Story of the Vanishing Patient

by Elia W. Peattie

　　

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THERE had always been strangestories about the house, but itwas a sensible, comfortable sortof a neighborhood, and peopletook pains to say to one another that therewas nothing in these tales -- of course not!Absolutely nothing! How could there be?It was a matter of common remark, however,that considering the amount of money theNethertons had spent on the place, it wascurious they lived there so little. They werenearly always away, -- up North in the summerand down South in the winter, and overto Paris or London now and then, -- and whenthey did come home it was only to entertaina number of guests from the city. The placewas either plunged in gloom or gayety. Theold gardener who kept house by himself inthe cottage at the back of the yard had thingsmuch his own way by far the greater part ofthe time.Dr. Block and his wife lived next door tothe Nethertons, and he and his wife, whowere so absurd as to be very happy in eachother's company, had the benefit of the beautifulyard. They walked there mornings whenthe leaves were silvered with dew, and eveningsthey sat beside the lily pond and listenedfor the whip-poor-will. The doctor's wifemoved her room over to that side of thehouse which commanded a view of the yard,and thus made the honeysuckles and laureland clematis and all the masses of tossinggreenery her own. Sitting there day afterday with her sewing, she speculated about themystery which hung impalpably yet undeniablyover the house.It happened one night when she and herhusband had gone to their room, and werecongratulating themselves on the fact that hehad no very sick patients and was likely toenjoy a good night's rest, that a ring came atthe door."If it's any one wanting you to leavehome," warned his wife, "you must tell themyou are all worn out. You've been disturbedevery night this week, and it's too much!"The young physician went downstairs. Atthe door stood a man whom he had neverseen before."My wife is lying very ill next door," saidthe stranger, "so ill that I fear she will notlive till morning. Will you please come toher at once?""Next door?" cried the physician. "Ididn't know the Nethertons were home!""Please hasten," begged the man. "I mustgo back to her. Follow as quickly as youcan."The doctor went back upstairs to completehis toilet."How absurd," protested his wife when sheheard the story. "There is no one at theNethertons'. I sit where I can see the frontdoor, and no one can enter without my knowingit, and I have been sewing by the windowall day. If there were any one in the house,the gardener would have the porch lanternlighted. It is some plot. Some one hasdesigns on you. You must not go."But he went. As he left the room his wifeplaced a revolver in his pocket.The great porch of the mansion was dark,but the physician made out that the door wasopen, and he entered. A feeble light camefrom the bronze lamp at the turn of the stairs,and by it he found his way, his feet sinkingnoiselessly in the rich carpets. At the headof the stairs the man met him. The doctorthought himself a tall man, but the strangertopped him by half a head. He motionedthe physician to follow him, and the two wentdown the hall to the front room. The placewas flushed with a rose-colored glow fromseveral lamps. On a silken couch, in themidst of pillows, lay a woman dying withconsumption. She was like a lily, white,shapely, graceful, with feeble yet charmingmovements. She looked at the doctor appealingly,then, seeing in his eyes the involuntaryverdict that her hour was at hand,she turned toward her companion with aglance of anguish. Dr. Block asked a fewquestions. The man answered them, thewoman remaining silent. The physician administeredsomething stimulating, and thenwrote a prescription which he placed on themantel-shelf."The drug store is closed to-night," hesaid, "and I fear the druggist has gone home.You can have the prescription filled the firstthing in the morning, and I will be overbefore breakfast."After that, there was no reason why heshould not have gone home. Yet, oddlyenough, he preferred to stay. Nor was itprofessional anxiety that prompted this delay.He longed to watch those mysterious persons,who, almost oblivious of his presence,were speaking their mortal farewells in theirglances, which were impassioned and of unutterablesadness.He sat as if fascinated. He watched theglitter of rings on the woman's long, whitehands, he noted the waving of light hairabout her temples, he observed the details ofher gown of soft white silk which fell abouther in voluminous folds. Now and then theman gave her of the stimulant which the doctorhad provided; sometimes he bathed herface with water. Once he paced the floorfor a moment till a motion of her handquieted him.After a time, feeling that it would be moresensible and considerate of him to leave, thedoctor made his way home. His wife wasawake, impatient to hear of his experiences.She listened to his tale in silence, and whenhe had finished she turned her face to thewall and made no comment."You seem to be ill, my dear," he said."You have a chill. You are shivering.""I have no chill," she replied sharply."But I -- well, you may leave the lightburning."The next morning before breakfast the doctorcrossed the dewy sward to the Nethertonhouse. The front door was locked, and noone answered to his repeated ringings. Theold gardener chanced to be cutting the grassnear at hand, and he came running up."What you ringin' that door-bell for, doctor?"said he. "The folks ain't come homeyet. There ain't nobody there.""Yes, there is, Jim. I was called here lastnight. A man came for me to attend hiswife. They must both have fallen asleep thatthe bell is not answered. I wouldn't be surprisedto find her dead, as a matter of fact.She was a desperately sick woman. Perhapsshe is dead and something has happened tohim. You have the key to the door, Jim.Let me in."But the old man was shaking in every limb,and refused to do as he was bid."Don't you never go in there, doctor,"whispered he, with chattering teeth. "Don'tyou go for to 'tend no one. You jus' cometell me when you sent for that way. No, Iain't goin' in, doctor, nohow. It ain't partof my duties to go in. That's been stipulatedby Mr. Netherton. It's my business to lookafter the garden."Argument was useless. Dr. Block took thebunch of keys from the old man's pocket andhimself unlocked the front door and entered.He mounted the steps and made his way tothe upper room. There was no evidence ofoccupancy. The place was silent, and, so faras living creature went, vacant. The dust layover everything. It covered the delicatedamask of the sofa where he had seen thedying woman. It rested on the pillows. Theplace smelled musty and evil, as if it had notbeen used for a long time. The lamps of theroom held not a drop of oil.But on the mantel-shelf was the prescriptionwhich the doctor had written the nightbefore. He read it, folded it, and put it inhis pocket.As he locked the outside door the old gardenercame running to him."Don't you never go up there again, willyou?" he pleaded, "not unless you see all theNethertons home and I come for you myself.You won't, doctor?""No," said the doctor.When he told his wife she kissed him, andsaid:"Next time when I tell you to stay at home,you must stay!"

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