Page 428 - lady-chatterlys-lover

Clifford was like a hysterical child. He gave Mrs Bolton a
terrible shock, sitting up in bed ghastly and blank.
’Why, Sir Clifford, whatever’s the matter?’
No answer! She was terrified lest he had had a stroke. She
hurried and felt his face, took his pulse.
’Is there a pain? Do try and tell me where it hurts you.
Do tell me!’
No answer!
’Oh dear, oh dear! Then I’ll telephone to Sheffield for Dr
Carrington, and Dr Lecky may as well run round straight
away.’
She was moving to the door, when he said in a hollow
tone:
’No!’
She stopped and gazed at him. His face was yellow, blank,
and like the face of an idiot.
’Do you mean you’d rather I didn’t fetch the doctor?’
’Yes! I don’t want him,’ came the sepulchral voice.
’Oh, but Sir Clifford, you’re ill, and I daren’t take the
responsibility. I MUST send for the doctor, or I shall be
blamed.’
A pause: then the hollow voice said:
’I’m not ill. My wife isn’t coming back.’—It was as if an
image spoke.
’Not coming back? you mean her ladyship?’ Mrs Bolton
moved a little nearer to the bed. ‘Oh, don’t you believe it.
You can trust her ladyship to come back.’
The image in the bed did not change, but it pushed a let-
ter over the counterpane.