CHAPTER XIV
AT THE GATE OF DEATH
The second time that Tawny Hudson was driven from his master's side wason a day of splendid spring--English April at its best.
Till the very last moment he lingered, and it was Lucas himself with hisfinal "Go, Tawny!" who sent him from the room. They would not even lethim wait, as Nap was waiting, till the anaesthetic had done its work.Black hatred gripped the man's heart as he crept away. What was Napanyway that he should be thus honoured? The cloud that had attended hiscoming had made a deep impression upon Hudson. He had watched the linesupon his master's face till he knew them by heart. He knew when anxietykept the weary eyes from closing. He knew when the effort of the mind wasmore than the body could endure. Of Lucas's pleasure at his brother'sreturn he raised no question, but that it would have been infinitelybetter for him had Nap remained away he was firmly convinced. And he knewwith the sure intuition that unceasing vigilance had developed in himthat Capper thought the same.
Capper resented as he did the intrusion of the black sheep of thefamily. But Capper was obviously powerless--even Capper, who soruthlessly expelled him from his master's presence, had proved impotentwhen it came to removing Nap.
There was a mysterious force about Nap that no one seemed able toresist. He, Hudson, had felt it a hundred times, had bowed to it inspite of himself. He called it black magic in his own dark heart, andbecause of it his hatred almost amounted to a mania. He regarded himwith superstition, as a devilish being endowed with hellish powers thatmight at any moment be directed against his enemies. And he feared hisinfluence over Lucas, even though with all his monstrous imaginings herecognised the fact of Lucas's ascendency. He had a morbid dread lestsome day his master should be taken unawares, for in Nap's devotion heplaced not a particle of faith. And mingled with his fears was aburning jealousy that kept hatred perpetually alive. There was not oneof the duties that he performed for his master that Nap had not at onetime or another performed, more swiftly, more satisfactorily, with thatdevilish deftness of his that even Capper had to admire and Hudsoncould never hope to achieve. And in his inner soul the man knew thatthe master he idolised preferred Nap's ministrations, Nap's sure anddexterous touch, to his.
And so on that day of riotous spring he waited with murder in his heartto see his enemy emerge from the closed room.
But he waited in vain. No hand touched the door against which he stood.Within the room he heard only vague movements, and now and then Capper'svoice, sharp and distinct, giving a curt order. Two doctors and twonurses were there to do his bidding, to aid him in the working of hismiracle; two doctors, two nurses, and Nap.
Gradually as the minutes passed the truth dawned upon the greathalf-breed waiting outside. Against Capper's wish, probably in defianceof it, Nap was remaining for the operation itself. Suspicion deepenedswiftly to conviction, and a spasm of indignation akin to frenzy tookpossession of the man. Doubtless Capper had remonstrated without result,but he--he, Tawny Hudson--could compel. Fiercely he turned and pulled thehandle of the door.
It resisted him. He had not heard the key turned upon him, yet undeniablythe door was locked. Fury entered into him. Doubtless this also was thework of his enemy. He seized the handle, twisted, dragged, wrenched, tillit broke in his hand and he was powerless.
No one within the room paid any attention to him. No one came to open;and this fact served to inflame him further. For a few lurid momentsTawny Hudson saw red. He gathered his huge bull-frame together and flungthe whole weight of it against the resisting wood. He was powerless toforce the lock, as the door opened towards him, but this fact did notdiscourage him. It scarcely entered into his reckoning. He was nothing atthe moment but a savage beast beyond all reasoning and beyond control.
The panels resisted his violent onslaught, but he was undaunted. Withscarcely a pause he drew off and prepared for another. But at the veryinstant that he was about to hurl himself the second time, a voice spokeon the other side of the door.
"Tawny!"
Tawny stood as if transfixed, his eyes starting, bestial foam upon hislips.
"Tawny!" said the voice again--the voice of his enemy, curt andimperious. "Go and find Mr. Bertie, and tell him he is wanted."
