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LONDON:
Hl^TCHIXSOX .V CO.
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COXTKNTS.
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A sriAHoWKD I, IKK
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A < MHISTMAS BAHY
ITT.
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IV.
MKS. IM.AIT'S HUSBAM) .
• •
. 02
NOKA FLEMING
T.
. 118
VL
JOHN RANSOME's love iSTORY
. 146
CONTEXTS.
I !
I'
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VFI
LT'CY GFWMAIXK's MAKRIAGK .
Vill.
PORT LKYTON'S HEIR
IX.
BARBARA
X.
A C0MM0NPLA(F \\<M,V.h\
xr.
A (.kntlf: uvk ,
XII
HEH OWN ROMANCE
PAOF
. 174
. 203
. 22ri
24>i
270
. 291
PAor
. 174
. 203
. 22f>
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.:
Ube JEjpertenccs of a XaO^ Doctor.
24S
270
. 291
A T^OABDTNG-HOUSE EOifANCE.
T HAD dropped in late one afternoon to see my
friend, Dr. Elizabeth Glen, of 18, Rayburn Place,
Bloomsbury, bein^' anxious to interest lier in a cas3
which had excited my own sympathy and compassion.
I was disappointed to find her not at liome ; hut
hearing that she was momentarily expected, 1 elected
to await her return, and was ushered into her study
dear little (H)sy, womanly room-wliere she and I had
had many a c(mfidenrial talk. The history of our
first acquaintance would, in itself, make no bad story,
but I need not enter into it here. Suffice to say, that
though there is a disparity of twelve years— a goodh-
ELIZABETH GLEN, MM.
^■\
slicp in a woman's Jifo — between ns, we are friends
close and dear. There are but few j)ages in my life
she has not read ; none, T believe, in hers she has
not laid bare to me. The difference in onr domestic
Jiifairs — I being married, she single- has made no
difference in our friendship. She is a woman of so
large a heart and so wide an experience tliat I have
ofteii said wifehood and motherhood coulu scarcely
imi rove her in that respect. It alwa3's soothes me
to go iuto my friend's room, even when she is abserit
from it ; her spirit seems to be always there. It does
not differ materially from the ))rivate room of pro-
fessional men, has the orthodox bookcase, study table,
and consulting coucli ; but it has many other touches
— a perfect harmony of colours, a judicious arrange-
ment of pictures and ornaments, and the inevitable
flowers, without which no woman's roo'm is complete.
I laid my cloak on the couch, took off my gloves,
and lifted the medical journal slie had evidently
hastily left. I looked into it witli but a lan^ijuid
interest, finding nothing new. Of medical doings
and savings I have so much in mv own home that
1 have lost that morbid interest in them sometimes
exhibited by the uninitiated, thougli familiarity has
still deepened my conviction that the medical pro-
A BOARDIXCfinr'^E ROM.WCE.
able
)lete.
[)ves,
ntlr
gnid
ings
that
mes
has
)ro-
fession, rcpirded from the highest standpoint, is tlie
noblest in the world.
Presently I laid down the paper, and gazing
intently into tln^ tire, ruminated upon a matter
whieh was troubiinjjr ine eonsiderablv tlie elioice of
a subject It was not tliat I laeked material ; the
jK)int was to find something at once personal and
interesting. Sitting there, in Dr. Glen's own ehair,
the intuition I had so longed for came to me. 1
would ask her ]»ermission to record her experiences.
Many of them 1 knew, sonie of them Iliad shared.
3Iy mind was illumined by tliis brilliant idea when
1 heard her latchkey in the door, and her firm but
light foot coming towards the rooui wjiere I sat.
1 jumped up ; and I suppose I must have looked
])nrticularly animated at the moment when she
opened the door, for she gave a little satisfied
nod.
" You looked worried last time I saw yon. You've
got a light, evidently. How are you to-day ? "
Wliile we shook hands I looked at her with a new
interest. I had long loved her as a friend, and
admired her as a woman, both physically and men-
tally> She was now to become something more, if
she could be persuaded— the heroine of a tale. Ai>'l
4 ELIZABETH GLE1\\ M.B,
as T looked, I told myself she was an ideal heroine,
intensely interesting, because she looked ratlier dif-
ferent from tlie ordinary dazzling creatures with
perfect features and crowns of golden hair whom we
are ex])ected to trot out in tlie jiages of fiction for
the delectation of those who admire such uncommon
beautv. I have alwavs considered Elizabeth Glen to
be a beautiful woman, and she is so still. Can vou
conceive of a perfect combination of womanliness and
strength in the outline of face and figure ? Rather
above the middle height, straight as a pole, well
moulded, and elegantly dressed, a sweet, grave,
uttrac-tive face, with a mobile yet firm mouth,
and glorious grey eyes, capable of a bewildering
change of expression — such is my friend as she
appears to me ; beantifol, womanly, lovable ex-
ceedingly.
" I am very well," I said, " and I am happy because
I have got a new idea, though it is jnst possible that
von may shatter it to atoms."
" Am I such a bloodtliirsty wretch ? " she in-
quired, as slie laid down her hat, and pushed her
fingers through the short bright hair above her
brow.
" I knew you were here to-day ; I felt it as I came
A BOARDING-HOUSE ROMANCE.
she
ex-
in-
her
her
ime
along the street, and was glad of it. I liave had a
long, hard day, and have not broken my last since
breakfast."
'* But that is nothing unnsual ; and you don't dine
for an hour vet."
" No ; but Margaret will bring us tea presently.
You are all well at home, I su|)])ose? And now for
the new idea. Will it help, do you think?"
" Yes, if you will give it a chance."
**II What can I have to do with it? My dear,
nobody in this world, except perhajts your own
husband, can be more tnterested ia your work
than 1 am, but I do not aspire to help you, except
by being an occasional safety valve for your grum-
blings."
" You liave hel])ed me often, though," I could not
help saying. " Often when 1 have been depressed
you have uplift ei I me."
" How ? I should like to hear in what way," she
said, leaning her elbows on lier knees, and, with her
chin in her hands, looking over at me with those
large, lovely, iiKjuiring eyes, which must have
wrought havoc with many a man's peace, thougii
I have seldom dared to hint at it.
" Oh, because you are strong j purpose-like, as we
ELIZA liLTU GLE.\\ MB.
Si'otcli sav. You alwavs look as if von could sur-
mount any difficulty, and rejoice in it."
" Tiien I'm a fraud, I fear. I have my cravings
for the idle life of other women ; as to-day, for in-
stance, wlien desire has faiUnl, the gra-;sho|){)er has
been a burden, and so on."
" Your digestion is out of order," I ventured to
remark l»oldlv ; " and anvhovv, I am not in the least
symjiatlietic to-day, except towards myself. I'm
swallowed up in this new idea. Don't yon want to
hear it ? "
*' 1 sliall liave to hear it, I supjjose, whether I do
or not," slie said resignedly, and leaned back in lier
chair with lier elbows on the arms, and her long,
slender, strengthful fingers meeting at the tips, " so
go aiiead ; and if i shut my eyes, pray don't imagine
1 have gone to sleej)."
" You won't shut your eyes, I promise you. I've
got the title for mv new series of short stories. Will
you make a guess at it ? "
" No ; time, and leisure, especially, are too precious
to be so scaiidalouslv wasted. Don't treat me like
a baby, or try to wliet my curiosity. Be honest,
as it is your nature to be, and tell me what you
mean.
>i
J hO^RDL\f:-/IOUSE ROMANCE. 7
" Don't you think it will look well ? " I sjtid, tearing
a leaf from the tablets on which I liatl written
I've
Will
fiuus
like
)ijest,
you
ELTZARKTH GLKN, M.B. :
EXPi:itTKy('KS OF A LADY DOCTOR.
She took it in licr hand, evod it steadily for a
moment, and then threw it into the fire.
"The new idea is exploded, dear," she said, gently
but firmly. " Now for the evolution of another."
I slid down from my cliair, and, f( Iding my hands
on her knees, began to talk very rapidly, and, as 1
thought, very convincingly. I can't remember all I
said, but I know I t 'ied to sliow lier what a glorious
idea v. was, and how capable of being worked riglit
to a successlul issue, if only she would not be as
obstinate as a mule.
" Well, I must say you plead well, but what about
my reputation ? 1 sliall have lialf-a-dozen, or a dozen,
libel actions immediately. Pray, will you bear the
costs of these, provided 1 am willing to bear the
ignominv ? "
1 got up then, feeling a trifle aggrieved.
*' 1 see you are not amenable to any kind of reason,
Elizabeth Glen,'' 1 remarked, " so 1 am going. No ;
(
8 LUAAHETH ULEN, M.B.
not even Marj^aret's .«coaes will lure me to stop
to-(lav : "
" Sit down, you spitfire, and let us talk over this
utterly unfeasible scheme rationally. Don't you fore-
see a thousand complications that might arise—
complications from which, clever women though we
account ourselves, we might find it difficult to
escape ? "
"Oh, there are difficulties in everytliing, if you go
to look for them," 1 interrupted lamely.
" Besides, I am a sane wonmn, if a trifle erratic,
and I'm not going to walk open-eyed into mischief/*
" There is such a thin^ as changing names and
disguising facts, is tliere not ? " I suggested mildly.
"Here comes Margaret, timely interruption," said
my friend witii assumed relief; and the gaunt, keen-
eyed, faithful servant-woman, who had gone into exile
for love of her mistress' "dear bairn," came marching
into the room, bearing the tray.
Those who did not know Margaret Inglis abhorred
her ; those who did, adored her. There was no middle
course. I belonged to the ranks of the latter class,
and she had so far overcome her prejudice against a
woman who wrote uovells, as slie pronounced it, with
an indescribable, inimitable accent of scorn, as to
A liUARUII^l.-IiUUSL HOMANCL.
stop
bake scones espeiiiiUy for my comini:: ; and that
meant a j^roat deal more thsm any men' words. She
paused, privileged by her phice iu the household, to
inquire kindly for me and mine, and when she departed
her mistress did not speak.
"Margaret will stand out beautifully — a kind of
Caleb Balderstou in petticoats," 1 said cheerfully,
'' and her devotion to vou is one of the sweetest thinjirs
J have ever seen. My dear Eli/.iibeth, yon can't
escape yonr destiny. Your personality is too striking
and too lovely to be passed over."
Still my friend did not spejik, but I saw a waver-
ing, lovely smile touch licr mouth into exquisite
sweetness. I took it as a sign that a thaw was ap-
proaching.
"Now," I said, "just do one thing for me. Tell
me the story of your first patient, just as you told
me it that mcmfjraLle day, seven years ago, when
we first met. I shnll take it down in shortliand,
and after I liave manipulated il at home, read it
over to you. Tiien 1 promise you tliat if you still
entirely disapprove, I shall never broach the idea
agam.
>»
" Very well. I'm called a strong-minded woman,
but it seems to me when you talk to me that 1 have
i
lO
ELI Z.'i BETH (.LEN, MB.
no barkltoiie except the inoa«rre jmrtion yon pfnutiouHly
allow iiu*. Put down tliOHe flconrs to toast, and let
nie fill up your cup, for if I beg' 1 sha'u't ntoj) till
I have don«'.'*
" Very wrll," I said, and, with note-hook in hand,
took down every word as it fell fntni lier lips. Two
days later 1 brought the manuscript and read it to
her, having carefully changed names and localities.
She gave her consent to its publication, and has
})romised me further leaves from her journal, only
stij)ulating that the stories should be written in the
third person, and that she shall not he made more
])rominent than is absolutely needful. The story of
her first ])atient, however, I give in her i)\\\\ words as
follows : —
" It is not necessary to enter here upon tiie con-
sider .tions which induced me to enter the ranks of
]»rofessional women, nor to exj)atiate upon the many
dilHculties, at times almost insurmountable, which
barred the way, and made the attainment of my life's
pur})0se seem an impossible task. When I look back
upon the bitter humiliations of my early struggle, I
marvel much that courage and endurance were mine
to ])ursue my course in the face of opposition most
bitter and strenuous from all 1 loved. Although time
A li()Al<ni.\r.HOUSE ROM.WCE.
It
nuu'ouHlv
Hiul let
Htop till
ill iiaixi,
s. Two
lul it to
)C!iIiti(»s.
md }iU8
al, oulv
I in the
It' more
<torv of
onls as
le con-
iiiks of
e maiiv
which
y life's
k ])ack
ircrlp T
Li mine
1 most
h time
and success liave somewhat mellowed their ohjectionM,
1 am, to this dav, the Ishmaelite of mv lumilv, a
' » / ft »
bein«( regarded with a mixiiire of j)ity, disapproval,
and mild contempt. From my tirst entry into the
practice of my profession it has been my custom each
niglit to note down the events nnd experiences of the
dav. I have, therefore, in mv pos^^ession several
bulkv and chts<dv written volinnes, which contain
sncli odd bits (jf life's comedy and tragedy as come
daily under the observation of a doctor. Before I tell
you the story of my first jmtient it is necessary to
state tha^ having obtainecl my degree at Dublin
Universitv, and studied for twel e months at the
ft- '
schools of Paris and Vienna, I took a small house in
the Bloomsbury district, furnished it according to my
own somewhat erratic ideas, installed therein a faith-
ful old ^cotcliwoman who had been mv nurse, and
who, though sternly disapproving of the career 1 had
cliosen, was willing to share mv exile from the land
we both loved so well ; and having put up my modest
phite —
Elizabeth Glkn, M.B.,
sat down to wait tor patients. I liad, happily, an
income of my own sulKcieut for the simple needs of
IJ
ELlZAHLUi ULEN, MB.
my small household, and my good Margaret is, a8 you
know, a shining example of our national forethought
and thrift.
"I was sitting here one evening about eight o'clock,
my after-dinner coffee growing cold beside me, while
1 reflected on the iiarshness of destiny and the dia-
a{)])ointinenta of life. Two months had passed without
bringing in a single summons from without. This I
had anticipatt'd, and prepared for, and had stoutly
resolved to make trial of the neighl)ourhood for twelve
or eigliteen months. My relatives, when they con-
descended to discuss the matter, had disapproved of
the taking of the house, advising me rather to take
rooms in a better locality. But 1 had, on that day,
comj)leted my tenth week of residence in Hay burn
Place, and I had not once crt>ssed the doorstep pro-
fessionally. 1 had actually begun to seriously con-
template the complete downfall of my ambition, and
to admit to myself that nobody in Bloomsbury seemed
to be in need of a doctor, certainly of a woman doctor
least of all. r>eing a very proud person in my own
way, tuis thought brought with it its due meed of
humiliation, and there were some very unprofessional
tears standing warm and bright in my eyes, when 1
was startled by a very loud and peremptory ring at
i
A nOARDING-lIOUSE ROMANCE.
»3
18, fts you
'ethought
t o'clock,
ne, while
the dis-
I without
This I
I stoutly
•r twelve
iiey cuij-
roved of
to tuke
lat day,
tayburn
:ep pro-
ily con-
oii, and
seemed
i doctor
ly own
leed of
ssional
svhen 1
•iug at
the hall Im'II. I hoard the hasty tread of uiy jjood
Margaret on the kitchen Htairs. and my 8t rained ear
<lid not fail to catch tlie sound of voices in brief,
but evidently excited, colloijuy at the door. Then Mar-
•j^aret aiipeared. hirge, (!oinely, and ex<'it(Ml, ut my
study door, and gave her message with a distinct
note of triumpli in her faithful voice : * You're
wanted, Miss Glen, at once, to 198, lUoomsbury
S«|uare.'
''■ I jumped up with glowing clieeka and shining
eyes.
** * Get my hat and jucket. Who brought the mes-
sage ? Any particulars about the case ?'
*' ' No, ma'am ; but it's a lady very ill, the lassie
said, a servant lassie, but ])Oorly put on, tliough she
had a fringe of hair on her foreliend as good as a
bonnet.'
" I took my stethoscope from my desk, with a smile
at Margaret's thrust at the servant maid's fringe,
and having doiuied my neat doulile-])reast('d jacket
and my felt hat, I sallied forth upon that eventful
visit — eventful to me, since it was the absolute
beginning of my professional career.
" Bloomsbury Square is not many steps from my
own door ; and I was not greatly surprised when I
i;i
»4
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
discovered 19s to be one of the injiiiy boardinjr-houses
ir the Stiuarc Mv smart knock was answered l)V a
seedy-looking youth in a waiterV garb, and my nos(r
wa« assailed by a mingling of odours left by the
late dinner, which is the event of the boarcnng-liouse
(hiv.
" As I stepned into the hirge, bare hall a door
opened, and a lady aj)j)eared, a large, importanr-looking
j)erson in a black satin gown, and a quantity of
jewellery about her. She looked surprised first, and
a trifle disaj)pointed.
" ^ Oh, good evening, rnadame,' she said ; ' what can
I do for you ? I'm expecting the doctor for a sick
lady u])stairs.'
" ' I'm the doctor,' T said, without flinching, though,
truth to tell, I felt it keenly. 'And I have come
in response to the message left at my house a few
minutes ago. Where is the case ? '
" I thought I had stormed tlie castle ; and though
the large lady looked distinctly dubious, she made
a move towards the stairs.
" ' Oh, well, if you are a doctor you'd better come
up. I sent the gal for the nearest. Where do you
live, may 1 ask ? '
18, Ray burn Place. My name is Glen. What
il
y
1)1
u (
A BOARDING-HOUSE ROMANCE
'5
^-houses
my nose
by the
g-house
a door
looking
ititv of
rst, and
hat can
a sick
hongh,
come
a few
hough
made
come
0 you
Wluit
ia the matter with the lady ? Was she taken sudtU'iily
ill?'
" ' You'll see,,' said the la^ly significantly. ' It's a
(jueer husiness, very queer altogether. I oidy hope
you'll understan<l it, and lielp nie to save the credit
of my house.'
" She then, without further parley, led the way up
the long winding stairs to the top storey, and there,
holding open one of the mjiny doors, motioned me in.
As I 8tej)ped past her a low moan came from the
interior of the room, which was in semi-darkness,
one small gaslight burning near the toilet-table be-
tween the two windows. It was a decently sized
room, sparely furnished, but fairly clean ; the bed
stood out from the wall, and on it lay my patient,
a woman, young and lovely, as I saw at a glr.nce.
Mrs. Mallow, the landlady, also entered the room and
closed the door. I confess that, for the moment, I was
completely j)uzzled to make a diagnosis of the case.
" ' She's been so drendluUy sick,' said Mrs. Mallow,
interrupting me as I took tiie feeble pulse. ' It's
mv belief, on account of evervthing, that she's been
and took something,'
'' The same thought had occurred to me ; and now,
having all my wits about me, 1 saw in my i)atient'«
|6
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
'
condition certain sip^ns of poisoning. I planccd ronnd
the room inquirin<(ly. Mrs. Mallow's «rlaiice, follow-
ing mine, observed, simultaneously witli me, a glass
on the mantelpiece, which had a wiiit<* sedi.iient at
the bottom. Mrs. MjiIIow handed it to nie'^in visible
excitrmcnt. 1 recojuiiised the sediment at once as
that of a simple artiide of domestic use, yet deadly
enouirh in its action to bring about results the most
fatal. Fortunately my patient, ignonuit of quantities
and their action, had stopped short of the fatal dose.
I sent at once for the necessary antidote, and ad-
ministered it with the desired effect. The jwor young
creature was very prostrate, and there was a look of
dumb entreaty in her eyes, which touched me in a very
unprofessional j)art. All this time the landlady was
watching me keenly and with a critical air, which
convinced me that I was, so far as she was concerned,
on my trial.
" Feeling that my successful treatment of this curi-
ous case might be a matter of the utmost importance
to me, I put my best foot foiward, as the Scotch say,
a, I had the satisfaction of feeling that I had made
a very favourable impression on Mrs. Mallow. It
was abou; two hours before I could sav I observed
any improvement in the condition of my poor young
A BOARDING-HOUSE ROMANCE.
17
'd ronnd
, follow-
a glass
'tient at
Q visible
once as
'> deadlv
ie most
lantities
al dose,
bnd ad-
r yoiiiit^:
look of
I a very
Iv was
which
L'erned,
s curi-
itance
h say,
made
IV. It
lerved
«^oung
patient. By that time her skin had lost its clammi-
ness, sickness had ceased, and the bnruinjx pains
were considerably eased. But lier appearance still
left much to be desired. The languor was excessive,
and though she looked at me .vitli perfectly conscious
eyes, her expression was one of settled melancholy.
I signed to Mrs. Mallow to come to the window
with me.
" ' You can, I suppose, tell me something about
this poor girl?' I said. 'She looks little more than
a child, though siie wears a wedding-ring.'
" ' Yes, bat that doesn't make her a wife,' said Mrs.
Mallow grimly. ' She came here with her husband
about three weeks ago, as handsome-looking a young
couple, 1 will say, as ever 1 set eyes on. He said
he was an artist, and that they might be here for
some time, as he was going to make some copies in
the National Gallery. All right, of (bourse, I took
'em in ; for she's as sweet a young creature as eve
walked, and sings like a nightingale. Sometimes
they came to the drawing-room of an evening, and
made themselves agreeable, as only real (quality In.
He's that, anybody can see ; an' they adored each
other. It has made months water in this house, my
dear, to see their happiness.'
i8
ELIZABETH GLEN. MB.
" ' Then why,' I ventured to inquire, more and more
surprised, * why lias it come to this ; and where is
the husband ? '
" * In the country. He went the day before yester-
day, iu consequence, I do believe, of a letter tliat
cnme to 'im that morning. The; got it at breakfast,
and I saw 'iin look kind of queer, an' then he went
away.'
"' Not deserted her, I trust,' I said, casting a look
of compassion towards the be«l and its occupant.
" Mrs. Mallow shook her head.
" ' It's my belief she thinks that, a sweet dear,
if ever there was one, but too excited an' fly-away for
any sensible man's wife, a spider-webby kind of cretur,
Miss Glen, all fancies. It's in 'er very eyes.'
"Mrs. Mallow was undoubtedly a keen, discrimi-
nating observer of human nature, and thus gave me,
in a few words, a grasj) of the whole situation. The
details I filled up, though somewhat wrongly, for
myself.
" ' She won't die, do you think ? * inquired Mrs.
Mallow. ' It would be a very bad thing for the
house, of course, having an inquest, and all sorts of
unpleasant things. The other ladies and gentlemen
wouldn't lik ^ it, would they ? '
A BOARDINCHOUSE ROMANCE.
19
d raore
here is
vester-
•
3r tliat
fakfast,
e went
a look
at.
: dear,
ray for
cretur,
crimi-
e me,
The
y, for
Mrs.
r the
rts of
emen
*' * Indeed they woahhi't. But I assure yon there
is not the sliglitest fear of doatli, or of any serious
conseciuences. Her ignorance of the power of the
poison she took has saved her. Do you kn(iw any-
thing about the husband's whereabouts ? He ought
to be sent for. He should be here at a time like
this.'
" ' 1 know no more than I've told yon, and Mrs.
( 'apel, poor dear, is very close, though as sweet-
mannered as she ca'i be. Maybe she'll tell you.
Doctors get a many stories, an' you liave a good
heart, an' a true woman's way with you, ma'am,
thougli it does seem queer to think you are a
doctor.'
" I smiled a little at tliis frank expression of
opinion, but felt secretly glad that 1 liad made so
favourable an impression on the good soul, who
might be able to do me a good turn. 1 then walked
over to the bod, and laid my hand on tlie square
white brow of my young patient.
" * My dear,' I said, as gently as 1 could, ^ you are
greatly better, I think. Could you answer me a
question ? '
She signified by lier eyes that she could and would.
The vague terror Jiad left them, and a more peaceful
90
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
i I
and natnral expression had returned to her face.
Mrs. Mallow, with a delicacy which caused me to
think yet more highly of her, immediately left the
room.
" ' Who are you ? * inquired my patient, when
her eyes had followed the kind landlady to the
door.
" * I am the doctor ; my name is Elizabeth Glen.
And now I want to know, my dear girl, what is the
meaning of this ? '
" A faint flush began to rise to the girl's fair cheek,
and her eyes avoided mine.
" * You meant kindly, trying to save me,' she said
in a low voice. ' But it would have been better to
have let me die. I suppose I shall get better, sha'n't
ir
"*Yes, you will. You will be nearly all right
to-morrow,' I said cheerily. ' In time to receive your
husband when he comes back ; and I hope,' I added
severely, after I had hazarded this remark, ' that he
will give you the talking-to you deserve.'
" ' Who said he would come to-morrow ? He said
he would come last night. I don't think he will
come back any more I ' she said passionately.
" I pursed up my lips and gave a little nod. ' So
Jt BOARDING-HOUSE ROMANCE.
at
er face.
[ me to
left the
:, when
to the
h Glen,
kt is the
r cheek,
jhe said
etter to
sha'n't
1 right
^^e your
' added
that he
ie said
le will
'So
it is that I Clever Mrs. Mallow I ' was mv inward
remark.
" 1 continued to stroke the sweet white brow on
which th«? bright hair cnrlod in baby ringlets, giving
to her that verv voung and childish look.
" ' Mv dear, von talk nonsense. Yon know liow
dearly he loves you. Ho will be here to-morrow, as
surely as my name is Elizabeth Glen.'
'* 1 made this statement with boldness, and it
reassnred her a little, 1 could see. The distress
gradually faded entirely from her face, but a great
wistfulness took its ])lace.
" ' How kind and good you look I * she said, and,
Ijulling my hand down with her small, white fingers,
she pressed her cheek against it. ' Perhaps he will
come back, though I spoke so harshly to him. You
see, I have ruined his life, and he knows it ; and
how can we be happy? It would be far better for
me to die.'
" ' You have not ruined his life, and he loves you
better than himself,' I said, amazed at my own
assertions. ' There will be some ex[)laiiation of
his prolonged absence, and you will be very sorry
to-morrow when you see him for what you have
done.*
aa
ELIZABETn GLEN, M.R.
t
"1 was vcrv iirond of rnvsclf as I made these
l)oM statements, not kuowiuu: in tlic l«!ast what I
was talking al)ont.
"'Tliereis only one ex])lim!iti<)n. He Inis gone to
see his mf>ther bccanse slie is ill, and thev have
])l()tt('d to keep him away from inc. They have per-
suaded him not to come back ; and if he loves theni
better than he loves me tlien he can remain with
them, and so I told him.'
" This little gleam of a ])assion so natural and so
womanly made me smile, because I was pleased to
see it. It was decidedlv a health v si"jn.
" ' Oh, nonsense ! Did it not occur to you that
his mother might be so very ill that he could not
leave her? She may even have died in the interval,
while you have been judging him so hardly.'
" ' Then he might have written or telegraphed,
she said shrewdly, and even pettishly. ' You are
very kind to try and reassure me ; but then, you
see, 1 know better than you, because 1 am his wife.'
" This was rather conclusive, and I felt that it
was useless to say much more.
" ' That is true ; and because von are his wife vou
ouiirht to know better than anvbodv how dear vou
are to him. It was so patent a fact,' I added, with
A nO.iRDim. i/OL'SE HOMANCE.
33
e these
what I
::ono to
V lisivc
ve per-
s theiu
1 with
and so
sed to
I thut
il not
erval,
plied,
1 are
, you
!it it
vou
you
with
a little smile, as I took mv irloves from the table
and prepared to depart. ' So patent a fact,' 1 re-
])eated with emiihasis, ' that everybody in this house
envied you. Mrs. Mallow told me so this very
evening.
" A lovely light, sweet and soft as a baby's smile,
smoothed all the hardness from her sweet lace, and
1 saw her eyes grow dim.
" ' I think he loved me a little. It was I who did
wrong to marry him. You see, 1 am a nobody, an
orphan working with my needle for my daily bread,
and he was tlie son of a great house.'
" ' Yes,* I said, intensely interested, as every
woman is in a lo/e story. 'But 1 should say that
you were a fit enough wife for him ; you are gently
born yourself.'
" ' No, I am not. My father was a poor tutor, my
mother a teacher too; we are of no familv. I met
him at Bournemouth, which used to be my home.
We forgot everything but ourselves, and it is always
wicked to be selfish. Selfishness is always punished
sooner or later.'
" * Is he, then, the heir to a great estate ? ' I in-
quired, with a curiosity natural and womanly, though
^uite unprofessional.
■
24
EU/AHEin (iLEi\\ M.B.
"'No, lie is tilt' second son; l)ut liis niotluT is
an t'lirl's trnuMldauj^hter, and sho will never forgive
liim. SIh* lias said so, tlioiiirh lie is her favourite
thild.
ti (
Pctor cliild, all will yet come rin^lit, I hope and
expect,' I said, and st()0|mi<^ down, kissed her bro
and my eyes wen* not dry as I turned away.
vv,
• « • • •
" I was very early at my patient's bedside next
day, and found her nuch better and brighter. It
was quite evident that the dawn of the new day had
given her hope, and that she expected her lost
hap])iness to be restortnl to her before it ch)8ed.
'' ' Has she had a letter, then ? ' I asked Mrs.
'lallow before I went up, i when she told me of
the quiet night and the bright disposition of the
morning.
" But no letter had come, nor did anv come that
day nor for many days to come. Although my at-
tendance couhl well have been dis])ensed with, I
continued to visit the young wife every day. Need-
less to sav, I was intenselv interested in her case,
but the interest of the woman exceeded that of the
doctor.
** Frances Capel was no longer a patient, but a
A liOARDI^r.llOUSE ROMANCE.
•S
ofhor is
i'orgive
avoiirite
r brow.
le next
ter. It
lay had
er lost
ed.
I Mrs.
me of
of the
e that
ay at-
ith, I
Neod-
case,
)f the
)nt a
woman sufTcriii^, as so many of ns do, tliroiitijh that
delicate and terrihh' orgiin w<' cull tiic heart. As
the days went on, and no word or si<rn (^ame from
tlie al)S(Mit husliiind, I bc^j^iiii to entertain a stron*;^
resentment ugainst him, and to fear thjit perliaps,
after all, his wife did know him best. There might
be wheels within wheels^ of wlii«'li I knew nothing.
One thing only was ceitain— the highly strnng tem-
perament of tliat undisciplined girl could not long
stand such a strain. It was not difliciilt to foresee
the end.
" I therefore considered myself justified in taking
a decisive step. Mrs. Mallow, whose goodness of
heart and true motlierly kindness shown to that
distraught creature have sanctified to me for ever
the maligned class to which she belonged, was not
less anxious during those weary days, in which our
patient passed through many vagaries of mind, many
stages of acute spirit anguish. I found her alter-
nately passionate, resentful, reproaeliful, sometimes
railing at fate, and even threatening once to end all
by her own hand. But I was able, as belore, to
convince her of the sin of snch a step, and to show
her that, however hard and intolerable the burden,
yet must the creature not lay violent hands on the
a6
FlI/.tliFTII GLEN, M.R.
lilt* ^ivon hy tlie Creator for a wise purpose, which
is in (ivcry case throiiffli time revealed. Those wihl
iiK )ds, however, passed, and she ndapscl into a
state of qtiiesceniM' and apntlieti(^ silence wliich I,
as lier medical attendant, couhl not re;^ard without
concern.
'' ' Something must be (h)ne, and tliat at once,
Mrs. Mallow,' I said ; ' and I have an idea. I shall
myself this very afternoon pay a visit to Mr. Jack
(/ai)el, and see whether he 'is really dead to every
feeling of manly honour, to say nothing of common
decency.'
" Mrs. Mallow regarded rae in silent admiration
for a full minute.
" ' Miss Glen, if there be a hangel, yon are that
liangel,' she said, making free with her It's in her
emotion. * If vou were kn «"'n in this neiijhbourhood
as you deserve, tlie gentlemen doctors, with all their
hairs, wouldn't 'ave no chance.*
" ' Sometliing lias got to be done for her, Mrs.
Mallow, and that soon, or we may have a repetition
of the scene when we met first,* 1 said significantly ;
and, walking out of the house, I took the first hansom
in sight, and drove to Charing Cross Station.
♦' It was only after I was in the train, which was
1
j4 DOAHUlNd.llOl SE NOM.iyCF.
27
>^8e, whioli
riioso wild
cd iiiU) a
^vliicli I,
ti without
at once,
■ I slialJ
^^v. Jack
to every
common
miration
ire that
in her
)nrhood
U their
', Mrs.
etitiou
antiy ;
ansom
1 was
rapidly cnnveN iiijr mo to niirtlrtf ('(unmoii, tliut I
realised wliut a very delicate and pHM'arioiis mission
I Ijiid taken upon mvself. Onlv the knowledi^e that
I aett'd IVom the very hi«;hest motives, and the eon-
vietion tiiat good must eonie of it, hoic me up to my
journey's end. It was rather a lon<(er journey than
1 liad anticipated, and the afternoon was wanin«j^
when the train drew up at Bartlett Common, the
nearest station for Capel (V)urt. It was a wet and
dreary day, a thick mivt enveloped tlie landscape,
and i could n(>t see numv vards hevond the little
enclosure, where sundry vehicles awaited the arrival
of the train.
" ' Capel Court, miss ? ' said the j)orter, to whom 1
put the (piestion. ' It ain't but a few stei)s down
the village, and first turning on the right. You see
the gates? Not expected, miss. There ain't no
carrias'e from the ('ourt 'ere to-dav.'
" 1 thanked the man, and tramped away down the
muddy but pictures(jue village street, j)ast tl.e ' Capel
Arras,' the old churcli, and the cosy red vicarage, and
so to the gates of the great house, thinking all the
while of the poor, shrinking, little wife, who had won
a son of Capel Court from tlie allegiance to the
family pride.
1
28
m
ii I
'■ i'l'
1 1
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
^' I had to ring a bell to gain admittance, and the
woman who came out of the lodge looked so friendly
that I ventured to ask whether Mrs. Capel were
likely to he at home.
" ' Oh yes, she be, ma'am ; and Mr. John is a little
better this evening. The doctor has just been and
gone.
((
^ He is here, then ? ' I said, completely taken
off my guard. *And what is, the matter with
him ? ' •
" ' Why, fever ; he's been near death's door. He
was taken bad the very night he came, an' has been
off his head every minit since, au' goin* on dreadful.'
" I must have had a very curious expression on
my face, for I observed the woman regarding me
with something uncommonly like suspicion. I
thanked her hastily, and turned my steps up the
avenue towards the house, quite conscious, though I
did not look back, that the lodge-keeper was starina:
after me. I did not care. I was happy and filled
with trembling excitement, a sensation altogether
new to one who had always prided herself on her
calm temperament and remarkable powers of self-
control. Capel Court was an imposing, if somewhat
gloomy-looking mansion, a great house, indeed, in
A BOARDING-HOUSE ROMANCE.
29
hce, and the
1 so friendly
Capel were
in is a little
t been and
itely taken
atter with
door. He
has been
Ireadful.'
'ession on
-rding me
^icion. I
>s ap the
thougli I
is starinor
md filled
Itogethcr
f on her
of self-
5mewhat
deed, in
every sense of the word, and the interior was more
suggestive of gloomy grandeur than brightness or
comfort. I was allowed to wait in the hall while
the man took my name to his mistress ; no hard-
ship, however, since a glorious fire blazed in the
wide dog-grate, and many luxurious cha'rs invited
me to rest. But 1 was too excited to do anything
hut pace to and fro, wondering what was likely to
be the issue of my errand.
" I had pictured Mrs. Capel a woman after the
melodrama type of tae proud and unbending mother,
a woman of noble figure, and handsome but for-
bidding cast of face. The reality was entirely
different— a little mite of a creature, with a fair,
round, placid face, and yellow hair arranged so neatly
about her head as to give the idea ot extreme pre-
cision in all things. Her manner, however, had its
own touch of hauteur, and when she spoke her voice
had a harsh, unmusical ring.
" ' Good afternoon,' she said, with a slight bcw,
and waited, with a faint touch of haughty inquiry in
her whole bearing, to hear*my message.
" ' You do not know my name, of course,' I said.
* I come from London. I am a doctor, and I have
been attending your son's wife.'
30
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
li, „ n
ii
Slie gave a little start. The ex])ression of her
month cliauged, its outline becoming long and thin,
and even crnel.
" * Yes/ she said languidly. ' Then you will bo
able to ffive me her address. Mv son came to see
me because I was ill, and was taken ill himself
directly he arrived. I suppose the fever — typhoid —
was on him when he left London. He is quite
delirious, and I cannot find the address in his pocket!
Please to give me it. 1 shall send for her, in case
of any serious issue. I would wish to do my duty,
though she is not, of course, a i)er30u of whom I
can approve.'
" She delivered herself calmly and precisely, and
kept her cold blue eyes fixed full on my face. 1
only hope 1 looked as angry as I felt, and 1 have
been told that I can assume a very forbidding
expression.
"'I can give vou the address, madam,' I said, as
I took out a card. ' Mrs. Capel has been very ill
indeed ; the anxiety and suspense have nearly killed
her. Although you cannot approve of her she is
devoted to your son, her husband. Her devotion and
her unselfishness have been a daily wonder to me
since I have made lier acquaintance.'
A BOARDING-HOUSE ROMANCE.
3i
>n of her
and thin,
1 will bo
•)(^ to see
[ himself
yphoid—
is quite
*^ pocket:
» in case
ny duty,
whom I
^ly, and
face. 1
X have
bidding
aid, as
ery iJ]
killed
she is
•n and
o me
" Perhaps I stretched a point, but the calm, even
stare of those cold blue eves made me wild.
" ' The address ? ' she said inquiringly, and with
that slight deprecating glance which said quite
phiinly she could very well dispense with any further
expression of my opinion. I scrib^:jled it on the card,
and gave it to her as ungraciously as possible.
" * Can I take any message to Mrs. (*ape ? '
."'You can telegra])h for me if you will be sc
good. Tell her to come, that my son is here, and
that I have no wish to part husband and wife,' she
said calmly. ' If you will please sit down tea will
be sent to you. There is no train to London, any-
how, for an hour or more.'
"It was not a graciously offered hospitality, but
I accepted it, in the hope that she would stay and
talk. There was so very much I did not know, and
which I wished to know.
" She rang the bell, and, having given her orders,
looked at me again with a frank curiosity which 1
confess surprised me not a little.
" ' So you are a lady doctor ? You do not look like
it. Who employs you ? '
" The manner of the speech was almost rude, but
something in her face disarmed me. Now that the
3a
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
>h
sore snbject was laid aside I saw another side of the
mistress of Caj)el Court.
" * I have only begun the practice of my profession,
and your daughter-in-law is my first patient,' I said,
with a slight smile. ' But 1 hope she will not be the
last/
" * You are a lady, I can see. What induced you to
take a step so extraordinary, and, if you will excuse
my frankness, so bold ? '
" * It is a long story, Mrs. Capel, but I think I am
doing right. I have decided to give it a fair trial,
anyhow ; and if, at the end of eighteen mouths, I
have still nothing to do, I shall bury my ambition,
and return, a sadder and wiser woman, to the bosom
of my family.'
" I laughed a trifle bitterly as I said this, for I did
not relish the idea, even in jest.
*' * You are a north-countrywoman by your accent,'
she said. ' And perseverance is your national charac-
teristic, is it not r I trust there will be no occasion
for you to forego your ambition. Would you like to
go upstairs and see my son ? '
" This request, so suddenly proffered, ^ook me
entirely by surprise. Needless to say, I assented at
once, and Mrs. Capel herself led the way up the
A BOARDING-HOUSE ROMANCE.
33
de of the
rofession,
,* I said,
)t be the
2d yon to
11 excuse
ik I am
ill* trial,
ouths, I
mbitioii,
J bosom
r I did
accent,'
charac-
ccasioD
like to
)k me
ited at
ip the
Inxnrious staircase to tlie sick-room. I glanced about
me with an involuntary sigh of regretful envy, re-
cplling just sucli another roomy and lovely old family
liouse, where my place was empty, and wliere my
absence was deplored. It is a sign of weakness to
yearn for the flesh-pots of Egypt ; nevertlieless, the
contrast betwc u the old life in my father's house and
the new was painfully strong at that moment, and
made me half a coward.
" I was recalled from tlu'se <j:loomv thou'^hts l)v
ray intense interest in the young man lying so ill in
that pleasant sick-room, containing everything that
money could buy to alleviate pain.
'' There was a nurse in the room ; and the sick man,
delirious still, kept up an unceasing babble of talk, to
wliich she i)aid no heed. I looked at him with
])athetic interest, admiring his noble head and fine
features, though his mother assured me he did not
look like himself. He was in the acute stage of the
fever, and it was impossible to i)rognosticate the end.
We did not long ren;ain, nor did we say anything
until we again returned to the hall.
" 'What is your opinion ?' she asked then, and the
question flattered me, of course.
" ' There is not much to give. The fever must
3
34
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
1 ■'■! I I
simply ran its course. The issue rlepeiuls, of course,
on what strength is his to battle with the crisis
when it conies. I '
" The roll of carriage wheels interrupted ns, Mrs.
Capel, in evident surprise, walked to the liall door,
and threw it open. To my amazement there stepped
from the hired fly my patient, Jack Oapel's wife. It
was a strange moment. I almost held my breath.
She took out her purse, we watching her, and paid
the man^ saying quietly, ' You need not wait.'
" Then she walked into the house. She looked
very frail and fragile, I thought, but lovely beyond
expression. She did not appear to see me, but paused
in front of Mrs. ( ^apel, and lifted her large eyes to her
face.
'' ^ My husband is here, and he is ill,' she said.
* I had a dream that told me so. You hate and
despise me, I know, but you cannot keep me from
him. Will you take me to him, if you please, at
once ? '
"Mrs. Capol's face was absolutely white. I saw
her give a little shiver, but her expression conveyed
nothing.
" They regarded each other steadily for a moment.
The elder woman was the first to flinch.
A BOARDING-HOUSE ROMANCE.
35
'f course,
he crisis
IS, Mrs.
all door,
stepped
wife. It
' breath,
and paid
} looked
beyond
paused
s to her
e said,
ite and
le from
ase, at
I saw
nveved
oment.
" ' I have no desire to keep yon from him,' she said
•[uietly then. '■ I had no address, or I should have
sent for you before. Stej) this way.'
" ' You do not look so unkindly at me as I expected,
[f I have wronged you — as I have bitterly disappointed
you, I know — I ask to be forgiven. It is too late to
remedy it now, but I love him '
" Her sweet voice broke. I saw the elder woman
sliiver again, and a curious trembling light broke
upon her face. The sweet Inimility, the childish grace
of that desolate young creature had won the heart of
the earl's granddaughter, I could see.
" ' Nay, my dear, it is I who have wronged you,'
she said, and I marvelled to hear the tender cadence
in her voice. ' I had not seen you. I ask to be for-
given. Now, come.'
" She put her arm, with a protecting touch of
motherly kindness, about the girl's slioulders, and
led her away. The better nature, the liighest of all.
since it is near^»sc to the Divine, had triumphed at the
supreme moment, and there was peace.
" I was left, Jis 1 was destined often to be, on the
outside. It did not trouble me to know I was for-
gotten. I drank the tea they had set before me,
adjusted my wrai)s, and went away from Capel Court,
I +
i
.^6
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB
back to my soiitudo, to my little c,uiet home, to mv
hopes and fears, a little less lonely, perhaps, than
when 1 eame. Yet my woman's lieart was not with-
out its aehe. It was many yeurs, and then under very
ranch altered circumstances, before I saw my first
patient again."
'
^JW»Wji*\3K,y-^gg:^^
, to mv
f, than
t with-
ler very
ly firsf
II.
A SHADOWED LIFE.
" T SUPPOSE," I said to my friend one day, ' yon
-^ have always found men look more askance at yon,
professionally, I mean, than women ? "
" I don't (^uite catch yonr meaning," slie replied at
once. " I have found woiuen a great deal more .scep-
tical about my abilities than any man could ]v.»ssibly
be. In fact, at first at least, no woman would have
me of her own fr^e will, though, after a little ex-
])erience of me, she generally changed her mind. The
prejudice to be overcome against woiuen doctors, even
to-day, my dear, is tremendous."
