He had known fever patients suddenly seized with violent internal inflammation,and carried off with frightful rapidity.He remembered the case of a convalescent,a young woman who had been attacked while in apparently vigorous general health,who,on being lifted too suddenly to a sitting position,while still confined to her bed,fainted,and in a few moments ceased to breathe.It may well be supposed that he took every possible precaution to avert the accidents which tend to throw from its track a disease the regular course of which is arranged by nature as carefully as the route of a railroad from one city to another.The most natural interpretation which the common observer would put upon the manifestations of one of these autumnal maladies would be that some noxious combustible element had found its way into the system which must be burned to ashes before the heat which pervades the whole body can subside.
Sometimes the fire may smoulder and seem as if it were going out,or were quite extinguished,and again it will find some new material to seize upon,and flame up as fiercely as ever.Its coming on most frequently at the season when the brush fires which are consuming the dead branches,and withered leaves,and all the refuse of vegetation are sending up their smoke is suggestive.Sometimes it seems as if the body,relieved of its effete materials,renewed its youth after one of these quiet,expurgating,internal fractional cremations.
Lean,pallid students have found themselves plump and blooming,and it has happened that one whose hair was straight as gnat of an Indian has been startled to behold himself in his mirror with a fringe of hyacinthine curls about his rejuvenated countenance.
There was nothing of what medical men call malignity in the case of Maurice Kirkwood.The most alarming symptom was a profound prostration,which at last reached such a point that he lay utterly helpless,as unable to move without aid as the feeblest of paralytics.In this state he lay for many days,not suffering pain,but with the sense of great weariness,and the feeling that he should never rise from his bed again.For the most part his intellect was unclouded when his attention was aroused.He spoke only in whispers,a few words at a time.The doctor felt sure,by the expression which passed over his features from time to time,that something was worrying and oppressing him;something which he wished to communicate,and had not the force,or the tenacity of purpose,to make perfectly clear.His eyes often wandered to a certain desk,and once he had found strength to lift his emaciated arm and point to it.
The doctor went towards it as if to fetch it to him,but he slowly shook his head.He had not the power to say at that time what he wished.The next day he felt a little less prostrated;and succeeded in explaining to the doctor what he wanted.His words,so far as the physician could make them out,were these which follow.Dr.Butts looked upon them as possibly expressing wishes which would be his last,and noted them down carefully immediately after leaving his chamber.
"I commit the secret of my life to your charge.My whole story is told in a paper locked in that desk.The key is--put your hand under my pillow.If I die,let the story be known.It will show that Iwas--human--and save my memory from reproach."He was silent for a little time.A single tear stole down his hollow cheek.The doctor turned his head away,for his own eyes were full.
But he said to himself,"It is a good sign;I begin to feel strong hopes that he will recover."Maurice spoke once more."Doctor,I put full trust in you.You are wise and kind.Do what you will with this paper,but open it at once and read.I want you to know the story of my life before it is finished--if the end is at hand.Take it with you and read it before you sleep."He was exhausted and presently his eyes closed,but the doctor saw a tranquil look on his features which added encouragement to his hopes.
