Chapter XXXIV--Waiting

by Bram Stoker

　　Mr. Hilton telegraphed at once countermanding, for the present, thenurse for whom he had sent.That night, when the household had all retired, he came quietly tohis patient's room, and entering noiselessly, sat silent in a farcorner. There was no artificial right; the patient had to be kept indarkness. There was, however, a bright moonlight; sufficient lightstole in through the edges of the blinds to allow him, when his eyesgrew accustomed, to see what might happen.Harold lay quite still till the house was quiet. He had beenthinking, ever since he had ascertained the identity of Stephen. Inhis weakness and the paralysing despair of his blindness all hisformer grief and apprehension had come bank upon him in a great wave;veritably the tide of circumstances seemed to run hard against him.He had had no idea of forcing himself upon Stephen; and yet here hewas a guest in her house, without her knowledge or his own. She hadsaved his life by her energy and resource. Fortunately she did notas yet know him; the bandages, and his act in suppressing his voice,had so far protected him. But such could not last for long. Hecould not see to protect himself, and take precautions as need arose.And he knew well that Stephen's nature would not allow her to besatisfied without doing all that was possible to help one who hadunder her eyes made a great effort on behalf of others, and to whomthere was the added bond that his life was due to her. In but alittle time she must find out to whom she ministered.What then would happen? Her kindness was such that when she realisedthe blindness of her old friend she might so pity him that out of thedepths of her pity she would forgive. She would take back all thepast; and now that she knew of his old love for her, would perhaps bewilling to marry him. Back flooded the old memory of herindependence and her theory of sexual equality. If out of anyselfish or mistaken idea she did not hesitate to ask a man to marryher, would it be likely that when the nobler and more heroic side ofher nature spoke she would hesitate to a similar act in pursuance ofher self-sacrifice?So it might be that she would either find herself once again flouted,or else married to a man she did not love.Such a catastrophe should not happen, whatever the cost to him. Hewould, blind as he was, steal away in the night and take himself outof her life; this time for ever. Better the ingratitude of anunknown man, the saving of whose life was due to her, than the longdull routine of a spoiled life, which would otherwise be her unhappylot.When once this idea had taken root in his mind he had taken suchsteps as had been open to him without endangering the secrecy of hismotive. Thanks to his subtle questioning of the Doctor, he now knewthat his room was close to the ground, so that he would easily dropfrom the window and steal away with out immediate danger of anyrestraining accident. If he could once get away he would be allright. There was a large sum to his credit in each of two Londonbanks. He would manage somehow to find his way to London; even if hehad to walk and beg his way.He felt that now in the silence of the night the time had come.Quietly he rose and felt his way to the door, now and again stumblingand knocking against unknown obstacles in the manner of the recentlyblind. After each such noise he paused and listened. He felt as ifthe very walls had ears. When he reached the door he turned the keysoftly. Then he breathed more freely. He felt that he was at lastalone and free to move without suspicion.Then began a great and arduous search; one that was infinitelydifficult and exasperating; and full of pathos to the sympathetic manwho watched him in silence. Mr. Hilton could not understand hismovements as he felt his way about the room, opening drawers andarmoires, now and again stooping down and feeling along the floor.He did not betray his presence, however, but moved noiselessly awayas the other approached. It was a hideously real game of blindman's-buff, with perhaps a life as the forfeit.Harold went all over the room, and at last sat down on the edge ofhis bed with a hollow suppressed groan that was full of pain. He hadfound his clothes, but realised that they were now but rags. He puton the clothes, and then for a long time sat quiet, rocking gently toand fro as one in pain, a figure of infinite woe. At last he rousedhimself. His mind was made up; the time for action had come. Hegroped his way towards the window looking south. The Doctor, who hadtaken off his shoes, followed him with catlike stealthiness.He easily threw open the window, for it was already partly open forventilation.When Mr. Hilton saw him sit on the rail of the balcony and begin toraise his feet, getting ready to drop over, he rushed forward andseized him. Harold instinctively grappled with him; the habit of hisAlaskan life amidst continual danger made in such a case action swiftas thought. Mr. Hilton, with the single desire to prevent him fromkilling himself, threw himself backward and pulled Harold with him tothe stone floor.Harold, as he held him in a grip of iron, thundered out, forgetful inthe excitement of the moment the hushed voice to which he had limitedhimself:'What do you want? who are you?''H-s-s-sh! I am Mr. Hilton.' Harold relaxed the rigour of his graspbut still held him firmly:'How did you come here? I locked my door!''I have been in the room a long time. I suspected something, andcame to watch; to prevent your rash act.''Rash act! How?''Why, man, if you didn't kill, you would at least cripple yourself.''How can I cripple myself when the flower-bed is only a few feetbelow?''There are other dangers for a man who--a man in your sad state.And, besides, have I no duty to prevent a suicide!' Here a brilliantidea struck Harold. This man had evidently got some wrongimpression; but it would serve to shield his real purpose. He wouldtherefore encourage it. For the moment, of course, his purpose toescape unnoticed was foiled; but he would wait, and