"And perfectly unwarrantable," I supj)lemented
calmly.
Dr. Glen smiled a little curious smile, and I saw a
slightly mischievous gleam in her eye.
" Well, I don't know, or rather 1 do know what my
private opinion is, but I am not bound to give it to
37
J«
vou
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
for \\
>♦
le asking, slu' rej
sh
1)1 ied. " Now, don't vou
want to hear about my first put lent of the other sex ?
I was looking over my journal the other night, and
when 1 rend the ac(;ount of liim J wondered wliat von
would SUV ; }irol»ubly, thut it would not be calculuted
to suit your purpose.'*
"Let me heur it; I am the best jndge of thut,"
said 1, feeling tliat 1 owed her a retort for the lirst
part of her speech.
'* I have no doubt vou are," she said ubsentlv, and
took out her wutcli. " It's huif-past four. Supposing
you've drunk sufficient tea — too much, if you ask me —
will you drive with me to Hampstead ? I liave to see
a patient there, close by the Heath. I liuve just time
to do it comfortably before dinner. I can droj) you at
your own door us we return."
'' And tell me the story as we go. I dreamed last
night I had burglariously entered your abode, and
borne away your story triumphantly."
Dr. Glen laughed, and gave the tip of her nose a
rub with the palm of her hand, a curious little habit
of hers which has often amused me.
" I'll take care vou don't lav burglarious hands on
that, madam. I'll burn it first. \Vell, are you
ready ? "
•^^MMMMM
A SilADoWrn IJFE.
39
I assented, and we procccdod to the door, whore
the neat viftoria vvaitctl further orders, rrosperous
days liad coiue to Dr. Ghwi, and the t'arrifi«,'e was ])aid
for out of her own ikrofcssional earnin»,'s. She was
prond of her suc'cess, and she stepped into licr own
carriage, and sat (h»wu in it too, like a woman
who always lias been used to it.' It is a ijract! of
manner diiKeult to ac(j[uire. Dr. (ilen hns it t(»
perfection.
" Well, about this patient of mine, this man," she
said, with !i (Mirious intonation on the lust word.
Of course, I got him by mistake, and it was as good
as a pantomime to see his face wlien I entered his
room. Do you know this, dear ? — tliere is not a woman
in twenty who can bear up under the constant humili-
ation of such looks. They nearlv slew me — at first ;
and though I don't get so many of tliem now, ot
course the effect is just the same. Well, it was not
long after the Ca})el case, and I was just wondering
whether I had seen my first and last j)atient, when I
was called up at two o'clock in the morning. Imagine
the excitement of hearing the night-bell ring in my
dressing-room, and of speaking down the tube for
the first time ! It was a delicious sensation. Curious
how we change ; now I wish the bell-wire woulu
I-
40
ELI/.AIIETH (.LENt M,B,
iV!
)»reMk. aixl I fct*! inclined to stntl' inv Htockuijrs down
the tid)(' to ciismc u ([iiiet ni;,^lit. It waH a man who
Hpokc up to inc, askinj^ if IM come at once to a iiei^li-
l)OUring street to sec; his nnister, who had had a
seiznre. 1 said yes, of course, and asked him to waif
a minute for me. I was a trifle nervous then about
the streets at ni<(ht, tliough I had to get over that.
You think yon can dress quickly, — I've heard you
make your boast of it, — but you can't beat me. And
I didn't go out a fright either, or forget to do my
front hair. I even put on a ])air of fresh cuff's, and
I was down that stair in seven minutes from the time
the bell rang. By this time Margaret had let the
man in, and there he sat on tlie hall seat, and when
he saw me he had the (jueerest look on his face you
ever saw.
" ' I suppose you knew I was a huly ? ' I said, a trifle
sluirply ; and he sla])ped liis hand to his forelock
respectfully at once.
" ' Yes'm— but— but '
"But what?' 1 asked.
" ' Not so young, j)lease'm,' he said, a trifle doubt-
fully.
" ' I ])resume the case is urgent. We had bettei*
go,' I said, with all the dignity I could command,
A s/riD()inr> ijfe.
4'
iind wiishiu^^ my liuir would sikMoiiIv grow grey.
• Are you tlic gentleiiijiii's servuiit ?'
" ' Yes'ni, his viilet,/ he re|)lied.
"*Yqu can tell nie about your mast(T as we 2^0,'
1 said with dignity, anil we jiassed out together into
the chill air. Yoit dou't know wiiat it is to rise out
of a wuriu bed and inarch out into the raw air at two
o'clock on a November morning, so be thanki'ul for
your mercies, and respectful to me.
" I gathered from tiie valet, whose name was
Williams, that his nnister had had a sudden seizun^
al)out midnight, when preparing for bed, and that he
was in an unconscious state. The house was not far
otf — only a stone's tlirow from my own — but VV^illiams
had gone out of his way naturally to avoid the lady
doctor, and it was only in d('sj)t ration, after calling on
two medical men and finding both out, that he came
for rae. Wiicn 1 entered the house, I saw at a glance
what not ^i man in ten would liave noticed — that
though tlie liall was quaint, and in some respects
shabby, it contained much tluit was valuable, and
whiith belonged to a person of wealth and tast(;. It
was a private liouse, not a hnlging-liouse, as 1 (juite
exju'cted. A middle-iigc^l, respectable-looking lionse-
keeper came rnnninu' downstairs to receive me, looking
44
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
at once relieved and a trifle disappointed with my
appearance. My dear, in spite of all you and the
doctor said about it, it was a, mistake to make mvself
smart arid vouthful lookinjij ; it only implanted dis-
trust in the bosoms of my elderly patients, and a lack
of respect in the young ones."
" I don't believe it," I replied flatly. " If we'd let
you make a guy of yourself to begin with, we sliouldn't
be riding oat to Hampstead in j/ou?- victoria, Dr. Glen,
but in a hired one at three shillings an hour. But
there is no gratitude in this world — now proceed
about the old gentleman."
" I calmly nodded to the housekeeper and pulled
off my gloves as I went upstairs behind her and in
front of Williams. By the time I entered the large,
lofty room where my patient was, I was so interested
in him that I forgot all about them, though they
stood by wliile I made my examination, watching me
like hawks. I saw at a glance what was wrong.
He had had a paralytic shock, in the left side for-
tunately, so that his face was not much distorted.
It was a good thing, for he was the very ugliest old
man I have ever seen. He looked about seventv
years of age, and from the colour of his skin I
thought he must have spent the greater part of his
A SHADOWED LIFE.
43
w^ith my
and the
3 mvself
V
ted dis-
[ a Jack
ve'd let
lonldn't
\ GJei),
*. But
proceed
pnlled
md in
large,
rested
they
ig me
'^ronof.
o
! for-
)rted.
fc old
Tntv
in I
* his
life in a foreign country. Though this was my first
case of the kind, I was at no loss how to proceed ;
and the two pairs of suspicious, watchful eyes upon
me kept me up to the mark. I forgot nothing, and
I gave my orders in a quick, decisive way, wliich
favourably impressed them, I could see, while it
filled me with admiration for myself. There are
moments, a,s you know as well as I, when he who
hesitates is lost. I know that my prompt action
saved my reputation with these two menials, who
have stood up for me like Britons ever since. It
will not be very interesting for you to hear the
details of mv treatment ; suffice to sav that before I
left him I had the satisfaction of seeing my patient
open his eyes, though they did not appear to look
with much intelligence. Still, anything is better
than unconsciousness. I perceived that the pair,
Williams and Mrs. Davis — both Welsh names, bv-
the-bye — were considerably relieved by even such a
slight improvement, and that tliey were undoubtedly
attached, and strongly too, to their very ugly old
master. When I left about six o'clock, Williams
respectfully followed me downstairs, and asked
whether I would like him to walk back with
me.
44
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
::ii''.:1
" ' 01) no,' I replied cheerfully. ' It is day now,
and I nni not afraid. 1 shall come round after
breakfast : meanwhile you know what to do/
" ' Yes'm,' he sjiid, with a curious touch of wistful-
nesR, which made his phiin, unintelligent face quite
attractive.
" ' Would you jjlease tell me liow it's likely to turn
out for mv master ? '
" * I can't,' I replied frankly. * Because I don't
know. I can assure you this stroke will not be
fatal, that is all. He may entirely recover, or he
may be left partially disabled. We shall not be able
to tell for some little time. Has he had anything
special to worry or annoy him lately?'
"* Yes'm, a heap; he's always bein' annoyed;
they don't give him no peace,' he said quite
savaorely.
" ' Who are " tliey " ? ' I inquired suggestively.
"'His relations, the Brvnfords of Plas Martvn ;
they've done their best to suck him drv, and worry
the life out o' him. It would be the best bit o' news
they ever heard if he died, but you won't let 'em
hear it yet, will you. Miss — Doctor— beggin' your
pardon ? '
" ' No, we won't, since they are so bloodthirsty,'
IS
dr^
A SHADOWED LIFE.
45
lay now,
nd after
I.
wistfuJ-
ce quite
to turn
I don't
not be
or he
56 able
iything
loyed ;
quite
trtyn :
worry
news
' 'eni
your
rsty,'
I replied, with a smile. 'Then my patient's name
is Brvnford ? '
" ' Yes'm, Brvnford Martvn it should be, but he
dropped the Martyn long ago.'
'' I nodded and left the house, beginning to be
interested in the curious old man, who evidently had
a history of his own. He could not be so repulsive
as he looked, since he had won the (h'votion of the
two servants, who waited upon him hand and foot,
evidently out of pure affection. I saw liim again in
the course of the day, and found him, though con-
scious, in a dazed condition. He appeared to know
I was a stranger, and to wonder what 1 wanted, but
he always submitted quite (jnietly to all my ministra-
tions. This went on for some days, until he was
able to talk, a little tliickly and incoherently, of
course, and his faithful servants appeared to be
overjoyed to hear the tones of his voice again. His
first question to me was not very encouraging. What
do you think it was?"
I said I did not know.
" Well, he asked me if I liad been disappointed of
a husband that I had taken to medicine, and if I had
no relatives to put me in a lunatic asylum."
" And how did you answer him ? "
46
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
I I I
"I told him frankly to mind bis own business,
and not to forget altogether that he t ;ed his life
partly to me. That was stretching a point, maybe,
but I was bound to hold my own with him. And
he liked it ; he chuckled over that retort as if it
were one of Punch'' s best jokes, and wns very civil
to me for two days. He was the queerest mixture.
Sometimes I positively hated him, and vowed 1
should never pay him another visit. At other times
he was almost amiable, and there was something
touching in his loneliness, and in his utter dependence
on his servants, who lavished upon him a devotion
which he must have earned, since it had nothing
mercenary about it."
*' Did he never suggest that you should have
anotlier opinion, or appear to object to regard you
as his medical adviser ? "
" No, he was most amiable so far as that was
concerned ; and his confidence in me did a great
deal towards restoring ray self-respect, wliich so
many months' idleness had brought to the lowest
ebb. We used to have long conversations on every
conceivable subject, and became very friendly, after
he was quite strong enough to speak. One morning
Williams came for me in tlie greatest haste, saying
A SHADOWED LIFE.
47
Mr. Brynford had had another seizure, and would I
come at once. He explained as we liurritMl to the
house together that some of his relatives from Wales
had arrived that morning, and that there had "been
a scene, ending in the collapse of his master. When
we entered the house, a lady came out of the dining-
room, a large, haughty person, of most forbidding
aspect, and witlioat so much as a civil greeting asked
me what I wanted. * 1 am the doctor in attenuance
on Mr. Brynford, madam,' 1 replied, and if ever I
looked haughty I think I managed it then ; * and I
cannot attend to you until 1 have seen him.*
•''She stepped out into the hall and followed me
upstairs. 1 suti'ered her to ascend out of the hearing
of Williams, and then turned to her politely.
" ' I am sorry I must forbid you Mr. Brynford's
room just now, madam. I understand it is your
sudden arri*^al which has again prostrated him.
Until I give permission no one except myself and
his attendants must go near my patient.' "
" Splendid," I murmured. " Splendid ; you were
born to command, Elizabeth ; but go on."
" You should have seen her face ! She looked
for a moment as if she would disregard me. She
was nearly twice my age, \\n\ she hu^. an eye that
V'f:
48
ELIZABETH CLEN, M.B.
might have pieiHHMl a stone wall, but I met her gazo
steadily, and sho saw that I raoaiit what I said.
She was neitlier a lady nor a good woman ; therefore
1 had no comi)nnctioii at all about her feelings.
Wlien I entered the room I turned the key in the
lock. Mrs. Davis was alone with her master bathing
his hands, and doing everything she eould think of.
I sjiw at a glance that wliat I feared had not occurred;
he had had no second seizure, but liad only gone
into a fainting fit, out of which I managed to bring
liim, and when he o|)ene<l his eyes I saw that there
was a scared look in them, as if Ik^ had got a fright.
"*Tliat woman, Sophia Brynford Martya,' he
muttered. ' Has she gone ? '
"'She shall not come in here, sir,' I said sooth-
ingly, and I laid my hand witli real tenderness on
his jiead. He was very ugly, and generally most
disagreeable, but I felt a great rusli of pity for him,
and could not help showing it. Mrs. Davis took
my hand and kissed it, with a (pieer sudden gesture,
and tears standing in her eyes.
" ' But has she gone out of the house ? Yon'll
put her out, won't you, Miss Glen ? Get the police
to her, only put her out,' he said, with piteous
eagerness.
A SI I A DOW KD LUE,
49
" * She shall leave the huuso within \\\\ hour,' 1
replied, with that colossal assumption at whifh you
have often professed yourself amused. He Hj>peared
more contented after that, and when 1 had given
him something fell into a sleep of exhaustion. Then
I bethought myself of the large woman awaiting mo
downstairs.
" * Mrs. Davis,' I said in a whisper, ' will you come
into the dressing-room a moment?'
" She followed nie at once.
'' ' Can you tell me anything ahout the lady down-
stairs ? I am going to order her out of the house —
at least it amounts to that. But what relation is
she to Mr. Brynford ? '
" * His cousin's witL', doctor ; but never mind, order
lier out an' welcome. She's a bad 'un, she is.'
'^ I have never professed immunity from tlie
('(►mmon weaknesses of mv sex, and I was fearful I v
(furious concerning my patient and his objectionable
relative, but it did not become me to foi'ce the con-
fidence of a servant ; so 1 withdrew to deal as
(liplomaticMlly as might be wii!i Mrs. Brynford
Martyn.
'• She was pacing tin; hall, a most impositig-looking
fie-nre, aiid wl.en she heard me on the stairs she
it
50
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
!L
ojH'iicd the diiiiiig-room door and motioned me to
enter. 1 did so, and saw there a gentleman, sitting
at tlie tabh' unconcernedly reading the Times^ a small,
rather evil-looking person, with red hair and furtive
shifting eyes. He merely glanced at me, but a
curious and not very attractive smile was on his face,
as if he anticipated a jdcasant excitement in the
encounter between his wife and me.
*' ' Well,' said Mrs. Brynford Martyn, very sharply,
lu)w did vou find him ?'
" ' In a fainting fit, from which he has now
recovered,' I replied politely. ' I know nothing,
madam, of Mr. Brynford's family afi'airs, but I do
know that in his present weak state he does not wish
your presence in the house ; and he desires me to
ask you to leave without delay.'
" ' And pray, who are you, to bring me any such
message ? ' she inquired, in a most insulting voice ;
but 1 kei)t my tem2)er, and replied calmly :
" ' I am his medical adviser.'
^' ' Ilis medical adviser I ' she repeated, with a
sneer. ' And a pretty one you are ; don't you think
shame of yourself, at your age, a disgrace to your
sex, nothing more?'
" 1 smiled, because I could not lielp it.
A SHADOWED LIFE.
SI
i to
" * I have sent for another doctor, mifls, a proper
doctor, who will take Mr. Bryn ford's case into his
own hands, and you can send in your bill as soon
as you like, thonorh I suppose yon and Williams and
Davis have feathered your pockets pretty well out
of the old fool's purse.'
" Her vultrarity took the sting from her words,
and though I was very angry, I didn't show it.
"' I am Mr. Brynford's medical adviser,' I repeated
calmly, * and I keep the case in my hands until he
desires other advice. As you have sent for another
doctor, I shall, of course, wait to see him, and explain
the matter to him. If necessary I must remain in
the house altogether, to see that you do not annoy
Mr. Brynford. A few more shocks of the same kind
can have but one issue.'
^' The pair exchanged glances and a few words in
Spanish, which I unfortimately did not understand.
Then Mrs. Brynford ]\Iartyn's manner suddenly
changed, and became ulmost conciliatory.
" < I did not mean to be rude to you. Miss Glen,
but I have been naturally annoyed, of course, at
having been kept in ignorance of my cousin's state
of health. We are his only relatives, and it has
jrrieved us to see him so entirely in the hands of
52
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
servants. He is a very rich man, and I fear these
people only serve him for their own ends.'
"* I don't tliink so, madam,' I re])lied courteously.
' 1 have had every opportunity of observing them,
and I have never seen greater personal devotion than
Williams and Mrs. Davis bestow on Mr. Brynford.'
'• She shrugged her shonlders, and made no reply
to that.
" ' As my cousin has unfortunately taken some
strange nmbia<!:e at us, and we cannot but think
that his mind has been poisoned against us,' she
said, ' Mr. Martvn and I will leave the house to-dav.
We sluill go to the Inns of Court Hotel in Holborn,
iind there remain until Mr. Brynford is better.'
" This was so much gained, and within an hour
the pair liad left tlie house. I went up to inform
Mr. Brynford of tlicir departure, but found him still
asleep, and after I had seen the medical man whom
]\Irs. Brynford Martyn ha called in 1 also left."
" What did the other doctor say ? " I inquired.
" Oh, he was very civil, and we liave been most
friendly ever since. AVell, I did not see my patient
till the evening, and then he was quite himself again,
very weak of course, but apj)areutly relieved in his
mind.
these
oiisly.
them,
\ than
d.'
reply
some
think
she
-dav.
born,
hour
form
still
horn
tiiost
tient
?aiu,
his
' 'I WILL ADMIT A NATUKAL CUKIOSITV, MH. aKYNFOHD. " [fi. 6&
A SHADOUEI) LIFE,
S3
in
[fi. 6&
" * You gave ns all a pretty fright this moniing,
Mr. Hrvnt'ord ' I said.
" He sniih'd taintlv, aiul asked me to Hit down,
which 1 was not h)th to (h), heiug exceedingly anxious
to have souie light thrown on the oecurrenee of the
morning, thougii 1 hardly anticipiited that Mr.
Brynford would give me his full eonfideiuu'.
"'Well, did you have a hot (puirter of an hour
with her this morning, my dear?' he asked, with
a curious gleam in his restless ijhick eyes. He
sometimes said 'mv dear* to me, and never oifensivelv.
1 knew by it that he was immensely pleased.
"'She is certainly not a very agreeable person,'
I replied. ' But 1 succeeded in convincing her that
it would be better for them to leave the house, anJ
that was the main business, wasn't it ? '
" ' Indeed it was. No, she isn't an agreeable
person, Miss Glen ; she's a fiend, a woman without
heart or j)rin(n'ple. It is due to you, seeing you
have done so jnuch for me, to tell you something
about her, and how slie came to have such an evil
influence on my life.'
"'I will admit a natural curiosity, Mr. Brynford;
but if it will agitate you to speak of her, pray don't.'
" ' Oh, it will agitate me, but no worse than
54
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
thinlviiig of her. Besides, I want to tell you. I've
never known anybody like you, so good and true,
and possessing so much sound common sense.' There,
see how nnblnshingly I can sonnd my own praises ;
but it's all a part of the story.
" I tliink I see the poor old gentleman yet, sitting
up in bed, with his gandy Eastern dressing-gown
round his shoulders, and a Turkish cap on the back
of his head, his thin white hair straggling out below
it, making his face look even more j)arched and
yellow by contrast. He was a pathetic sight.
'' You wouldn't think, looking at Sophia Martyn,'
he began, ' that she once appeared to me a beautiful
and attractive woman. But it is the case. I have
spent the greater part of my life in India. I was
on the Government survey, and in the course of my
lourneys took up shares in various tea-gardens, which
turned out a good speculation, and helped to make
my fortune. I rather enjoyed the wandering life
after I got used to the privation of being almost
totally removed from civilisation. There was a young
fellow on our staff, Fred Clayton by name, who was
a great chum of mine ; we were as intimate as
brothers, loved each other more dearly than most
brothers, till we both fell in love mth the same
A SNA DOW ED LIFE.
55
woman — the woman you saw \v?\'q this morning. Wo
saw her first at her brother's bungalow in Assam,
where she was keeping house for him. He was
manai^rer of a tea-<?arden there, and they were a roiiuh
lot altogether, and were spoken of lightly all over
the district. But they were jolly, and Clayton and I,
careless young fellows, hung about their i)lace, travel-
ling long distances to it whenever we got tlie chance,
and of course we fell in love witli her, or imagined
ourselves in love, whicli amounted to the same thing.
She was a very pretty girl then, and had that pecnliar
fascination which a woman, not good at heart, can
sometimes exercise for the time being over the best
of men. But only ibr tlie time being, mark you ;
the revulsion of feeling is bound to come sooner or
later. She was not jjarticularly comfortable at tlic
bungalow with her brother, having come out to him
against his express desire, and he often showed her
pretty plainly that she was hardly tolerated. That,
of course, made her doubly anxious to get married,
and she did her utmost to secure a husbtiiid. makinir
the mistake, however, of letting her cH'orts be too
plainly seen. She liad had plenty dangling after her,
but somehow they always sheered off at the criticiil
moment. Clayton and I were about equally hit, and
s*?
ELIZAnETII r.LEN. MB.
she made it lier ])iisirjess to find out wliicli of iis was
the Lest inatcli. The hick was on my side. I belong
to an ohl Welsli family, and I liad a ])roj)erty in
Carnarvon, and my ])r()s])eets were mncii better than
poor ("Inyton's, who luul nothing- l)at liis professntn
to h>ok to. So sit? favoured me. Clavton was madlv
jenlous, of course, and over So])hia IMuke we fell o»it
for the first tinn* since our ac<jUiiintjiiice hegan. if
she hnd (nily heen honest to jtoor Fred, things might
have gone dilh*rently, hut she gave him encourage-
ment when I was not there ; in fact, at the botttmi
I believe she liked him best, as well as such a
heartless woman could like anybody. Well, things
came to Jin nwful crisis when we went up together
to spend Chri>tmiis with the Blakes. There were
other j)eoj)le there — not a very nice set — and there
was a good deal of gambling, and other objectionable
games went on. Sophia's behaviour was the reverse
of what it ought to have been, but we saw no ffiult
in it. Thev "uve a dance on ('hristmas Eve, and
tliere were about thirty persons there.'
"'Thirty!' I n'peated iu sur])risej 'where did
they nil come from ? '
" ' Far and near. People think nothing of riding
twenty miles to a (hmce in India. I've done it
A SHADOIVED LIFE.
myself, many a time. Sophia flirted (mtrageously
Jill the evening. I was sitting a dance out in the
verundali with her, and was just on the point of
asking her the all-im])ortant (piestion, which I should
have regretted always, when (Jlayton eame out. I
had my arm round her waist, as I had often had.
I saw in a minute that Fred was in a passion. 1
didn't know, of course, that slie had been sitting witli
him just in the same ])ositi()n not an hour ago. He
oulv looked at us both sten<lilv a moment, and then
re-entered the l)Uiigalow.
a i u ]>oor Fred looks struck all of a heap, doesn't
he?" she asked co([uettishly. ''Bat what was it
you were going to say ?"
" * I coiddn't ibr tlie life of me liave said it. The
look on Fred's face liaunted me. I got up suddenly,
and said we'd better go back to the lionse. She was
angry and cluigrined, I could see, but I didn't care.
I knew now that Fred was much liarder hit than
I was, and 1 mnde up my mind to leave him an open
field, forgetting that 1 had a woman to deal with
as well. AVe re-entered the house, and as I was
standing at one of the portiere curtains, someon*'
taj)ped nil' on the shouhk^r, and Fred's voice spoke : -
" * " Come out, Tom. I want to speak to you."
'■■^^imiita^'
58
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
"'I turned /ouir.i and followed him at once. A
little avenue of deodars ran strai«jht down from the
front of the bungalow to the rough road, the jungle
being on the other side. It was a pretty wild part
of tlie country, and the tea-garden one of tlie latest
brought under cultivation. On this road, in the
op3n space, Fred stood still. I think I see him still,
his face distorted with anger and his eyes blazing. He
had always a passionate temper, which often got the
better of fcim, but 1 had never seen him so worked up.
" * " I wfi,nt to know," he said, and his voice was
tliick, " what you mean by making love to my
affianced wife. We can't both have her, and I want
YOU to understand that slie belonj^s to me."
'' ' I don't know what it was in his look and tone
that irritated me, but I got angry too.
" ' " That's for the lady to decide, isn't it ? " I said,
with a slight sneer; "and I don't think she has
decided yet. Suppose we call her here to do it on
the spot."
" < " "VYe can decide it ourselves if you like, a fair
field and a fair fight," he said suggestively. " If you
don't give her up, swear to me here that you'll never
breathe love to her again, I'll kill you, Tom Brynford,
where you stand."
A SHADOWED LIFE
59
fair
you
lever
ford,
" * I liuighed ri^ht ont. I was sorry for the boy,
but at the same time he amused me.
"'"I've only to snap my fingers and she's mine,
my lad," I said lightly, not dreaming that my idle
word would have such an awful effect. He whipped
a pistol from his breast, and, pointing at me, fired
a shot which missed me clean. I jumjR'd back, of
course, and before I recv^vered myself there was
another double report, and I saw poor Clayton fall
to the ground, with a red stain on his glossy shirt
front. As quick as lightning a woman's white form
flashed among the deodars, and Sopliia flew out from
her hiding, where she had been listening to our con-
versation. We bent over him together, but he never
spoke nor moved. He was dead.'
" At this point the poor old gentleman was quite
overcome, and I had to give him a stimulant. It was
some time before he could speak again, and then he
did not sav much.
" ' You are a good woman," he said, ' so you can't
comprehend the depths of a bad one. I don't want
to expatiate here on Sophia Blake's wickedness ; it,
and my own bitter regret, have cursed my life for
the last forty years. Instead of being sobered and
changed by the lad's awful fate, she souglit to make
r
(k>
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
it th- s+eppiijg-stone to her own advancement. She
said that if I did not marry her she'd tell a story
which would be so ])adly against me that my life
wouldn't ';e worth an hour's pnrchasi'c Marry her !
I'd rather liave served myself with the same pistol
that had killed poor Fred. It was mine, too, and
she might liave made tlie evidence strong. There
was an inquiry, of course, but an inquiry in India
and one in England are not synonymous terms. 1
refused to many hei*, but fool that I was, T offered
her money as com})ensation, though compensation for
what 1 did not very well know. I was distracted,
in fact, and didn'c know what I was doing, and I put
myself in her power. But marry her T didn't, and
never would. I'd have killed her and myself first.
She followed me to England, and 1 knew no peace
till she married my worthless cousin, Robert Martyn ;
and as he never could earn a penny for himself, 1
allow them to live at Plas IVIartyn, and give them
enough to live upon. But sue has an eye to my
money, and would hold the old threat of exposure
over me yet if I would see her, which 1 haven't done
for some years. She stole a march upon me this
morning.' And that was his tale.
" Though lie told me thf» story that night, he never
all
ab
In
sto
A SHADOWED LIFE.
61
iyn ;
if, T
lb em
inv
isnre
lone
Ithis
jver
alluded to it again, nor did 1, and I never told him
about a letter I wrote to Mrs. Brynford Martyn at the
Inns of Court, letting her understand that I knew thc:
story of her life and my patient's. She replied most
insultingly, of course, but from that time she left
him alone."
" And did he recover ? " I inquired, with intense
interest.
" Oh yes, and went about as lively as a cricket
for several years, till another shock carried him away
only six months ago."
"And I hope he was properly grateful to you for
your attention, for saving his life, and ridding him of
a torment."
" I didn't think so at the time,*' replied Dr. Glen,
with a very odd little smile. " I sent him my bill
in due course, putting, as I thought, a fair value on
my services, and he sent Williams back with it, to
tell me it was exorbitant, and that I must take oft'
the odd shillings."
" And did vou ? "
ft/
" No, I never reduce a bill, my dear ; it's a bad
precedent to c^'eate. Either it must be paid in full
or not at all. He did })ay it, thougli with grumbling.
He was a very ([ucer old man. 1 have never fold
■iT*^Jmei^'^
63
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
you it was Mr. Brynford who left me the money
to buy the caniage, and a letter, which 1 may
show you 8omc day when I am particularly amiable,
and you are not on the hunt for copy. Here we
are 1 "
li
III.
A CHTUSTMAS BABY.
" TD ABIES ? " said Dr. Glen medita- -ei^. " Yes,
I know somethinf]^ about babies, —not very
mnch perhaps, but enough to convinct ^ o that they
are not so helpless as they are ciillod. A good,
decent-sized baby lias as much i)ower in its small
finger as some grown people have in their whole
anatomy, and a larger capacity for tyranny in its
tiniest squall than an autocrat in his most autocratic
mood."
" Could you demonstrate the fact ? " 1 enquired,
with a smile.
"I could, but you don't require it to be demon-
strated. You can't contradict it."
" Have you got anything specially interesting about
babies in that journal of yours ? " I enquired, with
cautious meekness.
63
ELI /.A BETH GLEX, M.H.
"Yea, iii(l(M'(l," replied Dr. Glen ('hoorfully. " But
who wants to hear ahont babies?"
"Everybody," I asserted boldly. "Those who
have babies like to read about them, if onlv to see
whether the writer knows what she is talking];: about.
Those who have not got them wish they had, and
are devoured with curiosity regarding their habits
and customs."
" You wriggle out of everything with surprising
agility, for a person of your age," sjiid Dr. Glen
whimsically. '' I suppose the long and the short
of it is you wjnit a baby story this mouth, don't
you ? "
" Yes, 1 do."
" Then why couldn't you say so in plain language,
instead ot trying to walk round th(; enemy in that
fashion ? "
" Well, to tell the truth, the enemy wears rather
a forbidding as]»ect to-day, with that ominous pucker
between her brows."
'• Well, I am worried, awfully worried," said Dr.
Glen ; and, sitting down, she let lier scjuare, beau-
tiful chin drop iuto her hands, and regarded me
solemnly over lier finger-tips. "I've got a patient,
a woman, who won't get bettei', nor show the tiniest
A CHRISTMAS /i.iny.
6<
that
Dr.
)ean-
111 e
lient,
hiost
bit, of ini|»r(iv('mf'iit even. Sin- dclics ovory Ivtiovvti
remody, and I'm at my wit's ond."
''What's the matter witli her?"
" Well, between ourselves, I don't minM telling
yon the diaj]^nosis of her cnse has been a |»n///,le to
rae. Sometimes I think she has one thing, some-
times anotlier."
"That's a tearful confession. Hasn't she anv svinp-
toms ? " M eiKjiiired vnjj^uely.
" Far too many ; and von needn't adopt sneh a
superior air. Yonr liusnand has ])een in the same
dilemma often, I could take my nllidavit, though,
being a man, he wouldn't admit it."
'' How hard you always are on nien, Filizjiheth,"
1 said, in mild remonstrance.
" Am 1 ? Thev caii survive it ; but it is a worrv-
ing thing, dear, to go on day after day, doing one's
verv best and seeing no result. One has no credit
by such patient
them even to
8 ; they haven't sufficient ene
rgy in
ike a disease thoroughly, and give
a
poor medico a chance."
Has she a history ?
a
u
a
«»
Oh yes, she's going into the journal by-and-bye."
I'll take her to-day if you are not in the mood
for babies," 1 said iusinuatinglv.
66
ELIZAHETII GLEN, MB.
" X(», no, slic isn't nearly rcndy, Imf to Ih* cm!!-
linut'd ior sonn; time to conic. I haro a n^ood ImiIiv
story, and as I snpposc^ yof. mean to sit tliere till
yon <;('t it, 1 liad lu'ttcM' l)(';L,nii at onco/'
" l>o," I said enconraj^in^ly, with my noto-l»ook
ready in mv Inind.
" Well, this bahy happened pretty far hack in my
experience, and as lie was my first bahy, it was fit-
tin*; lie should have something to distin<i^nisli him
from all tlie rest. Looking over my books the other
night, how many babies do yon think I found myself to
have assisted at the earliest stai»e of their existence ? "
'' 1 shoiddn't like to say, but tell rae."
'-'On second tliou«>]its I won't— at least not to-dav.
Well, this baby is a great fellow now at Loretto
School. 1 had "
"At Loretto!" I interrupted. "What's he doing
there? Is he Scotch?"
" Yes. Sec what a word can do I " said Dr. Glen,
with a little tender smile. " I say Loretto, and you
immediately forget all about babies, and see nothing
but that little (piaint old town, where tlie grey sea
tosses up to the green links, on which the red
jackets of the college boys make lovely bits of colour;
is that not so ? "
/f ( IIKISTMAS li.\nY.
«7
*' IndofMl it is," I !i(liiiitlo<l, hihI tlnTc wjis pv<mi a
inoiHturo in my eyes as she drew I he piftiirt' tor inc,
lor niv licart filled in iininv details slie did uof
nu'iitioii. The (|iiaint sea-heii,t town, nnide ehissii^
bv its old eolle;;e, is haunted bv manv memories,
and tliere is a lionse there, fMei?i<j^ tlie sea, hallowed
to me bv thouirhts of som<' who are "nwav."
'' There are lots of })reoions bits in the old land
for yon yet, dearest," said Dr. (Jlen, and her face
wore its h)veliest look. " Hut 1 cjiii't have von <;row-
ing sad over it, because I'm a bit out of sorts myself,
and if we both go down at the same moment it will
be a ba,d business. Besides, this isn't a sad story,
thous;]! it be«'in8 in sombre colours. It's a storv
that will reioice vonr soul, a record of no})le en-
deavour, of difficulties manfully overcouie."
''Go on," I • 'd, putting tlie point of my pencil
to the page once more.
" Well, about this great boy — when I saw him the
other '^av 1 could not believe, when I looked at his
broad shoulders and long legs, that 1 had once held
liim in my arms, a limp atom of humanity, witlj
nothing distinguishing about liim but his yell, which
was truly stentorian."
"• Begin witii the yell," 1 said, with suggestive
68
EUZABF.TH GLEN, MB.
hnsto, for liy certain si^ns and symptoms 1 nfathered
that Or. (rlen was not in a dependable mood.
" I must begin before that," said Dr. Glen. " Well,
one night I was sitting at dinner, when the bell
rang in a ratlier fast and fnrions fashion. I had
the Hrynford case in hand at the time, and I quite
expected a summons to tiie old gentleman, when
Margaret came to say a young gentleman wanted
me in the consulting-room, 'An' he's Scotch, Miss
'Lizbeth,' she said in her canny way. ' An' a bonnie
man, though trouble sits upon his face ; an' his vera
tongue warms up a body's heart.'
" This sounded so interesting that I left my pad-
ding unfinishetl and went to interview my patient.
He was standing just by my table there, a big,
powerful, broad-shouldered fellow, fairly well dressed
it appeared, though wlien I saw him in daylight I
discovered that he was very shabby. His face was
very honest and winning, but it was haggard with
trouble, and at the very first moment I thought he
looked as if he wanted a good meal. And that im-
pression was correct. If I regarded him attentively
he returned my steady look with interest, and there
was a distinct appeal in his eyes wliich made me soft
at once. Yes, though lie was only a man, I made up
ilA_
j4 CHRISTMAS BARY.
red
le
^Vell,
bell
had
quite
when
anted
Miss
Donnie
s vera
; pnd-
atient.
big,
ressed
light I
|^,e was
with
;ht he
lat im-
itivelv
there
le soft
ide up
my mind on the spot that whatever help he needed —
and help it was, anybody could see that — I would not
refuse.
" * You are Dr. Glen ?' he said : and his voice had
precisely the effect Margaret had described as
* warming up your heart.' That phrase expresses
it better than anything else.
" ' I am. Won't you sit down ? ' I said pleasantly ;
but he did not do so. *1 am iu trouble,' he said, in
that honest, direct way wliich wins everybody even
to this day. ' My wife is very ill, and 1 came to see
if you would see her.'
" ' Whv, of course I will,' I said cheerfully. ' Can
you wait just ten minutes till 1 tinish my dinner ?
Is it far to go ? '
" ' 2so J only to Kiego ^Street.'
" ' Riego Street ? ' 1 repeated, the name not being
familiar to me.
"*It's a poor place ; off Gray's Inn Hoad,' he said,
and his face flushed a little. 'And it is mv dutv to
tell you that we are very poor, and it may be some
little time before we can pay your fee ; but 1 will |)ay
it, mjulam, 1 give you my wonl.'
" • Oh, pray don't mention it,' I said hastily, feeling
quite ashamed that he should so assure me. ' What
70
ELIZABETH fiLEX, M.B.
\^\
is the mutter witli your wife ? Has she been long
ill?'
" SSlie has ailed for some time, but not serionslv.
The trutli is she ex])ects to have a cliild.'
" ' Oh ! ' 1 said, with intense interest, for remember
it was my tirst wise, an<l I would liave tramped
miles to it for nothing. 'And does she expect it
to-niglit ? '
" ' Oil no, not for a week or two,' lie replied, with
a mehiiieholy smile. ' Bnt she is so very poorly, 1
felt 1 could not wait any h)nger.'
" ' But do you mean to say you have not engaged
anyone to attend her till now ? '
" ' No. 8he had heard of you. Dr. Glen, and would
not hear of anyone else. We were waiting till 1 could
brinj:; vour fee in mv hand, but I have not been able
to earn it ; and I could not see her suffer any longer.
I trust you will not refuse to come.'
" Annie, I felt dreadfullv .^shamed and sorrv for
him. The man was a gentleuiMU ; conceive what
it must have cost him to stand there and utter tliose
humiliating words.
"'What do you tnke me for?' I asked brusquely,
to hide my real feeliims. ' Vou nre a countryman of
my own : and if I can do anythirg ibr you, you are
vs^:i^i■-^i^'i
A CHRISTMAS HA BY
7>
'\\.\\
for
kvhat
|lu)se
|in of
are
welcome. Pray dnii't say any more, but sit down
until I get on my l)oot8, and then yon can pilot
me to Riego Street.'
'' Li ordinary cirennistances I should liave let liini
go and followed alone, Imt I wanted to talk to him
a little more, to learn souiething of tlieir circurastanees
before I saw my patient. I liad one stu])endons
desire as I liurri(-a hack to finisli ray dinner, and
that wns to send Margaret to the consulting-room
with a steaming hot plate of sonp ; hut there are
things one daren't do, how ever inucii one wants. I
did not keep him waiting long, you may be sure, and
directly we got out 1 made him hail tlie first hansom.
And he handed me into it, ray dear, as only a gentle-
man can, and at my recpiest got in beside rae.
'''Now,' I said, in quite a raotlierly manner, though
lie was my own age, if not more, 'tell rae something
more about your poor wife. Is she Scotch like your-
self ? '
" ' Yes, she belongs to Edinburgh.'
" 'And how long have von been in Tiondon ?*
" ' Nearlv two vears : and what an awful stru<j:":le
it has been ! '
" He leaned back, and his face grew more haggard
and his mouth trembh'd. W(» like men to be stronir
72
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
and solf-reliuiit, and to exhibit no sign of weakness
even in trying moments, Imt there are times when
sue!) weakness is no dislionour to manliood. The man
was beaten, and as I conld easily see, the first words
of genuine sympatliy, though but poorly expressed,
broke him down. I did not sjx'uk to him for a minute
or H(», and tlien I .^aid cheorfuJlv ;
" ' Oh, but all struggles come to an end, and there
are bright days as well as dark in every life. Suppose
you tell me your name I ' ""
Tlien Dr. Glen j)aused half a moment and looked
ire whimsieallv in the face.
" I'm going to give \ u a fictitious name, my dear,
for very obvious reasons ; as 1 may tell you some
ay.
" Never mind the naiat;, "s the storv," I cried
quickly. "Go on; don't be tanlallsing."
" Well, 1 must say that for a woman who concocts
n{j\'ells deliberately planned to keep })eople on the
tenteriiooks, you display a very commonplace curiosity
whicli does not raise you in my estimation," she
replied, with her sweet, sudden, bewildering smile,
vliich I have heard her admirers say "goes for
everylxnly." " Well, supp(>s(' we call him Charles
Kuluerrcrd ; it will do as well as anything else.
^ ( HRlSTM.iS BABY.
73
OCts
the
)sity
she
lile,
for
I'les
Ise.
When he hatl told me his name, I asked him as
gently as I could what was his employment.
" ' I haven't got any,' he said bitterly. * That's the
trouble. Miss Glen, thank God that yon have never
known what it is to tramp these stony streets day
by day, asking little, only work sufhcient to keep
life in vour dearest, and ])eiiiir 'vfus^fd ever\'where.
It's experiences of that kind *^hai: chiuige laen
into *
" ' Hush,' I said, ' ery gently. ' Sfc*^ ipnuild not like
to hear you say that, i urn sure ; aifcJ it \w<r/t go c>n
like this for ever.'
" * It can't,' he said, witli a little hani tagli * We
very nearly made up our luiiids one nijsrjjr xa) tr the
French plan and buy a pan of charcoal, but she vrould
not, because of the child.'
'* I could not speak, dear, for there ^as a lump
in my throat like to choke me.
"'Aren't we near the place?' I asked, to divert
his attention f'-om mv emotion.
" ' Only a step more.'
** ' Well, now, what was your occupation prior to
these hard times, Mr. Kuthertbrd ^ ' T asked.
"'1 was a journalist, that is my profe*»iiou, and
1 have — or rather had — literary aspi -atioii*, but
74
ELIZABETH (J LEX, M.B.
liiinger starves tli(»s« out,' he answered. ' We are
(jiiite friendless liere nnd elsewliere, orphans both of
us, and we are tluinkfnl for it, since nolmdy suffers
througJi our degrachitioji.'
" ^ Not degradation,' I corrected. ' Nothing is
degrading Imt dishonour.'
" ' So she says. Woirien can bear more, they do
not rebel as we do. A man v.\\\\t alwavs wait to
pick dainty words. This is the jdace, Di. Glen.
Yon have tempted me to lay bare jv bitter story
to you — why, I cannot tell, unless becar.so you are
a country-woman, and because yonr face inspires
trus^.'
" I did not make any reply, but dismissed the
cabman and waited for Mr. Rutherford to })ilot the
way.
" It was a squalid street, tliough it had nn outward
semblance of respectability. You know the strange
custom Lhat prevails among a certain class here --how
one takes a. house of fairly good size and lets it out
in room.s to different tenants. It is a bad system,
from which in the course of my practice I have seen
many evils result. For one thing, there is generally
a learth of kitchen and sanitary appliances, and those
provided are quite inadequate to the number who
e are
►th of
nfFo rs
Ig IS
y do
it to
jrlen.
story
I are
pi res
tLe
the
v&n]
iiige
how
out
em,
leen
ally
i08e
vho
'•A MOllL L lU.F.ULESb ASV .MK-Kl.Alil.i; 11. A if: I llANt UAKKLV I.OOUED UPON
[11. 7o.
A f//R/Sr.\f.lS RAIiY.
7?
[v. 7o.
reijuirc tlxMii. I am iilwMvs sorry wIumi I hear of
a yoiinjj: cnuplc l)('«2:inniii<j; in a ro(»in in sncli a hous<*,
becauisc if they have not sntlicicnt pri(h' and jthuk
to desire a h(>use of their own at tlie l)eu'inning of their
nuirried life their prospects are not likcdy to improve.
Our Scotch system of tlats in those bi«^ ' lands' von
and I remend)er may have it> draw])a('ks, but it is
far preferable to this snb-leftin^-. But I must go on.
