A Duel. Marsh Richard

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Instinctively she doubled up the finger on which was the wedding-ring. She still wore her gloves, so it had remained unnoticed.

      "Yes, you. You're the only woman within reach, except old Nannie, who hardly counts, or I wouldn't trouble you. Answer me shortly-yes or no-will you be his wife?"

      "Marry a perfect stranger! – a man I've never seen! – who you say is dying!"

      "Precisely; it is a mere formula to which I'm asking your subscription. He'll certainly be dead inside two hours, possibly in very much less. You'll be a widow in one of the shortest times on record; in possession of a wife's share of all his worldly goods-and that, by all accounts, should be worth fully twenty thousand pounds."

      "Twenty thousand pounds! But why should he want to marry any one if he's dying?"

      "There's not much time for explanation, but I'll explain this much. He's made a will in favour of a certain person. That will he is anxious to revoke. If he marries it will become invalid. As matters stand it will be easier for him to take a wife than to make another will."

      "You are sure he will be dead within two hours?"

      "Quite. I shall not be surprised to learn that he's dead already. You are losing your chances of becoming a well-to-do widow by lingering here."

      "You are certain he will leave me twenty thousand pounds?"

      "The simple fact of his death will make it yours. So soon as the breath is out of his body you will become entitled to a wife's inheritance-if you are his wife."

      "You are not playing me any trick? It is all just as you say?"

      "On my honour, it is all just as I say. There is no trick. If you will come with me upstairs you will be able to judge for yourself."

      "But how can we be married at a moment's notice? Is there a clergyman in the house?"

      "You forget you are in Scotland. Neither notice nor clergyman is needed. It will be sufficient for you to recognise each other as husband and wife in the presence of witnesses; that act of mutual recognition will in itself constitute a legal marriage which all the lawyers will not be able to break. That is why it will be easier for him to marry than to make another will."

      "There is not the least doubt that he will be dead within two hours?"

      "Not the least-unless a miracle intervenes."

      She was sitting with her hands clenched in her lap, a perceptible interval of silence intervening before the words burst from her lips-

      "Then I'll marry him!"

      CHAPTER III

      WHOM GOD HATH JOINED

      Dr. Twelves showed no sign of either surprise or gratification. He looked at her dispassionately, almost apathetically, from under his overhanging eyebrows.

      "Can you walk upstairs without assistance?"

      "I'm afraid not. I don't think my ankle is any better."

      He stooped down.

      "It's swollen; it looks as if it were going to be an awkward business. Your boot and stocking will have to be cut away; but there's no time to do it now-moments are precious. You will have to wait until you're married. It's only on the first floor. Do you think you'll be able to get up with the aid of my arm and of the baluster?"

      "I'll try."

      "Might I suggest, before we start, that it would do no harm if you were to remove your hat and jacket. It would seem more in keeping."

      She acted on his suggestion.

      "I ought to wash and tidy myself; I know I'm all anyhow."

      "Now you will do very well. Your future husband is too far gone to be able to tell if your hair is straight or crooked; at the point he's reached that sort of thing doesn't matter." When they had reached the landing at the top of the stairs the doctor said to her: "By the way, the name of your future husband is Grahame-Cuthbert Grahame. May I ask what yours is? It is just as well that he should know it."

      She hesitated a moment.

      "My name is Isabel Burney."

      "Miss Burney, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Grahame's room."

      He threw open the door of the room in front of which they had been standing. As he did so Isabel slipped off her left-hand glove, bringing with it, at the same time, her wedding-ring. Crumpling up her glove she squeezed it into her waistband, the ring inside it. On the doctor's arm she hobbled to a big armchair, into which she sank with a sigh of unmistakable relief.

      The room in which she found herself, although low-ceilinged, was a spacious one. It seemed to her that all the furniture it contained was old-fashioned, a fact which, although she did not know it, increased its value perhaps a hundred-fold. She thought it simply dowdy. A huge Chippendale bed was in the centre of the room. In it, propped up on pillows, was the figure of a man which, if only from the point of size, fitly matched the bed. Leaning over him, on the other side, was Nannie, the old woman who had admitted them into the house. The doctor addressed himself to her.

      "How is he?"

      "About the same."

      Although they had both spoken in a whisper their voices were audible to the man in the bed.

      "Is that that old devil Twelves come back again?"

      The tone was harsh, and it was obvious that the speaker spoke with difficulty, but the words themselves were plain enough. The doctor evinced no sign of annoyance at the other's somewhat uncomplimentary reference to himself; on the contrary, he chose to apply to himself the other's epithet as he answered: -

      "Yes, it's the old devil back again, and, what's more, he's brought the young devil too-begging your pardon, Miss Burney, for speaking of you in such a manner. But it's the fashion in this house to use strong language, and always has been. Laird, I've brought the lady."

      "Where is she?"

      "At this moment she's sitting in your armchair. As I told you, she's sprained her ankle, which makes it difficult for her to walk, or even stand."

      "Damn her ankle!"

      "By all means. You should know more about that sort of thing than I do. You're nearer to it than I am."

      "You think that hurts me?"

      "Not I. I know that nothing hurts you. I doubt if even the torments of hell will trouble you much. You're past all hurting. Shall I tell Miss Burney she isn't wanted, and can go again?"

      "What's her name?"

      "Burney-Isabel Burney. At least, she says so."

      "Isabel Burney, you are my wife; you're Mrs. Cuthbert Grahame. I acknowledge you as my wife, and I wish all men to acknowledge you also. Are you content that it should be so?"

      "I am."

      "You hear, Nannie? You hear, Twelves? You're both witnesses. I take Isabel Burney to be my wife, and she agrees."

      "I hear. But does she take you for her husband-eh, СКАЧАТЬ