“There is no other doctor in the place,” he concluded, still turning over the letters.

“Never mind,” said Terence shortly.  “I will make enquiries for myself.”  Rodriguez put the letters back in his pocket.

“Very well,” he remarked.  “I have no objection.”

He lifted his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, as if to repeat that they took the illness much too seriously and that there was no other doctor, and slipped out, leaving behind him an impression that he was conscious that he was distrusted, and that his malice was aroused.

After this Terence could no longer stay downstairs.  He went up, knocked at Rachel’s door, and asked Helen whether he might see her for a few minutes.  He had not seen her yesterday.  She made no objection, and went and sat at a table in the window.

Terence sat down by the bedside.  Rachel’s face was changed.  She looked as though she were entirely concentrated upon the effort of keeping alive.  Her lips were drawn, and her cheeks were sunken and flushed, though without colour.  Her eyes were not entirely shut, the lower half of the white part showing, not as if she saw, but as if they remained open because she was too much exhausted to close them.  She opened them completely when he kissed her.  But she only saw an old woman slicing a man’s head off with a knife.

“There it falls!” she murmured.  She then turned to Terence and asked him anxiously some question about a man with mules, which he could not understand.  “Why doesn’t he come?  Why doesn’t he come?” she repeated.  He was appalled to think of the dirty little man downstairs in connection with illness like this, and turning instinctively to Helen, but she was doing something at a table in the window, and did not seem to realise how great the shock to him must be.  He rose to go, for he could not endure to listen any longer; his heart beat quickly and painfully with anger and misery.  As he passed Helen she asked him in the same weary, unnatural, but determined voice to fetch her more ice, and to have the jug outside filled with fresh milk.

When he had done these errands he went to find Hirst.  Exhausted and very hot, St. John had fallen asleep on a bed, but Terence woke him without scruple.

“Helen thinks she’s worse,” he said.  “There’s no doubt she’s frightfully ill.  Rodriguez is useless.  We must get another doctor.”

“But there is no other doctor,” said Hirst drowsily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Don’t be a damned fool!” Terence exclaimed.  “Of course there’s another doctor, and, if there isn’t, you’ve got to find one.  It ought to have been done days ago.  I’m going down to saddle the horse.”  He could not stay still in one place.

In less than ten minutes St. John was riding to the town in the scorching heat in search of a doctor, his orders being to find one and bring him back if he had to be fetched in a special train.