Mr. Hntlierford opened tlie main door of one of these
self-contained hous(»s, and led me u))stairs to the very
top, which is at least always prel'erable to the base-
ment floor under the street. Tlie house smelt mustv
and close, and there was a vile mingling of cooking
odours whicii very nearly upset me. But I became
oblivious of all that {)resently, when Mr. Rutherford
opened the door of his own smnll domain and we
entered it together.
" The room was quite small, and lighted by a
solitary candle. It was the middle of I)('cember, and
the weatlier was bitter and raw, but there was no tire
in tlie grate. A more cheerless and miserable pla(te
I have rarely looked upon. The furniture consisted of
a paltry thin bed, a small round table, and one chair,
and the floor was quite bare. On tlie bed 1 could
distinguish tlie recumbent tigui'c of a woman, lying in
70
El IZAHETtl <, I.F.N, l/R
an atfifiult* Hu^^gestive of tlie Hl>aii(loniTieiit of grief or
the sickness of desjuiir.
"'Jessie/ said my guide, and his voice took an
entirely different tone. ' Are you asleep, dear ? Here
is Dr. Glen coini* to see von.'
"She moved wearily, and finally turning round,
endeavoured to niise lierself on lier arm.
" ' Will you excuse me ? ' she ssiid in a low, quiet,
refined voice. ' I am afraid 1 am not able to get up.'
" ' Pray don't attempt it,' 1 said hastily, and taking
the solitjiry candle from the table 1 approached tlie
bed and allowed its light to fall full upon her face —
a sweet, serious, wonninly face, very thin and worn,
and with great purple circles about the eyes that told
their own tale. She looked older than her husband.
1 should have said she was tliirty at least.
" 1 set down the candle without saying anything,
removed my gloves and felt her pulse, which was
quite as low as 1 expected to find it. All the time
the husband never took his eyes from my face, and
I felt them reading niv verv soul.
"'You have no other room, L suppose?' 1 said;
and he shook his head. ' Then 1 must speak to you
on the landing just for a moment.'
" A spasm of fear shot across his face, and, like
A CHRISTMJS BABY
11
n man who makes haste to know the worst, he openeH
the door and stepped out, I followinj^.
*' ' No, it's not a dcatlj-Nvnrraiit I'm goinfj to deh'ver
into your hand,' 1 said at once. ' Now h»ok here ; 1
know you are a proud man, that you are a p'litlcmaii
and vour wifp a hidv, and that botli of von are likelv
to resent eliarity, however delicately ollVrt-d it may
be. But this is not eliarity, it is common humanity.
Your wife must have nourisliinj^ foods, i^ood wine,
a warm fire, or she will die. I am a rich wonnm —
at least I have a father in Scotland who has more
money than he knows what to do with — and this is
the doing that would delight his soul. Take tliat,
and bring or send all that is necessary — bread, tea,
sugar, butter, wine, coals, and if yon forget anything
you'll be sent back for it.'
" So saying 1 wliisked back into the room again,
and locked the door from the inside. He seemed to
stand still a moment ; then 1 lieard a sound sus-
piciously like a sob, and his retreating steps on
the stairs. I had now to make the best of my time
with the wife, who had laid herself down again, and
appeared to take but little interest in what was
passing. She looked indeed like one who had given
up the fight and surrendered at discretion.
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33 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. M5M
(716) 872-4503
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El.lAAIiETH CLluW MB.
"■ (
'' ' Suppose you open your nyos, my doar Mfh.
l{ul lierford/ I sn^jresfod cheerfullv, 'and trv to
answer nie n few (piestions.'
'* I sat down on the bed, and when she looked at
me a fjiint inexpressibly sweet smile dawned upon
her pale li])s and a tear ndled down her cheek
" ' It is so lon<?,* she said brokenly, * sinee I heard
a lady speak, or looked upon sucli a kind ^wvo.''
"Yon see," said Dr. (flen, in rather an apologetic
tone, " I'm tcdlinjj you everything, even the flatter-
ing things they said to me, just to show you how
stupendously grateful these two people were for a
sim])le service."
" A simple service ! " I rej)eated, and rubbed my
eves. " But please go on with the storv."
" Well, I asked her all the (piestious necessary,
and if 1 was touched before I was nearly overcome
now. Sucli a story of young love and faith and
courage, of honest, whole-hearted endeavour unre-
cognised, of hopes gradually quenched, till there
seemed to remain only the agony of despair. Slie
had had a little needlework, but her i)oor healtli
affected her eyesight, and it was thrown back to her
with bitler complaints, and finally taken from her
altogether. Would you believe it, my dear, the baby
A CUKISTMAS /?.//JV.
79
was expoctt'd in a wccU or two iui<,'lit come any
(lay inow, and flic poor crcatun! hiid nothing prcpiircjl,
not even a hIhiwI in which to wrap it I And she a
lady born, and a woman whose instincts and tastes
were all refined. Conld there he any martyr(h)m at
the stake mnch worse than hers?
"* I could hnve prayed, Miss (ilen,' sin? said, ' tlnit
1 mi<;ht die with the bahy, wen* it not for poor
(^harlie. He has been so good. What do yon
snpi»ose we have done so sint'nl that we should luivc
been so hardly j)nnished ? We did not ask very
much, only enough to eat, de* eat clothes to wear, a
simple roof to shelter U8, honest work to do. But
there seems to be no room in the world for us.'
" * Oh yes, there is,' i crie*! cheerfully. * It's ])een
a long lane, but we've got to the turning. Stnj> till
we bring this precious baby home. He's going to
bring luck to the Rutheifords ; sue if he doesn't.'
'*'Did Charlie tell you. Dr. Glen, that we had
nothing to pay at all ? Perluips 1 ouglit to go into
one of the places where they take poor women in
circumstances like mine. 1 have little enough pride
left, but I shrink from that.'
" I should think so. N(j, no, I'm going to have
all the credit of this baby ; he's going to be a
ELlZAIiETH GLEN, M.D.
wonderfnl l>aby, I frel sure of that ; and porfertly
sure that ho's goinjir to bring back the hick to the
Rutherford s.'
" She looked brighter and more ho])efnl as she
listened, and whih* I waited witli considerablo
impatience for the return of my errand boy, slie told
me some further |tarti<'ular8 of their Isiniily history,
and filled in all the outlines in that story of unmerited
misfortune. At last 1 heard the lumbering of feet
oji the stairs, and threw open the door to admit Mr.
Hutherford with a ])ig package in his hand and a boy
staggering behind with a basket of coals. * Now,'
I said gleefully, * we're going to have a house-
warming. You build the fire, and see yon do it
right. I've never met the man yet who didn't think
he conld kin<lh« a fire better than any woman that
ever was born. Where can I get some water to fill
the kettle ? '
" There was a very ominous quiet in the little room,
and I was glad to chatter any nonsense to prevent
the overflow of two absurdly grateful liearts. I felt
in a wildly extravagant mood. 1 lighted four candles,
and turned out the contents of the basket joyfully.
He had done his shopping well for a man, as I told
him ; nothing essential had been forgotten. In an
yi CJ/RISTMAS BABY.
8i
iocredibly sliort time we had u. blazing fire and a
steaming kettle, and 1 wisli yon could have seen that
man's face when he put in his wife's hand a cup of
real good fnigrant tea and a dainty morsel of buttered
toast I had made with my own liands. 1 saw that
it was time for me to depart, unless I wanted to
participate in a scene. I saw that for the moment
he had forgotten me ; he knelt on his knees beside
the bed, and he fed liis poor wife with every morsel ;
and if I have sometimes said 1 didn't believe in
wedded love, I take back my words ; yet that was not
love, it was worship pure and simple, and the whole
scene was so indescribably touching tliat I felt I
was on the j)oint of making a complete idiot of
myself.
"*Now, good people,' I said, all in a liurry, * I'm
going away ; you don't want to see any more of tlit»
doctor just now ; so good-night to you both ; and I'll
come back some time to-morrow.'
" Then I ran away ; positively ran, my dear, down
those stairs as if I was pursued, and 1 didn't shu;ken
my pace till I naclied the corner of Gray's Inn Road.
Then I stood still to collet;t my thoughts, which were
all of a jumble. 1 had not then seen so much of tlie
stress of London life as 1 hav<' srcn since ; find the
6
83
ELIZABETH (l/.EN, At B.
iiigli's experience liiid most powerfully moved me.
1 do not sujij)ose tliere was a miieh liappier woman
liiiii) 1 in tli<' neijj^lil)oiirliood, it is so ex([nisite to
relieve distress. But at tlie same time, tliou,u;Ii 1 had
relieved immediate want, that was but a temp(H'ary
benefit, which could not he often repeated, and 1
knew verv well that the onlv substantial wav in
wliich to help these people was to get the husband
something to do. But wliere or how? I was myseli'
a com])arative stranger in London. Had you been
here then, 1 should have liad no hesitation where to
«I'l'ly ; but I knew so very few people, and these not
at all likely to be able to give the precise assistance
1 wjinted, that I felt j)er])iexed. All of a sudden 1
bethought myself of my cantankerous old patient,
Mr. Brynford Martyn. He was now almost convales-
cent ; it was after the episode of his relatives' inva-
sion. I had seen him in the morning, and though he
had been then rather cross, owing to an attack of
indigestion, I determined to make an iippeal to his
generosity, and wended my way joyfully to his abode.
Mrs. Davis was surprised to see me, for 1 had left of!
]»aying two visits in the day, and even sometimes
allowed two days to elapse without calling, which,
1 mav SUV, alwavs made the old ji-eiitleman rather
A ( HKISTMAS BABY.
^S
(•r(»88. Hut it does not do, my dear, to make oneselt'
too cheuit in nny walk of life.
" IMr. Martyn had dined, an<l was ]»layin«r criUba^e
witli Jiis man, which showed that he was eonsidcrahly
better. He now spent Iuh eveniii<]^s in tlie drawiii<r-
room, into which lie was wliecded in liis chair, an<l
tliere I found him, looking' a very ditVcrent man in
every res]>ect. I saw at once tluit he was in a «;ood
hiunour, whicii meant that he had beatni Williams
in the «rame. He received me «j:racionsly, told
Williams he could ijo downstairs and hrin^ coffee
for two, tlien he hade me sit, down.
"'Von luiven'r been here, Podor,' Ik; said, rather
»?rimlv — ' von haven't been here in the evening' for w
long tinu .'
"'No, I haven't, and 1 shouldn't be here now,
Mr. Martvn, if 1 didn't want Romethin*::, von mav
believe that.'
" ' Av I what do you want ? '
"'S<unething which I hope you will i^rant. As
you are nearly restored to health, to say nothing: of
having be.aten ])oor Williams to-night, you ought to
be in a very generous mood.'
"'What on earth do you mean?' he asked, and
his eyes glared at me from under their shaggy brows
S4
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
i I
in a way which mi«^'ht have frightened me had 1 not
known him 8o well.
"*Ju8t what I say,' 1 answered calmly. 'Don't
yon feel at peace with all mankind, and moved at
this particular moment to do something to help a
fellow-creatnre in distress?'
" ' If you don't say out what yon want, I'll get
Williams up again, and go on with my game,' he
said hrus((uely. Then I told him the story, not in
•^nch elaborate detail, of course, as I have given it to
you, but I made it as gr«i)hic and touching as 1 could.
And the old man wa < ched, I could see that, for
he flourislicd his big red silk handkerchief witli a
great deal of unnecessary vigour, though all the time
lie wore an expression which would have frightened
you out of your wits.
" ' Well, you are easily imposed upon,' was his
interesting comment when I had tinislied. * Don't
you know there are shoals of such frauds in London
rendy to deceive a guileless si>ul like you?*
'' I felt angry, but tried not to show it. ' If that is
all you are going to say to me I'm sorry I came,' I
said in a very dignified way. * And all I've got to say
is. that 1 should be ashameU to CAliibit such a spirit
after having such recovering mercy vouclisafed to me.
»}»
A CUKISTMAS BABY.
»5
not
he
lat ia
.e,'I
to say
spirit
mti.
1 »>
"Tliat was a bold stroke, Elizi-betl)/' I could not
refrain from interpolating. " And how did he take
it?"
" Oh I impertnrbubly as usual ; he told me to
keep ray temper, and asked how much money 1
wanted.
" ' 1 don't want any money,* I said quickly. ' 1
have enou«rli of that to do what is necessary in the
meantime. What I do want is a situation for Mr.
Rutherford ; and you have a connection in the city,
Mr. Martyn, tliat can get that situation at a moment's
notice, you know you have ; and I'm disappointed in
you, after all I've done for you.' Wasn't it awful to
go on at the old man like that ? When I told
Margaret about it afterwards we both wondered
how I dared; but I felt as if I were conducting a
crusade.
'•' And do you suppose, young huly, that I'm i:o Hir
to give anybody you like to pick up a situjit on at
a moment's notice ? Vou are a very guileless young
person indeed.'
" I was ne:irly crying with vexation, because if he
failed me 1 did not know where to turn. It was that
solitary tear I could not force back that did it ; I
know it was.
««
ll.l/.lHEril <.LES\ Mil
"♦ril t«ll vnii wluit I'll (!(., l)(K'.t(.r; I'll sre thin
yomi«j man, il' you likr, fo-inormw m<»riiiii;r ut ten
shurp,' he said presently. ' I used to be a j^ood judge
of eljuructer, uiid it' he Hutisfies me I'll do what I
ean.'
*' ' I don't want wwy more,' I cried joyfully. * If
my new j'riend doesn't pass the hnr of your judg-
ment I've made the biggest mistake I ever made.
Oh, Mr. Martyii, if yon had only seen tlie picture
1 have just left — the poor young wife dying, posi-
tively dying from want of pro])er food — you'd thank
(rod you had it in your power to do anything to
help him.
" ' Mow I'm going away, and J think you're a very
nice old gentleman when you like, and Mr. Ruther-
ford will wait on you to-morrow morning at ten sharp.
Don't bully him — but 1 don't think you will, because
lie isn't the sort anvb(Klv can bullv. No, 1 won't
have any colfee — good-niglit to you, and a thousand
thanks. I'll be liere at noon to-morrow.'
"Then I went home to ^largaret, and, after we had
liad a long talk togetlier, 1 wrote home to (IhMi
Speed to my father, telling liim tlie story, and asking
him to forward to me immedintelv a certain trunk
that stood in an unused room, and wliich was full of
^ (l/KISl.\fAS li.lliY.
«7
J^'-
had
lien
dug
'link
1 of
the linen \ had used when I was a l>a1iv. Not tiiat I
intended j^iving it all away, it wns too tine and ( (»^tl^^
hut I knew there were jtluin things there as well, and
it was better to have it all sent, as then Margaret
and I conld nnike onr selection. Y<'s, it eanie in
dne courses and a proud wonnin am I tliis day
to think that haby wore anything that pertained
to me, and 1 may be prouder yet of it, before f
die.
" Well, next m* rning by nine o'clock I was at
Hiego (Street ; and I found a different atmosphere in
the little home, and 1 saw a lirightness in the young
wife's face which 1 knew had not been there for a
long time. She was much better, Jind tin; sight oi'
her improved condition had kindh'd anew the feeble
spark of hope in her husband's breast, and he was
j»rej)aring to go forth with fresli <*ourage to seek a
]»lace in the ranks. What did thev sav t() me ? Now,
my dear, don't ask me to linger on that. I don't
think thev said verv mucli, but 1 liave never felt
more grateful to (^od for opportunity given to do a
little kindness than I did that morning. Such an
experience is worth five years of scdtisli enjoyment.
I gave the husband Mr. Martyn's address, and tried
to prepare him as well as I could for the kind i)i
88
hLUAhEiil GLtS, M./i.
n'cf'|»ti<»ii 1m' mi^'lit <'.\[>ort, and I tlioiiL'lit as lie left
the room with a kiss aixi a Ibinl htok !<» hiN wil*' that
I hiid ?ievt»r svvu u iiioiv ^ciithMMaiily, ca|»til)le-
l^nkil!<^ wiiiscmn' TcMow, and tlie iiivHtery to me
was thut tliese maiilv mialities so evi<h'nt iu his
wlu)h' MpprnraiM'c and licaririLT had met with such
iiic'iu^rc :i}i|irr(-iatioii. I ri'iiiaiiird an hour with his
wife; mv tiin»' wns not so pn'rioiis then as now, so
I conM ciisily ntiord it ; nnd ms lie did not cjuickly
let urn we both took <-onru|r«', and 1 was not afraid to
jissert ])ohlly that Mr. Martyn luid s<Mit him to the
city. Then 1 rejinircd to my oM gentleman, to tind
him im patiently ex]n'etinir me. *
'' ' \N'ell, I hope you'll be satisfied now,* was his
«rrer(iiij»'. ' i\e sent your profi'i/*'' down to an old
I'riend in Kin«r William Street, and asked him to give
him employment at once.*
" ' Then yon didn't thiidc him a fraud,' I said
mildly, though I felt so (hdirionsly grateful I eonld
almost have kissed him almost, but not tpiite.
" ' No, he's all right. It's astoiiishing the bad
luck some poor fellows have. Would you believe it,
he's had a universitv ('(Incation ?"
'"Yes, 1 could believe it, or anytliing (dse good
or astonishing about him. ^^ ell, Mr. Martyn, Christ-
A UIKISIMAS HAH/.
mas c<)iiu>s next week, and it'll be u liappitT one tor
you und lue beciiUNe of this ; don't yr.ii think so?'
" ' Hninph I I don't know. It* you say ho I snp-
pose it will l)L' ; yon are a very assertive young
perHon. 1 sliould like to see the wile ; couldn't
she eonie ? *
" * Not ut present. She shall l)rin«r the baby by-
and-bve, Mr. Martvn. I'll t'eteh them lK)th.'
" He atVected to make a wrv face, but I coald see
he was secretly pleased.
(t
Well, my dear, that's my story ; don't you think
»»
it a pretty one
" Lovely ; but, Tin not goinj( to be defrauded in
that way. I've cullrd it 'A Christmas 13aby,' and
there isn't anything aliout the l)aby. Do you think
1 am going to insult my readers like that? Tell me
more about the baby at once."
*' There isn't anvtliinu: to tell. He was born on
C/hrisfinas Eve, is a lovely Itoy, and is growing fast
up into a handsome man
»'
'' And she got well quickly, and he got the sitna-
tion, and their j)rosjiects iniprove«l ; yon must tell
me all that, or Til luive a shoal of letters asking
a hundred questions. You must spare me that,
Elizabeth."
.^
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
Sho smiled a slow, meaning, inexj)lic{ible smile.
" I wf)nder if I should tell yon. 1 su})})Ose I must ;
but yon must promise secrecy. Where do you suppose
tliey live now ? "
I sliook mv head.
" fn Square ; and haven't I told you the boy
is at Loretto?"
''And are there any more children?"
" Yes, three. The last, a little girl, was only born
last year ; her name is Elizabeth Glen. Now, posi-
tively not anotlier question."
'* Only one more," I ])lea(led. " You have been
very good, but I do want to knrtw wlietlier lie ever
succeeded in his literary aspirations ? Vou said he
aspired, didn't you ? "
" Yes." Again Dr. Glen smiled, and this time
there was real miscliief in lier eves.
" You are a reliable person, (m the whole, so 1
won't spoil the story for yoi ; but if you revealed
the climax, the conse(juences would be apj)alliiig. I
told you, didn't I, that Rutherford was a tictitious
name ? "
"Yon did."
" Well, here's the true one."
She stooped down and w]iisi>ered two words in my
3 smile.
I must ;
suppose
the bov
^ CHRISTMAS BAliY.
9'
ear, and I feared I could not have lieurd hei ari.irlit.
I repeated them after her, the words of a name
honoured in the world of letters, and beloved by all
to whom it is known. Then I went home, to ponder
anew on the mysterv of life.
ily born
V, posi-
VQ been
he ever
^aid he
is tiuH^
i, SO 1
['vealed
iiig. I
ctitious
in my
•'*
: i-
IV.
i
MRS. PLAITS UUSUAND.
•* "T HAVE seen a great many specimens of the
^ genus Hnsbrnd;' said Dr. Glen, with an odd
little smile. " Do you remember a certain (juiet little
village where you had your home for a while, and
where I paid you a memora))le visit ? "
'• I have not forgotten it, 1 believe," I replied ;
nor had I. It was one of the bright spots of that
particular time.
'^ Well, do you remember, among the many other
quaint customs which used to divert r.s, how they
spoke of certain individuals as So-anu-so's man —
Easv Tamson's man, do vou remember him, and how
appropriate we thought his designation ? "
•' What a memory vou have, Elizabeth I " I
exclaimed ; " Easv Tamson's man Had become as
shadowy as a dream until you spoke of him. What
has he got to do with the present case ? "
9*
AfRS. PLATT'S HUSBAND.
93
" I
le as
What
" That you will see presently. Yes ; IVe seen
a lot of husbands, come into contact with them in
all sorts of trying conditions, behind the scenes,
where they sometimes appear heroic, sometimes
ridiculous, and sometimes pathetic. The one I have
in my mind's eye at })res(Mit generally appeared to
me in the last light, though he was pretty cheerful
on the whole, considering his trying surroundings.
We'll put him under the heading ' Mrs. Piatt's
Husband.' Have you got it d<5wn ? "
" Yes," I said, " I have, but 1 wanted a love story
this time, pure and simple. I hope you've got some
in your repertoire, because you see I have so many
young people among my readers, and they don't
want always to be reading about matrimony in the
real. This is the fourth story, remember, and it's
matnmonial too."
" Well, if you don't take Mrs. Piatt's Husl)and
to-day 1 fear you must go witliout, my dear. 1 saw
him to-day, and I've got him mixed up with every-
thing. To moJlify you, 1 promise that number five
or six shall be a bona-fide love story, with only a
promise of wedding-bells at the end.
*' I made the acquaintance of Mrs. Phitt's husband
the very first winter I was here, not very long indeed
94
ELI Z ABET II GLEN, MB.
after my experience with the Rutherfords. It was
on one of the most disagreeable days of January, the
sort of day when it can't make up its mind to fog,
rain, or snow, and so does a disagreeable mixture
of all three. And the cold ? It was simply pene-
trating, a raw, biting, bitter cold that ate into one's
bones, and left a creepy, shuddering feeling. Talk
of north-country cold ! It's a bearable kind of cold
anyhow, and you know what to do with it. Well,
I was sitting about three o'clock in the afternoon
* grousing,' as we say, over the fire, and not feeling
in a particularly amiable frame of mind, when
Margaret showed somebody in upon me with her
usual lack of ceremony. It was grey dusk in the
room, and it was not till Margaret lit the gas that
I saw my visitor was a long lank slip of a girl,
aj)parently about fifteen, with a white, anxious,
weary-looking face, sucli as wc look for in the mother
of many small babies who has limited means and
ft/
innumerable mouths to feed.
"'Good afternoon,' I said; *what can I do for
you ? '
" ' Will you come and see mother, please ? ' she
saiu, and her voice was in keeping with her face,
listless, but without life or hope.
MRS. PLJirS I/rSB.IND.
95
for
" * Yes, my dear, I will,' J said with alacrity.
' And where is motlier to he found ? '
"'At home in Portland Street,' she replied. 'Til
jxo back with vou, if vou like.'
'' ' Very well, and what is your name ? '
" ' Clara Piatt.'
"'And why, my dear, have yon come all tlie
way from Portland Street for me ? '
'*' Mother sent me,' replied the «rirl, and as
there was no other explanation forthcoming, 1 mach^
ready as fast as I could, and accompanied my new
friend to Portland Street. She W8i,s not a verv
interesting cliild. 1 tried to talk a little to her,
hut did not find lier at all resjionsive. She seemed
depressed, and had none of that natural buoyancy
we look for in a jierson of her age. She was fairly
well dressed, but the garments did not seem to
assort somehow ; when 1 arrived at her home 1
discovered why. She could not tell me mncli about
her mother's state, merely saying tliat she was
feeling very poorly, though not in bed. In due
course we arrived at our destination in Portland
Street, a sho]) with two windows, containing a very
heterogeneous collection, and above the door the
s!gn, ' Piatt, Dealer in Anti([nes, Uniforms, etc.
9«
ELIZABETH GLE.Y, M.B.
Ladies* and Gentlemen's wardrobes purchased for
cash.'
" Yea, I've been in many queer places, my dear,
daring the last few years, and have got my fastidions-
ness rubbed off. I followed my young guide through
the untidy, close-smelling, musty emporium into the
mysterious back regions where Mrs. Piatt and her
family lived. I was ushered into a large sitting-
room, well lighted, and too warm for comfort, nor
was it clean and pleasant to the eye. Several
children were amusing themselves, in rather a sub-
dued manner, with some old coins on the table, and
at the fire sat a woman whom 1 supposed to be my
patient. She was lying back in a leather-covered
easy-chair, and had a large, dingy grey shawl wound
right round her head and shoulders, and almost
entirely covering her face. She seemed in figure a
large, loose person, and her gown was a rusty and
grease-marked black merino ; while her feet, resting
on the stool, seemed to be bursting out of a pair of
old Court shoes with high heels and broken paste
buckles.
" * Mother, here's the doctor,' said Clara, and then
slipped away, in that (juick, noiseless, subdued
manner of hers, back to the shop.
I I
AfRS. ri.ATT'S nvsn.i.\D.
97
d for
dear,
lions-
rongh
■JO the
d her
itting-
t, nor
everal
1 sub-
e, and
be my
overed
wound
ilmost
jure a
y and
esting
)air of
paste
then
bdued
"'Oli, }"ouV(? (tome!' she said, >ittinjx up, and
pushing bark hor sluiwl to reveal her ^wcq^ which
was thin and shrewish, and lit up by a pnir of lilack
eyes which surveyed me witli extraordinary keenness.
'Well, I'm ghul to see you. I'm bad, pro])er bud,
I can tell you, and I pronii«<ed Platt I'd send for a
doctor tonlay. I hope yon know your 1)usi?ies*<.'
"M hope so,' 1 replied coldly, for the vulgar
manner of the woman and iur stonv stare anj'ered
me, I did not know why. 1 laid down my gloves
and proceeded without further ])arl(»y to make the
nsnal examiuj tion and put the usual (|uesti()ns.
*' I had no difficulty about my diagnosis, the case
was as evident as the d-^y.
"* First thing,' I said, severely, *yoa must go
to bed;
"*I won't go to bed,' she replied. *The whole
thing goes to sixes and sevens when I'm a-bed ; so
you must just treat me at the hearthstone, miss.'
" * I can't do it, and I won't,' I replied firmly.
' If you don't obey my orders you nmst get somebody
else to attend you. You have a serious attack of
pleurisy, and if you persist in your determination to
sit there, why then anybody t^an foresee the end.'
" * You ain't afeared to speak up, miss, but I ain't
I
98
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
I !
going to bed yet at least, so that's flat,* replied my
patient calmly. ' So now you can do what you like.'
" I looked round at the children, who continued
their quiet play, paying no sort of attention to our
talk. I felt much inclined to walk out there and
then, but something about the house interested me,
I could not tell why.
" * I must try and get your husband on my side,
Mrs. Piatt,' I said then ; ' and for that purpose I
shall call again when he is at home.'
" * Oh, well, you can,' she said, with a queer little
smile. ' But Piatt's a bit soft, and knows he can't
come it over me. It's a cold IVe got, I reckon,
and if I keep myself warm by the fire, it'll cure
itself.'
" ' Then why did you send for me ? ' I enquired
bluntly.
" ' Oh, I thought I'd be on the safe side,' sh^. said
serenely.
" ' And I suppose you tlionght, too, that because
I am a woman, I'll let you do just as you like,' I
ventured to suggest.
'* ' Well, no, I sent for you because I believe in
women doctors, — I think tlioy should be encouni^'ed ;
and because I lost one of mv children throuirli the
MRS. PIATT'S HUSBAND.
99
i my
like.'
inued
0 our
3 and
i me,
J side,
»ose I
little
cau't
eckon,
cure
mired
said
icaiise
^e; I
Ive in
Hired ;
II the
carelessness of one of fh** other sort. Clara, it's time
to ligbt iT|^.' she cried, raising her \voice shrilly.
* Well, ain't yon going to give me any medicine ? '
" * I won't do anything for you till you go to bed,'
I maintained firmly.
" * We'll sefc ; if I get Piatt to move a bed down
here would that do? as you see then I can see an'
hear what's goin' on.'
" It might do, though I wouldn't advise it,' I said
cautiously, feeling, however, that I had gained a
point.
*' * It'll have to do in the meantime,' she replied.
* You can come back in the evening, if you like, and
see ; Platt'll be in then. He get's 'omc about seven.'
" ' He does not help you then in your business ? '
I said enquiringly.
" * Oh, no. I wisli he 'card you. He hates the
business, does Piatt ; it makes 'im sick, it does. You
see, miss, it's like this. I took an' married a gentle-
man and a scholard, an' I've 'ad to suffer for it.
Oh, it ain't been all beer and skittles for me. Rut
he's only a clerk, an' earns no mor'n pays the rent ;
an' what's to feed five children, an' us two, an' get
clothes to our backs ? He's mad at me fetching up
Clara to the business, but 1 know what's what, an'
U'
too
ELIZABETH Gt.EN, MB.
rhorp's moiify in the second-hanrl line, though *fain't
what it was.'
** She spoke of her husband ' " ^ a species of good-
natured contempt which considerably amused me, and
T naturally felt no suuill cnriosity to behold the
'gentleman and fhe scholard' upon whom Mrs. Piatt
had thrown herself nway. I left some simple direc-
tions, again recommended her to get to bed, and,
promising to call iu the morning, took my departure,
though I must confess I lingered a little in the shop
to look at some of the curios it contained. The place
was in a frightful state of disorder, but the old
clothes, which 1 discovered were the most profitable
part of the business, threw everything else into the
background. Nevertheless there were some things
worth looking at, odd bits of china and bric-^-brac,
upon which I cast covetous eyes. The child Clara's
dull face brightened when I spoke to her apprecia-
tively of some curious bronze figures, and an old
Dresden coff*ee set whicli was really lovely of its kind,
and 1 saw that she had the soul of an artist hid
under her rather phlegmatic exterior. I thought
of them a good deal as I walked home, but I found
a letter from my father full of home news, and
containing a chec^ue lor my birthday, which sent
Mf^s /'L.rrrs ffrsH.iyo.
101
and,
hid
|ught
)und
and
sent
all my tli(Mi»::lits coursinjif in a new and plcsisanfer
direction. I was at dinner when T was told that Mr.
Phitt wished to see nie, and I nirain hocaine conscions
of the keenest curiosity about liini.
" His ii])|)eaujiin'r, I must say, cjniaiderably sur-
prised me. When 1 entered the ,onsuhinir-rooni he
was Htandini:: by my tabh' with his hand on the
back of my cliair, his whole attitude apologetic, as
if he ex})ected to find his intrusion resented. He
was a long, spare man, wearing a suit of rusty black;
he had fair hair, and a thin, fair, etfeminate face.
I could not disc(^rn the coloi- ' of his eyes, because
he wore a pair of dark s[)ectacles. He had a tie-
pressed appearance, as if long experience of Mrs.
Piatt had been too much for him.
" * Good-evening,' 1 said })leusantly. * You have
come from Portland Street? J trust Mrs. Piatt is
no worse.*
" * Yes, madam, she is — that is why 1 have come,'
he answered, and his accent was educated, his manner
gentlemanly. * She seems so very ill that I thought
I had better come at once. Would it be convenient
for you to pay her a second visit this evening ? *
'' * I'll make it convenient, it's my business,' I
said, cheerily. * I had some thoughts of coming on
Ji
lui
t.LlZAHETU l.LKN, M.H.
my own account lutor un, to 8ee whcflier yon conld
exercise your authority. She is lar too ill to be
out of bed.'
***I know that, but nht* ih very heaJntronj^ -a
good, kind soul, Miss (ilrn, l)ut very headstrong,'
be Haid, and taking oiX iiis MjjectacleH, he wiped tlieni
witli tlie corner of a very old discoloured silk
handkerchief.
"The spectacles made such a <lifference that I
gave a little start of surprise, and even forgot myself
so far as to stare at him. lie looked (piite young,
not uiore than live-aud-thirty at the most, and his
eyes were so frank and pleasant that tliey gave him
quite a boyish look. When 1 tiioiiglit of the home
he had come from, the untidy old clothes shoj), the
musty back room, inhabited l)y tlie unhealthy children,
and, above all, of the big, frouzy, unkempt woman
who was his wife, I was more tlian amazed, and I
felt like asking him, on the s{K)t, how he had ever
got himself into such a scrai)e.
" I did not accompany Mr. Tlatt back to Portland
Street, but followed him later on. It was about nine
when 1 arrived, and I found him at the shop-door
eagerly looking out for me.
'* ' I'm glad you've come,* he said in a tone of
MHS. PLATT'S HUSH. I y P.
loj
relief. * Slic is very \m\ indeed. It in alarming to
look at her/
"'Indeed I* 1 nuid. *I am astoninlicd to hear
that.'
" I was still rnnrc astonislu'd when I saw lier.
She was not in the buck room, l»ut ujtstairs in her
own bedroom, — in bed too, and direetly I crossed the
threshold and heard her breathing I knew the cliange
for the wf^rse was serious.
"She looked towards me with a slight glance of
recognition and a faint smile.
" * I gave in,' she said. * I s'pose it's all up with
me.'
'* * When did this change take place ? ' I encjuired
as I took out my watch.
" * After tea. I had to go in the shop to see a
customer as was good for five j)onnds, and I felt the
wind from the door cut right through me. Am I
agoin' to croak ?'
"I made no reply for a moment. The pulse was
rapid and fc^oble, and her whole condition serious.
" * You've seen Piatt, haven't you ? He's a gentle-
man an' a scholard he is, but 'e can't make a livin'
for the children. Pull me through, miss, if you
can.'
m
lo4
ELIZABETH GLEi\, M.B.
" Jt is uvit possible for me to convey to you the
pathos of these words, but it went to my heart.
There was a whole history revealed in them, a
liistory that was half a tragedy. Of all the mar-
riages that have puzzled me that seemed the most
curions.
" * I'll do my utmost, Mrs. Piatt,' I said, and
went downstairs to see if I could get anybody to
take my orders. I found Mr. Piatt sitting at the
table alone, looking the picture of perplexity and
concern.
'• Clara was in the shop, the cadaverous children
seemed to be all a-lted .
" ' Well,' he said, enquiringly, ' how's my poor
wife ? '
'* ' Her condition is critical. Are you in a position
to afford a nurse ? If so, I shall send you one
as I go liome.'
" ' We are not well off,' he answered, ' so far as
ready money is concerned ; but there are things
in the shoj) worth money. If you think a nurse
is necessary, she will be paid somehow.'
" I looked at the man gravely. He seemed kindly
and solicitous, but his look of utter helplessness, so
unusual in a man, perplexed and even irritated me.
:!; J
Mh\S. FLA 77 S H US B.I YD.
105
I felt as if I should like to give hira a u:oo(l shaking
np.
" ' She must have somebody to wait upon her ;
and your daughter, with the sho]) and tin* house
and the children, I should fancy, would find her
hands pretty full. Do you not agree with me ? '
"*I do ; it's a sad business. [ hope, Miss Glen,
you do not think ray wife will die ? '
" ' She may. I have said that her condition is
critical.'
"'If she dies,' he said helplessly, 'what is to
become of the children ? '
" ' Others have been left motherless, Mr. Piatt,'
I said severely ; ' your case would not be any more
serious than many another — but we may pull iier
through '
" ' I hope to God you will,' he said, with a most
unusual burst of passion. ' Poor Susan ! our mar-
riage was a mistake, a frightful mistake ; we both
admitted it long ago, and I fear she has had a hard
struggle.'
" ' She apprehends the future for the children,'
I said; 'she seems anxious to live for th^ir sakes.'
" ' But not for mine,' he said, sorrowfully. ' Well,
you see it was an awful mistake. She's ten years
■■ ♦
IOC
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
my senior, and I had a university education ; how
could the result be otherwise?'
" ' How did it come about at all ? ' I inquired
bluntly.
" ' It's a long story, but it can be put in few words.
She was a lady's-maid in a family where I was tutor.
I was very young then and ambitious, but had nobody
to help me on. I wanted to continue my career at
Oxford ; I thought I could do something there. She
helped me with money. She had a mistress who
was very generous to her ; and I thouglit I should
succeed and be able to repay tlie loan. I didn't ;
there are a number of causes why a man doesn't
succeed, Miss Glen ; but I did what I could, and
I married her.'
" I did not say what I thought — that it was a great
risk to repay a loan in such a fashion.
" * She looked very different then,' he said, apologis-
ing, manlike, for his own selection. ^ She was a
handsome, briglit woman ; but of course when things
went against us, and the children came so fast, she
lost heart ; but a good soul, a good soul as ever
breathed, and I've been as good to her as I knew
how.'
** I did not know which to pity most ; I thought
M/<:^. FLATf'S HUSBAND.
107
ras a
she
ever
[new
liight
it a pathetic tale ; but it altio savours of tragedy to
hear from a man's lips such a coni'ession of utter
failure.
'' ' This business/ he said, waving his hand towards
the door, and slightly reddening as he spoke, * was
the very last resource. Her former mistress still
remembers her, and gives her cast-otf wardrobes.
There's money in it. Of course, we've had less
sordid anxiety since we went into it, but it's a bad
atmosphere for children to be reared in ; and I will
not disguise from you that it has been a very keen
trial to me.'
" I saw it all, and I did not know whether to
despise or pity him most.
" He was weak evidently, lacking in every ijualil)
that makes for success, but the alluy of })ride remained
— well, an Oxford man and an old clothes shop liave
not much in common. I thought of the ailing,
probably dying woman upstairsj of the brave front
she had shown, the struggle she liad made to till
up the breaeli, and I rejuoached myself for my hrst
shrinking from her untidy appearance, her vulgar
speech, her unattractive look. After all she luid in
her the stuff of which heroines are made.
" ^ If 1 can trust you to carry out my directions
io8
hUZABl-.Tll GLEN, Mil.
I will not see the uiirse till raorniii^j,' 1 said. ' I
shall come very early. You can sit up with your
wife to-night, I suppose ? '
" ' Yes,' he said, ' I can do that surely, but if you
think the nurse necessary pray send her to-niglit.'
'* ' I thiidv the morning will do,' I replied, and went
into the shop to spealv to Clara about })reparinu: some
nourisliment for her mother. She briglitened up as
she had done before when I spoke to her ; and 1
noticed that her father, who had followed me, looked
at her witli rather more interest than usual.
" ' Can I get you a cab ? ' he jtsked politely, but
I said no. 1 thought I should walk home. He
accompanied me to the door, and just before I went
off asked me a curious question : ' Miss Glen, I fancy
1 see disapproval in your ejes. I trust you do not
think I am in any way to blame for my wife's present
illness ? '
'• ' For her illness ? Oh no, not at all. How could
you possibly be to blame for a perfectly natural
seizure ? ' I replied. * But, of course, there is no
doubt that her anxiety and worry for the future
•ecov
may
-ery.
'" B It what can I do ? I have my place of
business to go to. If I absent myself even for a day,
MRS. PLATT'S HUSEA.\D.
i09
y, but
He
went
fancy
0 not
resent
IS no
uture
it is quite possible my services may be dispensed with.
Such are the conditions of life, even for the competent
and the educated, in this city of London,' he said, with
a slight shade of irony. ' Such as they are, I must
regard them. Do vou not think so ? '
" ' It is not for me to say,' I replied. * But I
gathered from your wife that your present post is
not a particularly lucrative one. It might be to the
advantage of all concerned were you to remain here
and attend to this business.'
" I had no sort of right to make any such sugges-
tion, but he was plainly seeking an expression of
my opinion, and I gave it as candidly as I knew how.
He shrugged his shoulders and glanced back into
the emporium with undisguised scorn,
"*I may come to it in time — though not till it
is a case of desperation with me,' he said rather
peevishly. ' I find it bad enough to have it as en-
vironment during the few hours I spend here. But to
become identified with it perpetually, Heaven forbid ! '
" ' It is a perfectly respectable business, Mr. Piatt,
and your wife says there is money in it. I do not
see why you should have such an aversion to it.'
" ' Do you not ? Then you would think it no
humiliation for me to be here some fine day when
I to
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
one of my Balliol fellows !night step in. I could not
stand the risk of it. That is wby my wife's name
is above the door and not mine. If I told you my
name you would recognise it as belonging to one of
the oldest Surrey families. I have relatives there,
near ones too, who have disowned me since my
marriage. If they knew of this,' he said, with another
comprehensive wave, Hhey wouldn't speak to me in
the street.'
" It was a false and despicable pride, yet how
natural ! I did not fp'^l the contempt for him I ought,
because I knew very well that there are very few in like
circumstances who would not have felt just like him.
It is a very rare and high-class nature, my dear,
which can absolutely rise above all such considerations.
Think over your own experiences, and see how many
instances you can record.
" ' Well, I must not stand talking here any longer,
Mr. Piatt, so good-nigh t,' I said, and walked oti
quickly, thinking a good deal of the curious episode
which had come in mv wav.
" I had an unusually early breakfast next morning,
and piloted my way through a thick fog to Portland
Street shortly after nine. The depressed-looking
Clara, rather worn, and red about the eyes, was
MRS. PLATT'S HUSRAXD.
Ill
making an attempt to dust the contents of the shop, and
at sight of me the tears swelled in her eyes afresh.
"'Well, my dear, how is your mother tliis morning?'
" ' Very poorly ; pa hoped you'd come before be
went awav. She's liad a bad niu^ht.'
" * I'm sorry to hear that,' I said, and passed into
the inner room, pausing jnst half a minute to pat
the children and ask them how thev were. Nice
little things tliey seemed, too, if they had been cleaner,
and exhibited more of the liveliness of childliood.
Even in their play they were very sober, as if early
oppressed by the reality of life. I found my patient
much exliausted, and after I had made my examina-
tion feared the worst. 8he seemed pleased to see
me, and gathering my concern from my face, pat
to me a very straight (juestion.
" ' Am I agoin' to die ? '
" ' You are very ill,' I replied at once, for I never
hide the truth, especially when it is so earnestly
sought. 1 hiid my hand on hers as I said it, and 1
suppose 1 looked tlie sym])atliy I felt. My heart
indeed overflowed with the pity of it, and I felt
nothing but honour for the poor woman wlio had
made such a mistake, and {)aid for it more dearly
perTiaps than 1 knew. She was uneducated and
h -
112
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
plebeian of course, as the Surrey family wonld have
had no hosit.ition in telling you, but she had feelings
as acute, sensibilities as easily woun(l<'d, as the gently-
born, and the knowledge, never hid from her by Hhe
gentleman and the scholard,' that she had dragged
him down, had been as bitter as gall to her, and
brought out all the unlovely traits in her character.
' You look so kind, miss, an* there ain't nobody I
can speak to ; will you sit down, and hear what I
have to say ? '
" I did so, still keeping my hand on hers, and she
turned her dim eyes on my face with a whole world
of pathos and entreaty in their depths. * Only for
our children I wouldn't mind much. IVe been a
drag on Richard, that's Piatt, from the first. I might
'a' known it never does for a gentleman to marry a
servant, but I didn't think, and as Heaven is my
judge, I loved 'im dear. Not that Piatt's ever been
bad to me — he wouldn't be bad to nobody, poor fellow,
he ain't got as much venom in 'im, or he might 'a'
got on better. But Vs fretted after 'is own kind, as
is nat'ral, I suppose. Oh, them children ! what'll
become of them ? Heaven knows, I don't.'
" ' The way is always opened up,' 1 said soothingly,
* and it is quite possible that left entirely to his own
MRS PLATT'S HJrsBAND.
n;>
resources their father may develop uew capabilities.
I am afraid yon have too often stepped into the
breach.'
" * Maybe. We never had no bitter words only over
this business, but I knew there was money in it, an'
1 had to tliiiik on the five. I wish 'e'd let ('hira
keep on. She's beginnin' to know it, and slie takes
such an interest in the bits o' china and things ; if
'e'd let Clara keep in I think I'd die witli an easy
mind. If 'e doesn't, then they'll starve, 'cos lie makes
only sixty pound a year, and has to go like a gentle-
man. Maybe you'd put in a word for the business,
miss, for Piatt, he took mightily to yon last night,
anybody could see ; he said that you was a lady
born, an' that goes a long way wi' Piatt, being a
gentleman and a scholard hisself.'
