The Gallant by William Stuart Long Read Free Book Online

going to need boiling water, lots of
    it,
    you understand?” He stumped into the dining room and, to Luke’s dismay, was still there ten minutes later when he returned, his own errands completed.
    But at last, when Luke’s self-control was near to deserting
     

William Stuart Long
    him, the plump doctor set down the glass of brandy Rick had poured for him and announced that he was ready to do battle.
    “Compose yourself, boy,” he advised, not unkindly. “I know fatherhood’s a strain the first time.
    When it’s your third or fourth, you’ll have learned better. But I’ve brought hundreds of young Australians into the world, so you just sit back and leave Elizabeth to me, eh? Take a
    drink-Mr. Tempest keeps an excellent brandy.”
    Shamefacedly, Luke took his advice. As he was sipping the lavish tot his father-in-law had given him, Dickon came

in
    and, with more understanding than the doctor had shown, put a big, muscular arm about his shoulders in wordless sympathy, before seating himself at the table to eat his belated meal.
    After that, time passed on leaden wings. As before, Rick and Edmund talked of the colony’s affairs, but now Luke gave up all pretense of listening.
    The brandy glass still unemptied, he sat slumped in his chair, a prey to nameless fears and ever-growing despair, straining his ears for the sound of a baby’s cries-the sound that would signify Elizabeth’s ordeal was ended.
    But that sound did not come. After what seemed several hours-but, according to the clock on the mantel, was barely one-Katie Tempest came down, to snatch a brief respite from the vigil in the sickroom.
    “It’s going slowly, Luke,” she confessed, unable, for all she tried, to keep the anxiety from her voice. “Dr. Morecombe is doing everything he can. We must just be patient.” A maid brought her tea, but she hardly touched it, jumping up suddenly and, with a whispered “I expect Mrs.
    Lee could do with a cup,” returning upstairs with the tea tray, her visit adding to Luke’s despair.
    An uneasy silence fell, and after a while Luke slept, a silent, inarticulate prayer on his lips as sheer weariness overcame him. He wakened with a start to the sound of voices and, struggling back to consciousness, realized that it was daylight outside and that Dr. Morecombe had come into the room.
    The portly little physician had lost all his former jaunty cheerfulness; he looked wan and exhausted, and his voice was hoarse as he said, “I deeply regret to tell you that the child was stillborn and that, despite all I could do, I have now to say that only a miracle can save little
    Elizabeth’s life. Miracles do happen, but .
    . dis8He broke off, shaking his balding head sadly.
    Luke stared at him in stunned dismay, unable at first to take in the news he had brought. That his firstborn child had died he could accept, but not, dear God, not Elizabeth! For a moment he could not speak, the words strangled in his throat, but then, sick with bitterness, he asked, “Can I go to her?”
    “Luke?” The doctor stared back at him with red-rimmed eyes, seemingly without recognition.
    Then, recovering himself, he nodded jerkily in assent. “You’re her husband, of course, you comyes, go to her by all means. You, too, Mr. Tempest … all of you. But I fear she will not know you.
    She-the poor young soul is not conscious.”
    Rick Tempest put an arm about Luke’s shoulders and together they climbed the narrow staircase to the upper floor.
    As before, Elizabeth was lying very quietly in the curtained bed, which had been set to rights, its curtains half drawn to cut out the light from the nearby window, and, as before, her eyes were closed. But this time she did not rouse herself when he knelt beside the bed, and Luke knew, with bleak, instinctive certainty, that the miracle of which Dr. Morecombe had spoken was not to be. Her mother, unable any longer to hide her grief, was weeping openly, and Rick Tempest, after bending to drop a