[_Exit_ DR. THORNE. (_He does not bid his wife good-by. At the threshold of the door he seems to hesitate, makes as if he would turn back, but goes out._)
MRS. THORNE. Oh-h-h me! (_Utters one long, low cry; she does not speak any words. She releases her hold of_ LADDIE, _who drops back sleepily upon the sofa pillow. She seems to forget the child. She stands still, in the middle of the library, with her face towards the window; her hands are crossed before her, and clenched tightly together. A solemn expression grows upon her face. Her tears dry upon her cheeks. Her eyes widen and darken. Her mouth quivers pitifully. Still she does not speak. She moves slowly to the window, and draws the curtains back. She stands there looking out; she shades her eyes with her hand. The hand trembles._)
MRS. THORNE (_does not respond to the child. She moans_). Esmerald!--Es--mer--ald!
A dwelling street in the city, seen in an almost deserted condition. The time is early evening. The wreck of a buggy lies crushed against a curbstone; the traces are broken, the horse having released herself and disappeared. The wreck lies in shadow, and the prostrate form of a man is but dimly discerned. After a few moments of suspense and silence, slowly crawling to his feet,
_Arises_ DR. THORNE. (_He is dressed for driving, as when he left home; his overcoat disarranged, muddy, and torn; his hat gone; his face has a singular pallor, and his whole appearance is agitated. As he rises, he throws a carriage robe back over the spot where he had been lying. He speaks._)
DR. THORNE. That dastardly brute has done it, now! I’ll sell Donna for this.--It will play the mischief with that old injury. I shall exchange an interesting limp for crutches, now.--Hil-loa! (_Walks to and fro with perfect ease._) The shock has acted like a battery on the nerve centres. Instead of a broken neck I have a cured leg. I’m a lucky fellow--as usual. (_Laughs lightly; turns to examine the condition of the ruined buggy; suddenly looks confused, and puts his hand to his head._) Curious cerebral symptoms I have! Queer, there isn’t a crowd round. They must have missed the trail when Donna bolted. She’ll be at the stable by this time.--She won’t go home. Helen won’t know.... I shouldn’t like to be the man that had to tell Helen!... I must get to her--I must get home as soon as I’ve been to the Hospital. I’m afraid I was a little short with Helen. I wish-- (_Presses both hands to his temples as if to command himself; looks more and more bewildered._) I must have been pretty well stunned--seems to me there was a collision. I ran down somebody. It was a landau--we crashed--I saw it overturn--there were people in it I knew--patients.... Who?... _Who?_ (_Stamps the pavement peremptorily, and impatiently strikes his own head._) Who was it?--Horrible! The brain cells do not obey me--_me!_ (_Walks about frenziedly._) ... Ach--ch! It is worse to remember than to forget. I have it now--the sweetest woman of them all--Helen’s friend--the gentlest, the most obedient, most trustful, the bravest patient I ever had--Mrs. Fayth. I saw her face as the carriage went over.... She stretched out her hands, and said: “Doctor!” It was Mary Fayth. (_His face falls into his hands. For a moment he sinks down on the wreck of the buggy; but springs up._) Now that accounts for it.--The crowd are all there. The accident was so bad nobody has thought of me. _She_ is the victim. _I_ have escaped. Dead or alive, she is done for. She never could recover from a shock like that. I must go and find her. I must find Mrs. Fayth. (_Starts and hurriedly walks down the street, peering everywhere._)