Dr. Paull's Theory: A Romance

								

yet—when he thought of the portrait in the locket, and of the telegram
sent to “L. Pym”—somewhat puzzled.
During the time that Sir Roderick remained in the hospital—between three
and four days—the subject of the fair sex was mutually tabooed by doctor
and patient. They had interesting conversations, and Sir Roderick
expressing a wish to see Hugh’s treatise, the evening before the old
gentleman left the hospital he supped in the house-surgeon’s room, and
Hugh read him portions of the work, which he was pleased greatly to
approve.
“You must come and see me in the country,” he said, when, after writing
a check for a handsome donation to the hospital fund, and insisting upon
Hugh’s acceptance of a ruby ring he had ordered to be sent from his town
house, he was taking leave of those of the staff who had been good
Samaritans to him in his weakness. “You must come and stay. They think
me an unsociable old brute, do my neighbors and people round about. But
they wouldn’t care for me if they knew me. We have nothing in common. My
friends are men of about my own age, with similar tastes. I hope you and
I will be friends. Although I am nearly old enough to be your
grandfather—minds like yours don’t count by years.”
Hugh answered that he was grateful, obliged—hoped they would be friends,
certainly, etcetera. But as Sir Roderick leaned forward and nodded
gravely to him from his brougham window when the carriage drove off, he
felt a strange sensation—was it an uneasy feeling of aversion for this
peculiar patient who had occupied his time and his thoughts these few
days? Was he relieved by his departure? He could not tell. The ruby ring
on his finger almost annoyed him. He locked it away in his desk, and
tried to lock away the recollection of Sir Roderick with it.
Then he went about his work with a strange oppression of mind and
weariness of body. It was an operating day. A most interesting—in fact,
a thrilling operation took place in the theatre—one which set all the
students and surgical nurses talking. But at the most critical moment he
seemed to see Sir Roderick’s face and to hear that short, cynical laugh.
He felt as if he were haunted.
As the days and weeks went on, the sensation lessened. But when the post
came in he generally remembered Sir Roderick. At least, for the first
few weeks after the accident he looked for the large, crooked scrawl he
had noticed on the cheque, among his correspondence. When no letter, no
news came of the strange old man, he began to think of their short
acquaintance as of one of those purposeless episodes which occur in the
lives of most medical men.
As spring blossomed into summer, he began to forget. When he had his
short holiday, and was once more in his childhood’s home among the
fields and woods, with flowers scenting the summer air and the birds
singing all around, the remembrance of the weird old Rembrandt face on