the captives-第98部分

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She　went　into　the　other　room　and　rang　the　bell。　After　a　time　Mrs。　Brandon　herself　appeared。

〃I'm　afraid　Mr。　Warlock　is　very　ill；〃　said　Maggie；　trying　to　keep　her　voice　from　trembling。　〃He's　asked　me　to　fetch　the　doctor　who's　been　here　to　see　him　before。　Can　you　tell　me　who　he　is　and　where　he　lives？〃

Mrs。　Brandon's　bright　and　inquisitive　eyes　moved　round　the　room；　taking　in　the　blue　china；　the　hyacinth　and　the　lamp。　〃Certingly；〃　she　said。　〃That　must　be　Dr。　Abrams。　'E　lives　in　Cowley　Street；　No。　4Dr。　Emanuel　Abrams。　A　good　doctor　when　'e's　sober；　and　the　morning's　the　best　time　to　be　sure　of　'im。　Certingly　'e's　been　in　to　see　your　friend　several　times。　They've　been　merry　together　more　than　once。〃

〃Where　is　Cowley　Street？〃　asked　Maggie。

〃First　to　the　right　when　you　get　out　of　the　'ouse；　and　then　second　to　the　left　again。　No。　4's　the　number。　It's　most　likely　'e'll　be　asleep。　Yes；　Dr。　Abrams；　that's　the　name。　'E's　attended　a　lot　in　this　'ouse。　Wot　a　pretty　flower！　Cheers　the　room　up　I　must　say。　Will　you　be　wanting　another　fire？〃

〃Yes；〃　said　Maggie。　〃Could　Emily　see　to　that　while　I'm　away？〃

〃Certingly；〃　said　Mrs。　Brandon；　looking　at　Maggie　with　a　curious　confidential　smilea　hateful　smile；　but　there　was　no　time　to　think　about　it。

Maggie　went　out。　She　found　Cowley　Street　without　any　difficulty。　Dr。　Abrams　was　up　and　having　his　breakfast。　His　close；　musty　room　smelt　of　whisky　and　kippers。　He　himself　was　a　little；　fat　round　Jew；　very　red　in　the　face；　very　small　in　the　eye；　very　black　in　the　hair；　and　very　dirty　in　the　hands。

He　was　startled　by　Maggie's　appearancevery　different　she　was　from　his　usual　patients。

〃Looked　just　a　baby；〃　he　informed　Mrs。　Brandon　afterwards。

〃Mrs。　Warlock？〃　he　asked。

〃No；〃　said　Maggie　defiantly。　〃I'm　a　friend　of　Mr。　Warlock's。〃

〃Ah；　yesquite　so。〃　He　wiped　his　mouth；　disappeared　into　another　room；　returned　with　a　shabby　black　bag　and　a　still　shabbier　top　hat；　and　declared　himself　ready　to　start。

〃It's　pneumonia；〃　he　told　her　as　they　went　along。　〃Had　it　three　weeks　ago。　Of　course　if　he　was　out　in　yesterday's　fog　that　finished　him。〃

〃He　was　out；〃　said　Maggie；　〃for　a　long　time。〃

〃Quite　so；〃　said　Dr。　Abrams。　〃That's　killed　him；　I　shouldn't　wonder。〃　He　snuffled　in　his　speech　and　he　snuffled　in　his　walk。

Before　they　had　gone　very　far　he　put　his　hand　on　Maggie's　arm；　she　hated　his　touch；　but　his　last　words　had　so　deeply　terrified　her　that　nothing　else　affected　her。　If　Martin　were　killed　by　going　out　yesterday　then　she　had　killed　him。　He　had　gone　out　to　escape　her。　But　she　drove　that　thought　from　her　as　she　had　driven　so　many　others。

〃The　pneumonia's　bad　enough；〃　said　the　little　man；　becoming　more　confidential　as　his　grip　tightened　on　her　arm；　〃but　it's　heart's　the　trouble。　Might　finish　him　any　day。　Tells　me　his　father　was　the　same。　What　a　nice　warm　arm　you've　got；　my　dearit's　a　pleasant　day；　too。〃

They　entered　the　house　and　Dr。　Abrams　stayed　chatting　with　Emily　in　the　passage　for　a　considerable　time。　Any　one　of　the　opposite　sex　seemed　to　hare　an　irresistible　attraction　for　him。