" I promised to do what I could, and when I went
away my heart was hot and bitter against the man
who had, though perhaps not intentionally, made the
burden of life so heavy for the woman who liad given
him herself and all she had.
" That evening, when I paid my second visit, 1 was
the unwilling witness of a painful and pathetic scene.
I went after dinner with my mind made up to talk
very plainly to Mr, Piatt, but when I arrived I found
8
114
ELIZA BET 1 1 r.LE^\ MB.
no npportmiity. Pinu-tly T (Mitercd the room T saw
that iny patient was dyin*,'. lie sat b\ tlie bed
h)()kin.<:: painfully and pitifully at her, and at sight
of me appeared immensely relieved. But it was very
little I e-nuld do. She smiled wanly uj)on me as 1
bent over her, and tried lo press my fingers as they
touched her hand.
" ' I'm a-sli})pinV she said, ' an' I've been a-talkin'
to Piatt. He says I ain't agoin' to die, an' won't
promise anything. Jes' say a word to him, miss, for
the sake o' Clara an' the children.'
" She spoke with ext.eme difficulty of course, her
breathing being much oppressed. I turned to the
husband, who stood on the hearthrug twirling his
thumbs, the picture of helplessness and discomfort.
" * You hear what she says, Mr. Piatt. She wishes
you to promise that you will keep this home together
for the children, and let Clara do what she can with
the shop.'
" ' Is she going to die ? ' he asked incredulously,
and with a scared look in his eyes.
" I nodded, and, to do him justice, he then exhibited
a very genuine distress. He threw himself down on
his knees by the bed, and implored her to forgive
liim for all the past.
•usly,
bited
a on
rgive
A/RS. PLATT'S HUbbAND.
H5
"'There ain't imtliin^ to for«^ive, Dickie,' she said,
with a faint, pluised smile Huch as she might have
bestowed on u hahy at hor hn'ust. * You've never
Ix'on bad to me, nor sjiid no cross words, Vej)t about
the business. 1 did wrong to marry you, though 1
hived you dear, an' '
" I stoh; away, for these were not words for me
to hear. I did not leave the house, however, but
remained in the sitting-room talking to the little boy,
the onlv one of the children not in bed. After a
little I heard a hurried movemeut upstairs, and Mr.
Piatt quickly calling my luime. I t(H)k the little boy
in my arms, called to Clara, and ran up.
" Yes, the end liad come, and pOor Mrs. Piatt's
face wore a perfectly serene look as she sat up
gasping among her pillows.
" ' Dickie, fetcli the baby, and Will, and Fanny,'
she said, and turned to me with a smile. * It's all
riglit, miss, between Phitt an' me at last, an' he'll
let Clara keep on. You'll look in now and again,
won't you ? I'd like to think of you lookin' in on
the little ones, an' it might help Piatt to be more
reconciled, as, yon see, you're a lady born. Here's the
bai)y, bless his little 'eart, rubbin' his eyes ; wot a
shame to wake 'im up, but 1 wanted to kiss 'im once.'
ti6
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
" She stretched out her arms, and her husband
laid the child at her breast. She bent her face over
him a moment, and then looked towards me.
"* There ain't no parson, nor nobody to say a
prayer ; could you, miss, for the baby's sake ? '
" I knelt down at once in the midst of the wonder-
ing children, and what I said I know not ; but words
fitting and appropriate were given me, and I know I
had a strange feeling of nearness to the Divine.
" She echoed my * Amen ' in a faint whisper, and
closed her eyes, while her feeble clasp on the child
gradually relaxed. So she died. Your eyes are full,
listening to my poor recital of that pathetic scene ;
you can imagine what it was to be a witness to it.
Well, dear, that is my story ; sad enough, eh ? but,
curiously, it is one of my favourite bits: and I have an
odd, reverent feeling whenever I think of Mrs. Piatt."
** What became of them ? " I asked, with intense
interest. " Did Piatt rise to the occasion, as you
predicted ? "
" Clara did. The development of that child was
most extraordinary. Would you believe that every
bit of antique furniture and some of the very scraps
of china you have coveted in my drawing-room came
from Piatt's in Portland Street ? The aristocracy
,*)»*5r!SW»Ji«-'*i^'J
MRS. PLATT'S H US HAND.
117
was
[every
craps
came
cracy
patronise it now. If you go down any fine morning
in the season, you're sure to see a coroneted carriage
at the door. It's an art and vertu shop now, though ;
the old clothes which so exercised the soul of Mr.
Piatt are a thing of the past.'*
" But Mr. Piatt himself/' I reiterated, " what about
him ? "
Doctor Glen shrugged her shoulders.
" Oh, he exists, and deigns to own the concern now
it flourishes, but I have never forgiven him. May I
be forgiven myself for my lack of Christian charity I *'
" But he has remained true to her memory ? "
" He hasn't married again, and, to do him justice,
I believe he thinks of her with a tender regret. It's
the old story over again — only when death, kinder
sometimes than life to humanity, steps in and takes
something from us do we recognise its value. Mr.
Piatt makes a kind father to the children, and the
eldest son is at Balliol ; so I suppose he beholds his
ambition live again in the boy."
" And the despised shop provides the where-
withal ? "
Dr. Glen nodded, and somehow the bantering mood
I knew so well fell from her, and she seemed to be
musing on the irony as well as the pathos of life.
ir»
V.
NORA FLEMING.
T"N the early days of my acquaintance with Dr.
Glen, I sometimes puzzled myself not a little
over her religious views. 1 knew from sundry
remarks 1 had heard her make that she was not
quite orthodox, and she sometimes saia things which
startled me just a little ; but I said to my husband
long ago that I wished there were more of Elizabeth
Glen's kind of Christianity in this world, and 1 some-
times say 80 still. She is not a woman from whom
you can get a direct expression of opinion at the very
moment you may happen to want it ; in fact, she
takes a little delight at times in keeping you angling
after her views, just as I have seen her angle herself
for the brown trout in the peat streams of Amulree.
One day I went to her, puzzled and a little downcast
over one of the problems that often exercised me :
why the best people, whose daily life is a gracious
Ii8
NORA FLEMI.XG,
119
very
she
benediction to all it touelies, slionld so often bo culled
upon to bear siicli nnheard-of and almost nnbearnble
trials of patience nnd faith. 1 had a ])!irticiilar case
in my mind that afternoon, a fine yonn"^ fellow, fnll
of promise, whose robnst manliood was a thing to
rejoice in and thank God for, yet who in his venture
matrimonial had drawn not a blank, but what was
worse, a genuine cross.
If I were ever tempted to make copy out of flie
•sad family histories that have come under my ob-
servation, that young man would serve as an ex-
emplification of the old saw, Marry in haste, repent
at leisure.
Dr. Glen was busy when I arrived. She had got
to that stage in her profession when you always
found two or three people in her waiting-room during
her consulting hours, wliich slie liad fixed from two
till four. Mnrgaret took me to the drawing-room,
and lingered to have a little talk over things in
general. She always cnlled me " the mistress," and
took the liveliest interest in my afl'airs, even to the
extent of criticisinof the Scotch in mv nov/'//.9. Manv
a skirmish we had over the meaning and spelling
of certain words, and lofty was lier scorn of Dr.
Jamieson, my authority and standby.
\ 't
I^O
ELIZA nETII GLEN. M.B.
i ■ , I
" He disna ken a'thiiiir," slie would sav. " Div
I no mind it fnie my inither's knee ? " Dear old
Margaret ! In her late years she took the matri-
nionial fever badly, and married a wastrel, so that
her last dpvs were worse than her first. Dr. Glen,
being by nature the most womanly of women, was
;ilways making tlic most deligliM'nl alterations and
additions to Ijrr drawing-room. Do you know
drawing-rooms that 5ire as unjiiterable ms the laws
of the Medes and Persians, rooms you go into month
after month and year after year, knowing you will
never see anvthinof tlierc to relieve the monotony
of perpetual order ? Jt is the room of the conven-
tional woman, who sternly re])resses any original
idea which may by some strange chance occasionally
occur to her. Dr. Glen was not conventional, and
though I am fond of moving furniture about myself,
and of introducing variety in my home, I do not
rival her. Entering Dr. Glen's drawing-room, you
always have a fVesh, deliglitful feeling, like recog-
nising old friends with new faces. The artistic
arrangement and the interesting items which con-
tribute to it make luilf an hour's waiting there seem
less irksome than anywhere else. But I must
hasten ou.
NORA FLEMING.
lai
jcog-
tistic
con-
jeem
LUSt
Elizabeth came in about half-past three. She
looked a little tired, I thought, but fresh and dainty
in her dress as usual. Shall I tell yon what she
wore that day, my most unorthodox of lady doctors ?
A brown serge skirt and a bine catnbric blouse, with
starched cuffs and turnover colLir, both fastened by
her magnificent yellow cairngorms in thoir settings
of gold, the only ornaments she possessed which I
really coveted. They had been found on lier father's
estate, and were heirlooms in the Glen family, but
I don't think anybody whoever wore them was more
stately than my Elizabeth. She had a quaint silver
belt round her waist, which was very slender for
her heisjht, and she looked everv inch what she was
— a simple, well-dressed, well-bred gentlewoman. She
threw herself on the couch and folded her hands
behind her head.
" I&n't it hot ? We have not many Aprils like
this in London, and what will August be like? Are
you going to Amulree this year?"
"I don't know whether we can afford to go any-
where."
" Oh, is that it? Well, I'll take you if you can't.
I made five pounds this afternoon. This thing is
going to pay. I've seen nothing but Amulree before
122
r.J.IZABEThl GLEN, M.B.
\\ i
mv eves all dav. Oh. mv doar, do von remember
that view from the old road Ijetwoen Corrvmuck
Loch and Achnai'aidd ? I shall always love you for
making Sheila happy jnst there. Don't I wish I
saw it with mv own eyes at this very minute I "
*' Elizabeth, don't make me homesick. It's had
enough to have a man at home always raving about
Amulree."
" Who introduced me to its loveliness ? It is a
favourite remark of yours that all things are by
comparison, and when one tramps the streets baking
under a tropical sun, 'hen must the soul that has
seen Amulree be fain for it. I just feel that if I
had a Wash, af5 Margaret would say, a genuine blash
of Amulree rain swept clean up from the sma' glen
into my face, I should g^\ rid of tho London smuts.
I hope, my dear, you have no evil designs on me
to-day. I'm positive it was only the day before
yesterday I gave you ^ Mrs. Piatt's Hiisband.' "
'' Three weeks ago, Eli/abeth," I said ; " so you're
in for it again."
^' Aren't you worming more than your due out of
me, and making surreptitious use of it ? " she asked
whimsically ; then we both laughed.
"I called on the Harrisons as I came through
NORA FLEMING.
»2.^
gleu
'ough
Bedford Street, Elizabeth, and I am more than
usually depressed about them. Can you tell me
why good people have such a poor time of it, some
of them at least, in this world?"
" Yes, because somebody must have a poor time
of it, and the good show up to the best advantage
under difficulties. That's the conclusion I have come
to. The Lord is a great deal wiser than we who
believe in Him know."
I didn't say anything, for I was looking at my
friend as she spoke. Her eyes were shut, but her
face wore a most steadfast and lovely look, which
almost made me feel that she was conversing
with the Unseen. Presently she opened her eyes
wide.
" Your question makes me think of something
you might like, but it's sad, and it*s about married
people too. You said, I remember, referring to
Mrs. Piatt, that you had had enough of married
people, and wanted a genuine love-story, though it's
my opinion that by far the most interesting love
stories are to be found in the lives of married folks.
The other is onlv the prelude."
" I'll take anything to-day, and be thankful. The
youQg ladies who are clamouring for unmarried
124
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
romance can wait without serions consequences to
themselves or to me."
" Snch meekness demands its reward," said Dr.
Glen, and after a minute's pause went on : " Of
course you know T have inaiiy Scotch folk among
my patients, and as a rule I prefer them, chiefly, 1
suppose, because I understand them better. There
is more difference than one would think between the
two nationalities, and it is more noticeable among
women than among men."
" I have heard my husband say the same thing,"
I remarked. " But I should think you could accom-
modate yourself to anybody or anything, Elizabeth ;
you are the most adaptable person I ever met."
She turned her head and looked at me straight,
as if to ask just how much or how little my words
might mean.
'* It's a fact," I nodded. ** You are the sort of
person to make yourself at home anywhere, and to
take the bearings of persons or things at a glance."
" You have a good opinion of me, dearest, and
though I know how far it falls short of the real,
I love vou for it. Nevertheless I do make some
ft'
gigantic mistakes, and 1 made one in my first
estimate of the little woman about whom I am going
NORA FLEMING.
las
568 to
d Dr.
"Of
imong
eflv, I
There
en the
among
;hing,"
iccom-
abeth ;
raight,
words
ort of
md to
ance."
, and
real,
some
first
going
to tell ^on ; and of course I was mistaken too in my
first impression of Mrs. Piatt. One afternoon, soon
after I fixed these consulting hours, a lady Wiis shown
in, a lady with a baby in her arms. She was very
well dressed, in a serge gown and a sealskin jacket,
was very young, not more than three- ov four-and-
twenty, and she looked so extremely fragile that i
jumped up hastily to give her a chair. It was rather
a pretty face, though in my first glance I thought it
lacked character, and with my usual hot haste drew
a mental estimate of its possessor.
" ' I have heard of you, Dr. Glen,' she said, in a
voice of winning sweetness, ' and I have Irought my
baby to see you. I have an aunt living ia Russell
Square, who says you are very clever, so I have come
to ask your advice.'
'•' * Yes ; then let me see the baby,' I said, bending
over her as she put up the child's veil and unfastened
its white cloak. Then 1 saw that it was a white-
faced, pu»y little thing ; in a word, a baby who did
not thrive.
" * A little girl,' I said nodding, as I pushed the
granny bonnet off its little head.
" The usual questions were asked and answered.
It was a common tale of a London baby— the mother
126
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
unable to nnrse, difficulty of procnriiig satisfactory
milk, gradual decline of the child. Yon must make
haste to get that little house in the country, dear,
in order tliat vours mav escaT)e the common fate.
And after liaving discussed the baby and settled
what was to be done, the mother and I fell into a
little friendly talk, during which she mentioned her
husband's name, which for obvious reasons I must
again make fictitious. She called him Mr. Fleming.
" ' Why/ I said, ' that's pure Scotch ; but you are
not Scotch, Mrs. Fleming ? '
" ' Oh no ; but my husband is. He is a clergyman,
Dr. Glen — curate to Dr. Main waring at the church
in Marlwood Road.'
" * Oh,' 1 said. * I know him perfectly by sight,
and I have heard him preach.*
" Her face flushed a little, and she bent over her
baby, I thought to hide it.
" ' We live in Marlwood Road. It would not be
too far, would it, for you to come and seek baby ? '
" ^ No. T shall be only too glad to come,' I said,
speaking from a friendly point of view. I began to
be interested in the little woman, and that flush
puzzled me. Was it pride, or sensitiveness, or
shame, I wonder, that could have caused it ? — not the
NORA FLEMING.
117
lot be
.V?'
said,
m to
flush
or
>t the
last, surely, because I knew the Reverend Wallace
Fleming by name as a rather brilliant person, wiio
could fill the Marhvood Road Church of an evening
when his rector couldn't.
"He v^as a very handsome person, too, tlic adored
of the young ladies of his charge, so 1 liad heard.
Yet, curiously enongli, I had never heard of his wife.
It occurred to me, even in that first interview with
Mrs. Fleming, that she was not a particularly liappy
woman. There was a curious wistfulness in her eyes
and a droop about the lips which suggested more
heaviness of heart than she had any business to feel ;
but the genuine cause of it never occurred to me at
the time. I learned not long after, however, that
it was caused by heart hunger, and the yearning of a
deeply religious soul over another which she thought
deviating a little from the right way. My dear, you
find deep religious sentiment and a consciousness
sometimes morbid in the least likely places. I never
expected to find them in Nora Fleming. Yet there
they were, and my subsequent intercourse -with her
did more to deepen my own rehgious convictions than
anything has done since my mother died. My poor
little Nova Fleming I "
For the moment Elizabeth seemed to forget me ;
ia8
EUZADETH GLEN, M.B.
the associations called up by the story she had begun
seemed to onj^ross all her thoni^hts.
" About a week after tluit I was summoned to
Marlwood Uoad," she said at leii<;th, "and when
I arrived I found it was to see the mother, not the
child. She was not in bed, but sitting at her bed-
room fire, a fragile little figure in a blue dressing-
gown, looking 80 childish and petite that I felt like
treating her accordingly. But a big, strong, noble,
womanly heart beat under that blue dressing-gown,
Annie, a heart meet only for the Kingdom.
" * Baby is ever so much better,' she said, greeting
me with a bright, sweet smile. '• Yes, I am a little
down ; and I thought I wanted badly to see you.
Did you know how much good you did me that day
I called ? '
" ' My dear, I didn't prescribe for you. It was
the baby I treated,' I said bluntly.
" '■ No, but you made me feel strong, and you are
good, 1 know. I have often wished for a strong
woman friend. I am so weak myself.'
'* ' Weak in body you may be, but nowhere else,'
I said cheerily. ' But come, let me feel the pulse.
Mothers can't afford to make such a fuss. I must
get you out (jf this room.'
NOR^\ FLE^/f^G.
120
"The pnlse was very weiik, and tlierr was a luiii^nior
and depression alxmt the little nvoiiiiiii wliicli iiwkU*
me think tlieru was a lieart tnnilih' at the bottom.
I Hat down in front of lier, and I sni»]tose I hioked
very grave and serions. I ccitainly felt so.
"*Now, Mrs. Fleiuing,' I said, gently hnt lirruly,
* pray forget that I am a woman, and t\\\u]< of me
only as the doetor. Ilnve you got anytliing on yonr
mind? Are yon tVeiting al)ont som(>thing? There
isn't anvthing the matter with von tliat I can find,
unless thtM-is a worry at the bottom.*
" * Oh, I Inive a lot of worries — (?very woman has,'
she said evasively. ' There's baby, you know ; and
the servants are not verv satisfaetorv. We are not
rich, and can't atl'ord to |)a} experienced ones. 1
liave a good many liousehold cares, and Mr. Fleming
doesn't reallv know liow much it takes out of one.
It's the sort of tiling which seems too trivial to talk
of,' she said, dr()pi)ing her voice to a whisper. ' But
it makes one's lieart cry out to (iod all the time. He
alwavs understands women, don't von tliiidc? If it
ar
were not for that, indeed, indeed I could not lie
it.'
"' There was a lump in my throat. 1 stroked the
white, fragile little hand, ;ind said to myself. ' Eli/,a-
9
W^
I30
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
beth, yon big, soft creature, don't weep, or your
credit as a doctor is gone.'
" * Of course, when one is not very strong all such
worries assume mountainous proportions,' I said
bravely. * I am the happy possessor myself of " a
perfect treasure " in the shape of my own old nurse, but
I can sympathise with you for all that. You have
never got quite strong, I think, since baby came,
and what you want is mothering, and country air.
Is your mother alive ? '
"She shook her head.
* * Oh no, she died when I was quite little. I
have nobody, only Aunt Kate, who lives in Russell
8quare. She has a school. I lived with her and
helped a little with the younger children before I
married. She is very clever, but you see her way
of life is different from mine now, and she does not
quite understand all T Lave to do.'
" ' You don't do any parish work, ot course ? '
I said bluntly.
" She shook her head.
" * I wish I could. I am afraid I do very little
to help Wallace ; but really there are plenty of
workers. If I had been a little stronger, of course
1 should like to luive tauglit in the Sunday-school.'
•T.iri!a:^liW,«!S- W'Wl.' »!'■*' 'S
NORA FLEMING.
«3>
irse ? '
little
ity of
',()nrse
)1.'
" * I suppose Mr. Fleming is a very busy man ?
Marlwood Road is a big church,' I said inquiringly.
Somehow I had got it in my head that the minister
was at the bottom of the worry.
" ' Oh yes, he is very busy ; he cannot be in very
much, h,nd I am always so sorry if 1 do not feel well
and cheerful when he is in. He likes everything
bright and dainty, and when baby is cross and the
servants trying, he doesn't like it; no gentleman does,'
" I got up and took a turn across the floor. 1 had
got the key to the mystery, and I had only one desire,
to make a few plain remarks to the popular minister
of Marlwood Road, and to point out one. duty which
in all his intellectual and ambitious flights he hail
wickedly passed by.
" * I've got a new carriage, of which I am very
proud,' I said, changing the subject abruptly. 'jVnd
•to-morrow I have to go to Cricklewood to see an old
patient of mine, who is staying there temporarily.
If it is fine, may I come at four o'clock and fetch
you and baby for a drive ? '
" She answered me only by a bright smile, and two
big tears which rolled from under her long lashes,
and glittered on her cheeks.
" On Sunday evening i went to service at Marlwood
I3«
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
Road — yes, for the sole purpose of beholding the Rev.
Wallace Fleming and hearing him preach."
" So like a woman," I murmured. " No man doctor
would ever have thought of such a fching."
" No, he wouldn't, my dear ; you are quite right.
I always do my v*aty by the man doctor, as you call
him, but I know very well that it is just in such
cases that he makes his professional mistakes. He
would have gone on exclusively treating i)Oor little
Norah Fleming's body, when the mind was at the
bottom of it all the time. It was sympathy she
wanted, and mothering, and loving understanding, for
she was being worried and neglected into the grave."
" And what kind of spiritual food," I inquired
meekly, " did you get from the Rev. Wallace
Fleming ? "
" Well, my dear, I will not deny that I got an
intellectual treat. To begin with, his very presence
in the pulpit was eye-satisfying. He is a man of
splendid physique, and his head is noble. Oh, the
man has gifts — even the most ju'ejudiced would not
deny that — but somehow I felt inclined to get up
and contradict him every minute. His sentiments
were unimpeachable, doing equal credit to his head
and heart ; and as 1 observed his cnlm, complacent,
. ■!7»rr;;^rtis«?W ,
NORA FLEMING.
«33
j»
self-reliant air, and looked round on the rapt faces
of the congregation, cimong whom young ladies pre-
dominated, I thought of the litth^ wife at home, and
I felt in that state of mind which Margaret describes
as my birse being up. No, of course the service did
me absolutely no good whatever. My last view of
the Rev. Wallace Fleming was seeing him the centre
of what was undoubtedly an admiring throng, who
were probably telling him how much good they had
derived from his discourt5e. Next day, wlien I went
to see his wife, I had the felicity of being introduced
to him.
" It was about noon, and I found her dressed and
in the dining-room, looking very worn and weary,
and thinner than ever in her close-fitting black gown.
(She had the baby in her arms. Mr. Fleming was
lying on the couch reading the newspaj)er, and he
jumped up, all courtesy, to receive me. Really his
manners were (juite charming ; he liad that peculiar
suave, deferential touch wliich women like, and even
I began to wonder whether 1 had been in my thoughts
a trifle hard upon him.
" * My poor little wife has not been very strong, and
nothing would satisfy her but the lady doctor,' he
said, with a grand smile. * I am very glad to make
' «
"34
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
your acquaintance, Dr. Glen, and I hope you do not
find Mrs. Fleming in a serious condir .on. What she
wants, as I tell her, is stimulating, looking on the
bright side of things, and making her own environment
bright. I make a point of preaching the doctrine of
sunshine ; we have enough dark creeds in our midst
already.*
" That is quite trne, Mr. Fleming,' I replied gvively,
as 1 laid down ray gloves and took the ))aby iu
my arms. ' And I agree witH yon tliat it is sunshine
Mrs. Flemin<»" wants ; but somebody has orot to create
it for her.'
'' He looked at me as if my words puzzled him
a little ; their hidden sarcasm I am positive he did
not see. /
" ' She worries too ranch. I am always telling
her she worries, and lionsehold cares should never
be obtruded. The wheels of domestic machinery only
want oiling with tact and graciousness, and all will
go smoothly.'
" I saw the faint glow of a pitiful smile on the
little woman's grave lips, and she smoothed the front
of her gown with her liands in a nervous little way,
which let me know this was the sore bit.
*' ' That is so like a man's speech, Mr. Fleming,'
"WW^^F^^
NORA FLEMING.
135
the
front
Ivay,
I said, and I believe the tone of mv voice was almost
rude. * Perhaps yon will consider it presumption on
my part to remind you that there is still the old-time
difference between theory and practice, between the
real and the ideal. The plain facts of tlie case are
that the baby and the servants are too mucli for Mrs.
Fleming meanwhile, and we must get lier away foi
a time. Suppose we say Scotland for a irmth ? '
^' * It isn't possible. I shall not be free till August
this year, as Dr. Main waring takes his recess in June
and July. I am confident you are exaggerating, and
that if Mrs., Fleming would only exercise a little more
strength of mind she would feel herself perfectly well,'
he said quite coldly ; and the critical, disapproving look
he cast on his wife showed me that his heart, so far as
her condition was concerned, was as hard as the nether
millstone. For the time being his eyc.^ were holden
so that he could not see. At that moment a servant
said somebody wanted him in the study, and we were
left alone.
" * Perhaps Mr. Fleming is right, Dr. Glen,' she
said presently, trying to brace herself up, I could see,
yet speaking with an unconscious touch of bitterness.
* Yes, I am weak and foolish, and perhaps selfish ;
but oh ! I am worried. Jo.ne has given notice thia
'.5^^
ELIZABETH i.LLN, M H.
inoniinu; ; she says tlie work is too lieavy. I have
not told Mr. FltMiiiiitj yet. He says that a woman
wlio changes lier servants as often as I do does not
know liow to manage ; hiit what am I to do? They
nre inferior girls, and they leave whenever they tire
and want a cliange ; and the work is heav}^, I know
tliat.' I thonglit of you at the momeni, dear, of
the way yon ponr your domestic worries on to your
linsband's head, and I wondered wliat ])art an experi-
ence like Mrs. Fleming's would take in your tlevelop-
ment. I have an idea that rt would not tend to make
you or me a better woman."
" No,"' I replied with conviction, " T am perfectly
sure it wouldn't."
" ' I was at church last niglit in Marlwood Road,
Mrs. Fleming, and your husband gave us a very
eloquent discourse,' I said, and again that slight,
inexplicable flush suffused her cheek. Then, quite
suddenly, she turned to me, and there was a whole
world of wistfuluess in her eve.
" ' Dr. Glen, do you think many ministers preach
the gosjjcl ? '
" Yes, it was a poser, and I answered lamely
enough :
" ' I iiope they do."
^OR.'^ FLEMING.
>3:
^ack
lely
" ' What did you think hist iii«,^ht ? Tell me
honestly. I am snre you know. Did my husband
say anythini; that would lielp a suH'cring or a doubting
soul ? Was he in earn(!st with his messnge? '
*' Siie spoke feverishly, and I saw that the matter
was one of serious moment to her. I felt it impossible
to trifle with her. I was broii^^ht to bay.
" ' The sermon was an intellectual treat to me,'
1 replied sim[)ly. ' Hut it may have affeete ! others
in an entirely ditlerent way.'
"'It would not, it would have exactly the same
effect. I don't know what makes me speak out so
frankly to you, Dr. Glen. 1 have never breathed
this anxiety, which is eating into my soul, to a living
creature. But oli ! 1 fear mv liusband thinks but
little of the message he has to de^ver, of its solemn
import to his hearers. He is carried awav by ambi-
tion, and by the adulation of people who go to hear
him because they admire his tine sentences and his
elot^uent delivery, and it is killing liis soul.'
'' I looked v.t her in amazement, marvelling to
hear sucii strong, true words from her lips. 8he
did not look like one who could probe so deeply
into tlie heart of tilings. But there was no (Umbt
she ha ' the kerntl of the whole matter in her hands.
•38
EUZABETH GLEN, M.B.
I conld not for the moment find words to reply, and
presently she went on in a quieter, calmer voice : ' I
do not tliink someliow that I shall live very lonur,
and perhai)s the feeling of nearness to the unseen
gives me a sharpness of vision I should not otherwise
have had. Wallace gave me that sermon to read,
and 1 told him what I thought, but he did not seem
to understand, and he thinks it is presumptuous of
me to criticise. But, Miss Glen, it is not criticism.
It is because I feel so keenly what a responsibility
is his. He does not realise it himself. He is per-
fectly satisfied.'
*^ He re-entered the room at the moment, and I
almost immediately left. He accompanied me to
the door, and there was the same impatience visible
in his manner as I %gain urged the absolute necessity
of complete rest and change for his wife.
" It was quite evident that something was out
of joint in the household, and that if there had
ever been any sympathy or understanding between
the pair it had not been maintained. The popular
preacher, to whom worldly success and the ajiplause
of the multitude had come, was hardened by pros-
l)erity. The adulation and the praise of others had
made him dissatisfied, critical, harsh to those of his
T -fr ■". *3T'IP^'
XOR^ FLEMING.
I y)
out
Iliad
^een
^ilar
luse
iros-
Ihad
his
own household. His pastoral visitation took him
into the homes of the rich and leisured, where
he was made much of and flattered ; its eftect was
to make him fastidious over trifles, hard to please,
dissatisfied witli his own plain home, where liis wife,
struggling with failing health and limited means,
did the best she could. If he did not ahsolutely
regret the marriage, whicli llad been the idyll )f
his student days, he was bitterly disappointed over
its issue, and too selfish to hide it. All that I
guessed, and my estimate of the situation was abso-
lutely correct. Do you think I have presented an
impossible picture, dear? It is the naked truth.
The soul of the man was a stunted and miserable
thing, against wliich his wife's, pure, womanly, un-
selfish, shone with the whiteness^ of Heaven, only,
as I said, his eves were holden so that he couhl
not see. Well, this condition of things went on for
some time, until the hot weather began in earnest.
I visited Mrs. Fleming at intervals, sometimes pro-
fessionally, but oftener in a friendly manner. Tlie
baby improved, but she did not, and I soon foresaw
the end. We had many long talks. Do you remem-
ber how in the early days of our acquaintance you
used to quiz me a little abont my religious views,
I40
ELIZABETH GLEN, M H
and 1 did not give yon mncli satisfaction ? I was
not very sure of them myself. Medical stndv is a
crucial tost of religious faith, 1 think ; either mal.es
shipwreck of it or estahlislics it on a foundation of
rock. Your hns})and will tell you the same thing.
Just ask him th«' result of liis own experience and
observation. It will j)erliaps astonish you, that is
if you haven't talked it over already. Well, I was
for some years in a transition stage. Nora Fleming
helped me out, and set my feet, please God, on the
Kock for ever."
Here Dr. (ilen paused again, and I saw that she
was moved as I had seldom seen her. I sat very
still, waiting for her to go on.
"She lived through the summer till August, and
then sli[)ped away, and I thought that, but for the
child, she was not sorry. Life had cheated her of
the highest gifts. She had grasped only a shadow
for the happiness essential to the very being of such
a woman. In a word, marriage had been for her, in
its inner and most sacred sense, a failure."
" Tell me about it — the end, I mean ; that is, if you
care
?>
" I do care ; the story would be incomplete without
it ; because I think Nora Fleming accomplished by
NOR. 4 FLEMING.
141
lier death what her life could not do. Her hnshand
will never for<(et her.
" Well, it went on as I said all the summer, she
fadin<]j early like a flower from wiiose roots the sap
had gone, and the end was very near before he saw
it. I will give tlie man liis dne, he liad many
engrossing interests. The rector, being very frail,
was away nearly all summer, and the claims on Mr.
Fleming's time were undoubtedly lieavy. Tlie proba-
bility was that ere long the living would be va(;ant,
and of course it was a natural and "not blameworthv
desire on his part to make it impossible for the
congregation to pass him over. Therefore lie did
his utmost to make himself indis})ensable to the
church, and he succe(Mled.
" AVell, at last the end came. She was not in
bed ; she went about, j)Oor, frail, brave creature, to
the last. About three o'clock in the afternoon I had
looked in to see her, and found her lying on the
couch in the sitting-room, and I did not like her
look. Her smile was very faint and feeble, and she
could do no more than press my hand wlien I asked
her how she was. I went out of the room, and
inquired of the servant whether the minister was in
the house. He was not, having gone to open a sale
142
FA JZ A BETH GLEN, MAi.
of work at the church. He came in shortly, however.
1 saw him pass by the window, and went out to the
hall to meet liini.
"'Sir,* I Hai<l, and I don't know how my voice
Ronnded, only 1 know my lieart was wrnnj^ with pain,
* yonr wife is dying.*
" He stared at me in simple incredulity, and replied
hastily :
***0h, nonsense, perfect nonsense; she was all
right at dinner-time. It is only the heat; it is very
warm to-day.*
" ' She is dying,' I repeated. ' It will be all over
probably before sunset.'
" ' She can't be, I tell yon,' he said, raising his
voice excitedly. 'It's all nonsense. Nora dying!
How dare you say, such a thing ? '
" ' Come and see,' I said, laying my hand on his
arm. ^ But gently ; you must go gently. You must
not trouble too much the passing soul.'
'* I saw him grow white and haggard, and the
great pain lines, which have never left it again,
deejien on his brow, and I softened to him, as every
woman must soften, even to a bad man, when he is
in an extremity of anguish ; and he was not a bad
man — only one who had made a gigantic mistake.
wever.
to the
voice
1 pain,
•eplied
as all
s very
I over
\g his
lying !
•n his
must
i the
igain,
every
he is
b bad
ake.
" H£ FELL UPON im US. JS BV HEF SIDE.
\p. 148.
k(
NORA FLEMING.
14.;
\p. 143.
"So I led him in. And directly we were within
the door he saw it for himself, and a strange cry
rang through the room — the cry of a strong man in
bitter agony, made intolerable by tlie sting of a great
remorse. He fell upon his knees by her side, and I
stepped out to the hall, and there })ac('d to and fro,
nervously waiting till I should be summoned ; for
summoned I knew I should be soon, but I had no
business with them in that supreme and awful moment,
when the heart of each was hiid bare to the other in
the fierce light of a final separation on earth. It
seemed a long time, and at last I tapped lightly at
the door and looked in. She was sitting half up on
the couch, but leaning against him, and her face,
turned towards the door, was radiant with the sun-
shine of heavtm. His was hidden, but 1 saw his
broad shoulders heaving, nor was the hand which
supported her as steady as its wont.
" She held oiit her hand to me with a lovely smile,
and I took a step forward. Then he looked up, and
met my eyes vdth a look wliicli cut me to the lieart.
" ' Save her, Miss Glen, save her to me, for God's
sake, for the salvation of my soul ! '
" ^ I cannot,' I said, and my tears fell. I could not
keep them back.
»44
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
i
" * If you cannot, then pray to God to help me. I
know now what I have done. When slie is gone, I
shall feel that I have murder on my soul.'
'' She laid her hand on his lips, and kept it there
while she spoke.
*' Thoigh I am gone, I shall l)e with you, Wallace.
Heaven is not far away. Nay, it is about us every-
where, and the spirits of the redeemed are nearer
than we think. He blames himself too much, Dr.
Glen, and I see more clearly than I did. I think
perhai)s I shall help more when I am gone than by
his side ; my spirit will give him a message when
he needs it most. God will grant that as compensa-
tion to me and to him ; so will his ministry be blessed
as it has never yet been.'
" Perhaps these were not her exact words, but they
convey her meaning to you. She spoke with extreme
difficulty, and appeared so worn out that I asked him
to rise while 1 laid her back upon the pillows. I
did what I could to relieve her, and went away ;
corsjing again sorrowfully in the evening, not knowing
whether 1 should find her in life. She was in life,
but no more, and just after midnight she died. He
did not appear to realise that the end had come ; he
seemed like a man mortally stricken. I left him
ffORA FLEMING.
»45
they
treme
Id him
I
way ;
iwing
[1 life,
He
; he
him
sitting on the conch with his arms folded across his
chest, the picture of despair ; and remembering the
child, I took her from her cot in her little white
nightgown, and laid her in his arpis. She awakened
then, and her little cry seemed to startle him, and to
arouse in him a strange, sad wonder.
" ^ You must be father and mother to her now,' I
said very gently, and when I saw the look he cast
upon her I knew that he accepted the trust, and that
hope had revived in the man's soul.
''' No, he has never married, and it is nine years
since his wife died.^ He will never marrv ; of that I
feel sure. If you want to hear the gospel mes&.age
fitted to the need of every human soul, go to the
church in Marl wood Road, any day at any hour ; it
will never fail you. It is a centre of blessing, the
work is honoured of God, and many souls are given
him for his hire. But the crown of glory is hers ;
she began the work ; and when I go there, as I often
do when I want a little new courage for the buttle,
I think all the time of Nora Fleming, and these texts
a^e always uppermost in my mind :
" ' She being dead yet speaketh ' ; ' her works do
follow her.'"
10
VI.
JOHN BAN SOME S LOVE STORY.
" "T7"0U must have come across many interesting
lo' e stories, Elizabeth, during the last ten
vears. I want one so badlv to-dav, and I want yon
to give it to me gracefully and spontaneously, be-
cause I'm too tired to try and conciliate you."
'' Well, I do think that is very calm," said Eliza-
l)eth, with assumed indignation, " seeing I've come
of my own accord to see you to-day, and seeing this is
the sixtli story you've had. Yet you basely insinuate
that I have not always been civil over it."
" Oh, civil, yes," I replied, smiling in lazy enjoy-
ment of her indignation. " But I have often bored
you, and the interests of tintli compel me to say you
seldom took pains to hide the fact that you were
bored. Yon see, d»^ar, 1 was wise at the beginning.
It would have been far bettei- had you just given me
the diarv, and allowed me to inai\e niv own selections."
146
JOHN RANSOM E'S LOl^E STORY.
M7
resting
ast ten
Lnt you
;ly, be-
Eliza-
come
this is
Isinnate
enjoy-
bored
jay you
h were
inning,
^en me
L'tiuns.
" I think a good deal of you, and I think you are
more discreet than many of our sex, but my trust is
not so limitless as that," replied Dr. Glen. "Oh, I
know very well how you would revel in that journal
if you could get it into your hands, but nobody sliall
ever see that while I am alive, and I think I'll de-
stroy it one of thr -e days to make sure nobody will
see it after I'm dead."
" Oh no, you won't, and somebody will see it ;
you're going to have a sort of Arabian Nights Enter-
tainment by-and-by, reading it out of an evening to
your husband."
" You are safe this time, because you are pretending
to be an invalid, and I can't shy anything at you,"
said Dr. Glen, rather quietly. '' But I'll be even
with you yet."
"Oh, Elizabeth, it isn't any sort of pretence ! It's
rather too real to be pleasant, and I don't enjoy lying
on a sofa, in which attitude I am painfully conscic us
that I don't e^en look as interesting as the weakest
of my own heroines. I'm the sort of person wlio is
seen to the best advantage tearing round like a Wiiirl-
wind. Repose doesn't suit me, nor invalid ways, so
yon ought to be sympathetic, and not disagreeable."
"I'll try," said Dr. Glen meekly. "To hear }uu
148
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
Hpetik, one would think I was disagreeable most of
the time. But we'll cease mutual recriminations, and
improve the time. This is John Ra,nsome's Love
Story. Will you accept my title ? Nothing else will
suit it."
"Yes. I hereby agree to accept anything, and to
retract all my former disparaging remarks," I said,
as 1 shook up my cushions and brought cut my note-
book, '* although I must say the most of them were
true." T was not used to invalid ways, and the whole
paraphernalia of sliawls and cushions and things
worried me. There was not a soft*, in the house on
which I could establish myself comfortably and feel
at home. Elizabeth got up, and in three minutes I
wondered what she had done, for I began to think
you might lie on your back in the daytime with some
degree of comfort, and even feel a kind of calm satis-
faction in the arrangement of cushions. Elizabeth
was a nurse as well us a doctor. Had I been in
a better mood, I would certainly have called her a
ministering angel. There was a whimsical, tender
look in her eves, which told me that she did not like
to see me there, and that her big heart was brimming
over with all the sympathy I t^onietimes felt I so
baillv needed.
JOHN RANSOME'S LOVE STORY.
149
nost of
ns, and
s Love
ilse will
and to
I said,
ly note-
!m were
e whole
things
lOUse on
and feel
inutes I
0 think
h some
satis-
lizabeth
Ibecn in
id her a
tender
Inot like
imming
it I 80
" It's good for yon, dear, to feel like this jnst for
once in yonr life, so that you may know what others
have to bear," she said, qnite soberly. " F shall never
be just what T ought as doctor or nurse till I have had
a bad illness myself. Well, now for John Ransome,
one of my heroes, dear ; and it's as pretty a story as
you need wish to hear."
" Tell it," I said peremptorily, and she began at
once.
" I knew the Kan somes by sight for a good while
before I ever spoke to them. They lived only a few
doors from me in Rayburn Place, and I sometimes
saw them of an evening at church in Marlwood Road,
of which they became regular attenders after Mrs.
Fleming's death. I always thought them interesting,
refined people. The mother was a widow, a pretty,
faded sort of person, who had some little affectations,
wliich I noticed before I spoke to her ; there were
two daughters, ladylike girls, and a son, whom I
rightly imagined to be the prop and stay of the
liousehold. He was a big, fine-looking fellow, with a
boyish, open countenance, which was a true index to
his frank and manly heart. There was an air of
cheerful strength about him which inspired me.
He passed my window every morning when I was at
150
El.lZAiSETU GLES, MB.
breakfast, and I got to look for liini, and even to have
it little smile ready for him, thongli of course he never
saw it, or had the least iden that I was looking out.
T don't snj)j)ose he even noticed that my house was
t) '^ ab*^ ^ of the woman doctor. I decided tliat he
wa> ^ ■!! *^hing in tlie city, on account of his regular
hour.., and ^ he did not look like the ordinary city
man ; and I wove all sorts of little romances of which
he was the hero. But the real romance of John
RansoEie's life was a great deal prettier than any
hatched in my poor unimaginative little brain. One
night one of the girls came for me in a great hurry.
She had not waited to put on hat or cloak, but came
in breathless and bare-headed, and crying helplessly :
" ' Oh, please do come to mamma, Dr. Glen. She
is in a dreadful state ; we don't know what to do with
her. She won't be quiet.'
"'What do you mean, my dear?' 1 asked, as I
hastily threw on my cloak.
" ' She screams out so; we think she has taken a fit.'
" Hysteria,' I said to myself, in no way surprised.
I had sometimes thought of Mrs. Ransome as a likely
person to suffer from that trying complaint. I felt
inclined to make light of it ; but seeing that the girl
^as genuinely distressed, I held my peace, and fol-
JOHN R. I. \ SOME'S LOl'i: STORY.
'5'
have
never
\f out.
le was
lat he
egnlar
ry city
which
John
in anv
, One
hnrry.
b came
esaly :
She
0 with
, as I
1 a fit.'
rised.
likelv
I felt
girl
Id fol-
lowed her to the house. I ton i id iier in the usu.il
state. Yes, hysteria is a very alarming afHiction to
those who know notliing about it, and any uninitiated
])erson beholding Mrs. Hansome lying on her bed,
screaming at tlie pitch of her voice, raiglit witli reason
have concluded that she was fit for a lunatic asylum.
You know that hysteria requires v t drastic treat-
ment, and I therefore deemed it wi to ask the
daughters to retire wliile I did ^ *y utmost to calm
the excited woman's nerves. She talked a good deal
reproachfully about John, wliom > iip])0sed to be her
son, and generally behaved like a suffering martyr.
In time I got her quietened down, and then she
became sulky, and would not speak. Then 1 went
down to the dining-room to her daughters to give
some instructions. Thev were both there. The
younger one, who had come for me, was a second
edition of the mother, but I thought her preferable to
the elder, who was a cold, haughty, sarcastic person,
with an extremely repellent maimer. I thought her
singularly indifferent to her mother's condition,
which, though by no means serious, was yet alarming
enougli.
