Traverse stood upon the opposite side of the bed fanning him.
In a few moments Mrs. Rocke re-entered the room, announcing that the two old physicians from Staunton, Doctor Dawson and Doctor Williams, had arrived.
"Show them up, Mrs. Rocke. Clara, love, retire while the physicians remain with me," said Doctor Day.
Mrs. Rocke left the room to do his bidding. And Clara followed and sought the privacy of her own apartment to give way to the overwhelming grief which she could no longer resist.
As soon as she was gone the doctor also yielded to the force of the suffering that he had been able to endure silently in her presence, and writhed and groaned with agony--that wrung the heart of Traverse to behold.
Presently the two physicians entered the room and approached the bed, with expressions of sincere grief at beholding their old friend in such a condition and a hope that they might speedily be able to relieve him.
To all of which the doctor, repressing all exhibitions of pain and holding out his hand in a cheerful manner, replied: "I am happy to see you in a friendly way, old friends! I am willing also that you should try what you--what you can do for me--but I warn you that it will be useless! A few hours or days of inflammation, fever and agony, then the ease of mortification, then dissolution!"
"Tut--tut," said Doctor Williams, cheerfully. "We never permit a patient to pronounce a prognosis upon his own case!"
"Friend, my horse ran away, stumbled and fell upon me, and rolled over me in getting up. The viscera is crushed within me; breathing is difficult; speech painful; motion agonizing; but you may examine and satisfy yourselves," said Doctor Day, still speaking cheerfully, though with great suffering.
His old friends proceeded gently to the examination, which resulted in their silently and perfectly coinciding in opinion with the patient himself.
Then, with Doctor Day and Traverse, they entered into a consultation and agreed upon the best palliatives that could be administered, and begging that if in any manner, professionally or otherwise, they could serve their suffering friend, at any hour of the day or night, they might be summoned, they took leave.
As soon as they had gone, Clara, who had given way to a flood of tears, and regained her composure, rapped for admittance.
"Presently, dear daughter--presently," said the doctor, who then, beckoning Traverse to stoop low, said: "Do not let Clara sit up with me to-night. I foresee a night of great anguish which I may not be able to repress, and which I would not have her witness! Promise you will keep her away."