He turned away from her.
"Is Nixon come?"
"Dearest, he has just arrived. Will you see him at once?"
"Of course!" he said, angrily. "Why doesn't Richard do as he's told?"
He raised himself into a sitting posture, while Lady Lucy went to the
door. The local doctor entered--a stranger behind him. Lady Lucy left
her son and the great surgeon together.
* * * * *
Nearly an hour later, Mr. Nixon, waylaid by Lady Lucy, was doing his
best to compromise, as doctors must, between consideration for the
mother and truth as to the Son. There was, he hoped, no irreparable
injury. But the case would be long, painful, trying to everybody
concerned. Owing to the mysterious nerve-sympathies of the body, the
sight was already affected and would be more so. Complete rest, certain
mechanical applications, certain drugs--he ran through his
recommendations.
"Avoid morphia, I implore you," he said, earnestly, "if you possibly
can. Here a man's friends can be of great help to him. Cheer him and
distract him in every way you can. I think we shall be able to keep the
pain within bounds."
Lady Lucy looked piteously at the speaker.
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