Free Armadale by Wilkie Collins Page B

doctor. ‘With one fault – he knows no language but his own.’
    â€˜There is an English legation at Stuttgart,’ persisted Mr Neal.
    â€˜And there are miles on miles of the Forest between this and Stuttgart,’ rejoined the doctor. ‘If we sent this moment, we could get no help from the legation before to-morrow; and it is as likely as not, in the state of this dying man’s articulation, that to-morrow may find him speechless. I don’t know whether his last wishes are wishes harmless to his child and to others, or wishes hurtful to his child and to others – but I
do
know that they must be fulfilled at once or never, and that you are the only man who can help him.’
    That open declaration brought the discussion to a close. It fixed Mr Neal fast between the two alternatives of saying, Yes, and committing an act of imprudence – or of saying, No, and committing an act of inhumanity. There was a silence of some minutes. The Scotchman steadily reflected; and the German steadily watched him.
    The responsibility of saying the next words rested on Mr Neal, and, in course of time, Mr Neal took it. He rose from his chair, with a sullen sense of injury lowering on his heavy eyebrows, and working sourly in the lines at the corners of his mouth.
    â€˜My position is forced on me,’ he said. ‘I have no choice but to accept it.’
    The doctor’s impulsive nature rose in revolt against the merciless brevity and gracelessness of that reply. ‘I wish to God,’ he broke out fervently, ‘I knew English enough to take your place at Mr Armadale’s bedside!’
    â€˜Bating your taking the name of the Almighty in vain,’ answered the Scotchman, ‘I entirely agree with you. I wish you did.’
    Without another word on either side, they left the room together – the doctor leading the way.

CHAPTER III

THE WRECK OF THE TIMBER-SHIP
    No one answered the doctor’s knock, when he and his companion reached the antechamber door of Mr Armadale’s apartments. They entered unannounced; and when they looked into the sitting-room, the sitting-room was empty.
    â€˜I must see Mrs Armadale,’ said Mr Neal. ‘I decline acting in the matter unless Mrs Armadale authorizes my interference with her own lips.’
    â€˜Mrs Armadale is probably with her husband,’ replied the doctor. He approached a door at the inner end of the sitting-room while he spoke – hesitated – and, turning round again, looked at his sour companion anxiously. ‘I am afraid I spoke a little harshly, sir, when we were leaving your room,’ he said. ‘I beg your pardon for it, with all my heart. Before this poor afflicted lady comes in, will you – will you excuse my asking your utmost gentleness and consideration for her?’
    â€˜No, sir,’ retorted the other harshly, ‘I won’t excuse you. What right have I given you to think me wanting in gentleness and consideration towards anybody?’
    The doctor saw it was useless. ‘I beg your pardon again,’ he said resignedly, and left the unapproachable stranger to himself.
    Mr Neal walked to the window, and stood there, with his eyes mechanically fixed on the prospect, composing his mind for the coming interview.
    It was midday; the sun shone bright and warm; and all the little world of Wildbad was alive and merry in the genial spring time. Now and again, heavy waggons, with blackfaced carters in charge, rolled by the window, bearing their precious lading of charcoal from the Forest. Now and again, hurled over the headlong current of the stream that runs through the town, great lengths of timber loosely strung together in interminable series – with the booted raftsmen, pole in hand, poisedwatchful at either end – shot swift and serpent-like past the houses on their course to the distant Rhine. High and steep above the gabled wooden buildings on the river bank, the great