" ^ Well ? ' she said, regarding me with a kind of
haughty inquiry, which conveyed to me her impression
■
tC^
i5i
KUZAnETII GLEN. MH.
that a lady doctor was a very (piestionnble person
indeed. ' Have you Ikjcu able to do anything tor my
mother?'
'' ' She is ninch (quieter. Would you tell me, if you
please, what caused this attack — T mean whether she
has had anything special to agitnte lier?'
" The sisters excliani^ed glances, then the younger
one spoke.
" * You'd ])etter tell lier, Clara. Doctors always do
ask questions, I believe.'
"'My mother ha.'i been agitated. Miss Glen,'
replied Miss Ransome then, in her most guarded
manner. ' My brother lias vexed her very much to-
night. Is it necessary that I should tell you how ?'
" ' Not at all,' I replied, coldly. ' Only she had
better not see him again, to-night at least. One of
you should remain with her ; and if you could please
send round to my house in about half ah hour I shall
have a soothing draught ready for her,'
" I had no temptation to linger, as one sometimes
has, to have a little chat with a patient's relatives ;
accordingly I took my departure, and 1 could not
help feeling very sympathetic towards the erring
John. Certainly I could not but think that life with
such a trio must be more or less of a trial to anv
a
J()H^' HAN SOME'S LOIE S/OHY.
'53
yon
she
imes
ves ;
not
rriug
ivitli
aiiv
average man. They had not exhibited u single lovable
or attractive trait, and as I went home I poni'^red on
the deceiti'nlness ol' jippearances, uiui luw easy it is
for one to get wrong impressions IVoin mere casual
observation and speculation regarding one's neighbours.
Well, I went back to my surgery and prepared Mrs.
Ransome's draught, and I was enjoying my post-
prandial coffee two hours later than usual when
somebody called for tlie nuMliirine ; not the maid, as
I expected, but Mr. John Kansome, wJio sent in a
message that he wished to see me. When I entered
the consulting-room I thought I liked the look of him
a great deal better than I had liked his women-folk,
and I bade him a very pleasant good evening and asked
liim to sit down. He looked worried ; he kept tugging
the ends of his moustache, and his brows were knit a
little ; then lie kept looking at me very intently with
u |>Hir of keen grey eyes, which seemed to ini^uire
how far I might be trusted.
" ' I hope,' he said bluntly, ' that there isn't any-
thing seriously the matter with my mother?'
" ' Oh, nothing,' I replied cheerfully. ' A hysterical
lit, which will probably be over by to-morrow. I
suppose she is subject to them ? '
" * I have often seen lier hysterical, but never in
'vt
EUZAIlFTll CL/uX, M.B.
such u I'oiidifioii. I coiifc^ss it aliirnicd me very much.
Docs a person in such a condition absolutely lose all
nervo control ?'
" ' All,' 1 answered promptly. ' I have seen worse
cases than Mrs. Hjinsome's, often. She made a great
(leal (►!' nois(!, but was less obstinate than many.
Il.ive \{)\\ seen her ajirain?'
" * No ; my sisters gji ve me your messnge, and
indeed 1 had no wisli to see her just at present.
1 liave got myself into a frightful hole, Miss Glcn ;
and 1 must occupy myself to-morrow in getting out
of it again.'
" His serious frnnlaiess cliarmed me more and
more, and as 1 met his honest eyes, 1 told myself
tiiat it might be a hole, but tliat there couhl be no
possible doubt that it was an honourable hole.
Dishonour and Jolm Kansome had nothing in common.
" ' 1 hope you will find it an easy matter,' I said
kindly ; then he smiled, and the last atom of my
lieart went ; that is, I registered myself on his side
of the fight, whatever it was.
" * I don't expect to find it easy. I left my situation
to-day without any warning, and it was because oi
that, and because I refused to tell my mother the
cause, that she became so fearfully excited.'
lOlIN HASSOME'S LOl'l. slOliY.
1 51;
" * Dear me/ I saiil. * I quite thought you hud
l)oen guilty of some very serious misdemeanonr.'
" ' AVell, it may be serious enough, for no man
knows in these hard, competitive days where t<» hiy
liis hand on a sifiiatifju : and of course mv sahirv is
all we have to depend on. lint as 1 said to my
mother and tlie girls, the\ miglit trust to tl»e fact
tliat I am not the kind of man to he numbered long
with the unemploye . I'll get something to do.*
" ' 1 should think so ; but I suppose this situation
you have left, I am sure from the best of reasons,
was a very good one ? '
" He took a deep breath, and n.s colour rose.
" * It was, in some res{)ects, the best a man could
have had, but I couldn't stand it any longer. Jt was
impossible, either for her or for me, that it could
go on.
" With that he got u]), and I appeal to you whetlier
anything could be more tantalising. I saw quite v;ell
that the last words had droi)ped unawares from his
Jips, and his face wore a kind of far-off expression
wliich let me know he had forgotten my presence ;
and I was seized on the sjjot with the most insatiable
desire to get at the bottom of John Uansome's u>ve
story ; of course I scented a love story at once, und
I;
w
156
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B,
one of the most interesting kind. It was a speech
extremely difficult to answer. I therefore stood in
polite silence, waiting for him to say something else,
or to go away.
" 'Well, I need not take up any more of your time,
Miss Glen,' he said presently, with his fine winning
smile. 'Perhaps I have said too much, but when
a fellow is on his beam ends and looks into a sym-
pathetic face he is apt at times to forget himself.'
" * If you are on your beam ends, you won't be long
there, I prophesy,' I said, and I shook hands with
him and went out to the door with him myself. And
I knew he'd come back to see me, perhaps next day.
He did not i>ass by when I was at breakfast next
morning, and I paid Mrs. Ran some the first visit on
my list. I found her in bed, calm and resigned,
wearing that particularly aggravating look of self-
imposed martyrdom which many women use as a
shield and defence against the ordinary worries of
life. She was a remarkably pretty woman, and her
mental state was not so serious but that she had
taken care to make the most of her surroundings.
Her dressing jacket was heliotrope adorned with soft
lace, and her cap and bows of the same coloured
ribbon. She looked at me expectantly, and just with
yO//..V RANSOME'S LOVE STORY.
157
luiil
ngs.
the proper touch of mournfulness, which I regret to
say did not awaken in me the sympathy it ought.
I felt that she was a humbug ; besides, I had meutall}
taken the enemy's side, though I had net the remotest
idea what it was all about. I was not surprised to
hear that she had passed a sleepless night, but 1
doubted it. Her pulse was strong, and her faco
looked fresh and rested ; in fact, she was, practically
speaking, out of my hands.
" * I am afraid I alarmed you very much last night,
Miss Glen ; and 1 felt glad that you were a woman
and not a man. Men do not understand the suffering
of a highly strung and nervous woman. Have any
of my daughters told you the cause of my distress ? '
" ' No ; they simply said you had been agitated,'
I replied, and hesitated whether to say that her sou
had given me such meagre details as 1 ])0sse8sed.
" Indeed I was. Perha])s you do not know that
I have only one son — a good boy, but headstrong,
very headstrong. He has occasioned me a good deal
of anxiety. He has had for the past two years a
splendid situation at the East End, manager in a
large printing establishment, Barratt and Co. ; you
must know the name. Some of the most elegant
works that are published come from iianatt's. Old
>58
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
Mr. Barratt died last year, and there is practically no
head to the firm. My John was head and shoulders
and everything to it, and now he has thrown it up
when he ought to have been made a partner.'
" * But how could he be made a partner if there is
nobody to share with?' I inquired, in a perplexed
voice.
" ' Oh, but there is somebody ; that's the ridiculous
])art of it ; there's a chit of a girl, Evelyn Barratt,
Mr. Barratt's daughter and sole heiress. She hasn't
long come from school, and instead of stopping at
liome at Rickmans worth with her chaperon as she
ought — a lovely place it is too, tit for a prince — she
comes poking down to Mile End, and makes all sorts
f trouble. She is one of those objectionable persons
with ideas, and she wants to upset the whole thing.
1 have often told John he was too forbearing with
her, but at the same time I never thought he'd be
such a fool as to throw up the situation. He's mad.
Miss Glen, positively mad to do it.'
" ' 1 am sure he liad the best of reasons,' I said
softly, and the romance took definite shape.
'' ' .V^ reason was sufiicient to justify such a step.
\\'hy, you don't know what he's done for the })hice :
he Inxs simply made Barratt's. He's both an artist
o
JOHN RANSOME'S LOVE Sl'URY.
159
said
step.
Hace :
irtist
and a mechanical genius, and lie's invented new
mac'liinery that has saved them hundreds of pounds
— saved it for whom ? — that upsetting Evelyn l^airatt,
who treats him like the dirt beneath her feet. Every-
thing that comes from Barratt's press ))ears tlie
stamp of my son's genius, and to tliink he shouhl
have thrown it all up, and declined to tell mi^ his
reasons ; but I've written to Miss Barratt a letter,
which I flatter myself will bring her to her senses.'
" I thouglit of John llansome's face, and I wondert^l
how it would look set in anger. I also tliought that
my curiosity might be satisfied if I could see him
when he was told for the first time of the stc}) his
mother had taken. 8he was verv communicative,
but when her elder daughter, still, composed, and
])roud as usual, came into the room, she became at
once reticent, and I soon afterwards left, with a
promise to pay another visit in the evening. The
thought of John Uansome tramping the streets in
search of work was vvith me all dav, and 1 was also
pursued by a most insMtiabh' (h'sire to behold the
cause of all this trouble. Miss Evelyn Barratt, of
Barratt's Best, Kickmanswortli, and Bruton Stnjet, W.
'•' J liad my (l<'sire gratified riither sooiiei- than I
expected. It was winter time, and the weather was
i6o
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
})itterly cold. In response to Miir^atet's solicitations,
I had agreed to come home always at one o'clock fo
a bit of hot lunch ; and on the thin? day after I was
called to Mrs. Ran some's, I came home as usual, to
find a very smart carriage at my door, a brougham
drawn by a lovely pair of black horses, and attended
by two iirposing-looking menials in the most orthodox
and immaculate livery. Visions of an aristocratic
patient made my li'eart beat a little quickly as,
mindful of the scrutiny of the aforesaid menials, I
walked with dignity up the steps to the door. 1 had
just newly engaged my Buttons, who looked so very
fresh and sm**, ^ as Jh; let me in that I felt quite
proud of my establisliment, which, if modest, was
perfect of its kind. A lady. Buttons sfiid, was in the
drawing-room, ^\v\ hen I entered I was ccmfronted
by the most lo'vly and radiant young creature I
had ever seen. She had on a velvet carriage manth',
trimmed with sable, which represented a small fortune ;
and a little tO([ue of the same, with some cunning
little sable tails, made the most bewitching setting
for her sweet face. And it was a sweet face, and her
manner had not an atom ot })retentiousness in it. 1
felt that she was as good as she looked, and I have
never changed my mind.
JOHN RANSOME'S LOVE STORY.
I6i
ations,
)ck fo
f I was
iial, to
(Ugh am
ttended
rthoclox
tocratic
kly as,
iiials, I
1 had
so very
It quite
st, was
s ill the
'routed
iiture I
mantle,
brtiirie ;
jimning
setting
and her
ii it. I
I have
"^ Good morning. My name is Barratt. Rvelyn
Barratt,' she said, and I feel sure I must have looked
amazed. ' I came to see yon on a little matter of
business. Your servant said yon wonld he in directly,
or 1 should not have [)resumed to come in. But if
it is your luncli hour, or anythinj^, 1 can easily come
hack another time. You >♦•♦• 1 am a jx-rson of no
occupation, and I feel a great rovcrence for you.'
" At this 1 langl c'd. and hc^.'inir her to he seated,
said I was entirely at her disf^ - And \ tliought
with a vast pity of my hero. JoAui!) R^nsome, for
there did indeed appear to W ^a ' uulf fixed
between him a^id tliis radiant v)^K>ti. d v<"t for a
man to come in cohtu' • with her wtd n(r love h*^
was a thing impossible.
" ' I want you to do sometliing for me, to ei; .;age
your services, that is, if you are willing: and can sjiare
the time,' she began, in a quick, ner )us, earnest way.
' 1 happen to be connected with an establishment in
which there is a very large number of young women
employed. 1 take the dee{)est ii lerest in these young
women, and I am trying to do everything in my
power to make the conditions of their hard life more
comfoi'table. I want to organise a sick benefit club,
and do yon think you conhl spare t^y tiiu* to ii^iv-- it
ii
x62
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
medical atto.idance ? I don't mind what 1 pay, but
I do wish them to liave a woman doctor, and I know
how clever you are. 1 luve heard of you from my
friend Mrs. Ca})el, of C'apel Court, whose town house
is next door to mine in Braton Street.'
" ' Oh, indeed ; that is extraordinary,' I said, and
mdeed I thought it was. ' If you will give me a
little more information about the time and attention
which would be required, Miss Barratt, I can give
you an answer at once.'
'* I had made up my mind on the spot to accept
it, at whatever inconvenience, and I own frankly, as
I did to her long after, that I had the basest designs
on my innocent idient. She forthwith launthed into
a minute account of her scheme, and as I listened,
carried away by her enthusiasm, I felt that she was
one of the right sort, who do much to keep the world
from despair. Of course I promised everything she
asked, and we waxed very IViendly and confidential
over the matter, and she seemed quite reluctant to go
away,
'* * I quite envy you your profession, your aim in
life, Miss Glen,' she said, ps she rose to go. * It is
dreadful to be rich and useless. They tell me 1 shall
never be able to spend my income, ho i must try to
,', but
know
tn my
house
I, and
me a
ention
1 give
accept
kly, as
lesio;n«
^d into
tened,
e was
world
ig she
lential
to go
Lim in
at is
shull
try to
lOIIN RANSOME'S LOVE STORY.
163
get others to help me ; but what a lot of worries one
has, finding the right way.'
" The radiance left lier face, and a great wistfnlnesa
took its place, the sort of look seen on a face like
that which makes a man forget everything but his
desire to try and banish it for ever. 1 thought of
John Ransorae more and more ; and n,t last I mado
a bold plunge.
" ' I am attending a family to whom your name
is known. Miss Barratt,' I said. 'The Ransomes, who
live in this street.'
" I saw that 1 liad made a mistnke. Her face
flushed painfully, her eyes filled with tears, and
bidding me a brief and, as 1 thought, extremely curt
good afternoon, she took her hurried departure, leaving
me vexed with myself.
"'A lesson to j^n, EHzabeth,' I said to myself,
as 1 watched the perfect equipage drive away. ' A
lesson to you to abstain in future from uncalled-for
meddling in other pe(>i)le's concerns.'
'* 1 thought I had mortally often (h^d Miss Barratt,
as I did not see her again nor receive any com-
munication from her for more than a week. During
this interval I continued in attendance oc Mrs.
Kansome, because she insisted upon it ; and though 1
164
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
could really do nothing for lier, I could not refnse
to visit her. She obstinately persisted in remaining
in her own room, and, in order to show her son how
entirely she disa]>proved of his action, declined to see
him on any pretext wliatever. An aggravating case,
yon think ? Oh, very ; but there are many similar.
It's a way some women luive ; when tilings don't go
jusc as they please, they go to bed out of sheer spite.
Tlie only thing that brings them downstairs again,
my dear, is the droi)ping of a hint that their room
is better than their company. I have never yet
known such a hint fail in its effect, when indisposition
was the result of bad temi)er. They get up for the
same reason that they lie down, because they think
it will annoy somebody, or pay them out. I did not
take any more kindly to the Ran some women on
closer acquaintance. I felt quite ashamed of them ;
and to think that these two strong and capable girls
should be content to depend on their brother, and to
give him sour looks when adverse circumstances
overtook him, was almost more than I could bear in
silence. But 1 was growing wiser. I had so often
been wholesomely snubbed for volunteering a candid
opinion that I went about putting a continual curb on
myself. Now I see and hear everything like a stoic,
JUII.\ 1<A.\60ME'S LoyE STi)RY.
165
b refuse
naining
on how
I to see
ig case,
similar,
ion't go
er spite.
s again,
iir room
5ver yet
^position
for the
;v think
(lid nof
men on
f them ;
|)1(' girls
and to
istances
bear in
50 often
candia
I curb on
la stoic,
and never give my ad /ice or pass a remark unless
it is asked or desired. I was still smarting from the
snub administered to me by Miss Barratt, and 1
never mentioned to Mrs. Uansome that she bad
called, though slie talked of her every day. She told
me she had written and sent the threati'ued letter
to Bruton Street, but tliat it had elicited no reply.
That week 1 saw a good deal of John Uansome.
He came every niglit to inquire how his mother was
getting on — the feeblest pretext, of eonrse, because
I told him the tirst day that there was notliing the
matter with her. But he seemed to like coming, and
we became very friendly, chatting over every conceiv-
able subject. It was about the end of the week, I
think, before he referred to the event which had
caused our acquaintance. He was very downcast
when he came in, and I knew he had had another
bitter day of disappointment,
" * ril have to do it, I fear, Miss Glen ; but it goes
against the grain.'
"'What?' I asked, looking as syxupathetic as Icould.
" ' Apply to my old employer for a testimonial ;
it's no use hunting for another place without.'
•' ' And why shouldn't you apply for a testimonial ?
Even suppose you quarrelled ever so badly, that
i66
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.li.
(ioesn't affect past services. Snrcly he would be a
verv uniiist man to refuse; vou a testimonial.'
" His lace flushed a little.
" ' It isn't a man at all : it's a womau — a mere
girl ; that's wiiere it stings ; and she's as innocent
of business as a baby. 1 ought to have remembered
that, of course ; but she was so entirely unreasonable,
1 forgot myself. It's a misfortune to be born with a
hot teni]>er, Miss Glen.'
*'*I've got one myself, and it has its advantages
sometimes,' I said cheerfully. ' I daresay this arbi-
trary young lady wishes she had been less arbitrary
by this time.'
" ' I believe she does, just as T wish I liad been
more forbearing. But you see she was demoralising
the whole establisliment with her ([uixotic ideas, being
taken advantage of riglit and left. 1 couldn't stand
that, 80 I put my foot down ; then the tem})ers flew
up, of course, and we are pretty equally matched.'
"I could not forbear a little smile as I saw the
tenderness leap in his eyes ; his secret lay open to
any wlio were quick enough to read. The keenest
sting of all was that he was parted in anger from
the woman he so faithfully, though hopelessly, loved.
It was just on the tip of my tongue to tell him Miss
be a
1 1
, mere
nocent
LibiTed
(liable,
with a
iitages
s arbi-
bitrary
1 been
lisiug
being
stand
fs flew
|w the
)en to
;enest
from
loved.
Miss
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WEBSTER, N.Y. USSO
(716) S72-4S03
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JOIIX RANSOME'S /.or/: STORY,
167
lOT.
Barratt had been to raj' house, and for wluit pnr'pose,
when there came a tremendous rin<j at the door-
bell. Immediately Jolin Ransome got nj) to leave.
I wnlkecl with him to the consnltin«(-room door,
and when we lixdved out into the hall what did we
behold ? Kvelyn liarratt in an evening gown of
wliite satin and an ex<inisite (Timson cloak trimmed
with white feathers, just far enough open at the neck
to reveal its lovely contour.
'"Good evening, Dr. Glen,' she cried gaily. * Fm
going to a party, but I wanted to see you just for a
moment. Prav excuse me — oh *
«
'* * The ' oh ' was caused by her recognition of Jolm
Ransome ; but he only bowed stiffly, and walked out
of the house with as much iiaste as was compatible
with dignity. 1 saw that Miss Barratt's cheeks
rivalled her cloak, and that her eyes had a very
bright, rebellious look. But 1 gave her a perfectly
matter-of-fact greeting, and asked her to come in,
which she did, and 1 saw that sh(» was nuiti; upset.
" 'I've had a bad cold, and not been able U) go out.
Yesterday 1 went to Mile End for the first time,
and the girls are enthusiastic about the sick club.
They''/e all joined. Dr. Glen, have you known John
Uansome long ? '
^
1 68
ELIZA liF.TH GLE.y. Mil
" ' No, only ten days. I was called to see his
mother week before last, so our acquaintance is purely
professional.'
'^'Wliatdo von tliink of him?'
"*I admire him very much; I think him a true
maVy which is more than one can say for all his sex ;
and I'm very sorry for him too.'
a i Why ? '
" * Because he's out of work for one thing, and
can't get anything to do ; uud because he's got three
horrid women at home, a mother and two sisters,
who nag, the life out of him ; and I think he's a very
badly used person all round.'
" I was forced to say it, even if it cut the connec-
tion between me and Miss Barratt for ever. I saw
the sweet colour pnle out of the girl's lovely, earnest
face, and I knew that I had wounded her to the heart.
" * He should not be so proud and unreasonable,
then,' she said, just a little stiffly, though her eyes,
moist and tender, belied her words. Then she began
to talk with great rapidity of her benefit and sick
club, and never recurred once to the subject of John
Ransome. But I saw her depart to the party, feeling
very sure that her enjoyment of it was spoiled, and
somehow 1 didn't care. Next night, a little earlier
JOHN h'.lNSOME*S LOl^E S/ORY.
169
jyes,
than usual, John Uansomc carae, and the first thin^f
he told me was that he had written to Miss Barratt
for a testimonial, and had also expressed his regret
that he had parted from lier in such liaste and anger.
We were just talking of it, when Buttons brought
me a message, which he delivered fortunately in a
low voice. I asked Mr. Uansome to excuse me a
moment, and went to the drawing-room, wliere I
found Miss Barratt, and she had her ex-manager's
letter in her hand.
'* * It's an odd thing, Miss Glen, that I should
trouble you with my affairs, but after what you said
last night I felt I should like to show you this, and
to own that 1 believe I did not treat Mr. Ransome
very well after all. Fancy liow humiliating for him
to have to ask a testimonial from me J'
" I read the letter, since she desired me to do so,
and because I knew the man who wrote it would be
pleased for me to read it ; then I handed it bacrk to
her with a very straight, keen loo\'.
" ' Mr. Ransome happens to be in my consulting-
room again to-night,' 1 said quietly. ' Perhaps you
should see him. Let me send him here.'
" She hesitated, and her face flushed softly again.
" * It is a good opportunity for me to apologise,' she
*
(?o
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
said naively; 'and if I wait till to-morrow I may liarden
iij) again, and write him a horrid letter. I am that
kind of person, Miss Glen. Yes, pniy let him come.'
"I darted luiek to the consnltiiig-room and told
him to go in. He leaped to his feet, and I saw a
very cnrions look on his face.
" * I'll go, bnt I'm sure it isn't wise. I'll make a
fool of myself. How is uny man to help making a
fool of himself before her? But I'll go.'
"I shook hands with him on the 8i)ot, and my
eyes said what my lips dared not. Absurd, wasn't
it? Yes, liighly so, I know ; and I, plain Elizabetii
Glen, paced that consulting-room for one mortal hour
like a lion in his den. Fortunately for tliemselves,
no patients came that night. At last I could bear it
no longer, and went to the drawing-room door. They
appeared to be very silent, for I could not hear a
single sound. My little knock, however, brought
John Ransome to the door, and when 1 saw his face
I knew that it had been an eventful hour for him.
" * Please, it is nine o'clock,' I said humbly ; * would
you say to Miss Barratt that her coachman has just sent
in a message that the horses are getting very chilled?'
" He opened the door wide and motioned me in.
Then I looked from one to the other inquiringly,
yo//,v /f.tNSOME'S LOl^E STORY.
171
«rould
t sent
led?'
He in.
wondering which would enlighten me as to the result
of this j)rolonged interview. She spoke first ; she
was looking lovely — with that peculiar loveliness
which is never more cons])icuous than when a girl's
heart first owns its deej) interest in a lover. I saw
that there liad been a talk of love between them, but
that it was bv no means satisfactorv.
"*Mr. Hansome will perhaps come back to Mile
End, Dr. Glen,' slie said. ' I liave told him how he
is missed, how badly they want an organising liand,
and how impossible it is for anybody to use the
machines he has made except himself. And I have
apologised, as I said I would, for my unreasonableness ;
and now I do not think he is treating me very well.'
"John regarded her steadily, and his eyes were
aglow with the lionest passion of his soul. She
saw it too, and I knew it made her glad, but a little
tremulous too. He answered then to me exactlv as if
I were the judge called in to arbitrate upon their case.
" * And I liave told her that it will not be wise for
me to return ; she knows well why. You must know
also, Dr. Glen, because you are a woman yourself."
" Both waited for me to speak. Now wasn't that
a .pretty corner for a respectable practitioner to be
put into by two people almost strangers to her?
1 .)
•1
17a
F.I ZA BETH C.LEN, MM.
Th«y said afterwanls, wheu I tried to show them
the enormity of their conduct, that I was quite
equal to the occanion, and that they believed i
rather enjoyed it. 1 took the bull by the horns at
once. It was the only wuv.
*' * It has resolved its«'lt' into a love affair,' I said
frankly, 'and there is no middle course in that. It
must be ave or no.'
" ' That's what I say,' Miss Barratt remarked,
with the most wliimsical, lovely smile, * only he is
as unreasonable as he was Ix^t'ore.'
"'Dr. Glen, I am in e strait,' he cried then.
* Think of the difference in our j)ositions. Her
carriage is at the door. I have not a penny I can
call my own — not even a calling to my name. I am
nobody. Could 1 take such stupendous advantage ?
]^\Qn love — and God knows that is genuine enough
— could scarcely bridge such a stupendous gulf.*
"'Love can bridge anything,' 1 said, with the bold
assumption of ignorance. ' I'll tell your coachman
he can go home. Miss Barratt, and perhaps you will
join me at coffee in half an hour.'
"Then I left them, and sent the astonished and
rather indignant Perkins back to Brnton Street, with a
skilfully concocted message for Miss Barratt's chaperon.
JOU.\ RANSOM E'S LOVE STORY.
173
said
, It
1 bold
and
** Yes, they got married, but tliere was a good deal
of friction at first with Mi«8 Barratt's trustees and
sundry dissatisfied relatives. No great match for
her — well, perhaps not, for she was very rich — but
I put it to you, was she not better with honest John
Ransome, who adored her, and who, besides being
a genuine manly fellow, was a genius, of whom she
has lived to be proud, than with somebody with
greater pretensions and less real worth ?
" They live the best part of the year at Rickmans-
worth, but they're in town now. I have to dine at
Bruton Street to-morrow night ; that's why I couldn't
come to you."
*' And what about the mother and sisters ? " I
inquired with interest.
" Oh, they were delighted, of course. They still
live here in Rayburn Place, and are very proud of
John's wife and the son and heir ; but young Mrs.
Ransome, though very kind to them, rather holds
aloof; she does not understand tliem. Well, do you
like John Ransome's Love Story ? "
" Very much," I replied heartily. " There is only
one other love story, I think, which might equal it,
and that is Dr. Glen's.'*
^-'
11
VTT.
((
LTirv (Ji;kmainf/s mahhiagf.
T HAD a good many patients ont of the Marlwooci
Road Church," said Dr. Glen. " And I was
interested in a good many people who were not
my patients. Among them was a very pretty girl
who sang in the choir, and who had about her some-
thing so winsome and bright, that I felt very friendly
towards her quite a long time before I knew her, or
had even heard her name. One dav I was summoned
to see a now patient in one of the handsomest houses
in Marlwood Road, and when 1 had waited a few
minutes in a particularly elegant drawing-room, who
should come to me but the sweet-faced girl who had
the finest contralto voice in the church clioir.
" Our recognition seemed mutual, and she gave a
pleasant little nod as she cordially shook hands.
" * Good morning, Dr. Glen ; it is granny you are
to see. She has been ijuite low for some days, but
»74
LUCY GKhWf.t/yE'S MARRIAGE.
I7>
would not hoar of a doittor till lust iii^^'lit, when Mr.
Fleming persiuuhMl ht*r to stMul for yon.'
** * Mrs. Carlyon is (piitc an old lady, I suppose ? '
I replied. * I know you very well by si^ht. Is
Carlyon your naiiu! ? '
" No, mine is (iennaine— Lucy Gernmine. Granny
is my mother's mother ; but I am an orphan. I
thought 1 liad better come and talk to you a little
first to prepare you for granny. She's a dear old lady,
bat has whims, a goc i many of them, and is some-
times a little trying to those who don't know her,'
"She spoke very prettily, and as 1 looked at her
I admired her more and more. She was a slim,
girlish thing, very dainty in lier dress, and very
winsome altogether. I thought granny very well off
indeed to have such a nurse and companion.
*'*And granny doesn't believe in doctors at all,'
said she, with a little twinkle in her eye, which
showed that she could enjoy a little joke. ' So if she
is very rude to you just set it down to her prejudice
against your profession. She is really very good and
kind at heart.' She gave a little sigh, however, as
she said this, which let me know that there was a
little sore bit somewhere, and it was not very long
till I found it out
^1:
176
EUZAliETII GLEN, M.B.
"'Tm not at all afmi<l of tbriiiidable old ladies,
Miss Lucy,' I said confidontly ; * I ironerally manage
to get my own way by letting them think they are
getting theirs. This plan in very efficm-ions with
old gentloraen, too. and I've had a good deal of
exporionce with them.'
" She gave a little langh.
" ' Everybody loves you as well as admires yon for
your skill,! she said frankly. ^ I have always wanted
to know yon, and Mr. Fleming so often speaks of you.
He says he could not bring up that baby without you.'
" I perceived that Mr. Fleming was a privileged
and familiar friend in the house; and I remarked,
as 1 followed Lucy Germain e from the room, that
Mrs. Carlycm's [)rejndice against my profession did
Dot extend to the calling ministerial. We ascended
the wide, handsome staircase, and I foimd my patient
in a large and luxurious dressing-room, where she
lay on a couch, wearing a dressing-gown <Mnd having
a fine, soft, white shawl round her head and shoulders.
She was without exception the ti nest-looking old lady
1 have ever seen, and I was «{uite transfixed with
admiration. But it was a very haughty and stern
old face, and the keen black eyes had not much
softness iu their depths. Hc»* features were almost
LUCY i ERStAlNE*S M.iRRI.iGE.
177
ilders.
1 lady
with
stern
mnch
linost
perfect, arul her figure, when I ufttTWunls saw her
wnik across the floor, iiiul losf none of its voiitlifnl
erectness and jijrace. She surveyed me very critituilly
afl she answered my sjilutafion, and then bade lier
granddaughter leave us alone.
***Soyonare the hidv-doctor wlio has U'come the
fashion in Marlwood I{ou(l Church?* she said brusquely.
* Well, I must say, you look a capuhle, seli'-reliant siirt
of person. Well, what is the mutter with me?'
"'That I shall Hud out presently, Mrs. ( *arylon,' I
replied cheerfully, for 1 saw I had a person of strong
character to deal with, an exj)erience 1 always enjoyed.
* Now please to answer me a few questions.'
'* * Humph ! I thought a woman of your pretensions
and abilities couhl diagnose without the usual quiz-
zing,' she said grimly. * 1 see you're just a humbug
like all the rest.'
'* * This did not disconcert me, and after a little
skilful manipulation, 1 managed to get from the (dd
lady the necessary information. There was nut much
wrong, only a feverish cold, which woidd keep her
in her room for some days. 1 did not seek to prolong
my visit, and when I had told her 1 should send
her medicme in the evening, I put on my gloves,
prepared to go.
12
I
178
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
" ' No, you don't waste iniich time,' she said, etill
in tho same grim way ; but something told me sho
was not displeased with me. * Couldn't yon sit down
now, and talk to an old woman for five minutes ?'
" ' I could, but I have still seven visits on my list,
Mrs. Carlyon. And besides, a doctor should never
degenerate into a bore.'
" We both lauglied at this, and at the same time
I sat down. I had just got a pair of new gloves,
which fitted particularly well, and as I stretched my
hand out to put in the buttons, I surveyed the well-
glov(;d liand with satisfaction.
" * You are as vain as a peacock, I believe,' said
my old lady. ' But you're right, quite right ; every
woman is, to make the best of her appearance.
Yes, you're the fashion in the church at present. Mr.
Fleming thinks you are a noni)areil ; and I wonder
lie hasn't fallen in love with you. Do many of your
patients do that ? '
"*Ihave never had one afifected that way,' I replied.
* Mr. Fleming is simply grateful, because 1 take an in-
terest in his little Nora, for her sweet mother's sake.'
" * Ah ! she had a short life, poor thing — very
delicate, I believe. Don't you think he ought to
marry again ? '
I /
11 tl
( I
LL'CY GEFMAINE'S MARRIAGE.
179
1, Etill
le she
down
r
ly list,
never
le time
gloves,
bed my
le well-
re,' said
every
arance.
Mr.
wonder
of your
replied.
:e an in-
sake.'
g — very
ight to
" * I don't know. I don't think he ever will.'
" To my amazement my old lady fluslied a little at
this, and looked annoyed.
" * And pray why not ? He is quite young, only
fonr-and-thirty. Why should you condemn him to a
single life ? '
*'*I don't condemn 'him,' I said mildly. *I only
ventured an opinion. I am almost sure he won't
marry again.'
" ^ Then he is a fool,' she said, with such acidity
that I looked, as I felt, much amazed. Then, as I
was not particularly interested in the second marriage
of Mr. Wallnce Fleming, I went away. Her last
words were a command to come back next morning
without fail. Lucy Germaine waited for me down-
stairs, and seemed anxious to hear how I had fared.
" ' Granny is very cross just now. Doctor Glen, and
I am not in her good graces. I have offended her
dreadfully. Sometimes I think she will never forgive
me. It is so hard to know what is right.'
" ' It becomes plain to us what is right after a bit,
if we wait, and ask to be guided, my dear,' I said
kindly, for the anxious look on the sweet young face
touched me very much.
" ' i wish I could tell you. 1 am in such a
I So
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
flilem
ma, aiK
80 nn happy,' she said in jmlaivftly : and
just then a bell rang with lond impatience, and
bidding me a hasty good-bye, she ran to answer the
summons. But I thought of her a good deal that
day, and I feared, if it were a contest between her
and her grandmother, the odds were against Lucy
Germaine.
" Next morning I paid my visit to my new
patient about eleven o'clock, and found her not
ra'ich improved.
" ^ T didn't take your medicine, because I didn't
feel like it,' she said calmly, ' and I didn't sleep.'
" ' I should think not, with such a temperature
and pulse,' I replied as calmly. * Well, Mrs. Carlyon,
unless you obey my orders I'm not coming back.'
. " * And why, pray ? If I choose to pay you for
coming, and do not choose to take your drugs, where's
the difference ? '
" ' The difference is this. You called me here for
the purpose of consulting me as to your health. It
is not my business to make morning or any other
calls upon you except for that ; and as my reputation
would certainly not gain credit by such a patient, I
shall not come back except on the condition named.'
" * Well, well. You are a Tartar, and no mistake.
Ll (Y r.FhWfA/IVE'S M.IHIU.tCE.
i8i
: and
, and
er the
1 that
;n her
Lucy
r new
er not
didn't
erature
arlyon,
rou for
rhere's
[ere for
1th. It
other
[utation
|tient, I
led.'
listake.
Pour out the obnoxious stuff and I'll swallow it,' she
said, quite good-naturedly. * Truth is, I'm k good
deal annoyed just now, and I've too much on my
mind to let me sleep. What do you think of my
granddaughter, Lucy Germaine ? '
'* * I think her a very sweet girl,' I replied, con-
siderably surprised by the question.
" * 1 suppose so. She's sweet to everybody but me.
Would you believe, Doctor Glen, that girl has as
much obstinacy in her as a stone wall, and as much
resisting power? She's got entangled in a love affair
which I'm determined to stamp out ! She shall not
throw herself away as her silly mother did.'
" I looked interested, 1 suppose, though I said
nothing, for she presently went on.
" * I told Mr. Fleming there was nothing but
mischief in choir practices and literary society
meetings, and I want him to do away with them
in the church, but he's pretty obstinate, too. The
lad is a medical student at Guy's ; a nobody, without
any peoi)le, who goes out as a tutor to pay his fees.
I've no doubt he counted the cost beforehand, and
thinks he has nothing to do but pop into my money
after Lucy inherits it ; but if they persist in this
they'll find their mistake.'
1
1
i
1 ,
IS2
ELIZABETH GLEN, M H.
" ' Don't be too hard on them, Mrs. Carlyoa. Even
as yon tell it, the atory sonnds well, and he must
be an honest, hardworking fellow. Wliat do people
matter after all ? and if he honestly loves yonr
granddaughter he'll make a living for her.'
" ' 1 won't have it, I tell yon. I'll never give my
consent,' she said, quite fiercely. ' Now, if she'd take
my advice and marry Mr. Fleming, what a splendid
thing it would be for them both.'
" * Well, but if they don't see it, Mrs. Carlyon ? *
I remonstrated. ' No good ever comes of forcing
such things. Has Mr. Fleming ever asked her?'
" * No ; how can he with that fortune-hunter
dangling after her, and she encouraging him ? But
I'm sure he's thought of it.'
" I felt equally sure he hadn't, but abstained from
saying so.
" * I wish you'd give her a word, Doctor Glen.
You are, or ought to be, a woman of sense, and you
could point out the folly of going against me. Why,
she has nothing and nobody in the world but me ;
and ijiy mind is made U}) that she shan't marry
this Walter Farndon. If she does, I wasli my hands
of her, just as I did of her mother before her.'
***I am not going to interfere, I do assure you,
LI'CY GERMAIN E'S MARRIAGE.
i8l
you,
Mrs. Cariyon,' i replied frankly. ' For two reasons :
first, bec^ause it would be a thankless and quite
useless task ; and, secondly, because I am afraid my
sympathies are very much with the culprits, though
I never saw Mr. Walter Farndon in my life.'
" * His father had a shop 1 ' she cried, in shrill
scorn. *A haberdasher's shop in Holborn, — sold
sixpenny ties over the counter ; and my father was
a colonel, Dr. Glen. Do you suppose I like to see
the old stock going down in the dirt like that?'
" I got up, for I wanted to say something which
would not do any good. So 1 thought 1 had better
go.
** ' Now look here,' she said rudely, * you needn't
go gossiping over this affair to tlie first person you
meet. I'm sure I don't know wliat tempted me to
talk to you about it at all.'
" ' And I am sure neither do I,' I retorted curtly.
* I wish you a very good morning, Mrs. Cariyon.'
" ' And you'll come buck ; see you come back to-
morrow,' she called out shortly. ' And if you can
give that Lucy of mine a word of caution and advice
I'll make it worth your while.'
" * I'm not going to do any such thing, Mrs.
Cariyon,' I replied flatly, and ran away. Lucy, as
¥%
i«4
ELIZA HETH GLEN. .\f R
usual, awaited me downstairs, and I saw qnite well
from her look that she ({uite expected and guessed
that her grandmother and I had been discussing her.
" ' Wasn't granny awful to you this morning,
Doctor (Hen ? she was awful to me. Has she told
you — I am sure slie has— what is making her so
angry ? '
" * Yes, my dear, she has told me ; but perhaps
time may do wonders in this alfair as in so many
others, so keep up your heart.'
" * Oh, but you don't know granny ; she never
forgives or gives in,' cried poor Lucy, tears standing
in her eyes. ' Her only objection to my i)oor Walter
is that he is poor, but he is so clever he will be
eure to get on, and I'll help him all I can.'
" * How far on is he in his medical course ? ' I
asked with interest.
" ' He hoj)es to qualify in summer ; then he will
go as an assistant, and I am sure he will get on.'
" * I am sure he will,' I heartily agreed ; ' with
such an incentive any man ouglit to get on.'
" * Granny has got it into her head that I ought
to marry Mr. Fleming, and it is so absurd' she
said, half laughing and half crying. ' Because I
am quite sure he has never thought of such a thing.
well
essed
her.
pning,
2 told
ler 80
jrhaps
many
never
anding
Walter
rill be
?' I
e
will
'with
ought
LUCY GER MAINE'S MARlilAdE.
185
It seems an awful thing to say about one's granny,
bat if she weren't so old I should say she was in
love with him herself.'
" * It J8 quite likely — love of a kind. I have
seen instances of such infatuation in old ladies
before now. But I think you are right about Mr.
Fleming's own view. I feel sure he will remain
true to his wife's memory.'
" * I wish you'd tell granny that ; it might do
some good,' she said. * But I wish more than
anything you could get to know Walter and speak
for him. Granny . has taken such a fancy to you.
She says you, are not afraid to speak your mind.'
" * T^ "11, I don't think 1 am. Now I must go ;
and keep your heart up, my dear,— I am sure all
will come right.'
" So I bade her good-bye. A few steps from the
door I met Mr. Wallace Fleming himself, and was
not surprised to hear he was going to call on Mrs.
Carlyon.
"*I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Fleming,
for recommending me to a new patient,' I said,
when we had cordially shaken hands. ' How is my
little Nora ? '
" * Very well, chattering as usual,' he replied,
(■
186
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
with a happy li^'ht in his eyes. * And what do
yon think of Mrs. Carlyon ? '
" * A very strong-minded old lady,* I replied.
* Mr. Fleming, do tell me about Mr. Walter Farndon.
Is he any good ? *
"^A great deal — a fine, honest, hard-working,
clever fellow,' he replied warmly. * His only fanlt
is that he is poor.*
" * A fanlt the qualities you have mentioned will
soon mend,* I said cheerily ; ' you and 1 must do
our best to get the old lady round to our way of
thinking, and so make that sweet Lucy Germaine
as happy as she deserves to be.'
" I paid Mrs. Carlyon a few more visits, and then
there was an outbreak of si',arlet fever, and I was
so busy I forgot all about her, nor did she send for
me. I heard that they had left town to spend Eascer,
which fell '^ery early that year, at Bournemouth, and
I did not see or hear anything about them for quite
a long time. One day I met Mr. Fleming, and he
told me rhat they had gone abroad for the summer,
so I did not think of them much, having a great
many other things to occupy my time and thoughts.
"One night, in the autumn of the same year, a
LUCY GEKMAINE'S MARRIAdE.
tl7
young man was shown into my consulting-room, where
1 had had a very busy two hours. I was feeling very
tired, and wishing the bell would stop ringing for
the night — you see we are never content ; however,
1 concealed my woan'noss, and turned as interestedly
to the new-comer au if he had been the first. I did
not think from his appearance that he had come to
consult me, for he certainly looked the picture of
health. He had a very honest, ugly face, with a
certain attractive strength about it which I liked.
He looked about five-and-twenty.
" ^ My name is Farndon — Walter Farndon, at your
service, Dr. Glen,' he said, and in an instant I
remembered who he was and all about him.
" ' Oh, yes, I have heard your "name from Mrs.
Carlyon and also from Miss Germaine,' I said at
once. * Perliaps you have come to tell me something
about them. I liave heard or se^n nothing of them
for ever so long. Have they returned from abroad ?
they went to the Engadine, I think, if I remember
rightly.'
*' ' Yes, they have been at Pontresina for three
months, and they returned about three weeks ago.
I came to tell you that I am going to be married
to Miss Germaine on the fourteenth of October,'
fill
hi
i^'ii
m
I'S'
w-
T^P
%
i8S
LUZAliETH GLEN, MB.
. "*0h, indt'ed,' I crunl, with the livelieflt intereBt.
'The old lady has proved amenp* . then, after all.
Well, I congratulate you very L .rtily.'
" * Well, no, she ha^^n't exactly. We're going to
marry without her conscMit,' r.'piii'd Walter Fanidon ;
and I mu^st say I conld not defect the smallest shade
of regret or embarrassment in his tone. He stated
the fact as calmly as if it were of no consequence
whatsoever.
" * Perhaps I ought then to withdraw my con-
gratulations ; but you look as if it were all right,*
I said. ' I suppose you have got your licence, and
have some sort of prosj)ects for the future ? '
" ' Yes, I have got an excellent outdoor assistant-
ship in the Midlands, with the prospect of an early
partnership. Of course, it is not what I would like
for Lucy, nor what I mean to have, but she was so
unliai)py, we could not think of any other way out
of the difficulty.'