in due time seizeanother opportunity. In a harder and more determined tone than hehad yet used he said:'I don't see what right you have to interfere. I shall kill myselfif I like.''Not whilst you are in my care!' This was spoken with a resolutionequal to his own. Then Mr. Hilton went on, more softly and withinfinite compassion: 'Moreover, I want to have a talk with you whichmay alter your views.' Harold interrupted, still playing the game ofhiding his real purpose:'I shall do as I wish; as I intend.''You are injuring yourself even now by standing in the draught ofthat open window. Your eyes will feel it before long . . . Are youmad . . . ?'Harold felt a prick like a pin in his neck; and turned to seize hiscompanion. He could not find him, and for a few moments stumbledthrough the dark, raging . . .It seemed a long time before he remembered anything. He had a senseof time lapsed; of dreamland thoughts and visions. Then graduallyrecollection came back. He tried to move; but found it impossible.His arms and legs were extended wide and were tied; he could feel thecord hurting his wrists and ankles as he moved. To him it was awfulto be thus blind and helpless; and anger began to surge up. He heardthe voice of Mr. Hilton close by him speaking in a calm, grave,sympathetic tone:'My poor fellow, I hated to take such a step; but it was reallynecessary for your own safety. You are a man, and a brave one.Won't you listen to me for a few minutes? When you have heard what Ihave to say I shall release you. In the meantime I apologise for theoutrage, as I dare say you consider it!' Harold was reasonable; andhe was now blind and helpless. Moreover, there was something in theDoctor's voice that carried a sense of power with it.'Go on! I shall listen!' He compelled himself to quietude. TheDoctor saw, and realised that he was master of himself. There weresome snips of scissors, and he was free.'See! all I want is calm for a short time, and you have it. May I goon?''Go on!' said Harold, not without respect. The Doctor after a pausespoke:'My poor fellow, I want you to understand that I wish to help you, todo all in my power to restore to you that which you seem to havelost! I can sympathise with your desire to quit life altogether nowthat the best part of it, sight, seems gone. I do not pretend tojudge the actions of my fellows; and if you determine to carry outyour purpose I shall not be able to prevent you for ever. I shallnot try to. But you certainly shall not do so till you know what Iknow! I had wished to wait till I could be a little more certainbefore I took you into confidence with regard to my guessing as tothe future. But your desire to destroy yourself forces my hand. Nowlet me tell you that there is a possibility of the removal of thecause of your purpose.''What do you mean?' gasped Harold. He was afraid to think outrightand to the full what the other's words seemed to imply.'I mean,' said the other solemnly, 'that there is a possibility, morethan a possibility, that you may recover your sight!' As he spokethere was a little break in his voice. He too was somewhat unnervedat the situation.Harold lay still. The whole universe seemed to sway, and then whirlround him in chaotic mass. Through it at length he seemed to hearthe calm voice:'At first I could not be sure of my surmise, for when I used theophthalmoscope your suffering was too recent to disclose the cause Ilooked for. Now I am fairly sure of it. What I have since heardfrom you has convinced me; your having suffered from rheumatic fever,and the recrudescence of the rheumatic pain after your terribleexperience of the fire and that long chilling swim with so seeminglyhopeless an end to it; the symptoms which I have since noticed,though they have not been as enlightening to me as they might be.Your disease, as I have diagnosed it, is an obscure one and notcommon. I have not before been able to study a case. All thesethings give me great hopes.''Thank God! Thank God!' the voice from the bed was now a whisper.'Thank God! say I too. This that you suffer from is an acute form ofinflammation of the optic nerve. It may of course end badly; inpermanent loss of sight. But I hope--I believe, that in your case itwill not be so. You are young, and you are immensely strong; notmerely muscularly, but in constitution. I can see that you have beenan athlete, and no mean one either. All this will stand to you. Butit will take time. It will need all your own help; all the calmrestraint of your body and your mind. I am doing all that scienceknows; you must do the rest!' He waited, giving time to the other torealise his ideas. Harold lay still for a long time before he spoke:'Doctor.' The voice was so strangely different that the other wasmore hopeful at once. He had feared opposition, or conflict of somekind. He answered as cheerily as he could:'Yes! I am listening.''You are a good fellow; and I am grateful to you, both for what youhave done and what you have told me. I cannot say how grateful justyet; hope unmans me at present. But I think you deserve that Ishould tell you the truth!' The other nodded; he forgot that thespeaker could not see.'I was not intending to commit suicide. Such an idea didn't evenenter my head. To me, suicide is the resource of a coward. I havebeen in too many tight places to ever fear that.''Then in the name of goodness why were you trying to get out of thatwindow?''I wanted to escape; to get away!''In your shirt and trousers; and they are not over much! Withouteven slippers!' A faint smile curled round the lips of the injuredman. Hope was beginning to help already.'Even that way!''But man alive! you were going to your death. How could you expectto get away in such an outfit without being discovered? When youwere missed the whole countryside would have been up, and even beforethe hue-and-cry the first person who saw you would have taken chargeof you.''I know! I know! I had thought of it all. But I was willing tochance it. I had my own reasons!' He was silent a while. TheDoctor was silent too. Each