Through the closed door the magic reached the frenzied man. He remainedmotionless for a few seconds, but the order was not repeated. At the endof the interval the magic had done its work. He turned and slunk away.
A minute later Bertie, very pale and stern, presented himself at theclosed door.
"What is it, Nap?"
Contemptuously clear came the answer. "Nothing here. Stay where you are,that's all, and keep that all-fired fool Hudson from spoiling hismaster's chances."
Bertie turned to look at the man who had come up behind him, and inturning saw the door-handle at his feet.
He pointed to it. "Your doing?"
Hudson shrank under the accusing blue eyes so like his master's. He beganto whimper like a beaten dog.
Bertie picked up the knob. "Poor devil!" he muttered; and then aloud:"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Do you call this a man's game?"
Tawny cringed in abject misery. He was completely subdued. With thesmallest encouragement he would have grovelled at Bertie's feet.
Bertie came away from the door and sat down. His own anxiety was almostinsupportable, but he cloaked it with determined resolution. "Sit downthere!" he said, pointing to a distant chair. "And don't move until Igive you leave."
Meekly the man obeyed him, sitting crouched, his head between his hands.
Bertie regarded him with a severity more assumed than actual. He had notthe heart to send him away. He knew it would have been sheer cruelty.
A long time passed. Neither of the two watchers stirred. Tawny Hudson didnot even seem to breathe. He sat like a human image of despair.
Noon came and passed. Somewhere in the distance church bells began topeal. Bertie started a little. He had forgotten it was Sunday. Dot wouldbe just driving home from church. She would not come to Baronmead, heknew. It had been her original intention, but he had dissuaded her. Heknew that she was very anxious, but he would not have her run the risk ofa shock. If the operation failed, if Luke were to die, he would tell herhimself. He knew that he could soften the blow as none other could.
It was nearly one when at last the closed door opened. Bertie was on hisfeet in an instant. Dr. Randal came quietly out, glanced round, stopped.
"It is over. We have taken him into the inner room, and he is recoveringconsciousness. No, don't go to him. His man mustn't go either. We wantall these doors open, wide open, the windows too. But no one is to gonear. He must have absolute quiet."
He propped open the door as he spoke. His face was very grave.
"Remember," he said, "that the banging of this door or any sudden soundmay mean the end."
"Is he so bad then?" said Bertie, speaking with effort.
"He is very bad indeed," the doctor answered. "The operation has been aprotracted one. If he lives, it will be a success. But there is greatweakness of the heart's action. Any moment may be the last. Dr. Capperwill not leave him at present. Your brother is there too." He paused amoment. "Your brother is a wonderful man," he said, with the air of a manbestowing praise against his will. "If you will be good enough to ordersome refreshment I will take it in. On no account is Mr. Errol's servantto go near."
Slowly the hours of a day that seemed endless dragged away. Bertie wenthome to his wife in the afternoon, taking Tawny Hudson, subdued andwretched, with him.
In the evening he returned, the man still following him like a pariahdog, to find the situation unaltered. Capper and Nap were still withLucas, whose life hung by a thread.
Bertie decided to remain for the night, and at a late hour he saw Capperfor a moment. The great man's face was drawn and haggard.
"He won't last through the night," he said. "Tell the ladies to be inreadiness. I will send for them if there is time."
"No hope whatever?" said B
ertie.
Capper shook his head. "I fear--none. He is just running down--sinking. Ithink you had better not come in, but stay within call."
He was gone again, and Bertie was left to give his message, and then towait in anguish of spirit for the final call.
The night was still. Only the draught from the wide-flung doors andwindows stirred through the quiet rooms. Mrs. Errol and Anne sharedBertie's vigil in the room that opened out of that in which Lucas Errolwas making his last stand. Humbly, in a corner, huddled Tawny Hudson,rocking himself, but making no sound.
Within the room Capper sat at the foot of the bed, motionless, alert asa sentry. A nurse stood like a statue, holding back the bellyingwindow-curtain. And on his knees beside the bed, the inert wrists grippedclose in his sinewy fingers, was Nap.