" * Well,' I said, very deliberately, * I suppose you
know your own affairs best, and have counted the cost ;
and I must sav I think Miss Germaine has the real
grit in her. So there is no prospect of the old lady
coming to ? '
" * None ; she's an old — an old but Til hold
LL'(Y GEHMAIM-yS MARRI.IGE.
I So
iterest.
ter all.
Ding to
,rndon ;
t shade
stated
^qaence
\j con-
right/
ce, and
w
sistant-
u early
lid like
was so
ray out
)se you
e cost ;
he real
Id lady
11 hold
my tongue, Dr. Glen, in cane I use langnnge too
strong. But the way she Iiiih persecuted ray poor
darling ! Lucy told me she tried to throw her at
the head of Mr. Fh»ming, who doesn't want to marry
anybody, as every one knows ; and when that failed
an old colonel turned up at Pontresi»^«», old enough
to be husband to Mrs. Carl von herself, and he fell
in love with Lucy. It is to escape their united
persecution tluit we have decided on this step.*
" * And where is Lucy now ? Still under Mrs.
Carlyon's roof?*
" * No, she is in lodgings ; in 'ict, she has run
away, and I cume to see you to-night to ask you to
be kind to her, and to come to the wedding on
Tuesday morning.'
" I felt a good deal puzzled. I did not approve
of the running away, nor of Lucy's being in lodgings
by herself, but my private symi)athies were entirely
with the young couple, though I did not choose to
say so.
" ' Who is going to marry you ? '
u i w^hy, Mr. Fleming, of course. He quite ap-
proves of it. He's been wonderfully good. I know
if Mrs. Fleming had been alive they'd have taken
Lucy to their own house.'
IQO
ELIZABETH GLE.S, MB.
<< < Tm rathor uhtuniHUed at Mr. Flemiug ; bnt his
approval is very satiHfactory," I said smiling. " Well,
Mr. Farndon, if you will give mo Lucy's addross I'll
go and see her to-morrow — perhaps this very evening,
if it is not too far."
" * Oh, it is not far at all. I felt sure you*d come.
Lucy said yon would be too busy, and that probably
you had forgotten all about her. But I was anxious
to tell you, because I feel very mnch of course that
Lucy must miss having lady friends at such a fime.'
*' * You are a wise man, and I think you are a
very plucky pair. I am afraid Mr. Fleming will
have damaged his reputation in Mrs. Carlyon's eyes.'
" * Oh yes, she forbade him the house ; it's been
a terrible business, I do assure you. But I'm not
afraid. If I keep my health, Miss Glen, I'll be able
to support my wife yet in the position she deserves ;
and she trusts me absolutely ; that always brings
out the best that is in a man.'
" He spoke with such simple honesty and sincerity
that I felt mv heart warm to him ; and told him so in
a few kindly words. And just as soon as he was
gone, I put on my hat and went round to see the
runaway bride, whom I found quite bright and cheer-
ful, and when 1 lieard from her the story of the
LUCY GERMAINE'S MARRIAGE.
191
mt his
' Well,
HHH I'll
vening,
I come,
pobably
inxioufi
86 that
ime/
I are a
ng will
eyes.'
8 been
m not
be able
serves ;
brings
ncerity
n so in
le was
see the
cheer-
of the
harsh old woman's persecation — if ^^p "othinff nhnrfi
I
of tlittt — I did not wonder that slie liad prefcM-rcd
the dinner of hoibs where love is, and was willing
to cast in her lot with her trne-heurted h)vc»r. I
fetched her straight away to my (»wn hinise, and
there she remained till the marriage day, and we
had quite a pretty wedding, 1 assnro yon, and no
lack of gnests either. The young couple went
straight to their new home in Worcestershire, and
I heard from them occasionally. Then there came
a long silence. After the marriage, being mortally
offended with Mr. Fleming, Mrs. Carl} on severed
her connection with the church in Marl wood Road ;
nor did she again call my services into requisition.
Occasionally I remembered her when in the neighbour-
hood, and wondered whether she were still alive ;
but it was quite two years after her granddaughter's
wedding when 1 saw her again. She came into my
consulting-room one afternoon in early spring, looking
very handsome and stately, and I was very much
surprised to see her, nor could I help telling her
80.
" * You may be. I haven't forgiven you yet — for
what you did two years ago — and I haven't come
to consult you either,' she said quite gravely. * I
^
192
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
have come to ask you a simple question. Do yon
know atything about that headstrong girl, whether
she has lived to repent her ingratitude ?*
"The tone was forbidding, the words ungracious,
but I was shrewd enough to detect a certain anxious
interest underlying them.
"^I know nothing about them, Mrs. Cyrlyon. It
is eighteen months (piite since I heard from Mrs.
Farndon. She was then well, and Dr. Farndon
getting on famously.'
" ' Humph ! she'd say so — that's the way ; she'd
say they were all right at the last gasp. But I
doni believe they're all right. I'll take their address,
if you please.'
" I opened one of my drawers and took out two
or three letters in Lucy's handwriting which I had
kept. 1 tried to hide a surreptitious smile as I did
so, and I was 8uri)rised and inwardly delighted at
the turn affairs had taken.
"Mrs. (yarlyon wrote down the address and went
away ungraciously as she had come.
"That same night, curiously enough, by the last
post I received a letter bearing the Birmingham post-
mark. It was in the handwriting of Mrs. Farndon,
and as I broke the seal 1 was naturally struck by
;if
LUCY GERMAINE'S MARRIAGE,
»93
Do yon
whether
racioDs,
anxions
ron. It
m Mrs.
Farndon
f ; she'd
But I
address,
out two
I had
,8 I did
hted at
id went
Ithe last
Lm post-
'amdon,
Iruck by
that curioua association of ideas which has in it so
often something savouring of the mysterious. When
1 read the letter 1 thought it still more odd, because
it gave such foundation for Mrs. Carlyon's strong
anxiety. It was quite a short letter, evidently written
in haste ; and the object of it was to borrow five
pounds. Yes, it startled and horrified me, and the
few brief lines did not give me as much satisfaction
as I could have wislied. It simply said that Dr.
Farndon had been out of health for some time, and
had had to leave his situation ; also that a serious
operation was necessary for him, and tliough they
were willing and anxious to do it in Birmingham,
he wished particularly to come to London to his old
Professor at King's College, Would I oblige them
for old times' sake with the loan of five pounds to
pay their fares to London ?— and that was all. There
was a reticence and self-restraint about that letter
which betrayed a great deal more than the words. I
sat quite stupefied for a few minutes, recalling how
I had last seen them go forth together, young hus-
band and wife, in the glory of their youth and
happiness, looking fit to conquer worlds. And in
two short years it had come to this. I felt angry,
impatient, badly used — that my hopes should have
13
194
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
been so poorly realised, and chugrined that Mrs.
Carlyon's grim prognostication should have been so
abundantly fulfilled. I drew a telegraph form across
the desk, wrote upon it that I would arrive in
Birmingham next day at noon, and liad just rung
for Buttons to take it out, when the hall boll rang,
and who should be shown in presently but a young
woman with a little child in her arms — a poor, worn,
and wasted creature, whom I recognised with a little
cry of consternation as the brilliant bride of two
years ago.
ii i Why, Lucy, Lucy, my dear 1 '
" Yes, I began to cry, I could not help it, I felt
so sore. I took the child from her arms, and made
her sit down, but it was quite five minutes before
she could speak.
" * Dear Dr. Glen, I knew you'd help us. Walter
got 80 impatient he could not wait for your answer.
I had some little things I could sell, which got
enough to pay the train fares, and he will go into
hospital to-morrow. We thought perhaps you'd find
us just enough to pay a quiet lodging. Oh, isn't it
awful I '
*' She didn't cry — she was past that. She sat on
her chair, and her liands crossed themselves in her
LUCY GERMAINE'S MARRIAGE.
195
Mrs.
!en so
across
ve in
, rung
rang,
young
worn
1 little
)f two
I felt
made
before
'alter
Luswer.
r-h got
ro into
rd find
Isn't it
Isat on
iin her
lap, and she looked me very stniightly in the face,
and her look cut me to the heart.
"'Lucy,' 1 said, 'I shall never as long as I live
forgive you— never, so you needn't ask it.' She did
not smile, or appear to take any notice of my
words.
'' * The last blow is the only one left to fall. It
will if the operation prove unsuccessful ; yes, it is
a very serious one ; they told us that at Queen's
Hospital at Birmingham. That is why Walter was
so anxious to come here. He knows all the surgeons
at King's, and he said you'd be kind to me and
baby ; there isn-'t anybody else.'
" * I think,' 1 began in a shaking voice, ' the very
least you could have done wns to let me know yon
had this baby. You have not behaved well to me,
Mrs. Farndon.'
'' I had to get it out somehow, the misery of the
whole story was no hard for me to bear.
"*I always meant to, but I had poor health so
long after, and our troubles thickened so fast.
Walter's principal was not a nice man ; he treated
him unfairly and very har>^hly whenever he was un-
able to do the drudgery, and he didn't keep to the
letter of the a^^reement either. It has been a feari'ul
#
196
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
stmggle, and all throngh it Walter was so brave
and good and unselfish, never grumbling at all until
this terrible thing came to him. What have we done
that we should be so hardly punished ? Was it so
great a sin to run away IVom granny? I think it
would have been a greater sin to stay and marry as
she wished me — to marry an old man I hated.'
^^ ^ We won't go into that, meantime, dear,' I said ;
and just then the baby, a lovely boy, little more
than a year old, opened his eyes and crowed into my
face as if he recognised a friend. Tlien the young
mother smiled, and so became a fleeting vision of
the Lucy of old.
" ^ Where's Dr. Farndon now ? '
" * He's in the cab at the door,' she replied ; and
1 jumped up so quickly that the baby gave a little
cry of terror.
" * In a cab at the door I then he comes in here ;
and here you stay all of you till I take the bearings
of the case,' I said, and, heedless of her remon-
strances, I tossed the baby to her and ran out to
the cab myself. And when I saw poor Walter
Farndon, worn to a shadow by terrible disease, 1
could have cried again. He demurred very little to
my proposal. He was in that quiescent state brought
LUCY GERMAINE'S MARUIAGE.
19/
) brave
ill until
we done
18 it 80
think it
narry as
:ed/
I said ;
,le more
into my
e young
vision of
Led ; and
a little
in here ;
searings
remon-
n out to
Walter
isease, 1
little to
brought
about by great weakness, and seemed to have but
a shadowy interest in what was passing. And yet,
when his eye fell on his wife and child, I saw a
spasm cross his face, a spasm of pain more real and
acute than any physical pang, and his eyes met mine
in that mute, anguished appeal one sees in the eyes
of strong men beaten in the battle of life. Margaret's
sympathies were not difficult to enlist, and the top
floor of the house was given up to my guests ; and
in my house the surgeons held their consultation, and
it was decided that they should ()])erate, and that I
should watch the case. And I told Doctor Farndon
that such an opportunity was a very abundant pay-
ment to me for any trouble they might make in the
house.
" They were all agreed that no time should be
lost, and the operation was fixed for three o'clock
m the afternoon of the third day, which was Friday.
I was present the wholq time.
" Lucy was not in the house. We had kept the
hour and the day secret from her, and I had, under
the pretence that both she and baby required fresh
air, sent them with Margaret in the carriage to
Potter's Bar to execute a commission for me there ;
and as they would have tea at the inn^ I knew
198
ELIZABETH GLEN. M.R
mr
they'd be safely out of the way till six o'clock at
least.
" It was got well over, and, as far as wo conld see,
in an entirely satisfactory manner. By the time the
carriage returned tliere was not a sign of what had
taken place, except the dainty, soft-footed nurse
moving noiselessly about the room. And when Lncy
heard it wa^ all over, succ^essfully, too, as far as we
could then predict, she fell down upon her knees and
remained still for so long a time that I was afraid.
But when I toiu'lied lier, and she looked up, I saw
that lier face was sunshiny and peaceful, and that *she
had been alone with God, who had taken her trouble
from her, as you and I have proved, dear, tliat He can
take all our troubles from us and make our hearts
light as air. She ]>egged so hard to be allowed to
sit a little while with her husband that we allowed it,
and I was in my room amusing myself with that
absurd baby, whose high opirits nothing conld damp,
when Mrs; Carlyon was shown in. She looked very
troubled I could see, and she gave me, almost without
greeting, a returned letter, which, of course, did not
at all surprise me. While I looked at it, she picked
up the baby, whom 1 had laid down on the hearthrug.
He was just beginning to toddle, and he soon wriggled
LUCY CERMAINE'S MANRl.lGE.
199
ock at
Id see,
me the
lat had
nurse
n Lncy
as we
ees aud
afraid.
, I saw
hat 'she
troahle
He can
hearts
)wed to
Dwed it,
h that
(lamp,
ed verv
without
did not
picked
irthrug.
iriggled
himself from the ohi lady's lap and stood at her
knee, looking up into her face, bal)l)ling his pretty
baby nonsense, wliich nobody but his mother ever
pretended to understand. Glancing at the two, I
saw a big tear rnn down Mrs. Carlyon's cheek, and
I knew that the baby had done what nobody else
could — softened her heart.
" * Gone away, left no address,' I said, ' Well,
what can you do now?'
" * It would be no use going down, I suppose ?
They haven't got on evidently, or he would have
stayed longer in the place. I'd give a good deal to
know something about him. Why, 1 cannot tell,
because they treated me abominably, only I know
I can't get them out of my head.'
" * Would you do anything for them, Mrs. Carlyon ? '
I enquired. ' Suppose you found them out and knew
they were in harassed circumstances ? '
" * I might, if they were in a proper frame of
mind ; only young people of the j)resent day are
80 independent, and Lucy's like that, as I once
told you— she's as stubborn as a stone wall.
Whose lovely child is this ? I suppose you have
visitors ? '
" ' Yes, I have,' I replied, and my heart beat a
-■*-
!UO
ELIZA liETH GLEN, \Lli.
little faster as I couceived a harmless plot. * Isu*t
lie a beauty ? '
'* ' He is. I used to imagiue how pleasant it would
be to have Lucy's children ruuniiig abuat.' tShe
said this with a va'^ie wislt'ulness that, betraved an
empty heart. ' Aud 1 believe, if they had behaved
decently, I would have given in at the last. Oh,
you darling I '
'* The child playing bo-peep behind her chair sud-
denly made a little rush at her and clambered on her
knee. Then, begging her to excuse me a moment,
I left the room and ran upstairs to Lucy,
'' ' There's a lady downstairs anxious to see you,
Lucy,' I said ; ' baby is amusing her meanwhile, but
vou'd better run down.'
" She rose obediently, and with a look of love
towards the prostrate form on the b'^d went down-
stairs. I heard the quiet opening and shutting of
the consulting-room door, and then no more. When
nurse, who had been downstairs at supper, came to
relieve me, I went to the consulting-room door, and
basely listened, and when 1 heard the continuous
%
murmur of their voices, 1 made bold to give a little
knock at the door and then to enter ; and there they
were, granny in my cliair with the baby asleep in her
« Isn't
would
She
ed ail
iliaved
Oh,
ir sud-
on her
oinent,
pe you,
lie, but
»f love
down-
ing of
When
,me to
)r, and
tinuous
little
\e they
in her
I mi:; i: ■; ' \
[p. 2oa
LUCY UEKMAt,\E'S MAKKIAGE.
•Ql
arms, and Lucy sitting close by ou a stoul, aud traces
of tears were on both their fiurcs.
" * Granny has forgiven me, Dr. Glen, and we are
friends again/ she said ; ' thanks be to God — and to
you.*
'* * You have taught me a lesson in human charity
1 shall never forget, my dear,' said the proud
old lady, and the look she cast upon me warmed
my heart ; * and I shall never forget it. I pray
God it will do me good to the last day of my
life.'
" She stretched out her hand to me, afraid to rise
lest she should disturb the sleeping child ; and when
1 had warmly pressed it, she touched Lucy's bent
head tenderly with a mother's touch.
" So the breach was healed, and tribulation was
blessed to those young people, and they often in after
years admitted the sweet uses of the adversity which
at the time seemed so bitter.
'* Yes, Dr. Farndou was restored to comparative
health ; and in the autumn the young couple were
established in a house of their own, in a growing
London suburb, Mrs. Carlyon providing the where-
withal, every penny of which, however. Dr. Farndon
has scrupulously repaid. He has an immense practice,
ao2
F.LIZAHETU (.LEN. St li.
has just taken a parrner, and tlu'v arc sfill mv true,
dear iViciKls."
''How torruinife you uro, Klizabcrh 1" I said with
a vagne envy, "to liavt- so mniiy opportunities.
What lovely thin^^s yon <'(Mistantly do for people ; aud
how nicely all your stories end ! '*
'' Not all. I've nuide niy l»itter mistakes, dear, and
I have my sad moments ; and you, with all your
blesHings, need not grudge me sueli eomi>ensations as
these. RemenduT tliat, witli tiiem idl, 1 am still a
lonely woman, standing on the outside always."
Then very soberly she kissed me and went away.
Vlll.
FoHl l.KV Tun's HKIH.
" 'I'lie i>atli«»s (.'Xtjiiisite
Of losely mintis set lit luirsli foiias."
(ii:nU(ii; Ki.ioT.
« TTTHAT is it, Filizul.ctli ? You look not only
sad and out of sorts, but, tliere is a «rlt'aiu in
vonr eve wliii'li seems to me to indicate a cfrtuin
degree of indii^nation."
She liad come to me at a most unusual hour in tlie
evening, and though 1 was glad to see her, 1 hdt that
something had brouglit her, possibly that she had
a story to tell me. She tlirew herself a tritle wearily
into her favoiiritc cluiir, and began to imbutton lier
gh)ves in a most unusual silence.
" 1 can stay a bit," she said presently. " I have
sent John away with the carriage, and will go home
on the humble 'bus. Can you give me anything to
eat ? "
203
204
ELLZA3ETH GLEN, MB.
I raijt^ the bell, and, looking at her, I saw that she
iiad beeu crying.
" You have not been home for dinner, 1 suppose,"
I said severely. " But fortunately my larder is not
quite empty. Who has been vexing the soul of Saint
Elizabeth ? "
" Oh, my dear, give me time, aiid I will vex your
soul likewise. I have just witnessed the culminating
act of a long injustice heaped upon the head of a
child. Ah, now your eyes flash ! In the Bible you
and I read and love there is a text, ' Can a mother
forget her sucking child?' and you think it hardly
possible ; but there are women to whom motherhood
has no meaning unless it be for the ad\ancement of
their own selfish aims and ambitions, and then the
children suffer. Do you remember my telling you
about' John Ransome, who married his rich
employer?"
" Yes, but surely that sweet girl — you told me she
was sweet — has not developed such objectionable
characteristics?"
" Oh no ; the little Ransome boy has been born with
a silver spoon in his mouth so far as his mother is
concerned ; but it was through Mrs. Ransome I got
acquainted with this — this person, Mrs. Leyton Brooke,
PORT LEYTOXS HEIR.
205
^■^'
i>
one of my aristocratic patients, and one of the sort
that makes one endorse the most radical notions, even
to the total abolition of the aristocracy."
Mv husband entered the room at the moment, and
caught the last sentence, but Elizabeth was not in
the mood for the gay b;idinage which they often
enjoyed. It was not until she had had a little
refreshment and we found ourselves ngain alone
that she returned to the subject of Mrs. Leyton
Brooke.
"They are very fine people." she began, with a
curious long curl of the lip which I knew well. " An
old Buckinghamshire family, and of course it is a
great honour to attrnd them, but I liave paid my last
visit, professional or otherwise, to Mrs. Leyton
Brooke."
" Why ? " I inquired innocently. " Has she dis-
missed you ? "
'^No," replied Elizabeth grimly. "I have dis-
missed her ; but you must not have the end of the
story before the beginning. I don't really mind,
I believe, though you put it in names and all. A
woman like that deserves to be shown up — a creature,
God forgive her, without a heart."
I waited with no small impatience till Elizabeth
2o6
ELIZABETH GLEA, MB.
had recovered herself sufficiently to begin at the
beginning.
" It is not very lung since I mude the ac<|naintance
of the lady," she said, after a short silence. " I met
her one afternoon in ]\Irs. Ilaiisome's drawinu^-room in
Brntoii Street, suid she was introdiuuHl to me as her
cousin. I thouirlit lier that afternoon one of the
liandsoniest women I had ever seen, and she was
dressed like a fashion-plate, as we used to say when
we were girls — really elegantly dressed, in a style
which displayed both boundless wealth and an indi-
vidual and })erfect taste. I admired the outward
woman very much, as one is bound to admire what is
beautiful and out of the ordinary run. She had a
little boy with her, a handsome, lovely child about
seven, of whom she was evidently more than proud.
He was dressed picture fashion likewise, a trifle
fantastically, perliaps, but tliere was no doubt about
his beauty. He was a spoiled child, a perfect
nuisance indeed ; it was impossible to be in the room
five minutes with him without finding that out. He
devoured the sweet cakes on Mrs. Ran some's tea-
table, and ate sugar till he nearly made himself sick,
his mother smiling indnlgently on him all tlie while.
She remained about fifteen minutes after I arrived,
JtW'^Wr'flffifii
^sm
PORT LE y TON'S HEIR.
2n:
the
and as she monopoHsed most ot* the conversation,
I crathered that she was a verv fasliionabh' ladv
indeed. She talked of rov.-iltv and other exalted
jKM'sonages witli a familiarity that ahnost took my
breath awav. She was ti^racious in a condescendinj;
sort of wav to me, and even to Mrs. Kansume I
thonght her manner a trifle ])atronising Bnt slie
interested me a good deal, and her beauty afforded
me a jtositive delight. When slie departed at lengtli
with her objectionable chihl, who, by the way, wav
called Frank, Mrs. llansome turned to me (piitc;
eagerly.
" ' What do you think of my cousin, Dr. Glen ? Is
she not lovely? I hope she liked you; 1 think she
did. My dear, if she consults you professioimlly,
your fortune will be made. She knows everybodv.
Of course, vou must have heard of her — hi
po
IS eve
0
wh
ere.
"'I don't )io evervwhere, dear Mrs. Ransonie,' I
said, with a laugh, • and I am in such a state of
heathen darkness that 1 never even lieard of her till
to-day.'
" ' All the same, she is quite distinguished. I
admire her very much of course, myself, but s(uneliow
one doey not love Letitia, — I don't know whv ; and one
20S
ELIZABETH GLEN M.B,
fhing I can't forgive lier. Isu't that a horrid little
boy ? John says he has but one desire where Frank
is concerned — to give him a proper whipping.'
'* I smiled in sympathy with honest John Ran-
some's sensiV)le views.
^' * The child is more to be pitied than blamed,' I
said cautiously . ' One day, however, Mrs. Ley ton
Brooke may discover that she has prepared a rod for
her own back.'
"'Tliat's' what John says, and that she will richly
deserve it ; and the worst of it is that Frank is not
an onlv child, nor even the heir. It is that I cannot
forgive Letiria, and it makes John positively savage.'
" ' What ? ' I inquired, with interest. Mrs. Ran-
some's remarks were decidedly vague.
" She has another child, a son — Myles, two years
older — but he is deformed, quite an object so far as
his figure is concerned, though he has the sweetest
face. Nobody ever sees him. Fancy, I have not seen
him for quite a year. He lives mostly at Port
Leyton, their Buckingham home, but 1 hear he is in
town just now.'
" * And is his mother unkind to him ? ' I inquired.
" ' Well, not positively unkind, I should hope, but
of course it was a fearful disappointment, and Letitia
mmmmmmimmiimiiiiiemilt
<m0^'
PORT LEYTON S HEIR.
20C
Ran-
years
I far as
eetest
^t seen
Port
is in
Ired.
|>ej but
jetitia
really can't bear the sight of him. She says he
makes her ill, and her hnsbjuid feels pretty mnch
the same. Yon see, Port Leyton is sneli a splendid
old inheritance, and, with T^etitia's money, there is
almost nothing the Brookes conld not aspire to ; and
it is disapvointing, of conrse, tliat the lieir shonld be
a poor little crippled hunchhnek. All the same, were
he my child I shonld jnst love liini ten times more
than if he had l)een all right, wonldn't yon ? '
''* Anybody with a heart wonld," I re]>lied ; and,
though we afterwards began to talk of other things,
my mind would not rid itself of the ])ictnre her
words had called up, ruul I saw before me that day,
and for many days to come, in all my odd moments,
the sweet, patient face of the afflicted heir of Port
Leyton, whom nobody wanted, and who was an eye-
sore to his own parents. I thonglit it likely, in my
vague thonglits of liim, that littl^ Myles Brooke,
sensitive as most such afflicted ones are, won Id sntfer
mentally as mnch as physically, bnt of the keen heart-
and spirit-anguish possible to a child so yonng 1 did
not dream until I had seen him. Now I know, and
I thank God it is over, that to-night I, with my own
hands, closed his eyes in their last sleep, and saw
the seal of eternal peace set upon his brow."
14
!
210
ELIZABETH GLES, M.B.
Elizabeth puusod there, for a deep sob hhook
her.
*' It will piiin yon very much, I can see, to tell
me. 1 can understand without telling," 1 said gently.
" I want to tell you ; I came to tell you," she
replied. " It will do me good. You will, perhaps,
at the end lielp me to understand why God permits
such things in a world controlled by His love.
*'I £rst met Mrs. Leyton Brooke at the very
beginning of the season, quite early in February,
and it was about a fortnight after that I received
a n(tte from her, requesting me to call at her house
in Portman Square. 1 was (piite excited over the
summons — not for tlie rcjison for which Mrs. Ransome
had desired her to call me in, but 'uecause I thought
I might Inive a chance of seeing the heir. I arrived
at the mansion about four o'clock in the afternoon,
and found no one to receive me except the servants.
" ' It's for Master Myles, I believe, madam,' the
footman said, wlien I had informed him who I was.
* I have no orders, but I'll inquire of nurse.'
"He left me in the magniticent library, and shortly
returned with the request chat I would walk upstairs.
I followed him up three flights of stairs, and on the
higliest lauding was received by a nurse — a middle-
raKrii.;.. .>tl^i(y-!S\
PORT LEYTON'S HEIR.
21
jbook
to tell
gently.
," she
jrLaps,
»ermits
:^
^*
e very
bruary,
eceived
' house
^er the
msome
bought
arrived
riioon,
rvants.
; the
I was.
shortly
hstairs.
|ou the
liddle-
uo^ed person of kindly aspect,, who eyed ms with the
keenest enquiry, which I did not resent, because it
betokened an interest in her charge. Slie asKcd me
to go to her room and sit down, while she explained
matters a little.
" ' Master Myles, dear lamb, has taken a dislike
to the doctor wlio has been attending of him here,'
she said, wiping her eyes, * and when 'e come it puts
tlie poor dear in that state that I begs missus to stop
his visits. He don't need no doctor, poor dear, and
ain*t long for this world ; so at Inst, though she were
very angry over it, she agrc^es and sends for you,
all along of Mrs. Ran some, pretty dear, that has a
'eart as soft as wax.'
" * Is he in bed ? ' I asked.
" * No, ma'am, nor you mustn't put 'im there ; an'
please, ma'am, when you go in first don't look sur-
prised-like at the poor dear, 'cos he ain't made jes'
like other folks. 'E is a little gentleman at 'eart
if ever there was one, ma'am ; and 1 often say, I do,
that the Almighty's ways is past findin' out ; but I
tells 'im it'll be all right there, an' 'e knows it, dear
lamb, jes' as well as 1 can tell 'im. Will you come
now, ma'jim, uud see 'im ? 'E doesn't know you're
a-comin", but 1 think you'll liave a nice way with
' I
213
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
'im. Mrs. Rausome said you would, and 1 think
you will.'
"'I'll try, nurse,' I said, and followed her to the
room. It was a large, light, pleasant place, con-
taining all that was necessary for comfort or well-
being, and there in his reclining chair by the high,
wide window sat the child I had come to see, the
heir to a great estate, which he has now exchanged
for a heavenly crown.
" ' Oh, nursie,' he cried, n« we opened the door,
' they're lighting up ever so soon. Is it tea-time
already ?'
" Then he gave a great start, seeing me, and turned
away his face.
" * This is a kind lady come to see you, to try
and take away your cough and your nasty headache,'
said the nurse, with an infinity of tenderness a mother
might have envied. ' Turn your head, my dearie, and
speak to her, jnst to please nursie, for a moment.'
" He did not turn his head, but I walked over to
the chair, and then I saw a little white fox terrier
puppy lying on the cushion at his feet, and I took it
up and laid it against my cheek with one hand, while
with the other 1 softly touched the brown head of
my little patient.
mam
fBPBT-
PORT LEYTON'S HEIR.
2>3
think
to the
, con-
• well-
I high,
ee, the
tianged
B door,
ea-time
turned
to try
Ldache,'
Imother
•ie, and
liient.'
)ver to
terrier
I took it
[, while
lead of
" * bcn*t yon think this is a very woll-ofF doiririe
indeed?' I said oheorfnlly, 'and isn't he a beauty?
but I would be asliaraed of sunh a mean Hi tie tail.
I am sure he feels it very much to have sucli a
stumpy tail, don't you, doggie ? '
'"No, he doesn't,' said the little maFier, ([uite
briskly. ' His tail is just the proper length, Feiiton
'11 tell you so ; he measured it, and docked it himself,
and he's perfect.'
" ' Who, Fenton or the doggie, eh ? * I asked, as
pleasantly as I could, and his eyes met mire; and
looking into their large, lovely, serious deptns I felt
my heart stirred within me with a great and tender
pity. 1 think somehow that look made us friends,
and I sat down by him, and we talked of dogs and
other pets for quite a little while. Then in the middle
of our talk he stopped quite suddenly, fixing me with
those speaking, pathetic eyes, and said suddenly ;
" * But, I say, 1 want to know who you are.
What's your name ? '
" ' My name is Elizabeth Glen, and I'm the doctor,'
I replied smiling. ' How do you think you'll like
to have a lady doctor, Master Myles ? '
"*I don't know,' he said doubtfully. 'T like vou r
but you won't hurt me like the other doctor did ? 1
I
414
ELIZABETH CI.ES'. \f H.
MRkoc] nmniniH not to let him, ])Ut slie sjiid it was
tor my good. But what is the use when I shtill
never be well any more ? '
"'1 shall not hurt you, my darling; I promise
you tliat.'
" Tlie endearing word Hli|)]>ed out unawares, and
the child, who was starved of love by all from whom
he had tlic right to expect it, looked at m<' with a
sweet, bright smile, and gave me his thin, ciiildish
hand with a confiding gesture more eloquent than
words.
"'And you'll corae and see me, won't you, every
day ? Sometimes nursie and 1 are a little dull when
nobody comes up all day long, and even Ted gets
cross and won't play.'
" Nurse had now lighted the gas, and before she
drew the blinds she wheeled the chair away from
the window, and then I saw for the first time the
misshapen, distorted frame, and my lieart bled for
him afresh. It needed no special skill to see that
the seal of early death was on the boy's high white
brow, and I felt as I b^de him good-bye that the
end for him when it came would be great gain.
* • * « *
"I had visited my new, and to me most interest-
PnRT f.EYTON'S HI IR.
21
she
from
le the
[I for
that
white
t the
\u^^ l>ati<'nt nifiiiy times hditn' I smsv any of the rest
of the fiiniily, cxccpr flu* other hoy, Frank, who was
in the room one duv wlien I called. To see tliose
two brotliers toirefhor wn,s an intorestiny: stndv in
hnmjiii iiatnre, and L tlionu'lit thai Inid Joliii Kansome
seen the spoih-d child in his brother's I'oom, even he
would prol)Mhly have been niiable to keep his hands
oft' liim. His (h'meanonr to Myles was patronisinjj^
and a trille {'ontemptnous, and 1 saw the (jnick temper
of the boy in the invalid cliair rise in eye and cheek,
and I said to nnrse it would be better if she couhl
keep them apart. Mv little Mvles was bv no means
a saint, nor one of those good little boys who in
story bo(dvs die young ; In^ was liot-tempered, and
impatient, and full of life, chaHnu' wihlly against the
bars of his {)oor prison house. But he was ii creature
it was impossible to help loving, and he crept day
by day more closely into my heart. I tliink — nay,
I know — he loved me too ; he pi'oved it to me one
dav as we sat toget iier. 1 alwa,vs staved an hour
by him wlien J found it made him hai)pier. VV^ell,
he proved it to me one day wlien he spoke to me
of his heavy cross. lb' alluded to it simply and
boyishly, but with a certain wistfulness which be-
trayed its import to him.
216
EI.IZAIiETl! GLES, \t }i.
it 4
Am T so very uglv, Miss Olcn ? That day you
saw me Hrst, di<l you think iiic so awful?
U (
Hush, my darlinj]^ ; I sjiw only your sweet
face,* [ ro|)lied, laying my hand on his thin, flushed
cheek.
"He looked pleased for a rnoin«'nt, but presently
shook his head with \v faint, iiifhiiieholv smile.
"'MnniiMJi says I make hor ill, — I heard her say
so ; and even papa ean't bear to see me, though he
talks quite kindly. Have you seen mamma? She
is like an angel.'
"I did not think so. Mv lieart beat hard against
her, and I longed for jnst one opj)ortunity to tell
her the strsiight and solemn truth. 1 am not a
mother — may never be one, but surely I know that
if a mother cannot give love to the child she has
borne she has no right to the name, and liad better
forfeit it to the meanest wretch who has a woman's
heart.
" ' Before yon eame,' he said presently, ' I wanted
awfully to get back to Leyton. It is so dreary here ;
I never get out, but mamma says I must wait till
Easter. At Leyton Feuton takes me out in my
bath-chair.'
'' ' Win did thev brin? vou here where von car
ay you
sweet
flushed
•esentlv
le.
her say
lUgh he
,? She
ajrainst
to tell
not a
)w that
-he has
better
[Oman's
Iwanted
r here ;
lait till
|in my
m car'
0 '' ' ■'
i;:' ■;«*
^ ^^^^^^^^^B
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^M
H:
h
If
■ <\ V.
.STf t
..V-<:^i
"•that DAV VOU saw me riRiiTi DID YOU THISK ME SO AWFVL?'" [/'• 2U'
}'(>RT LEY TON'S HEIR.
317
see nothing and never get out?' I asked bluntly,
though I might have guessed.
" ' Tm not sure, but 1 think they brought me to
see if the other doctor could make mv back struiy^ht,'
he said confidentially, 'and of course he couldn't.
I knew thac all along. He only hurt me. You
know, don't you? that nobody can make my back
straight, but only God, and I've left off asking
Him.'
^' * He will make it straight in His own time, my
darling,' I said very gently. ' One day you will
shut your eyes and open them in another world,
where there is no such sorrow as yours.'
"He gravely nodded, looking through the window
and away across the gray expanse of London
roofs.
" ' You mean that I shall die. 1 shouldn't mind
it much, I think, only Teddy would miss me, and
nursie, and 1 believe Fenton would cry. He did
when 1 came away this time, and he is nineteen,
and quite a man, even with a moustache.'
"^A good many people love you, you see,' I said
cheerfully.
" ' Yes, nursie and Fenton and you. Fm so glad
1 know you. There's one thing,' he said, with an
2lS
ELIZABETH GLE^, M.S.
old-world, wis(? look in lii> f?
ICC
If I died Frank
wonld be the heir. Tm the hoir, did you know ?
that's why it's so hard on papa, for, of course, if I
t^rew up, and was like this, who wouhl h)ok after
Fort Levton ? Don't you see it would be better if
I did die?'
'' I got up from my chair. I could not bear it,
indeed I could not. To hear such a (thild gravely
discussing the possible advantage to others of his
death was intolerably cruel. It showed th;it the
truth as it appeared to these selfish people had not
been hid from him, and the sensitive heart of the
boy had grown familiar with the idea until he re-
garded it as a sad and inevitable foct. That very
day going downstairs I met Mrs. Brooke. She had
just come in from a drive, and the carriage with its
prancing horses, 2)erfect in every detail, stood at the
door, quite eclipsing my humble equipage. She was
a radiant vision in her elegant carriage cloak trimmed
with priceless Russian sables, but as I thought of
the lonely child heart upstairs I could not admire
her ; 1 only felt sick at heai't. She looked surprised
for a moment as if struggling to recollect me ; then
she bowed with extreme graciousness and spoke.
" ' Oh, you are Miss Glen, of course. You come
Port leyton s heir.
21<)
(1 Frank
I know ?
irse, if I
K)k after
better if
bear it,
gravely
s of his
hat the
had not
t of the
1 he re-
lat very
She had
with its
at the
he was
rimmed
light of
achuire
irprised
; then
ake.
n come
e/erv dav, I am told, and 1 liave been sorrv not to
see yon, but I am so mnc!, engaged. Will yon step
in here a moment ?'
"I followed lier into the room, whicli happened
to be tho drawiriir-room, and where a footman was
seeing to tlie tire and the liglits.
" ' Bring tea now,' she said c^nickly, and the man
withdrew.
" ' Now please do tell me what you think of your
patient,' she said, with a quick impcriousness. ' How
do you find him ? '
" ' Growing weaker,' I replied, sadly and listlessly.
The contrast depressed me. I had not sufficient
energy even to show the indignation which surged
in my heart. 'I should advise you to take your boy
back to the country if you wish him to live.'
" I c6uld not help throv/ing a certain amount of
significance into the last sentence, but if she noticed
it she disdained to show it. 'We shall all be going
shortlv, in le^s than three weeks. 1 sliould think
it would be better to wait till then, it will be
warmer.'
" ' He is eating his heart out for the freedom iind
the freshness of the country, Mrs. Brooke,' 1 said.
*If it is not convenient to move him there, why not
220
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B,
let him go ont daily in the park with his nurse ?
It is only a stone's tlirow.*
"*It has been very cold as yet, and his chair is
not here, neither is the man who attends him at
Port Leyton,' she said, ta|)i)iiig- her foot impatiently
on the ormolu fender. ' It was quite a mistake
bringing him here, but his father would/
" I had never seen the father, but that remark
made me think better of him than I had yet done.
* I can only advise, Mrs. Brooke,' I said coldly.
She was a great lady, accustomed to be flattered
and conciliated, and I saw that my manner angered
her.
" * What do you think of his condition as a whole ?
Mrs. Ransome says you are very clever. Have you
discovered anything the other doctors overlooked?'
" There was a liglit mockery in her tone which
at aaother time 1 should have been quick to resent,
but I only answered (piietly, ' There is nothing to
discover. The boy has a delicate frame, of course,
sensitive to every change. With care he may liv3 to
be an old man.' ,
" I saw her face change, and I knew that she felt
disappointed. You look shocked, dear, and almost
as if you thought what I am telling you impossible j
mmf'
PORT LEYTON'S HEIR.
221
nurse ?
chair is
him at
jiitiently
mistake
remark
et done.
coldly,
flattered
angered
i whole ?
ave you
oked ? '
|e which
resent,
hinsT to
course,
,' liv3 to
she felt
almost
lossible ;
but I am not exaggerating, and I say that that
woman, the idol of society, the lovely and popular
Mrs. Leyton Brooke, was at that moment at heart
a murderer, because she truly wished the death of
another creature, and that her own child. He was a
burden and an eyesore to her ; she wished he would
depart to make room for her own idol. That was
the naked truth, and she knew that i knew it. After
that, o_ course, I did not remain to tea. i could not
have broken bread in her house. Well, the days
went on, and Myles Brooke was not sent home to
Leyton, nor was my advice about the park followed.
The weather grew milder, the breath of si)ring was
abroad ; the fresh downy buds were on every hedge
and tree, the brooding twitter of birds even in the
London air. One day, wlieo alone, Mylrs managed to
open wide his nursery window to feel the spring, as he
said to me, and sitting there for nearly an hour with
his head laid on the window-sill trying to coax the
sparrows to come to him, he caught the cold which
took him away. They sent for me that evening, and
I found him in a hot fever, and complaining of an
acute pain in his side. From the first 1 never had
any hope of him, because his strength was reduced,
but I did what I could. He gi;e.7 daily worse, how-
,! .
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
ever, and at length, wheu I had told his mother there
was no hope, she elected to make a great fuss, calling
in for consultation all the famons physician.", in town.
It was absurd, there was nothing to consult about.
The child was dying of a simple and common com-
plaint ; and all the skill of all the colleges; on earth
could not have saved him. His father was salmon-
fishing in Scotland, enjoying the first rod on a duke's
preserves, and though word was sent him he did not
hurry himself. I will do him the justice to say he
did not think it urgent, the boy had so often been
seriously ill before. I spent as much time as I could
with the child, who was often delirious ; then he
would call for his mother in tones of the most intense
longing. He betrayed in all his delirium how much
the one idea possessed his soul, the idea that he was
a burden and a cumberer of the "ground. One dav
— only yesterday indeed - she happened to look in
during my visit, and as we stood by the bed he looked
straight up at her and said simply :
'''Mamma, I'm going to die, and Fnmk will be
the heir. When you come to heaven and see my
back straight will you love me like you do him '
" I don't know how she I'efrained from clasping
him to her heart, pouring into his ears a tliousand
r there
calling
1 town,
about,
•n com-
•n earth
5almon-
L duke's
did not
say he
Bn been
I could
;hen he
intense
much
he was
ne day
ook in
looked
vill be
bee my
PORT LEYTON'b HEIR.
22;
lisping
DiKsaud
endearing words, but she only coloured uneasily and
gave hira a can;! ess pat on the head.
'"Nonsense, Mylc^s, you are not .i^oing to dio yd.
We are soon going back to Ley ton, where you'll get
your chair and all your other things next week ;
won't he. Miss (Jlcn?'
" Myles looked at me witli a slight, sweet, under-
standing smile.
'' ' We know better,' he said, in a faint whisp'^r ;
' and Frank will make a better heir.'
"She looked as slu; felt, truly uncomfortable.
With a light kiss she left him, and that was the
last time she saw him in life.
" This morning I })aid my first visit there, and
found him far spent but quite conscious. I would
tell you if 1 dared trust myself how he clung' to me,
seeming happier when 1 was with him. His talk,
when he was able to talk at all,»was all of heaven,
where he firmly believed there awaited him a heritage
of health and strength. We know verv little of
these hidden things, of course, but we do know,
that compensation will be adequate ; so I had no
hesitation about allowing and enconragmg him to
dwell upon the happy home to which he hMsr<*ned.
It will be to the end of my life a sweet thought
224
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B
that I had been able to call ap a smile and a
look of jieace to thai worn, sad child -lace. On
my way home from my round tliis afternoon I
called at Portman Si^uare again, and finding my
poor boy so ill, I remained. The end was not
far off. His mother was not at home, and when
she did return, about half-past six, liad to make haste
to dress for a dinner at the French l^^mhassv. About
seven o'clock, as nurse and 1 watched by our darling's
bed — heartbroken because we could do so little for
him — he quietly closed his eyes, and we saw that God
had taken him, and I knelt down by his bed and
uttered a passi(>nute thanksgiving for so happy a
release. Before I left the room 1 cut one of his
curls from his head, and here it is. As 1 slipped
downstairs I saw the woman — his mother — come out
of her dressing-room in all the bravery of her white
satin and flashing diamonds, and while her slight,
cold salutation trembled on her lips I looked her very
steadily in the eyes.
" '■ Madam, I have come from your son's death-bed,
and from thanking God on my knees for his release.
Yet I loved him well.'
" So I left her, and I have come straight to you.
Oh, my dear, I thank God you are not a fashionable
and a
?,. On
noon I
ncr mv
^as not
\ when
^e haste
About
larliug's
ittle for
hat God
bed and
happy a
of his
slipped
ome out
er white
slight,
er very
|ath-bed,
release.
to you.
lionable
PORT LEYTON'S HEIR,
225
mother, and that your child will uover know the
heart-hunger that killed poor little Myles Brooke.
Compensation — yes, there had need to be comj)ensa-
tion somewhere for such sorrows, else must belief
utterly fail."
