Dr. Castleton's Patient [pp. 441-447]

446
THE LADIES'
ized the white face more closely, and a sudden
exclamation sprang to his lips, "Philip!"
The heavy eyes unclosed at his voice, a gleam
of recognition came to them, and a quiver passed
over the pale lips.
"Frank? Frank Castleton, 0 take me away
from here!" he murmured.
The down train seemed late in coming that
night to those who so anxiously waited for it;
but when it arrived at last it brought an extra
car for the wounded, and two or three surgeons.
"Is it best to remove him?" asked one of the
medical gentlemen, pausing by Philip Castleton's
side; "he can not live."
"I know it," Frank answered quietly, "but I
must take him back with me."
The unconscious man was lifted tenderly into
the car, and Frank seated himself beside him,
filling up the homeward trip with wonder and
question, doubt and anxiety that chased each
other through his brain.
Laura, who had grown sadly troubled and
anxious at the long absence which she could in
no wise account for, was listening too eagerly
not to catch the first sound of the well-known
step, and Frank had scarcely reached his own
door before she opened it to admit him.
"It is all right; I am quite safe and well,
dear," he said quickly, seeing her white face.
"But I must not stop to tell you any thing now,
Laura. I have brought a patient back with
me-cousin Philip. He is badly hurt-dying,
I fear and I have had him brought here. Can
Mrs. Ellis give us a room, do you think?"
"To be sure I can, child," responded the old
lady, to whom Laura returned with the request.
"I would do it for any poor sufferer, and certainly for a friend of yours. Take that room
just across from yours, and we will have it ready
in a minute or two."
Still unconscious, Philip was borne to the
quiet, pleasant room, and the Doctor and his
wife stood silently beside him. After a time the
dark eyes unclosed again, and a wondering
glance swept the apartment, resting last on the
Doctor.
"Is it you, Frank-Frank Castleton? I
never thought to see any of the old home faces
again," he said faintly, "but it is almost over
now." Then his thoughts wandered again. "'I
did it-yes, I did it, Frank! It was a mercy
the blow did not kill him; but I did not
know-I was mad. O, those dark, dreary prison
walls!"
Mrs. Ellis heard the words, and looked at the
Doctor with questioning eyes. He turned to
his wife.
"She has a right to know; go down with her,
REPOSITOR.
Laura, and tell her all,'" he said softly, and the
two went out together.
All through the night Frank watched beside
his patient, waiting in vain for another gleam of
recognition; the sufferer only lay with closed
eyes, silent and motionless. They listened to
his breathing, scarcely thinking it would last
through the night; but when morning came life
still lingered, and consciousness returned. Little by little he confided to Frank the bitter story
of the years since they had parted, and arranged
the disposition of his property.
"It is all yours now, Frank. I am glad that
I have had strength for this," he said faintly, as
the lawyer, whom his cousin at his request had
summoned, took his departure. "All that I had
left was in safe hands; it came back to me
after-you know. I could not go back to the
old place; I meant to go away where I was not
known and begin a new life. I hoped to do
some good in the world yet —that the future
might in some measure atone for the past. But
it is all over now, and better as it is. The
wealth I leave will be more useful in your hands
than it ever could have been in mine. 0,
Frank, let it do some of the good I hoped to do
and can not!"
His strength ebbed hour by hour, and when
the evening shadows gathered in the room again
a darker shadow fell with thelm-even the
shadow of death.
Only the Doctor, his wife, and Mrs. Ellis lingered in the little up-town church-yard where
the stranger was laid to sleep.
"You were very kind to him," Laura said,
turning to her friend with grateful eyes.
The old lady looked back lingeringly at the
narrow mound of fresh earth.
"Ah, well, why should n't I have been?" she
said softly. "In this slippery world, where we
are none of us sure from falling, it takes both
my hands to cling fast to Jesus, and I have none
to spare to point scornfully at those that are
down."
From that day of disaster work came to the
young physician, and if his practice gained
slowly, it gained steadily and surely, and he
could afford to wait.
A score of years, with their Summer suns
and Winter storms, have faded and stained the
once bright sign, but it hangs still in its olden
place. The street has grown more crowded and
business-like, though scarcely as pleasant as of
old; but only the office is there. The other
room, long since converted into a back office,
would scarcely contain Dr. Castleton's household treasures now, and his beautiful home is
on a wider, quieter street. He has found his