"but he does not wish to see you again until the moment when you can give him relief."
I said a few more words, and soon afterwards took my leave.
Early the next morning, accompanied by a surgeon and an anæsthetist on whose assistance I could depend, I arrived at Queen Anne's Street. We were shown at once to the room where my patient waited for me. He was sitting in a chair near the window. The nurse was standing in the background, having made all necessary preparations.
"Here you are," he said, rising and greeting me with a cheerful smile, "and here am I, and there is a Providence over us. Now, the sooner you put things right the better."
His courage delighted me. I was also much relieved to find that neither his wife nor father was present.
"With the help of God, I believe I shall put you right," I said, in a tone of assurance, which I absolutely felt.
An hour and a half later I went into the sitting-room, where Mainwaring's father and wife were anxiously waiting for my verdict.
"The operation is well over," I exclaimed, "and my patient is at present sound asleep. When he awakens the moment will have arrived when we must prove whether I have done anything for him or not. Will you have the courage to come into the room with me, Mrs. Mainwaring? I should like him to see you when he opens his eyes. If he recognises you, I shall know that I have been successful."
To my surprise she shrank back.
"No," she said, "the ordeal is too terrible. Failure means too much agony. I cannot endure it; I am not strong enough."
"Then what is to be done?" I asked. "In any case, Mainwaring will know his father. His knowledge of you is the test which I require to tell me whether I have succeeded or failed."
She smiled faintly and left the room. In a moment she returned, holding by the hand a beautiful little girl of five years of age. She had a wealth of red-gold hair falling almost to her waist; her large eyes were like sapphires.
"This is Nancy," said the mother, "her father's pet and idol. I sent for her this morning. When my husband awakens, take her into the room—she is not shy. If her father recognises her, all is well."
"Very well," I replied.
All that day I watched by Mainwaring; in the evening I came for Nancy. "Come," I said. The child looked at me with her grave eyes—she was perfectly calm and self-possessed. I lifted her in my arms and left the room with her.
I entered the bedroom where my patient lay. The child's arms encircled my neck. My heart was beating quickly, anxiously. Little Nancy looked at me in surprise.
"Is father ill?" she asked.
Mainwaring's eyes were open. I put the child on the floor.
"Go and speak to him," I said.
She ran up to the bed.
"Are you ill, dad?" she repeated, in a clear, high voice.
"Halloa, Nan!" he said, smiling at her.
He stretched out one of his hands. The child caught it and covered it with kisses.
"Send your mother to me, my sweet Nan," he said, after a pause.
Then I knew that Mainwaring had got back his ten years.