When　they　went　upstairs　the　doctor　was　so　held　by　his　burning　curiosity　that　it　was　difficult　to　lead　him　into　Martin's　bedroom。　Everything　interested　him；　he　bent　down　and　felt　the　tablecloth　with　his　dirty　thumb；　then　the　soil　round　the　hyacinth；　then　the　blue　china。　Between　every　investigation　he　stared　at　Maggie　as　though　he　were　now　seeing　her　for　the　first　time。　At　last；　however；　he　was　bending　over　Martin；　and　his　examination　was　clever　and　deft；　he　bad　been；　like　his　patient；　used　to　better　days。　Martin　was　very　ill。

〃The　boy's　bad；〃　he　said；　turning　sharply　round　upon　Maggie。

From　the　speaking　of　that　word；　for　six　days　and　six　nights　he　was　Maggie's　loyal　friend　and　fellow…combatant。　They　fought；　side　by　side；　in　the　great　struggle　for　Martin's　life。　They　won；　but　when　Maggie　tried　to　look　back　afterwards　on　the　history　of　that　wrestling；　she　saw　nothing　connectedly；　only　the　candle…light　springing　and　falling；　the　little　doctor's　sharp　eyes；　the　torn　paper　of　the　wall；　the　ragged　carpet；　and　always　that　strange　mask　that　was　Martin's　face　and　yet　the　face　of　a　stranger；　something　tortured　and　fantastic；　passing　from　Chinese　immobility　to　frenzied　pain；　from　pain　to　sweating　exhaustion；　from　exhaustion　back　to　immobility。

On　the　eighth　day　she　rose；　as　a　swimmer　rises　from　green　depths；　and　saw　the　sunshine　and　the　landscape　again。

〃He'll　do　if　you're　careful；〃　said　Dr。　Abrams；　and　suddenly　became　once　more　the　curious；　dirty；　sensual　little　creature　that　he　had　been　at　first。　Her　only　contact　with　the　outer　world　had　been　her　visits　to　the　neighbouring　streets　for　necessaries　and　one　journey　to　the　bank　（the　nearest　branch　was　in　Oxford　Street）　to　settle　about　her　money。　But　now；　with　the　doctor's　words；　the　rest　of　the　world　came　back　to　her。　She　remembered　Paul。　She　was　horrified　to　realise　that　during　these　days　she　had　entirely　forgotten　him。　He；　of　course　could　not　write　to　her　because　he　did　not　know　her　address。　When　she　saw　that　Martin　was　quietly　sleeping　she　sat　down　and　wrote　the　following　letter：

　13A　LYNTON　STREET；　KING'S　CROSS；　April　28th；　1912。

MY　DEAR　PAUL；I　have　been　very　wrong　indeed　not　to　write　to　you　before　this。　It's　only　of　a　piece　with　all　my　other　bad　behaviour　to　you；　and　it's　very　late　now　to　saw　that　I　am　ashamed。　I　will　tell　you　the　truth；　which　is　that　on　the　day　I　left　you　I　had　received　a　letter　telling　me　that　the　friend　of　whom　I　have　often　told　you　was　in　England；　very　ill；　and　with　no　one　to　care　for　him。　I　had　to　go。　I　don't　know　whether　it　was　right　or　wrongwrong　I　supposebut　I　always　knew　that　if　he　ever　wanted　me　I　SHOULD　go。　I've　always　been　truthful　to　you　about　that。　When　I　came　here　I　found　that　he　was　in　horrible　lodgings；　very　ill　indeed；　and　with　no　one　to　look　after　him。　I　HAD　to　stay；　and　now　for　a　week　he　has　been　between　life　and　death。　He　had　pneumonia　some　weeks　ago　and　went　out　too　soon。　His　heart　also　is　bad。　I　believe　now　he　can　get　well　if　great　care　is　taken。