" It is sure," I said softly. " And He loved the
children, and has alreadv welcomed little Mvlos
Brooke to the kingdom forbidden him here. Let that
thought comfort you, Elizabetli. Keep it in your
heart beside the happy knowledge that you were able
to do so much for him here."
But a weight of sadness oppressed my friend's
heart, I could see, and I loved her for it.
It is such natures who make every human sorrow
their own ; who carry out here the Master's behest,
and who impart His message of hope and comfort to
suffering souls in their hour of need.
!.")
IX.
HAintAHA.
"T~^17. GLEN and T had Ix'on disrnssinfr tlie sprvanf
(|uestioii. and liad come to the conrlnsion that
onr mothers surely ])osse>sed some secret tliev had
not beqneatlied to ns, a secret wliich seemed in those
earlier and sim])h»r days to have solved the whole
difficulty of honseliold management.
" You liave used the word which is the key to the
whole, matter," said Dr. Glen, in her usual (juietly
decisive wav. " It is simplicitv we want. We exact
too much from our donestics."
" I am sure you don t, Elizabeth," I made answer
calmly. " Tlie way you pamper that Margaret of
yours has become a matter of history."
" Oh, Margaret is an exception, and besides, I had
no particular case in view when I made the assertion.
1 merely laid down a general principle, and I know
that your view entirely coincides with mine, for 1
226
BARHARA.
227
servant
)n tliiit
ov bad
n those
5 whole
to the
(piietly
|e exact
answer
laret of
;, I had
[sertion.
Il know
for 1
have rieard yon nay practically tlie same fhiii^ dozens
of times."
"Yon are very sliarj) to-day, Elizahctli, and I
won't risk argnf'yin*;, as Mur«i;aret says. I came for
my dole of copy anyliovv, and not to discuss tlie
hnrninp: (piestions of the day. Yon always do ])ut
me off till the last moment, hnt 1 mnst hav(! it this
afternoon. I'm behind as it is, and can't helj)
myself"
" Yon on,<j:ht to have been a man, dear, and yon
would have shone in dii)lomatic circles ; but there,
1 shall not tease yon any more. Talking of servants,
the old race and the new, the ('aleb Balderston tyjx^
is not (jnite extinct yet."
" No, so long as Margaret is the prop and main-
stay of tliis perfectly a})pointed establishment. I
know all about it."
" Don't be in such a hurry. I wasn't thinking of
Margaret, whom 1 know you wickedly covet, but of
another, su])erior in some respects to her. iSliall 1
give you the story ? "
" If you think it'll do," I said doubtfully. " If not,
postpone it, for I really am in a hurry."
" Well, if it doesn't do for one section of your
readers it will for another. I think mvself it is one
Sfl8
ELIZABEIH GLEN, M.B.
of the most touchiug little bits I have come across
for years/'
''Well?" I said inquiringly; and Elizabeth took
up a j)i('ce of work she was busy with, embroidering
a baby's frock.
" You don't look a bit like a doctor, Elizabeth.
I reallv think von »::row v(Hni<::er every day," 1 said
suddenly, struck by her bright, beautiful, girlish look.
"1 huve ever so many letters asking your address,
and 1 believe I am right in withholding it. So long
as I wra]) you in a veil of mystery, my readers regard
you with a juoper mixture of awe and respect,
while "
" A personal interview would entirely dispel it," she
supplemented. '' You are nothing if not compli-
mentary and candid."
" They'd fall in love with you, every man and
woman of them, and you know it, Elizabeth. But
really, dearest, you seem lately to have acquired the
secret of perpetual youth."
A vivid blush rose suddenly and quickly to her
face, and she hid it in the creamy folds of the baby's
frock.
" I wish you would remember how rude it is to
make such personal remarks," she said, with an odd,
BAIili \RA.
329
1 across
ith took
oidering
lizabeth.
" 1 said
iish look,
address,
So long
Ts regard
respect,
it,'' she
compli-
raaii and
;th. But
uired the
y to her
16 baby's
it is to
an odd,
(liHtiirbed little laugh. ^^ Do you want that story or
do vou not ? "
Of courwe 1 said 1 did want it ; and after a little
pause she bciran : —
" I met niv licroiut; in vtTv unt'onvcntional circuni-
stMiices, and at first sight [ paid no s(H't of attciition
to her, being misled, as we so (tftcri arc, Ity mere
appearances; And certainly Harbara Waite was not
a particuljirly roiuiiiitic-looi<iiig person the first time
I saw her in my surgery on a certain December
evening a year or two ago. My consulting hours
were over, and I was making up my books, when the
bell rang again, and Barbara was shown in. It was
half a minute before I even looked round, and wiiei.
I did I saw a short, spare person in a rather scanty
black gown and an old waterproof cloak, under which
I saw the hem of a white aj»ron. Slie luid the tiood
of her cloak drawn over her cap, so 1 Inid no difficulty
whatever in divining that she was a domestic servant.
" * Good evening,' 1 said pleasantly, but a trifle
severely. ' My surgery hours are over ; it's after
nine.'
" * Yes, ma'am ; but I don't want to see you myself.
It's my mistress,' she replied ; and when she spoke
1 looked at her in secret amazement, and witli a new,
230
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
keen interest. I have heard many voices, both sweet
and harsh, in my time, but I never lieard one more
musical than Barbara Waite's ; it was simply
exquisite.
" * And where does your mistress live ? ' I inquired ;
and her face now began to attract me, though it was
rather thin, scrnggy, and worried-looking, with no
special beauty of feature to recommend it. But it
was an honest, good face, and the eyen were tender
and true. She looked a woman of five-and-thirty,
or even more.
" ' Not far, ma'am, only in Bedford Square,' she
replied, with a little eager, pathetic glance. ' She's
been bad for some days, and we can't do anything
with her this time, so I came of my own accord for
you.'
' AVhat's the matter with her ? ' I asked briefly.
She drew lier hand across lier eyes, and I saw
a faint colour risc* in her cheeks.
" ' I'll have to toll, ma'am, I suppose, though it
hurts, it does indeed, for we were chihlren togetlier,
as it were, in the old Surrey village,' she said, with
a ciitcli in her voice.
"'Drink?' 1 said incpiiringly.
" She nodded, and an expression of relief came
u
u
BARBARA.
231
sweet
more
imply
lired ;
it was
th no
But it
tender
•thirty,
e,' she
' She's
ythitig
ord for
briefly.
I saw
ugh it
gether,
I, witb
f came
upon her face. Evidently she had dreaded being
called n])on to give copious exidanations.
" ' You say you can't do anything with her. Has
she got delirium tremens ? '
" She nodded again, and inimediately burst into
tears. 1 turned back to my book and left her to
recover herself, which she speedily did.
"* Excuse me, ma'am,' she said, 'but it's been
bottled up in me that long I can't help it, an' you
do look as if you understood things. It's for the
master and the little children my heart's broke, as
well as for her.'
" ' Has she been long at it ? ' I inquired, as I
locked my ledger up and prepared to accompany her.
" ' Yes'm, more or less for five years, an' it's
changed 'er very natur', it has.'
" * It always does,' I said briefly. ' When a
woman once takes to drink, it's almost hopeless.
Is she young ? '
" ' Not so very — near forty, ma'am. Miss Ethel,
she's sixteen.'
"'What's her name?'
" ' Etheridge ; an' master, he's a banker in the
city, an' there ain't many like /////^,' she said, witli
emphasis ; but 1 did not ask her whether it was for
232
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
good or for bad (qualities he was distinguished. I
supposed I should soon find out for myself.
" I walked round with Barbara Waite, she talking
all the way, telling me little things about her muster
and mistress, to prepare me, as it were, for my
reception. I saw that the faithful soul was devoted
to the house in which she served, and that a secret
shame over its dishonour was hard upon her ; and
I also felt that her outsj)okenness indicated that she
had found in me some quality that inspired her
faith. She felt intensely relieved, I could see, that
I took her story in such a matter-of-fact way.
" The house was a good one, well furnished and
well cared for, all by the liands of Barbara Waite,
assisted by a tall slip of a girl, Ethel Etheiidge.
They liad done their utmost to keep their sorrow
hid. In order that no outside person might behold
it, Barbara Waite cheerfully did the work of three,
and it had told upon her, making her old and
unlovely before her time.
" The cries and mutterings of my poor distracted
patient met us at the door. Barbara looked at me
with a wistful, meaning look, the pathos of which
I never forgot. We went upstairs at once, and a
gentleman came out of a room on the first landing,
Mlhlliill
gum
BAR 1 1. IRA.
23.?
and looked at me verv keeulv as he said ' o^ood
evening.' He was a fine-looking man, not mucli
over forty, but his face was haggard and careworn,
and his hair prematurely silvered ovei^ the temples.
I felt interested in him at once.
" ^ Good evening, Dr. Glen. I suppose Barbara
has informed vou of the condition in which vou
will find my poor wife ? '
" I nodded gravely. It was not a case for speech.
He 0})ened the bedroom door, nnd we three went in.
As wo did so, the poor creature, pursued by the
pliantoms of her delirium, leaped out of bed witli
a scream of terror and crouclied at my feet, a
pitiful figure in white, with a wild face and despair-
haunted eyes. I need not expatiate on her condition.
If you have ever seen a person sufi*ering in this
way, you will understand how poor Mrs. Etheridge
looked ; if not — well, I need not try to draw the
picture for you. She calmed down a little when 1
spoke to her, and by-a»^d-by we maiiiiged to get
her to bed. She kept hold of my hand like a vice,
seeming to feel some support in my presence, and
I sat there till Mr. Etheridge, under my directions,
prepared the draught I had brought. She was still
young, and must have been once a beautiful creature ;
234
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
but yon know, of course, Low snc.li indnlfronce robs
the buiuuii i'aco of its liiglier boaiity, be(;rtns(^ it
destroys the son]. AJtlioii,^:li ([nieter, she talked
incessantly, railing against ber husband and her
faithful servant, glaring at botli so vindictively
and viciously that I marvelled. Just as the draught
was beginning to take effect, a young girl entered
the room, the eldest daugliter, sweet Etiiel Etlieridge,
who ib going to be married next month to my friend
Dr. Gower. Sb . looked just as you might expect
a sensitive girl to look in such circumstances, worn
and terrified and sad. Gradually, as the strong
draught did its work, iMrs. Etheridge grew quieter,
until at last she lay perfedly still, and her fierce
grasp on my fingers relaxed.
" * Thank God,' said the unhappy husband, as lie
looked on the unconscious face of his poor wife ;
and I saw Barbara wipe her eyes and take a long
breath. I gave a few simple directions, and when 1
rose to go Mr. Etheridge accompanied me down-stairs.
" ' Will you step in here a minute. Dr. Glen ? '
lie said at tho dining-room door, and I silently
Ibllowed him in.
" ' Will you tell me quite frankly what you think
of Mrs. Etliei'idgeV condition?*'
BARBARA.
235
'g'
think
'** It is raost serious,' T rqilicd' at once. ' Evidently
this nnliHppy stati; of affairs hns lasted a h)ni:; time.
I find her nervous system so completely shattered
that I conclude she has had man}' such attacks as
the one slie is now suffering from.'
'* * Yes, many,' he re])lied, in a low, hopeless tone.
' We have done what we could. God knows every-
thing has been tried, and yet slie finds tlie where-
withal. It is a fearful curse, Dr. Glen, especially
when it falls U2)on a woniiin, and the mother of
children.*
'* He was not a man given to much talk, I could
see. He struck me ratlier as being reserved and
self-contained. His case moved me deeply, and I
suppose I showed it in my face, thus encouraging
him to tell me more.
" * It is an inherited tendency,' he continued ;
'and I have done my best to shield her. But in
L(Uidon, surrounded as we are on every hand by
such fearful temptations, our pooi" precautions were
but a mockery, and she has gone; down step by
step till every spark of feeling for those she once
loved is dead.'
" ' Have you nok", sent her away, or tried living in
the country ? ' 1 inquired.
[I
[i
236
ELIZA BETH GLEN, M.li.
" * Yes, everything- has ])een tried ; Barbara will
tell you that ; but it is (|uite hopeless. If I were to
tell you the whole history of her case, with its painful
examples of (liphmiacy and cunning, it would make
vour heart ache : but 1 mnst not detain vou. You
tind her seriously ill, then?'
" ' I do. Of course it is not easy to predict in such
cases. They are most deceptive. But my opinion
when 1 left her was that her re<'overy was doubtful.'
'' He took a stride across the floor. I saw his face
twitch ; then he opened the door.
"' Will you come here a monu^nt, Dr. Glen?'
"I followed liim mutely, and, in a back room fitted
up like a nursery, he sliowed me three chihiren asleep,
the youngest a l)aby of two years, lovely as an angel.
The adoring love in her father's face as he bent over
her might have stirred her little heart, even in that
sweet, unconscious slumber.
" ' Would vou not think the>e worth livinj]: for ? And
1 — 1 have tried to be a good, kind huslcind to her ;
but she is as indifferent to me and to these as if no
tie bound us. God help the children, and save them
from their mother's fate. I sometimes have a pang
of remorse looking on them. It might have been
better for them had they never seeu the liurht.'
B«ifeliaBSl^il*i«!sV.'-»«"'
BARB. -IRA.
237
over
thiit
And
het' ;
f no
:luMii
3aiig
been
" * Ob, hush I ' I said, a little sharply. ' Take what
comfort you can, and for the rest — trust in God.'
"I do not often use such words. Talking religion
is not my forte."
"No, you live it, Elizabeth," I said, looking into
her sweet face with a sober gladness, because she was
my friend, and because 1 knew slie loved me. She
smiled a little, and went on :
" My words, commonplace as they were, seemed to
comfort him, and when presently I went away he
wrung my hand at parting, and blessed me for my
coming. Never had I felt more keenly that my skill
amounted to but little, after all. I could do nothing
but administer what would sootlie and quieten, and
somehow I could not but think that death for once
would be a healer and a kind friend to Mrs. Etheridge
herself, and all in that unhappy house upon which
such a bitter curse had fallen.
* » • # •
" She only lived three days, and passed away in a
state of coma, without being able to speak a word of
comfort in passing to those whose hearts her sin had
torn. J. was present when she died, and 1 went I'ound
again in the evening, when I saw Barbai'a, and had
a long talk with lier.
238
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
((
*It hoiTiiii, Dr. Glen,
S}11(
1 si.
ft(
soon sitter ner
nuirriage. Slu; was u wild girl at homo -lier own
mother could not control lior ; nnd she never wanted
to marry Mr. Ktlieridge, good as gohl though lie is.
Ilcr he "t v" set on a young harrister, who wouhl
liave l)rc . n lii'r heart if she'd married him, and it's
my belief iii.bt \\i< was the beginning of it. It never
does to force anybody to marry, does it, ma'am ? '
"'Did Mr. )itheridge know that slie cared so little
for him?' 1 asked, interested in spite of myself. 1
had no iiesitation in asking, for Barbara was so truly
a friend of the family, so devoted even to the poor
creature who had })ass('d away, tliat I felt it was
betraying no trust to listen to her.
" ' Not till after. It was hurried on, and then —
and then ' — and here Barbara's cheek flushed a little
— ' she met the other in London, and that was the
beginning liere. It nearly l)roke his heart — my
master's 1 mean — for he worshipped the very ground
she trod on, and it's a mercy, 1 think in my own
soul, that she's gone, for things were getting <]uite
desperate.'
" ' I siaj)pose,' I said gently, ' you will remain here
and take care of the children ? '
u i (_\i, ygg^» ^Ijp answered in some surprise. ' I've
/?./AV>'./A\/.
2;o
the
— mv
ound
own
(juite
here
always boon licro, and 1 shan't, *j^<» to no |»l;ii(' else,
Itlease God, as lonj,^ as tlic chihlren \wi'A nie.'
"Thev adored licr, and it was no marvel, llci'
gentleness, her untiring })atienee with tiieni, was
wonderful to see. 1 was a witness to it in the next
six weelvSj wlien the three young cliilih'cn had searlet
lever. I visited (ivery day, of course, ' ut always in
the middle of the dav, when I d'Vi i see Mr.
Fitheridge. Tlie atmosphere in the h(;.ise, liowever,
in spite of tlie sickness among the ;jhildren, was
l)righter, and some girlislmess begu o steal back to
Ethel's sad face, and slie became more like a girl of
her years. She and 1 became verv friendlv : she used
to come to the surgery of an evening for the children's
medicine, and 1 found her inteUigent and companion-
able beyond her years. One evening, after I had
st()2)ped my attendance at Bedford Scpiare, and tlie
convalescents had all been packed off to Bognor, Mr.
Etheridge came round to pay my bill, though it had
not been sent in. And we talked a little, as was
natural, of the children juid their prospects.
" ' You have a treasure in Barbara,' 1 remarked
incidentally. * It must be a great comfort to you to
know that she is so utterlv devoted to you and vours.'
" ' It is a comfort,' he replied, and it struck me that
240
ELIZABETH GLEN, MR.
he spoke rather curtly and coolly, so I changed the
suhject ; but his manner left a little sting in my
mind, and I even t'elt a trifle indignant, imagining
Barbara was not ai)j)reciated as she deserved to be.
I did not see any of the Etheridges for some time
after that ; it was quite six months after, I should
think, when Mr. Etlieridge came again one evening to
my surgery. I thought him a remarkal)ly tine-looking
man as I rose to shake hands with him, and I
observed that he looked younger and happier, like a
man wlio liad taken a new lease of life. I congratu-
lated him on liis looks, and when 1 had inquired for
all the children and for Barbara, I waited for him to
state the business on which he had come.
" ' I want to consult you, Dr. Glen,' he began, with
a sliglit nervousness, ' not quite professionally, but
on a purely personal matter.'
" ' If I can be of the slightest use I shall be very
glad,' I replied, sincerely enough, for I liked the man,
and 1 had always felt sorry for him because he had
been cheated of his best happiness. But I believe 1
must have looked a little surprised ; I certainly felt it.
" * i am contemplating a second marriage,' he
said bluntly, as was his way. It was impossible
for him to beat about the bush.
BARBARA,
341
jed the
in mv
tginiiig
to be.
16 time
should
ning to
looking
and I
like a
ngratii-
ired for
him to
n, with
y, but
^e very
man,
le had
lieve 1
Ifelt it.
' he
)ssible
*'*You are a man in your prime still, Mr.
Etheridge,' I replied, as politely as I could. ' No-
body could l)lame you.'
" * I don't ajiprove of second marringes,' was his
next remark, certainly a totally unexpcctod one,
'especially where there are grown-uj) children.
Ethel will soon be seventeen.'
"Not knowing what to say, I said nothing. A
man who is contemplating giving his children a
stepmother has generally a good nuiiiy excuses for
the step he proposes to take. 1 waited for Mr.
Etheridge to make his.
"'But this is quite a different case, Dr. Glen. I
want to marrv Barbura.'
"'You want to marry Barbara, Mr. Ktheridge?
oh, impossible I '
" I could not help saying that, for as 1 looked at
the man — handsome, winning, every inch a gentle-
man— and thought of the scraggy little ' general,'
1 felt faint with surprise.
"'Yes, and why not?' he asked, almost fiercely.
' If you can point me to another woman in all
London with a heart to compare with Barbara'^,
I'll marry her ; but it can't be done.'
"'What you say is true,' I admitted. 'If you
16
242
FAAZAnETll GLEN, MR.
ask mo for my opinion, I will say l^urbura has no
et^iial ; if Ibr my advice, 1 will smv, Uou't do it.*
* " Why ? ' lie asked, standing over rac in quito
a menaciiiir i'asliion.
( <(
Because she is not suitable in many ways. Yon
moan woll, I feol sure ; you would nnvard her de-
votion by the lii<,Hi(^st honour a man can confer on
a wonum ; but if it is her hai)i)iness you desire, you
will think of some other plan.'
" * It is my own ]ni}iiiiness also. Dr. Glen ; I lovo
lier.'
" I looked at him incredulously, again drawing
a mental eom])arison between the two. My last
memory of Barbara was seeing her bending over
a wash-tub in the scullery, making the children's
things all clean and sweet for Bognor. What was
there about her to win the love of a fastidious,
cultivated man like Steplien Etheridge ?
*' ' She's out of health. Why ? Because she's
ruined it in my service. She wants to go away
because she's not able for the work, and can't bear
to see another in her place. If you can tell . me
anything else 1 might do with her except marry her,
I shall be very much obliged.'
'* 1 could not help smiling.
has n(>
0 it;
[Q quite
8. You
her dc-
)nler on
jire, you
; I love
drawing
My last
ng over
hildren's
hat was
stidious,
56 she's
;o away
I't bear
Itell , me
Irry her,
' llf YOU ASK ME ton MV ADVICE, { WILL SAV, lAiS f DO IT.' " [p, 245t
BARBARA.
243
*' * If you care for her as you say, it alters matters,
of course,' I ventured to remark.
"'I do care for her. She creates an atmosphere
of comfort and peace wherever she goes. My
children love her so dearly, they cannot do without
her — nor can I.'
*' ' Ethel ? ' I said inquiringly.
" ' Ethel is included. I ought to have said all
my children. There will be no difficulty with
them. The difficulty will be with Barbara herself/
" ' Have you spoken to her yet ? '
" * No. I wish you to do it.'
" Yes, you may laugh, dear," said Elizabeth,
with a comical smile. "I would about as soon have
cut off a log. Did I do it ? Yes, I did. The very
next eveuing, down comes Barbara, sent by Mr.
Etheridge, and when I saw her come in I felt about
as queer as ever I felt in my life. But I took a
good look at her all the same ; and somehow, in
the light of a new interest, I discovered new Ix'autics,
hitlierto undreamed of in Barbara Waite. 1 saw
that her toil-worn hands were small, cUid that she
sat down in-acefnilv, and that her face was interest-
ing and full of possibility. Her eyes and her voice
were always lovely, and many a woman with smaller
244
ELIZABETH GLEN, MR.
! i
weapons has conquered fate. I tried to picture her
in a lady's attire, and 1 l)('«;an to be a trifle ashamed
of my disjiaraging remarks to Mr. Etlieridge, espc-
cinlly as she was beaming at me I'rom out iier
sweet, true eyes, regarding me as a friend of the
family.
" ' Mr. Etlieridge thinks yon are not very well,
Barbara, and he wants me to have a little talk with
you,' 1 began, lamely enough. So far, however,
the situation was natural enough.
"'That's true, ma'am, I'm not well; an' did he
tell vou 1 wanted to leave ? '
'' There was a curious wistfulness in her eyes as
she asked the question, which touched me not a
little.
"' He did ; but he will never allow that, Barbara.'
*' ' But 1 am not able to do the work,' she said
piteonsly, 'and I'm not going to stop when I'm no
use to nobody.'
'' ' Barbara,' 1 said calmlv, ' it is very wicked
to talk like that. No use, when vou have brouf^ht
up all those children, and made them wiiat they
are I You can't leave them.'
" ' It'll break my heart,' she said in a low voice,
' to leave them and him ; it'll break mv lieart.'
BARIiARA.
245
re her
haraed
, cspc-
it licr
of th(^
I well,
k with
)wever,
did he
pyes as
not a
)ar9..
He said
'in no
wicked
ronght
t they
voice,
" * Yon iiave no idea, I snppose, what Mr. Etlieridge
wished me to sp«y to you ? ' I said then. She shook
her head, and I saw that slie was thinking of some-
thing else.
" ' \Vell, you needn't leave them, Barbara, as long
as yon live. Listen to aie, my dear.'
" I lenned forward and laid mv hand on hers,
and I saw the; slow wonder gather in her sweet,
serious eyes. ' You are a good woman, one of the
noblest and most nnselfisli,' I said impressively,
though I was tremlding a little, feeling the responsi-
bilitv of waking the heart of the woman before me.
' Others beside me have disctovered it. It is a liard
task Mr. Etheridge has set me, Barbara, but I will
do it. He wished me to ask you not to leave him — ■
to become the children's mother in name, as vou
have long been in loving thought and deed. He
cares for yon, Barbara, as a man shonkl care for
the woman he wishes to make his wife. Don't for
any foolish scruple throw away such a chance of
happiness for him, for the cliildren, and for yourself.'
"She looked at mt* straight and steady for a full
minute, as if not comprehending ; then she clasped
her poor red little hands together, and said with a
littl
e jj"
asp
246
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
"*0h, my (JodI'
" It was like an appeal or a prayer, in which there
was nothing but reverence, and slie fi>ed her eyes
on my face ; and though she said nothing at all,
thev made me talk. And talk I did. I can't re-
member now the lialf I said. After a time she
went away, "rid there was a dazed look on her
face, and a dainty flush which told me lier heart
was touclied. It was awaking slowly. T had but
opened the door a little vray ; it was fo" Stephen
Etheridge himself to set it wide. I prayed for
Barbara that night, and next morning I went out
of my way to call t* Bedford Square. Ethel opened
the door to me, and when she saw me she threw
her arms round my neck and gave me a hug.
" * Oh, dear Dr. Gl- ,, sucli a funny, delightful
thing has ha]>))ened ! iiarbara's away, but she's
coming back soon to be our motlier. Papa took
her last night to her aunt's at Putney, and we're
all alone, only a charwoman to help us till she comes
back.'
" Of course I said how glad I was, and I felt a trifle
eager to behold the interesting pair. Barbara herself
came to me that night, and when 1 saw her I kissed
her, «nd she sat down all of a tremble, so womanly
iiTTrin
sJ!*^
BARBARA.
247
1 there
w eyes
at all,
n't re-
Qe slie
)n her
I* heart
ad but
Stephen
ed for
jDt out
opened
threw
ightl'ul
she's
a took
we're
conies
trifle
lerself
Ikissed
lauly
and so mo(h'st in her demeanour, and yet so glad.
Her ghuhiess slione all over her lace.
" ' I've come to tell you that it's going to be/ she
said simydy. ' I don't riglitly understand how it's
come about, but we can't part, any of us, and I'll do
mv best, mv vcrv ))est, he knows that.'
"'But vou care for hiui, Ktirbara?' I said
anxiously. ' The risk is too great '>therwis€».'
"'I have always worshipped him. Dr. Glen,' she
said simply; 'and there's tlie cl .'
"So ended, or ratlier began, the • u )1 Barbara.
What do you think she -aid as j*i>e we-it nt of the
door ? "
I shook my head.
" She said, ' Poor missus ! I hof»e it wu«'t maJ- e
her feel bad wliere she is — anyhow I'll be good . >
the children.' "
" And how did it turn out, FJiz;d)etl .'' "
" Very well. Some day 1 shall ask you to tea to
meet Mrs. Etheridge, and then you (;iin judge. There
was a great deal of truth in his I'emark that she
created an atmosphere of peace and sunshine about
her — that's just Barbara ; and I think if you saw
them together now, you would ])r()bably «*y, - Wliat
a happy-looking, well-matched pair.'
A,
A COMMONTLACPJ TIlAfJKDY.
t i
I i
"TTAVE voii ever met witli fiiiv tragredv in the
hi . ^ .
course of your ])i'}ictit'e ? " I asked Dr. Glen
one day.
" Tiots of it," she replietl promptly. " There is a
«^reat deal more of it occurring?: constantly in ap-
])ar('; fly C()mmon])lace lives than most peo])le imagine.
Of eA)nrse, the doctor gets behind the scenes, where
peo])le act withont tlieir masks. I have seen things
that wcnld make the angels weep ; some of them I
have never (hired to reveal even to the innocent pages
of my jonrnul."
"Tell me something exciting, Elizaheth," I said,
eoaxingly " Th.e lioli<hiy season ho.s commenced.
Every^ixly is on the wing ; and we want a little spice
of excitement even witli onr literature."
Eliziiheth smiled a trifle sadly. It might be
imngination,but mv husband nnd 1 had of late noticed
24^1
WBWiffWF^- •'■■'•-r^'^ir-^g'
in the
p. Glen
re is a
in ap-
uo^ine.
where
tilings
hem I
|)ages
said,
lenced.
spice
it be
loticed
A COMMONPLACE TN.K.I.DY.
849
a change in our friend. Slie had nut grown less
lovable, — nay, there was a ])ensive smd snbtle charm
sibont her which was niort; fasi-inating tlian her former
liigh spirits. She was more tlionghtfnl and snbdiied,
and sometimes had a far-off. cont(Mn]>lativc look on
lier face which seemed to indicate that she had tilings
to think of we knew not of. Often I was on the ])oint
it
of (piestioning her, 1)at was always resti'aincd by the
thought that Elizabeth wouhl be sure to give me her
confidence when she felt the need ot' speech. Betv/een
such friends as she and I have Ikmmi these many \ears,
there is no need, neither is there the desire, to ask
many personal (questions. Contideuce concerning cer-
tain things comes spontaneously, the rest is sacred,
and tliat is one of the reasons, T think, why our
friendship has never become a common or a vulgar
thing. When I hear ])eople boast of a friend or
friends, saying, " We have no secrets frouj each
other," I only wonder, because tliere must remain for
ever in the human soul a holy (jf holies entered only
by the Unseen and the Eternal, who jilone can give
consolation when sorrow enters there. lUit I was not
the less anxious about Elizabetii, because T detected
at times a certain wisti'nlness in her reirardiuir of me ;
and I could guess that she was pondering something
2<;o
ELI /.A BETH GLEN. M.ll
! i
very scirionsly iit her iniiid, and was not quite sure of
my opinion re«;'jtnlin.ijf tlio sanio. \ could wait, how-
ever, witli patience on Eliza])etirs finie.
*' Talkinor of holiday makins:, do von remember the
accident to the Scotch ex])ress, not fsir from Belford,
some years ago — the accident I was in ? " she asked
I»resently.
"I reinember it jjerfectly," 1 rei)lied. "And a
narrow esca])e you liad."
" I hr,d. I told you, I think, that a lady in the
compaitment with me was killed."
'' You dul."
"Well, there was a little bit of verv real and awful
trailed V connected with that woman I have never
forgotten, and never shall. I'll tell it you ; then
\on can use your own disv-^retion about using it.
T daresay, though it should be printed, names and
all, it wouldn' do much harm. You remember I
was on mv wav home from visitino: you for the
first time at Amulree, and tlie glamour of the place
was over me still. I had slept the night at the
* P>ahnora],' in Princes Street, and in my sleep I con-
fused the murmur of the streets with the rush and
roar of that peat stream wliere your husband taught me
to fish ; and even when I got to the station I moved as
A COMMONPLACE TR.K.f.H)
2SI
ID a dream, thinkititjf how tlic wjinii yellow sun would
look that lovely morning on the purple moors, and
wondering whether it was lielping to clear the burns
to give the fishers a good day. The London train, as
usual, was full. 1 was late, and had to take a seat in
a very full compartment, wliicli, however, was nearly
emptied at Berwicrk, where there was an agricultural
show being held. \V'lien we started oil' again, there
were three persons in the carriage with me, a gentle-
man and two ladies— husband and wife and friend,
a])parently, so fjir as I could gather from their
conversation, which was animated, at least between
the husband and the friend. The wife was rather
distraite J and once or twice the look of wtniriness
on her face assumed the deeper shade of absolute
unhappiness.
" Slie looked any age from thirty to forty, and
though she had a sweet, serious, winning face, slie
seemed disjurited, almost as if she had lost pride in
herself. She was wrapped up in a rather shabby and
unbecoming travelling cloak, and her bonnet did not
suit her— altogether she presented a striking contrast
to the younger lady, who was daintily attired in a
travelling coat and skirt of brown homespun, a pink
cambric shirt, and a natty little hat, which sat jauntily
'52
ri.:/.*uiKTii r.r.EN. M.n.
(HI Iicr stylisli licad. SIk* was niflier pretty, bnt there
\v>is M pertiu'Hs ill licr expression 1 did not like, and I
did not at jill a])]»n)vc of the very decitled flirtation
she carried on with lier friend's hnshiind. He was a
well-hnilt, r;itiH!i' attrjiet ive-lookinir man, about forty,
M,nd 1 was puz/Jc*! to make out what profession or
l)Usiness lie followed. Thev Inlke*! u y-reat deal —
latf
Uh
t'.nalt mostly and though I kept my eyes on my
hook, 1 (H)uld not help listening and being amused
by it, though, of course, it was all in very ])ad taste.
They were London peoj)le, I gatiiered from their talk,
and had evidently been having a holiday trip together,
doing the usual tourist round in the usuiil tourist way.
Some of their rennirks highly amused \\n\ and some-
times 1 felt temj)ted to j)rotest at the lordly manner
in which they disposed of Scotland and her institu-
tions ; but I held my j)eace.
"' Do be (juiet, Mr. (jiaydon,' said the younger lady
once, with an air of co»|uettish reproof. ' Don't you
see poor dear Isabel is tired and bored ? '
" * Is poor dear Isabel tired and bored?' enquired
Mr. Claydon, turning to his wife with a slightly
mocking air, which I saw she resented by the slow
uprising of a dull red flush in her cheek. She gave
lier head an impatient shake, and shot a curious glance
A co.MMOi\ni.Ari-: tracfdy.
25,"
uired
khtlv
slow
gave
lance
across at tlic younger woman, whom I bad hoard thom
call Amv.
'' ' Now Isabel is cross with me, I know she is,'
said that young person, with a pout. ' All vdur f'jinlt,
Mr. ('laydon. How you do talk I Don'r mind bim,
Isabel.'
'''I am glad he amuses you, dear,' she replied,
with a sli,<;btly languid smile, in which I imagined a
faint touch of scorn.
'" What a wet blanket you are, Isabel ; and why do
you always wear the air of a suftcring nnirtyr ?' said
Mr. ('laydon shortly ; and Mrs. (/laydon (>})ened her
book, saying (piite coldly :
'' ' Yon might remember, Willie, that we are not
alone in the carriage.'
*' She settled herself in the corner, put her book up
before her face, and spoke no more. The other two,
however, talked enough for us all — sucli silly non-
sense too. 1 hated myself because I could not help
listening, and I felt so contemptuously towards them
that I could have shaken them. There is a type of
man who, whether married or single, deems it his
duty to chaff every woman he meets. He thinks they
like it— some do — this person of the name of Amy
certainly did ; and she was quick at repartee, and had
w \r 1^.
IT
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TEST TARGET (MT-3)
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I.I
itt U2 |22
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1.25 111.4 1.6
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6"
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/
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V
Hiotographic
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Corporation
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(716) S73-4S03
254
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B
a great many pretty little airs that pertain to the born
coquette. It makes no difference to her whether the
man to wlioin slie is talkin<^ be married or sinj^h*,
provided he is habited in the ^^arb of a man. Well,
this sort of nonsense, distracting to anybody who
wanted to be quiet or to read a book, went on from
E«linburgh to Berwick and beyond. It is not a long
run from Berwick to Belford, and you know it was
jnst on the edge of one of those desolate Northumber-
land moors where the accident took place. I forgot
to mention that we arrived at Berwick in a pouring
rain, and as we got into tlie wide sweep of Northum-
brian country the blinding mists came down, giving
to the lands(!{ipe an indescribably dreary look. It
beat against the carriage windows, and, though the
air was quite warm, nuule us feel inclined to shiver.
I was st?inding at the window, trying to clea^ a little
spot on the glass with my handkerchief, when the
thing happened ; and the marvel was that I should
liave escaped as I did quite unhurt."
" Was it a collision, Elizabeth ? I have forgotten/'
1 asked.
" Oh no, a collision was not likely to occur on that
line in the daytime, and with the ordinary traffic ; the
train ran otf the line."
A tOMMn\PLACE TR.\(,i:DY.
255
?»
ttOllj
that
; the
" Ran off the line ?'* I repeated. " 1 can't imagine
how it hai)pene(l."
"It (lid, tlioiigh. They had hern rei);iiriti«r thjit
particnhir part of the line, and the rails had not hecn
ahle to hear tlie pressure. I hclievi' tliaf is the ex-
])lanation given, hnt 1 can't make it any clearer ;
anyhow, if was a most extraordinary business, and 1
have sometimes wished I could have witnessed the
great thing tearing up the ground as it plouglied its
way off the line — before the final smash up. We felt
the shock as it left the rails, and even while we look( d
at each other in mute horror the crash came. I was
holding on like a vice to the carriage window, and
just at the awful moment wiiat do you think ha[>-
pened? That man Claydon, before his wife's eyes,
sat down by the girl and put his arm round her.
Perhaps he was beside himself, but there it was, and
I shall never forget the look on Isabel Cluydon's face.
The anguish of a broken heart made the fear of death
seem as nothing in her sight. And death it was,
sure enough, poor soul, for her.
" When I came to myself, I was holding on still
to the door of the eomjjartment, though I liad been
forced to my knees. And there was a great wrtick
all about us, and a confused babel of sound, like
256
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
nothing I have hoard before or since. The horror of
it hannts me in mv dreams.
" The cold rain beating on my fac(} revived lue, and
I strnggled to my feet and stej)ped ont of the debris.
The first thing I saw was the girl Amy, sitting on tlic
bank in a hysterical condition, and Claydon, with a
big pnrple brnise on his forehead, standing hel]>lessly
over her. Tlie wife I could not see. I turned from
them in sick disgust, but presently the natural
instincts of my calling rose upj)erm()st, and I ina<le
haste to lend wliat aid 1 could to i\\v sulferers. I was
the onlv doctor in the train, and we were a good
many miles from town or village, so my hands were
full enough. Fortunately, 1 had my pocket instru-
ments case and a good many other useful articles in
that little brief bag which goes everywliere with me,
so 1 was not altogetlier witliout resource. 1 had
enough of surgical work that morning to satisfy me
for a considerable time to come."
*' How glorious to feel that you could be so useful.
Just think how heljdess you would have felt had }ou
been an ordinary woman," I said impulsively.
" I hadn't much time to think about anything
except the work in hand till the other doctors came,"
Eli/.abeth replied. " Several were killed instanta-
J COMMONPLACE TK.ir.EDY.
257
or of
rr
ac, and
debris,
on tlic
with a
[]»l('ssly
d from
natural
I nuulc
1 was
a j;<^f>d
Js were
instni-
cles in
til me,
1 had
sfv me
useful,
ad \ou
lythiiig
came,"
stanta-
neously, as j)erhaps you may remember. Poor Mrs.
Claydon died in about half-an-hour after we extri-
cated her."
"Well?" I said interro«ratively, when Elizabeth
paused as if not inclined to go on. " And what about
that wretched husband of hers ? "
"You may well eall him wretclied,*' said Elizabeth,
with curling lip. " It was some little time before I
could get her restored to consciousness, and even when
her eyes opened the look of aiiguish did not leave her
face. She died with it. It was not physical pain,
nor even the horror of the accident, but the agony of a
trust betrayed, the confirmation of a fear which had
haunted her for years — that she was supplanted by
another woman in her husband's heart.
" * Where's Willie ? ' she asked, when she could
speak. * Is he hurt?'
" * No. ril fetch him/ I said, though indeed I felt
in no haste to do so.
***No, no. You look kind and gord, — I thought
so in the train ; a woman one could make a friend of.
You saw it, didn't you ? '
" I bowed my head. I could not say 1 did not, or
that I had not understood. Besides, she was dying,
and the dying are hard to deceive. For the moment
17
m
258
ELIZABETH C.LEX, MB.
is given to tln-ui a (clearness of vision wliiili fiiahh's
tliom to sec tli rough ever} j^rcte-nce and tear the mask
from evcrv deceit.
" ' It's l)een going on ever so long,' she said, moving
her poor head rcsth'ssly from side to side ; ' and of
course sljc's vcrv attractive. Men like hri^jhtness and
youtliful looks ; but I've had so many children, and
— and I'm older than Willie. Don't be too hard on
liim.'
"The j)atlios of it nearly broke ray heart, and 1
couldn't sj)eak a word. Motherhood luid not made her
sacred to him. She had gone off in looks, and the
superficial, selfish, heartless nnui was unabh.' to
appreciate the beauty of the soul which shone in her
vcrv eves.
*' ' He'll marry her, of course, and I don't mind
<lyijig — perhaps he'll be liappier with her ; but oh,
the children — poor little things I God help them ;
ther(;'s nobody to care for them ; he never did ; and
slie can't le expected to take any interest in them.
O God, it is hard ! '
" It was. For the moment a great bitterness
surged in my soul — a tierce rebellion against life's sad
irony. I could even have (juestiuned the justice of
Heaven, as 1 looked U[ion poor Isabel IJlaydon, and
A CO.UMO.yPL.tCE TKAdEDY.
259
iai)I<*s
mask
lovmg
111(1 of
3s and
II, and
ird on
and I
ide luT
ud tlie
1)1l' to
in her
mind
\\X oh,
tliera ;
; and
them.
lerness
i's sad
lice of
n, and
thou«jht how jioorly she had been eonipeiisated here
for many sorrows. It eoniforts me now when I think
of her, as I sometimes do, to believe that she has
entered upon lier herita«(e beyond, and has had fullest
recompense for the an^xnisli of earth.
" ^ I'm dying, am 1 not ? * she asked presently. ' 1
feel it.'
" ' Yes,' 1 replied slowly. ' It will not be long.'
" ' Get Amy. I want to speak to her, to ask her
to be good to the ehiUlren.'
" ' And vour husband ?'
" ' No,' she answered. * I would rather not see
him.'
'• They were not far off. They stood side by side,
like culprits — cowards in the face of death. I
motioned to her to come nearer, which she did ; but
he turned awav. Conscience had smitten him, and
4' 7
he dared not look his wife in the face.
" I, too, would have moved from my place by the
dying woman's head, but she lield ray Land fast in
hers, and I liad to stav.
"'Amy,' she said, as the empty, frivolous thing
cowered weeping before her, 'promise me you'll be
good to the children.'
'"Oh, Isabel, forgive me I I'm a wicked girl. I
•r
36o
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
iiever moant any harm, but only amused myself.
Say you forgive me, or 1 shall die too.*
"'Promise me you'll be good to the children/
repeated the dying woman, witli sad jxM'sistence. ' I
hope he'll i)e good to you. Take a word of warning-
from me. Don't make a slave of yourself, as I've
done. You'll get your thanks one day, as 1 have ;
but 1 pray you will never sulfer as 1 have done, and
be as glad to di(» as I am to-day.'
''She could say no more; tlie numbness creeping
upward had reached her heart a five minutes she
was dead.'^
" Did he never come to speak or look at her ? **
"Not wliile she lived. I tell you the man was a
pitiful coward, jind conscience liad him in grips. Rut
not for long. He was too sliallow to suffer long or
deeply. I did not speak much to liim, for 1 could not
hide my contempt."
" But the story does not end there, Elizabeth,"
I said. " It ought not, in the interests of justice, to
break off just there. Did lie never get his deserts ? "
A slow smile rippled to the corners of Elizabeth's
grave mouth.
" It does not end there. I was permitted to see a
further development of it, which interested me very
wammma
A (itMMuSI'LACl: TRAGKDY.
261
Qyself.
ildren/
le. ' I
rarninjr
as rv(!
have ;
ae, and
creeping
ites she
n was a
)s. But
lonj:^ or
on Id not
zabeth,"
stice, to
ierts ? "
zabeth's
to see a
ne very
mnch, and also afforded nie a species of very un-
christian sjitistaction over the compU'te subjugation
of a fellow -creature."
'* Well ? " I said imiuitiently. '' Don't stop at the
most exciting l»it."
" I like to hear that," said Elizabeth calmly.
"How often in the course of these nurrations have
1 had to reciuest you to curb a most unwholesome
curiosity ! You ought to be ashunu'd of it, seeing you
liave not the sujallest compunction about keeping all
your readers on the tenter-hooks for an indefinite
time.
** It*s you that's doing it this time, Elizabeth, and
they can't stand it, 1 ^iiel sure. Do go on."
