speak of your husband?"

There was that in the fashion in which he asked the question which caused her to clench her fists, tighten her lips and descend to vulgarity-unfortunately an easy descent for her to make when her temper waxed warm.

"What are you playing at? Do you think you're clever, or that I'm an utter fool? You're wrong if you do, you may take it from me. Is my husband, Cuthbert Grahame, dead? I've not been able to get an answer out of that old harridan, but I'll get one out of you."

"Then is Cuthbert Grahame your husband?"

"Is he! Isn't he? Didn't he marry me the other night in front of you and that old woman?"

"Have you a certificate or any writing to show it?"

"A certificate! What do I want with a certificate? You said nothing about a certificate! Look here, old man, don't you try to play any fool-tricks with me, or you'll be sorry. Are you trying to make out that he's not my husband?"

"Not at all; I am trying to do nothing. I should like to ask you a question, to which, before you answer it, I would suggest that you should give a little careful consideration. Would you rather be Cuthbert Grahame's wife or not?"

"I am his wife, and you very well know it, so it's no use talking, and that's enough said. I ask you again, is my husband dead?"

"Your husband? That is the point which I am gradually approaching. Mr. Cuthbert Grahame is not dead."

Her jaw dropped open.

"Not dead?"

"Not dead."

"But you told me-"

"Precisely; I am aware that I told you. You will, however, remember that I made an express reservation in favour of a miracle. The miracle has happened."

"How long will he live?"

"Madam, I am not omniscient. I have once, within your knowledge, failed as a prophet; I should not care to fail again."

"Is he dying?"

"I may venture to say that, at the present moment, to the best of my knowledge and belief, he is not."

"You are beating about the bush. You can at least say if he is likely to live long."

"It is possible, madam, that he may outlive me-even you."

"Then you have cheated me! – cheated me! You have got me into this mess by your lies."

"Any injustice I may have done you was unintentional. You will also be so good as to observe that I have just now offered you something which was intended to be in the nature of a loophole out of the dilemma in which you are placed."

"You mean when you asked me if I wanted to be his wife. Am I his wife, or am I not?"

"It might present a pretty point for the lawyers. If you had chosen to repudiate the connection, it might not have been easy to establish. Nannie and I can hold our tongues-that I beg you to believe. The occasion for a wife having passed, he might have preferred to hold his too."

"Would he rather be unmarried?"

"That is not a matter on which I should care to positively pronounce."

"Then why was he so eager?"

"I explained at the time. He had made a will in favour of a certain person, which he desired to render ineffective; marriage makes null and void any will which a man may have previously made; under the circumstances that seemed to be the easiest and the shortest way out of it. As matters have turned out the measure seems to have been a little drastic, since he can now, if he chooses, make a dozen new wills each day."

"Is he so far recovered as that?"

The doctor seemed desirous to consider before he answered. He put up his long, thin hand to stroke his bristly chin. Moving a few steps, he leaned over the foot of the bed, and from that point attentively regarded her.

"Madam, I do not wish to trouble you with the medical names of all the complicated diseases with which Mr. Grahame is afflicted. I am not sure that I am myself acquainted with them all; some of them puzzle even me. Among other troubles he is paralysed. He cannot move hand or foot of his own volition, or crook a finger. Again, straying into the paths of prophecy, I dare assert that he never will be able to. He has his senses-after a fashion; he is sane-also after a fashion. That is, he is legally capable of making a will, or of taking a wife. But if he desires to affix his signature to a document a pen will have to be placed between his fingers, his hand will have to be guided. To that extent he has recovered, beyond that he almost certainly will never go."

"But he is not dying?"

"No, madam, he is not dying."

"Nor likely to die?"

"No office would insure his life for four-and-twenty hours, though it is quite within the range of possibility that the breath may continue in his body for years. Such cases have been known. Some people death takes at the first call; some have to be called again and again; some seem to go beyond the portal and yet return. Cuthbert Grahame is one of them. He'll not go till death is very much in earnest; when that will be I cannot say. I mistook death's mood the other night-the oldest of us make such mistakes at times. In this case my mistake may seem to press a little hardly upon you."