Dear　Paul；　I　don't　know　what　to　say　to　you。　I　have　a　bedroom　in　this　house　and　every　one　is　very　kind　to　me；　but　you　will　think　me　very　wicked。　I　can't　help　it。　I　can't　come　back　to　you　and　Grace。　Perhaps　later　when　he　is　quite　well　I　shall　be　able　to；　but　I　don't　think　so。　You　don't　need　me；　I　have　never　been　satisfactory　to　you；　only　a　worry。　Grace　will　never　be　able　to　live　with　me　again；　and　I　can't　stay　in　Skeaton　any　more　after　Uncle　Mathew's　death。　It　has　all　been　a　wretched　mistake；　Paul；　our　marriage；　hasn't　it？　It　was　my　fault　entirely。　I　shouldn't　have　married　you　when　I　knew　that　I　would　always　love　Martin。　I　thought　then　that　I　should　be　able　to　make　you　happy。　If　now　I　felt　that　I　could　I　would　come　back　at　once；　but　you　know　as　well　as　I　do　that；　after　this；　we　shall　never　be　happy　together　again。　I　blame　myself　so　much　but　I　can't　act　differently。　Perhaps　when　Martin　is　well　he　will　not　want　me　at　all；　but　even　then　I　don't　think　I　could　come　back。　Isn't　it　better　that　at　least　I　should　stay　away　for　a　time？　You　can　say　that　I　am　staying　with　friends　in　London。　You　will　be　happier　without　me；　oh；　much　happier…　…and　Grace　will　be　happier　too。　Perhaps　you　will　think　it　better　to　forget　me　altogether　and　then　your　life　will　be　as　it　was　before　you　met　me。

I　won't　ask　you　to　forgive　me　for　all　the　trouble　I　have　been　to　you。　I　don't　think　you　can。　But　I　can't　do　differently　now。　Your　affectionate　MAGGIE。

　She　felt　when　she　had　finished　it　that　it　was　miserably　inadequate；　but　at　least　it　was　truthful。　As　she　wrote　it　her　old　feelings　of　tenderness　and　affection　for　Paul　came　back　in　a　great　flood。　She　saw　him　during　the　many；　many　times　when　he　had　been　so　good　to　her。　She　was　miserable　as　she　finished　it；　but　she　knew　that　there　was　nothing　else　to　do。　And　he　would　know　it　too。

A　day　later　a　long　letter　came　from　Paul。　It　was　very　characteristic。　It　began　by　saying　that　of　course　Maggie　must　return　at　once。　Throughout；　the　voice　was　that　of　a　grieved　and　angry　elder　talking　to　a　wicked　and　disobedient　child。　She　saw　that；　far　beyond　everything　else；　it　was　his　pride　that　was　wounded；　wounded　as　it　had　never　been　before。　He　could　see　nothing　but　that。　Did　she　realise；　he　asked　her；　what　she　was　doing？　Sinning　against　all　the　laws　of　God　and　man。　If　she　persisted　in　her　wickedness　she　would　be　cut　off　from　all　decent　people。　No　one　could　say　that　he　had　not　shown　her　every　indulgence；　every　kindness；　every　affection。　Even　now　he　was　ready　to　forgive　her；　but　she　must　come　back　at　once；　at　once。　Her　extreme　youth　excused　much；　and　both　he　and　Grace　realised　it。

Through　it　all　the　straindid　she　not　see　what　she　was　doing？　How　could　she　behave　so　wickedly　when　she　had　been　given　so　many　blessings；　when　she　had　been　shown　the　happiness　of　a　Christian　home？　。　。　。

It　was　not　a　letter　to　soften　Maggie's　resolve。　She　wrote　a　short　reply　saying　that　she　could　not　come。　She　thought　then　that　he　would　run　up　to　London　to　fetch　her。　But　he　did　not。　He　wrote　once　more；　and　then；　for　a　time；　there　was　silence。

She　had　little　interval　in　which　to　think　about　Paul；　Martin　soon　compelled　her　attention。　He　was　well　enough　now　to　be　up。　He　would　lie　all　day；　without　moving　except　to　take　his　meals；　on　the　old　red　sofa；　stretched　out　there；　his　arms　behind　his　head；　looking　at　Maggie　with　a　strange　taunting　malicious　stare　as　though　he　were　defying　her　to　stand　up　to　him。　She　did　stand　up　to　him；　although　it　needed　all　her　strength；　moral　and　physical。　He　was　attacking　her　soul　and　she　was　saving　his　。　。　。

He　said　no　more　about　his　going　away。　He　accepted　it　as　a　fact　that　she　was　there　and　that　she　would　stay　there。　He　had　changed　his　position　and　was　fighting　her　on　another　ground。

Maggie　had　once；　years　before；　read　in　a　magazine；　a　story　about　a　traveller　and　a　deserted　house。　This　traveller；　lost；　as　are　all　travellers　in　stories；　in　a　forest；　benighted　and　hungry；　saw　the　lights　of　a　house。

He　goes　forward　and　finds　a　magnificent　mansion；　blazing　with　light　in　every　window；　but　apparently　deserted。　He　enters　and　finds　room　after　room　prepared　for　guests。　A　fine　meal　is　laid　ready　and　he　enjoys　it。　He　discovers　the　softest　of　beds　and　so