man was thinking in his own way.Presently the Doctor spoke:'Look here, old chap! I don't want to pry into your secrets; but,won't you let me help you? I can hold my tongue. I want to helpyou. You have earned that wish from any man, and woman too, who sawthe burning ship and what you did to save those on board. There isnothing I would not do for you. Nothing! I don't ask you to tell meall; only enough for me to understand and help. I can see that youhave some overpowering wish to get away. Some reason that I cannotfathom, certainly without a clue. You may trust me, I assure you.If you could look into my face, my eyes, you would understand. But--There! take my hand. It may tell you something!'Harold took the hand placed in his, and held it close. He pressedhis other hand over it also, as though the effect of the two handswould bring him double knowledge. It was infinitely pathetic to seehim trying to make his untrained fingers do the duty of his trainedeyes. But, trained or not, his hands had their instinct. Layingdown gently the hand he held he said, turning his bandaged eyes inthe direction of his companion:'I shall trust you! Are we alone; absolutely alone?''Absolutely!''Have I your solemn promise that anything I say shall never go beyondyourself?''I promise. I can swear, if it will make your mind more easy in thematter.''What do you hold most sacred in the world?' Harold had an oddthought; his question was its result.'All told, I should think my profession! Perhaps it doesn't seem toyou much to swear by; but it is all my world! But I have beenbrought up in honour, and you may trust my promise--as much asanything I could swear.''All right! My reason for wanting to get away was because I knewLady de Lannoy!''What!' Then after a pause: 'I should have thought that was areason for wanting to stay. She seems not only one of the mostbeautiful, but the sweetest woman I ever met.''She is all that! And a thousand times more!''Then why-- Pardon me!''I cannot tell you all; but you must take it that my need to get awayis imperative.' After pondering a while Mr. Hilton said suddenly:'I must ask your pardon again. Are you sure there is no mistake.Lady de Lannoy is not married; has not been. She is Countess in herown right. It is quite a romance. She inherited from some oldbranch of more than three hundred years ago.' Again Harold smiled;he quite saw what the other meant.He answered gravely'I understand. But it does not alter my opinion; my purpose. It isneedful--absolutely and imperatively needful that I get away withouther recognising me, or knowing who I am.''She does not know you now. She has not seen you yet.''That is why I hoped to get away in time; before she should recogniseme. If I stay quiet and do all you wish, will you help me?''I will! And what then?''When I am well, if it should be so, I shall steal away, this timeclothed, and disappear out of her life without her knowing. She maythink it ungrateful that one whom she has treated so well shouldbehave so badly. But that can't be helped. It is the lesser evil ofthe two.''And I must abet you? All right! I will do it; though you mustforgive me if you should ever hear that I have abused you and saidbad things of you. It will have to be all in the day's work if I amnot ultimately to give you away. I must take steps at once to keepher from seeing you. I shall have to invent some story; some newkind of dangerous disease, perhaps. I shall stay here and nurse youmyself!' Harold spoke in joyful gratitude:'Oh, you are good. But can you spare the time? How long will it alltake?''Some weeks! Perhaps!' He paused as if thinking. 'Perhaps in amonth's time I shall unbandage your eyes. You will then see; or . .. ''I understand! I shall be patient!'In the morning Mr. Hilton in reporting to Lady de Lannoy told herthat he considered it would be necessary to keep his patient veryquiet, both in mind and body. In the course of the conversation hesaid:'Anything which might upset him must be studiously avoided. He isnot an easy patient to deal with; he doesn't like people to go nearhim. I think, therefore, it will be well if even you do not see him.He seems to have an odd distrust of people, especially of women. Itmay be that he is fretful in his blindness, which is in itself sotrying to a strong man. But besides, the treatment is not calculatedto have a very buoyant effect. It is apt to make a man fretful tolie in the dark, and know that he has to do so for indefinite weeks.Pilocarpin, and salicylate of soda, and mercury do not tend towardscheerfulness. Nor do blisters on the forehead add to the content oflife!''I quite understand,' said Stephen, 'and I will be careful not to gonear him till he is well. Please God! it may bring him back hissight. Thank you a thousand times for your determination to staywith him.'So it was that for more than two weeks Harold was kept all alone. Noone attended him but the Doctor. He slept in the patient's room forthe whole of the first week, and never had him out of sight for morethan a few minutes at a time. He was then able to leave him alonefor longer periods, and settled himself in the bedroom next to him.Every hour or two he would visit him. Occasionally he would be awayfor half a day, but never for more. Stephen rigidly observed theDoctor's advice herself, and gave strict orders that his instructionswere to be obeyed.Harold himself went through a period of mental suffering. It wasagony to him to think of Stephen being so near at hand, and yet notto be able to see her, or even to hear her voice. All the pain ofhis loss of her affection seemed to crowd back on him, and with itthe new need of escaping from her unknown. More than ever he felt itwould not do that she should ever learn his identity. Her pity forhim, and possibly her woman's regard for a man's effort in time ofstress, might lead through the gates of her own self-sacrifice to hisrestoration to his old place in her affections. Nay! it could not behis old place; for at the close of those days she had learned of hislove for her.