And then Dr Thorne arrived.

‘Oh, doctor! doctor!’ exclaimed Lady Scatcherd, almost hanging round his neck in the hall.  ’What are we to do?  What are we to do?  He’s very bad.’

‘Has he spoken?’

’No; nothing like a word:  he has made one or two muttered sounds; but, poor soul, you could make nothing of it—­oh, doctor! doctor! he has never been like this before.

It was easy to see where Lady Scatcherd placed any such faith as she might still have in the healing art.  ’Mr Rerechild is here and has seen him,’ she continued.  ’I thought it best to send for two, for fear of accidents.  He has done something—­I don’t know what.  But, doctor, do tell the truth now; I look to you to tell me the truth.’

Dr Thorne went up and saw his patient; and had he literally complied with Lady Scatcherd’s request, he might have told her at once that there was no hope.  As, however, he had not the heart to do this, he mystified the case as doctors so well know how to do, and told her that ’there was cause to fear, great cause for fear; he was sorry to say, very great cause for much fear.’

Dr Thorne promised to stay the night there, and, if possible, the following night also; and then Lady Scatcherd became troubled in her mind as to what she should do with Mr Rerechild.  He also declared, with much medical humanity, that, let the inconvenience be what it might, he too would stay the night.  ‘The loss,’ he said, ’of such a man as Sir Roger Scatcherd was of such paramount importance as to make other matters trivial.  He would certainly not allow the whole weight to fall on the shoulders of his friend Dr Thorne:  he also would stay at any rate that night by the sick man’s bedside.  By the following morning some change might be expected.’

‘I say, Dr Thorne,’ said her ladyship, calling the doctor into the housekeeping-room, in which she and Hannah spent any time that they were not required upstairs; ’just come in, doctor:  you wouldn’t tell him we don’t want him no more, could you?’

‘Tell whom?’ said the doctor.

‘Why—­Mr Rerechild:  mightn’t he go away, do you think?’

Dr Thorne explained that Mr Rerechild might go away if he pleased; but that it would by no means be proper for one doctor to tell another to leave the house.  And so Mr Rerechild was allowed to share the glories of the night.

In the meantime the patient remained speechless; but it soon became evident that Nature was using all her efforts to make one final rally.  From time to time he moaned and muttered as though he was conscious, and it seemed as though he strove to speak.  He gradually became awake, at any rate to suffering, and Dr Thorne began to think that the last scene would be postponed for yet a while longer.

‘Wonderful constitution—­eh, Dr Thorne? wonderful!’ said Mr Rerechild.

‘Yes; he has been a strong man.’

’Strong as a horse, Dr Thorne.  Lord, what that man would have been if he had given himself a chance!  You know his constitution of course.’