The light of a shaded lamp shone upon his dusky face, showing the gleamof his watchful eyes, the crude lines of jaw and cheek-bone. He lookedlike a figure carved in bronze.
For hours he had knelt so in unceasing vigilance, gazing unblinkingand tireless at the exhausted face upon the pillow. It might have beenthe face of a dead man upon which he gazed, but the pulses thatfluttered in his hold told him otherwise. Lucas still held feebly,feebly, to his chain.
It was nearly an hour after midnight that a voice spoke in theutter silence.
"Boney!"
"I'm here, old chap."
"Good-bye, dear fellow!" It was scarcely more than a whisper. It seemedto come from closed lips.
"Open your eyes," said Nap.
Slowly the heavy lids opened. The blue eyes met the deep, mysterious gazefocussed upon them.
Silent as a ghost Capper glided forward. The nurse left the window, andthe curtain floated out into the room, fluttering like an imprisonedthing seeking to escape.
"Ah, but, Boney--" the tired voice said, as though in protest.
And Nap's voice, thrilled through and through with a tenderness that wasmore than human, made answer. "Just a little longer, dear old man! Only alittle longer! See! I'm holding you up. Turn up the lamp, doctor. Takeoff the shade. He can't see me. There, old chap! Look at me now. Griphold of me. You can't go yet. I'm with you. I'm holding you back."
Capper trickled something out of a spoon between the pale lips, and for alittle there was silence.
But the blue eyes remained wide, fixed upon those other fiery eyes thatheld them by some mysterious magic from falling into sightlessness.
Three figures had come in through the open door, moving wraith-like,silently. The room seemed full of shadows.
After a while Lucas spoke again, and this time his lips movedperceptibly. "It's such a long way back, Boney,--no end of a trail--andall up hill."
The flare of the lamp was full upon Nap's face; it threw the harsh linesinto strong relief, and it seemed to Anne, watching, that she looked uponthe face of a man in extremity. His voice too--was that Nap's voicepleading so desperately?
"Don't be faint-hearted, old chap! I'll haul you up. It won't be so toughpresently. You're through the worst already. Hold on, Luke, hold on!"
Again Capper poured something between the parted lips, and a quiver ranthrough the powerless body.
"Hold on!" Nap repeated. "You promised you would. You mustn't go yet, oldboy. You can't be spared. I shall go to the devil without you."
"Not you, Boney!" Lucas's lips quivered into a smile. "That's all over,"he said. "You're playing--the straight game--now."
"You must stay and see it through," said Nap. "I can't win outwithout you."
"Ah!" A long sigh came pantingly with the word. "That so, Boney? GuessI'm--a selfish brute--always was--always was."
A choked sob came through the stillness. Bertie suddenly covered hisface. Mrs. Errol put her arm round him as one who comforted a child.
"Is that--someone--crying?" gasped Lucas.
"It's that ass Bertie," answered Nap, without stirring so much asan eyelid.
"Bertie? Poor old chap! Tell him he mustn't. Tell him--I'll hang on--alittle longer--God willing; but only a little longer, Boney, only--alittle--longer."
There was pleading in the voice, the pleading of a man unutterably tiredand longing to be at rest.
Anne, standing apart, was cut to the heart with the pathos of it. But Napdid not seem to feel it. He knelt on, inflexible, determined, all hisiron will, all his fiery vitality, concentrated upon holding a man inlife. It was not all magnetism, it was not all strength of purpose, itwas his whole being grappling, striving, compelling, till inch by inch hegained a desperate victory.
In the morning the fight was over. In the morning Lucas Errol had turned,reluctantly as it seemed to Anne, from the Gate of Death.
And while he lay sleeping quietly, the spring air, pure and life-giving,blowing across his face, the man who had brought him back rose up fromhis bedside, crept with a noiseless, swaying motion from the room, andsank senseless on the further side of the door.