'' VV^ell, jdnnit two years ago-yes, quite two years
after that — why, now 1 come to think of it, it was
only last September — 1 was called to a house in a side
street opening off Marlwood lload. Claydon was the
name, but it is not so uncommon as to attract ray
attention, and 1 took no thought of the episode of
the railway disaster whe.i 1 oheyed the summons. A
long slip of a girl, untidily dressed, but with rather a
pleasant, tlioughtful face, opened the door to me, and
asked me to walk in. 8he left me in the dining-room
while she went u}>stairs to see whether 1 might see
262
EUZAHETH GLEN, Mil
the patient. When I was h^l't, 1 looked round the
room, of eouFHe -au ordinary niiihUe-ehiss diningj-
rooiiA, witii nothin«^ to distiniinisli it from fifty others.
lint siiddtnlv I saw faeinir me jibove the si(h'hoji,rd
a crayon jMntrait of u woman, whose face seemed
stran«:;ely fainihar, tliongli 1 knew I had never been
in the lionse before. In a moment it all flaslietl
npon me, and I knew I had njet, or was about to
meet again, one of the chief actors in that sad bit
(»f tragedy 1 liad witnessed on the Nortliumberland
luoor.
" Presently back came the tall young girl, and
asked me to walk upstairs.
" * Mrs. Claydoii is ready to see you now,' she
said.
" ' Then they are married ? ' I extdaimed, without a
moment's thought. The girl looked surprised, but
answered simply, ' Yes.'
" I felt more than curious as I followed her up-
stairs. She left me at the door, and 1 entered the
room alone. And there she sat up in bed — the same
pert, pretty, youthful face — whicli, liowever, bad a
kind of sharp, eager look, as if she were perpetually
on the watch.
" ' How do vou do, Dr. Glen ? Of course vou are
^ COMMoy/'L.ICE TRAGEDY.
abj
ud Uie
liiiing-
utluM's.
set' met I
;ir bt'i'ii
fltislKul
])out to
sail bit
iberlaml
irl, and
)w,' sbe
itliout a
;ed, but
ber up-
jreil tbe
Ibe same
L bad a
[petually
vou are
snr|»ris('d to see me.' sbe be^ran, in rat ber a blirried
way. * We go to Mnrlwood Kojid (Miuntb, and 1 saw
you tbere one (hiy. Of eoursr 1 rcM-ogniscd you at
once, and I detcrmiiu'd to send for yon il' I ever re-
(juired a tbMtor. Now tell me what is tbe matter
witb me.'
" It was not mncli. I put tbe usual questions,
and presently assured ber it was only a t'evcrisli
eold.
"' I didn't think it was aucb myself, but I didn't
feel (Mpial to getting uj), and 1 tbouglit I'd Ix^tter see
you in time. Well, an* you surprised to see me bere
as Mrs. C'lavdon ? 1 mean '
" ' "Well, yes,' 1 admitted. ' But of course I ratber
expected you would marry ultimately. How do you
•j »
get on ^
*' It was a ([ueer question to put, and I don't know
, what made me nsk it, for I am usually ratber reticent,
and never ])ry. But her manner invited remark, and
I somehow felt that sbe bad sent for me more to talk
than to prescribe.
" ' Oh, I get on all right. I look after liim,' she
said, with a distinct eagerness. ' He wants looking
after, I tell you ; and 1 often tliink of poor Isabel.
But I'm not so soft as she was. I'll not stand by and
364
EUZ.UIITII GU..\, M li.
let every cliit of a ;,nrl put me in the Hhiide ; aud Will
niaydon knows it by this time, you may be snre of
that.*
" This was, of course, rather painful for me, and 1
looked at her with pify I couM not hiih*. What a
mockery of tho marria«a' tie seemed the i»ond between
these two, who betweeu them liad broken a good
woman's •heart !
"'Hc'h the sort of man that thinks every woman
lie sees is in love with liim, and he can't help talking
nonsense to girls ; but he's stopping it by degrees.
I've made him do awav witli all tlie hidv clerks and
typists at tlie (»flice, ami 1 never let him go out after
business liours alone. I poj) into the office myself,
too, at all sorts of unexpected times, jusi to see what
he is doing ; so he never feels himself safe a moment
in the day, he says, and why should he ? '
" Her voice became rather shrill as she asked this
(pKJstion, and her colour heightened visibly. My [»ity
for her increased ; and I suppose she saw it in my
face.
" * Winnie let you in, didn't she ? ' she inquired
l>resently. ' That's Isabel's eldest girl. You remem-
ber what Isabel said to me before she died ; well, I
haven't forgotten it, and 1 think I'm good to the
/t ( ()MMO\rL.l( E TR.ii.l.ltY
if>^
id Will
sure of
, and 1
Vhat a
)etWtHMl
a gooii
woman
talkin<^
iegret's.
rks and
lUt after
myself,
ee what
Qoment
ed this
Vly pity
in my
iquired
femem-
iwell, I
to the
children. Would yon mind ii«<kin<r Winnie for yonr-
Helf ? }\] like von to know if from her.'
^''I Hhouid not think of asking nneh a question,
MrH (Miiydon,' T answfred lm>tily ; and just a! the
njoment the door Imrst open, and a lilllf hoy about
four vearH old ran in and ehimlxTed on the hod in
that hoist(>rons and jovons fashion which von onlv
Bee in happy children. His t'viihMit love for her
Heemed to «r|}itify her, for she pressed her che«'l<
to his and spoke to liim us lovin^^^ly as his own
mother could have done, and my heart warmed to
the poor creature, who was lH'in«; punished now
through the very jealousy which had slain the boy's
mother.
" * How many childn-n are tliere?* I asked with
interest.
*' ' Five ; poor Isabel had eight, but three are
dead.'
" * You have none of vonr own ?'
" ' No, and I don't want any, in rasr these should
suffer, though I don't think I could love my own
more dearly than 1 do them.''
"'Were you a relative of Mrs. C'luydon's?' 1
asked.
" * Oh, no. I was Mr. Tlaydon's book-keeper, that
2r,6
EIJZABinn CLEN. MR.
;»if
was all. That is wliv 1 look nftcr liiin. I know
all the nonsense that went ou in the oftiee, but it's
put a st<>j> to now."
"'Y(m ian"t. be ven* happy,' T said involuntarily.
"'No, i'm not; exeept for tlie ehildren, I couldn't
bear it. I thought 1 eared for him, and so 1 do
after a fashion, but I'm never a moment at rest.
It's my ])unishment, I suppose, and 1 know what
poor Isabel must have suffei'ed. You see 1 can't
trust him, and if a woman can't trust tlie man she
is married to, God help her, that's all.'
" She rockcul lierself to and fro in the bed, still
keeping her face close to the little one's chubljy
cheek. I pitieil her with a vast jiity. If she had
sinned, none could say her punisliment lacked, nor
his.
"'I'm sure I don't know^ why I tell you all this,
especially after the way you looked at us that
dreadful night. I shall never forget your eyes :
they seemed to slay me. l^ut you are the sort of
person people trust ; and then doctors see all kinds
of things.'
" She stopped talking quite suddenly, and though
I felt something was expected of me, I did not know
what to say.
. I know
e, but it's
oliintarilv.
I couldn't
il so 1 do
lit at rest,
now what
ee 1 can't
e man she
!:R
1 bed, still
j's cliubbv
i she had
ucked, nor
3U all this,
t us that
our eyes :
the sort oi'
i all kinds
,nd though
L not know
'iij *'
HK iJKKMED TO FEKL MEETIVO ME.'
p. 2G7.
mm
A ((/MMOA'J'LACK I RACllDY.
2C>7
[p. 207.
" ' It is not a very liappy state! of affairs,' I said
at length. 'I do not know very iiiiioh of Mr.
Claydoii, and I saw liim at the greatest ])ussil)h'
disadvantage. Still, I cannot think the sort of
treatment vou have described can (tondncc to anv-
thing but misery. D(»n't yon tliink tliis open distrnst
and esj)i()nage are enongh to rendcM* a man desperate ?
T conl(hi't stand it myself.'
" ' 1 can't helf) it,' she said rather sadly. ' I'm
wretched and nneasy the moment he is out of my
sight.'
" ' Yon should trv and get over that. Let liim see
rather tliat vou trust liim. It will be the lirst thins
to rouse his (chivalrous feeling.'
" ^ He hasn't got any, or he would liave been more
loyal to his first wife,' was lier fiat rejoinder ; and
as I saw there was no use trying to reason with
her then, 1 went away. I felt more curious to see
Mr. Claydon than I can tell you, and ns his wife's
cold develoi)ed into influenza, and she was not able
to get up at all, I saw liim one evening ;is I went
downstairs from her room. He was greatly changed,
and looked so worried and miserable that I couldn't
help feeling sorry for him too. He seemed to teel
meeting me. i thought he looked humiliated ; and
268
ELIZABETH GLEN, MM.
though I knew he deserved it, 1 could not help, as
I said, being rather sorry for him. He did not
mention the past, nor did I."
"And is that all, Eliza})eth ?"
" That is all meanwhile."
" Weren't yon able to put matters straight there,
aa yon have put them straight in so many other
places ? "
She shook her head.
" What could I do ? I could only advise her ;
but really it was of no use. Her mind was diseased
on that particular point. She is a jealous wife, and
will remain one, 1 fear, to the end. It is oAe of the
most hopeless of all diseases."
" It must be awful," I said fervently. " And do
von see them sometimes still ? "
" Oh yes, often ; and though the children make
a bright spot in that miserable home — she has been
good to them, dear, and they reward her with devoted
love — 1 never leave the lunise without having recalled
to my mind certain lines of Longfellow's, and also a
particular Scripture text."
" What are they, Elizabeth ? "
" ' Though the mills of God grind slowly,
Yet they grind exceeding small ;
t help, as
I did not
^ht there,
any other
ji COMMONPLACE TRAGEDY.
Though with patience He stands waiting,
With exactness grinds He all/"
a69
" And the text ? "
"It will readily suggest itself," replied Elizabeth
gravely. "* Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith
the Lord."*
vise her ;
5 diseased
wife, and
she of the
"And do
iren naake
has been
:h devoted
g recalled
bnd also a
XI.
A (iKNTI-E LIFK.
'* nrXAVENT you had any amusing or interesting
holiday exj)ei-i«'iH'es, Elizabeth ? " 1 asked,
one (lay after we had been discussing our summer
plans.
•' Not very many ; the most interesting hai)})ened
at Lucerne Inst year wlien I went to visit Ellen
Douglas. Do you remember Ellen, who was the
torment and the pet of the old Edinburgh scliool ? ''
" I r(MU('mber Ellen perfectly ! " I replied, '' and
have often wondered wliat has become of her."
" Why I you must have heard ; she married a
Swiss, wlio was a student at Zurich Universitv when
she was governess to tliat queer Dutch family, the
Van Rasselars. He was their cousin, and visited at
their house. Don't you remember, I told you about
the marriage at the time ? "
*' 1 must have forgotten if vou did tell me : so
270
A CEyTLF. LUE.
27'
terestin^
I asUed,
summer
ijipponed
lit Ellen
was the
cliool ? •'
d, '' and
arried a
tv when
iiilv, tho
isited at
on about
me ; so
please give me a fow pnrticiiljirs. Is the story aVxnif
Elhm?"
" No, it hjippcned wlien I was visiting Iut last
August ; but it had notli'iiig to (!(» with her. She lias
written so often, urging me to visit her, that I stole
a fortnight last summer, when you were buried in the
Iligliland wilds ; and I enjoyed it very much." •
'' Has the marriage turned out well then ?" I asked.
'• And doesn't Pjllen find existence in Lucerne all the
vear round a trifle monotonous ?"
" She does ; she admiUed it to me quite frankly.
She told me she did not suppose there ever was a
more unhappy woman than sjie that first year, con-
sidering she n....i.ie([ lier Professor uf her own free
will and out of pure love. He is worth it, too ; he
is a fine fellow, with a big, pure, simple heart, and he
is as handsome as Apollo. Ellen always did admire
a handsome man, though slie thought, being a plain
little thing herself,. sJie liad no chance of one as a
husband."
"They are happy then?" I en([uired with interest,
for 1 had not hithert() regarded mixed marriages witii
apj)roval.
"Oh yes! they adore each otiier. And then they
have two lovely boys, who have done more to
272
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
reconcile her to the hind of her adoption than any-
thing else."
" Has she any society ? **
" Oh yes ! a lew nice friends ; hut I think they are
sufficient one to the other at the Chalet Loret. What
a lovely place it is ! It stands on the liigh ground
beyond the Schwei/.ciliof, and commands one of the
finest views of the lake and all the mountains. I
used to sit for hours in that old orchard, simply
feasting, and 1 think 1 got to know Pilatus in all his
moods, grave and nay, though I was never fired witli
the common ambition to stand on his crest. But I
must say that at the end of a fortnight I was not
sorry to make tracks for my dear grey old London.
I enjoyed my glimpse of Ellen's sweet Arcjidia, but
oh, my dear, I could not live there for all the golden-
haired Professors in the world."
" Ellen only did it for tlie sake of one," I suggested ;
and Elizabeth laughed, though her colour rose.
" She was very glad to see me, however, and when
we parted she had a wistful look we see on the faces
of those who are ' far frae hame.' "
" And the Professor — how did he regard you ?
Was he not horrified at the very idea of a lady
doctor?"
// GENTLE LIEE.
273
in auy-
bhey are
What
ffrouml
; of the
:aiii8. 1
, simply
1 all his
ired with
. But I
was not
Loudon.
lia, hnt
golden-
ggested ;
I
,nd when
^he faces
rd you ?
: a lady
"No; thert' are a good many women students at
Zurich now, and, hcsidcs, he is hroad-minded as one
would expect Kllcn's Pntfcssor to be. The most
charming man. dear; such manners I so old-world,
so courteous, so chivalrous I Our boys should be sent
to such homes as the C jalet Loret to lenrn true
courtesy. But it strikes me 1 am giving you Kllen's
story instejid of the other one."
"Just tell me a little more about her house," I said
coaxinrgly. " Wlint is it like ? 1 have always longed
to see the inside of a Swiss chalet."
"It was a queer mixture of English taste and
Swiss adornment, which is very simple. The floors
I specially liked, and she had some Liberty rugs,
which looked homelike. Her crockery was English,
siud her tea decidedly so ; with cream from her Swiss
cow, it was a beverage fit for a priiun.'. She has it
sent with other things from the stores, not sharing at
all our views about big monopolies, wliich don't give
smaller traders a chance to live."
" Oh, it doesn't matter there, I should think. Well,
I'll ask you some more questions about Ellen later.
Go on with your story now."
" Yon won't print all this about Ellen, dear ; she
might not like it," said Dr. Glen doubtfully.
18
t !
274
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
"Oh, I'm Hiirc she wouldn't mind; we rnn cliniipro
her mime if you like," I said, witii tlie chcerr diuerity
of oue accustomed to dispose lightly of su( . seruides ;
"or we can send the prool' to her if yon like ; then if
she objects we can take it all out, though I must say
it would be a pity."
" Yes, send lier the proof by all means ; it will
amuse her, and it would be worth while hearing the
Professor's verdict," said Elizabeth. " Now for my
Ftory, and IVe only half-an-hour to tell it you, my
dear, for I have to be at Belgrave Square at half-past
seven."
" Any dukes or marquises ill ? " I asked teasingly.
*' I didn't know you had any patients in that aristo-
cratic square."
" I haven't. I*m going to a dinner party."
" Whose ? " I promptly enquired.
" You are too insatiably curious, my dear, and I
shall not answer you just at present," said Elizabeth,
most whimsically ; and again the colour glowed warm
and red in her cheek, but still 1 regarded her guile-
lessly, unsuspicious as a cliild. Many romances liad
been discussed between us, and somehow having grown
accustomed to the idea, often expressed in her own
words, tlint. she stood oti the outside always, 1 had
A GESTLE LIFE.
^75
iucrity
then if
list say
it will
ing the
for my
oil, my
,alf-i»Hst
asingly.
; aristo-
, and I
izabeth,
d warm
jr guile -
ices had
g grown
ler own
I, 1 had
forgotten that it might be possible for Elizaibeth to
have a romaiuM- of her own.
" Well, one ev(;iiing after dinner, Ellen and I were
sitting in the orcliard, talking sometimes, and again
watching thron«:h the Professor's wondeit'ul glass
certain stragglers toiling iij) I'ilatus to spenci the
night and be up in time to set; tlie sun rise. It was
an evening of surpassing and \v(>n(h*rl'nl loveliness,
such as we do not often see in our mistv isle ; the nir
soft, still, serene, bearing every sound on its breast,
and so crystal clear it seemed to breathe new life into
one. Not a cloud, nor even a tleeey Him dist* rbed the
azure of the sky, except in the east, where the horizon
was purple -a royal purple — merging to softest lilac
ere it met the blue. The west was the usual ruddy
splendour, and "
" You ought to have written books, Elizabeth, and
not I," I interposed.
" Are you laughing at me ? Well, I shall not
weary you with any more tedious description."
" How touchy you are, Elizabeth I 1 do not know
what has come to you. I'm not going to let you off
in that fashion. Tell me how the lake looked."
" As if you did not know how Lucerne mirrors
every passing mood of the canopy over it. it was so
27^
ELIZABETH GLEN. MB.
Btill I thniiirlit only of tlie sea of j^lass the Bible
H|)('HkH of, and tlic little Ixuits aH tlioy glided to and
fro scarcely >tiemed to distnrh it. Only the steamers,
laden as they came np from Kliiellen and StauHsfadt,
with tlieir noisy |»nlhn«( and their long black trails of
smt)ke, seemed like a desecration."
" I see it, I see it all, Elizabeth ; and the fringe of
j^rcen on the banks, dipping down to meet the water,
and the laughter of the evening crowds on the Quay.
Well, what then?"
" We were sitting, Ellen and 1, and I believe we
were talking about yon, when a boy — a page from one
of the hotels - came liastily into the garden and, with
hat in hand, respectfully addressed us in pretty broken
English.
"'The English madam --who is the doctor — would
she be so good —at the Schweizerhof — a lady wishes
her — immediate.'
"Ellen promptly interviewed him in Gorman,
which she t''anslated to me disjointedly. A lady
was taken suddenly ill at the Schweizerhof, and
would I go to see her without delay. We sent the
lad off to tell them I was coming, and Ellen and I
got our hats and followed almost immediately. She
said she w^onld sit on the Quay where the band was
B Bible
to and
earners,
tUMStUllt,
tmilrt of
fringe of
le water,
be Qaay.
lieve we
from one
ind, with
,v broken
r — would
y wishes
German,
A lady
lof, and
sent the
en and I
ly. She
)and was
/I CF.NTLF. Ul'E,
t^^
playintj, and wait till T cnino. As I crnsscMl the rojid
from the Qnav to the hotel T sccn'tlv wondered liow
the lady had leuriied I was at tlie (ylu\let Loret.
When one jiays a private visit one's name is not
usnallv to be fnuiid in tlie list of visitors. I Inid not
asked tlie lady's name, but the hotel porter wus on
the look-out tor rae, and I saw by his faee that some-
thing serious was apprehended ; and the moment 1
entered I was taken in an elevator to the third floor,
and into a large, handsome sitting-room, where an
old lady came to me presently, the sweetest old lady
I think 1 had ever seen. She looked terribly dis-
tressed, and regarded me so imploringly that I felt
a trifle coid'used. The UKunent she spoke my heart
warmed to her, for she was Scotch, and had the real
Edinburgh accent, which is music to me always and
everywhere.
" ' It is my daughter, Doctor Glen,' she said
falteringly. ' My name is liawrence. I knew your
mother before she was married, and 1 have heard of
you from my friend Lady Hamilton, of Flisk C'astle.'"
I wondered a little just then why Elizabeth turned
away her head, and why her voice distinctly trembled
as she uttered these, to me, unfamiliar names. Hut
she did not pause at all, and presently in my interest
1 '
i- :
1: ■
278
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
in the stor" I forgot my momentary wonder, though
it recurred to me more than once as she went on.
*• I knew who she was instantly, of course, the
widow of a well-known Edin})urgh ndvocate who
had died suddenly in his prime, leaving her with
one child, the daughter who was now so ill. I re-
membered seeing her once at Flisk, a pretty golden-
haired little orirl who won everybody's heart.''
" You knew the Hamiltons well, then ? " I asked ;
and Elizabeth answered agaiu without looking at me
and with tliat odd constraint still in her voice.
'* Yes, Flisk is next to Glens])eed. We have
always known the Hamiltons," she replied.
" I have not heard you speak much about them,
1 ventured to say, but Elizabeth continued her story
without noticing that suggestive remark.
" ' Your daughter has been taken suddenly ill,
Mrs. Lawrence,' 1 satd symfiathetically. ' What was
the cause?'
" ' I don't know. W^e can't make it out,' said
Mrs. Lawrence mournfully. ' Effie has always been
healthy, though not perfectly robust. She felt a
little upset by the journey yesterday, and I kept her
in bed to-day. Since lunch she has grown rapidly
worse,*
I:'
A GENTLE LI! E.
279
r, though
: on.
urse, the
cate who
her with
11. I re-
y golden-
I asked ;
iiig at me
IVe have
it them,
her story
ienly ill,
Vhat was
)ut,' said
'■avs been
le felt a
kept her
1 rapidly
" * I had better see her at once,' I said, a tritic
anxiously. I felt so sorry for the widowed mother
whose one ewe lamb had thus been stricken. The
bedroom opened off the sitting-room, and when I
followed the mother in and looked at the patient
I felt more anxious still. She was in a high fever,
and comi)lained of so much pain that my lirst care
was to administer something to relieve it. She bad
not much reserve strength, I could see ; prop])ed up
among her pillows I thougJit her a fragile-looking
creature, one of the sweetest and most guileless that
ever drew the breath of life.
" ' Oh, it is so nice to see you instead of a horrid
man-doctor, especially a foreign one, with long
whiskers perha])s, and goggle eyes,' she said, almost
gaily. 'Mamma thinks I am very ill. Isn't she
needlessly frightened, l)u-iur (ilen? and what a
lucky chance that you should be in Lucerne at the
same time.'
"I could not laugh and joke much with her, for
I was anxiously concerned. I did not like any of
her symptoms, and 1 was in haste to go out to the
nearest chemist to get all 1 required.
" ' I always knew how clever you were. Doctor Glen,'
Bhe said, looking at me with a slight wisttulness.
28o
ELIZABETH GLES, MB.
' Keitli 1ms told me yon are good, but perhaps you
have heard that I am engaged to Keith, and that
we expect to be married in Oi^tober, Then 1 go to
Flisk Castle, and poor mamma will be left quite
alone.' "
At this point Doctor Glen suddenly stopped and
looked me very fully in the face.
" Before I began this story, Annie, I knew certain
parts of it would be inexplicable to you, but I must
beg of you not to interrupt me by a single question.
Before T come quite to the end you will understand
perliaps how I felt as Efiie Lawrence spoke these
words.
" ' No, I hv.ve not heard,' I replied, as steadily as
I could, tliough I knew I must have looked queerly.
Certainly I felt it. J had only one desire — to get
out of the room, to feel myself ([uite alone, for the
name had set my heart throbbing like the waves of
a tempestuous sea, and 1 was for the moment unfit
for the duty of my profession. But it passed, and
when I followed Mrs. Lawrence out into the sitting-
room I was ([uite t;alm and ready to sj)eak and to hear
colleetedlv.
" ' You are anxious. Doctor Glen, I can see,' said
the poor mother tremulously.
A GENTLE LIFE.
aSi
rhaps you
and that
1 1 go to
eft quite
pped and
w certain
t I must
question,
iderstand
ke these
eadily as
queei'iy.
— to get
, for the
waves of
ent unfit
sed, and
i sitting-
i to hear
lee,' said
"*I am very anxious. There is another Eu^vlish
doctor in Lucerne. He comes from London as 1 do,
and I know him pretty well. He is at the Hotel de
TEurope. With your kind permission I will go and
fetch him. He has probably not yet risen from table-
d'hdte.'
"I shall never forget the anguish in that sweet
^^ce, yet, as such women do, she kept perfectly calm,
and assented to all my suggestions at once.
" * You heard her say she is engagetl to her cousin
Keith HamiJton,' she said. ' He is in the Tyrol at
present, at Ischl, I think, and was to follow us here
next week. Had I better send for him ? '
'' ' You had better,' I replied ; and then she took
my hand between her two thin white palms, and
looked at me most pitifully.
" ' My dear, it is a bitter cup. Pray that it may
pass from me. She is my all, and has done no harm
in this dear world. But His will be done.'
" I hurried out. I could not speak. Oh, my dear,
there are times when we feel our puny knowledge but
mocks us, wheh we are inclined to think our pro-
fession worse than useless. 8o I felt then. I forgot
all about Ellen, but drove back to the H6tel de
I'Europe for Doctor Ridgway, of Bryanston Square,
W
^.R
282
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
whose nurae I bud acoidentallv seen in the visitors*
list that very day. I caught him leaving table-d'hote,
and he came back with me at once. His opinion
coincided with mine — we could not give Mrs. Lawrence
any hope."
'' What was it ? *' I usked.
" Oh, a common trouble enough ; but one which
often baffles all the skill we have," Doctor Glen
replied, " and often it is sudden and fatal in its
results. After Doctor Uidgway left, I ottered to
watch Jill night, or part of the night, by the poor
girl, and they both seemed grateful. Tlieu I remem-
bered Ellen, and went back to the Quay to find, of
course, that she had gone. I returned to the hotel,
wrote a hasty note, and despatched the boy with it.
I asked her to come aloui;' after breakfast next
morning, as I might require her. I knew she was a
good nurse, even in her girlhood. Then I went up
to Etiie's room. It was almost midnight before I
could persuade Mrs. Lawrence to go and lie down,
and she only consented when I poinded out how
serious it would be to have two patieats on my hands
instead of one. The child seemed pleased to have me
beside her. She liked me to sit quite clt)se to the
bed, and 1 could not tell you all the things she said.
A GENTLE LIFF.
283
visitors'
le-d'hote,
1 opinion
jawrence
le which
or Glen
,1 iu its
Tered to
be poor
remern-
find, of
le hotel,
with it.
st next
ie was a
went up
before I
e down,
Hit how
y hands
lave me
e to the
>he said.
Her constant talk about Keitb Hamilton was almost
more than I could bear ; the keenest [)ain of all was
because I knew that the fragrance of an old dream
was not yet destroyed ; and that I was weak— weak
where I had priih'd myself on my strength. But she
guessed nothing of that inward and terrible struggle
as I listened to her constant babble about her happi-
ness, and lier oft-expressed fear lest she should not
be fit enough wife for such a good, noble, clever man.
'* ' It is so good of him to ^toop to poor little me,'
she said, with child-like liumility. 'I have always
loved him, but I nevei aspiivd to be his wife. Don't
you think Keith Hamilton deserves a better wife ? '
" ' He could not possibly find another so good or
half so sweet,' I replied ; and truer words I never
spoke.
'^ ' But he is so clever and knows so much,' she
said wistfully. ' Perhaps some day he will be sadly
disappointed in his poor little wife. I hope 1 am not
quite so bad as Dora in " Copperfield." Do you think
I am ? '
" ' Hush, my darling ; Keith Hamilton knows as
well as I do that all intellectual gifts pale before the
radiance, of a pure, unselfish heart like yours,' I said;
and, bending over her, I kissed her twice, and the
284
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
last kiss was my farewell to a dream from which 1
knew in a moment of sn])ieme bitterness that I had
never parted all these years. But it was over now.
Very early in the morning the distressed and anxious
motlier came to relieve ine oi' my vigil. I went up
to her room iind tlirew myself, dressed aa I was, on
the bed, but sleep was impossible. Too many memo-
ries haunted me, and the bitterness of a past time
rose up before me with such vividness that I did not
know how to bear it. I rose at length, and throwing
open the window, allowed the sweet breath of the
morning to cool my hot face, and the loveliness of
the new dawn, before the heat and burden of the day
had robbed it of its freshness, laid a hush upon my
fevered spirit. Looking out ui)ou that placid lake,
with the silver shadows of the mornini>: twilight still
on its breast, and the soft grey mists rolling back-
ward from tlie mountains to prepare them for the
sun's caress, I felt that nature has a message for ns
in every mood, and will give comfort to our souls
even in their extremity if we only understand her
silent speech, I felt such a desire to be out of doors
that, though it was only half-past five, I put on my
hat and stole downstairs. A few sleepy-eyed servants
were about, and the porter undid half the door to
which 1
lat I had
)ver now.
1 anxious
went up
[ was, on
ly memo-
)ast time
[ did not
throwing
a of the
liness of
■ the day
upon my
cid lake,
ght still
ag back-
for the
e for ns
iir souls
and her
of doors
; on my
servants
door to
':. -It
I ■ i
" ' YOU HtHE : . . . WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN V "
[l> -.bb.
*
A GENTLE UFE.
■ * 9(
[i^l
^^-'
SL»j
Ur ibD.
285
let me out, asking civilly what boat I wanted to
catch, and if 1 had had any breakfast. 1 thanked
hiiu and passed out to the porch. All tlu* flowers and
plants before the door were wet with dew, and the air
had a cool, clean touch wliich most refreshed me.
*' As I stepped across tt the roadway, a cab rattled
np to the gate, and a gentleman, in great haste, flung
himself out. Then all tlie earth seemed to rock
beneath my feet, and the landscape swam before my
eyes ; though I stood quite cahuly before Keith
Hamilton, and gave him good-morning in a voice
cold as ice, as he has told me since. He looked even
more stricken than 1. His first words were, —
" ' You here ! what does it all mean ? *
" 1 saw that his strong brown hand trembled as
he thrust it in his pocket for the necessary change,
and I would have turned away, but his eyes chained
me — those frank, fearless eyes, which had never
known the droop of shame or the swerving of dis-
honour, and I said to myself, as I waited while he
dismissed the man, that in all my travels I had never
met his equal ; that Keith Hamilton was my woman's
ideal of all a man should be, even as he had been the
idol of my girlish dream.
" ' Now,' he said, and he looked me very straightly
!■
286
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
in the face, and his glance warmed my starved heart,
for I saw its deep tenderness, its unspeakable yearn-
ing, which dared not now find a voice. And a great
joy possessed my soul, because I saw that I was not
forgotten.
" * I have been watching by poor Ettie Lawrence all
night,' 1 said, * and I wanted a breath of fresh air.
I am glad you have come.'
" * What is the matter with lier ? ' he asked, almost
roughly. ' I saw her in London only ten days ago,
and she was then perfectly well.'
" ' She is not so now,' I repliea gravely. ' You
may prepare yourself ; it is impossible she can
live.'
" He regarded me sternly for a moment, then a
great sob shook him, and he went his way without
vouchsafing me another look or word, and I stole
across to the deserted Quay, and sat down on a seat
close to the water's edge, and pondered in my heart
many, many things, both bitter and sweet. But in all
my thoughts was I most loyal to that sweet, innocent
soul, so soon to pass from earthly ken, and I prayed,
if a miracle might yet be permitted here, that her
life might be saved. Yet knew 1 all the time that
no earthly aid could avail. 1 had not watched these
r.
s ■
]■<■■'
u
A GLNTLE UFE.
287
Bd heart,
le yearn-
cl a grout
was not
re lice all
rash air.
I, almost
avs as:o,
. ' Yon
3he can
then a
without
I stole
I a seat
ly heart
it in all
inocent
prayed,
lat her
le that
I these
silent night honrs for nought ; and I knew the end
could not be very far away.
"At eight o'oh)ck, Ellen came down from tin*
Chillet Loret, full of sympathy and anxious th'sire
to help; when she saw me, she J4»pejired much
concerned.
" * Why, Elizabeth,* she said, * I could not have
believed that the loss of a few hours' sleep would
have so chauged you I * ,
" ' It is not that, PlUen,* I answered. ' I found
in my poor patient one I knew once, associated with
the old life at Glenspeed, and it has greatly upset me.
Oh, my dear, life is a great mystery 1 1 wish our eyes
were not always so holden that we could not see/
" Dr. Ridgway also came most kindly after break-
fast, and all — all was done to prolong that sweet
life, to save it to the love of those her love had
blessed. It was my strange experience, 1 who loved
Keith Hamilton as my own soul, to remain a watcher
in that room while he sat by Effie Lawrence's bed,
she looking ujion him as her lover, almost her
husband ; and so strangely are we constituted, and
so abounding is the grace and mercy of God, that
not only could I witness it without bitterness, but
I could pray incessantly with unceasing and intense
'■\
i
288
ELiZABETH GLEN, MB.
uplifting of heart Unit, if possible', she mi^ht yet
live. Bnt it 'umld not be ! Her gentle mee was
run. lu her brief span of life she had known no
sorrow and much joy. Hers was a rnitnre the
breath of sorrow would iiave crushed ; and though
it seemed hard to all looking on that a life so
young and beautiful should thus untimely end,
perhaps it was well, for even to the sheltered and
the cared-for, sorrow, the heritage of all earth's
children, must sooner or later come. She died at
bunset in Keith Hamilton's arms, and in my soul
I blessed him, because from him had gone forth no
shadow to add a pang to her passing.
" About an hour before slie died I was there
alone with her. Not alwnys could the poor mother
bear up, and when her grief obtained the mastery
she always left the room. Poor Etne had been, as
we thought, asleep. When her mother had left us
alone she opened her eyes and looked at me with
a quiet, brave little smile.
" * I am very ill and tired. Poor mamma cannot
bear it. Something has whispered to me I shall
not get well. It is just a little hard, when I was
60 happy ; but perhaps, after all, it is better, in
case any one should have been disappointed.'
ight yet
•a('«' was
nowii no
nre tho
I thongli
k life 80
elv <Mul,
(M*L'«l and
earth's
(lied at
my sonl
forth n«)
is there
mother
mastery
been, as
left us
e with
cannot
I shall
I was
ktter, in
A nF.STl.E IJFE.
2Sn
"1 knew (|iiit<' well wliaf she nioitit, hut 1 coul'l
not answer her. I laid <h>wii niv clicck (tii her
pule liand, and I iVlt my soul cleave s(» tn licr th:if
1 wouhl fiiin lijivc hiid hare hoforo h<T the liurdni
w'hicli had hiin upon it for years. 1 ji?n i^dad now
I did not witli niv sorrow trouhh^ her tender liesiif.
"*Yon !ire so good. Kejtli ;ilwiiys t(d(l me 8o,
hut now I know it,' she sjiid, very ([uietly. 'Will
you c(»me nearer to nn* till I whisper something tf)
von wliieli nohoilv else must liear ? '
'' 1 did 80 — so near that 1 almost Indd her to m\
henrt.
"'It is just this: If, after I am gone, Keith
should he very lonely, and, reverencing v<mi as he
does, should ask you to— to hel]) him, will yon
remember that it will make me li;ij)py in heaven,
because I know that, however happ) you two
might be, I shall never be forgotten ? *
" I could not speak ; but, somehow, she seennMl
to understand, and 1 do think that there came to
her in that last, hour a clearness of vision which
revealed to her what was ]mssing in the hearts of
others ; but I felt that she knew my stormy heart-
history just as well as if L liad myself laid it bare
to her, and so we came very near to each other,
19
290
ELIZABETH G! EN, M.B.
tliongh we both loved Keith Hamilton with the one
love of a woman's life.
" And so and so — she died.''
" Bnt tliat is not all, Eliznbeth," I said, very
softly, fearing to inti'ude upon what I saw was so
sacred to mv friend.
'' No, not all ; hut I cannot tell yon any more
to-dav. It will be mv story and Keith Hamilton's
next time, dear, when 1 am able."
'' Will you give me that, Elizabeth ? "
" Yes ; wliy not, when I have given so much ?
Some explanation must be forthcoming, anyhow,
for the sudden retirement of Elizabeth Glen from
the practice of her profession," she replied, and a
very faint smile dawned on her face, making it so
inexi)ressibly lovely that I wondered I had never
before thought her really a beantiful woman.
And though both our hearts were full to over-
flowing, and though I had heard for the fiirst time
such great and wonderful news, we parted without
speech, and I thougiit more of Effie Lawrence than
of Elizabeth as I went my way.
the one
id, very
was so
ly more
tmilton's
much ?
anyhow,
en from
, and a
ig it so
d never
I.
to over-
'st time
without
ce than
XII.
HKU OWN ROMANCK.
" TT is a complicated story," said Elizabeth, " but I
must begin at the ery beginning, which dates
from a time before you knew me— when I was a louo-
lank slip of a girl at Glenspeed, and he was a Trinity
boy coming liome from Glenalmond at Easter and
midsummer and Christmas, full of boyish slang and
boyish sports, all of which I shaivil."
" Slang, too, Elizabeth ? "
" Yes, every word, till Aunt Grace and father had
to lecture me individually and collectively, and point
out the enoi-mity of such an offence in the heiress of
Glenspeed. I did not mind the lecturing, and I don't
believe it did a bit of good. It was a jolly, happy,
never-to-be-forgotten time. If I live to be a hundred
I shall cherish the memory of if as the most precious
of mv life."
t
it
I
f
291
392
ELIZABETH GLEN. MB.
" Flisk is near to Glenspecd, isn't it ? "
'* It is ihe next place, and we knew all the short
cuts. Keith was an only child, like me, and we were
quite inseparable. I used to write letters doleful and
sentimental, interspersed with a few facts about
puppies and calves and colts, until one of them, the
most doleful and sentimental I ever wrote, fell into
the hands of one of his chums, who read it to every
boy in the form. I leave you to ima^^ine what kind
of life poor Keith had after it, and there was ample
excuse for the kind of epistle he launched upon my
devoted head. I've got it still, and I'm going to show
it to him one of these days when he iuippens to be
more aggravating than usual."
'< What did hesav?"
" I don't think I dare tell you."
" Yes, do — 1 shall understand him ever so much
better."
" Well, he said, if I ' rote one more like that to
him he'd never look near Glenspeed again, and that
he'd take back Silver, the setter puppy he had given
me for my birthday, and make Donald, the Flisk
forester, ^ut gates on all the footpaths, and lock them,
too, and more such stuff, which is very amusing
reading now, though it took away uiy appetite for two
HER OWN ROMANCE.
29;>
le short
we were
eful and
•5 about
lem, the
fell into
to every
lat kind
IS ample
i})on my
to show
lis to be
50 much
that to
md that
id given
le Flisk
\\i them,
imusing
for two
whole days, and made me water poor Silver's glossy
head daily with my tears. I had it out with him, and
made him beg my pardon, too, tlie very next time he
came home ; hut I wrote no more love-letters to
Glenalmond. His father is one of the finest old
gentlemen von could wish to see. You have often
said my dear old fatlier is your heatt i<feal of what a
gentleman and a father ought to be ; but you have
never seen Colonel Hamilton. He won the V.O. in
India, and though he is such a grand, brave soldier,
his heart is as simple as a chihVs."
" Is his mother alive also ?"
*' She was then — Lady Marjorie, a daughter of the
Larl of Blount Meldrum. I loved her, too, but I
belifc 'e I adored the Colonel, and when the estrange-
ment came it nearly broke my heart."
'^ Elizabeth, to think you ha<l this in your heart all
these years, and I never dreamed of it I *' 1 could not
help saying.
'^ It was no treason to you, dear, to keep it hid.
The thing was over, and if I had allowed myself to
speak of it or brood over it, I should have been un-
fitted for my work. I always meant to tell you some
day, and that day has come."
"Only when it was inevitable," I said, bound to
:!:K
ii'!^
394
ELIZABETH GLEN, MB.
have my grumble out. " I don't suppose you'd
exactly wish me to hear of your love affairs from an
outsider."
'* Oh, don't be so touchy, dear," said Elizabetli
brightly, for she saw I was only teasing her. '' Do
vou or do vou not wish to hear the history of Elizabetli
Glen's first and only love affixir?"
'^ Go on," I said, giving my pencil a now point, and
smoothing the j)aper of my note-book — whicli I shall
for ever keep because it bears the record of Doctor
Glen's romance.
" Well, from Glenalmond, Keith went to Oxford,
and did well there. His father would have liked him
to enter the army, but his tastes lay in the occu-
pations of a country gentleman. He was the best
rider, the best shot, and the best rod in the count} ,
and he worshipped every stone that lay on the lands
of Flisk, so when he attained liis majority he settled
down to look after the estate."
" How old were you then, Elizabetli ? "
'' Nineteen, he was one-and-twenty, and for a time
we were as great chums as ever."
" And what led to the estransreraent ?
»
" Why, this thing, my desire to be a doctor, and to
live a more useful and a fuller life than that of—"
\-,-*"
HER Oil A' RCmAA'( E.
295
Dse you'd
s from an
Elizabetli
er.
"Do
Elizabetl
:ii
)oint, and
'h I shall
►f Doctor
Oxford,
iked him
he occu-
the best
^ countv,
he lands
e settled
' a time
•, and to
" Keitli Hninilton's witV ? "
She nodded, and her luce flushed softly, and her
eyes shone. " It beg'an when Mary Rutherford came
one summer to Glenspeed and announced her intention
of becoming a medical missionary and going in for
Zenana work. Have von ever seen Marv ? "
" Why, yes ; that little l)lack-eyed, weary-faced
creature, who always h)oked so intense and melan-
choly ; but she had a true, unselfish lieart."
" That she had ; and siie has done, and is doing, a
great work. But, you see, her case was different from
mine. She was an ori)han — only tolerated in the
house of the aunt who brought her up. Pa})a had
nobody but me. But we are so lieadstrong in our
youth; we see nothing hut what we wish to see, and
imagine we are called of (iod to a great work, whereas
it is only self jminting us to a congenial course."
''True, Elizabeth," 1 murmured ferventlv, as mv
thoughts went back to my own headstrong youth.
" You never spoke truer words than these."
" Mary came to Glenspeed that summer fired with
her new enthusiasm. I was young and very impres-
sionable ; she soon convinced me I led a life of
luxurious and sinful ease, though 1 sometimes thought
I had a good deal to do. She brought her medical
■ I
igb
EUZAliETil GLEN, M.n
])ooks witJi Ikt, and we nsccl to stiulv tlieiu toijretlicM'.
Before slie Jeft (ilens})ee(l loy mind was mude up. 1
was deterniiiied to go in i'or a medical course, and to
ibilow Mary to India x\i the earliest Dossihle moment.
Hut how to hreak it to fathi^r and Aunt Grace ! It
kept me awjike for nights.
" Well, f did a very foolish thing. I confided my
»>
secret ambition first to Keith Hamilton.'
" Were you engaged to him then ? "
" No, we were simply chums, hut I knew as well as
he did that to see us married was the secret and
most cherished desire of those who loved us best, and
till now 1 had rather looked upon it as a settled thing
that 1 should marry Keith one day wlien father had
no further use for me. But there had never been a
word of love between us."
" Keith, then, very naturally objected," I said, with
intense interest.
" I shall always remember that day," said Elizabeth
reflectively. " It wa^. October, a lovely, crisp after-
noon, when all the fields were bare, and the ' trees
hingin' yellow,' as the song says. Keith and I had
been for a ride up Glendarroch, and the wind of the
hills was in our ears as we came down into the low
II"
round once more.'
ogetljcr.
e up. 1
3, and to
nomeiit.
ice ! It
ded my
well ns
ret uiid
L'st, aud
d thing
lev had
been a
d, with
zabeth
after-
' trees
I had
of the
le low
'' Did you ride toirether all over tiie couutry like
that, Elizabeth ? "
" Why, yes ; we were sometimes out together six
days in seven, and on the seventh we met at church.
Ves, we were a good deal to each other, and after the
breach it was not to be wondered at that life kx.ked
rather desolate."
"I should think not indeed. Was he angry,
then ? "
" No. He listened to all I had to say, and there
was a kind of aggravating smile on his mouth—he
has a handsome mouth, too, even when he looks iiis
sternest ; and when I had finished he laid his hand
on my bridle-rein, and looked at me rather keenly.
" ' It's well you've told me all this, Liz,' he said
calmly. ' For, of course, it's the beginning, middle,
and end of the whole thing.'
" ' What do you mean ? ' I asked rather hotly, for
there was a calmly decisive air about him which put
up my temper.
Why, that it is out of the question altogether, of
course, tJiat's all,' he replied.
" ' And why, pray ? ' I en(piired.
" ' Well, to begin with, it's all very well for people
like Miss Uutherford to go in for that sort of thing,*
■ 'm''
298
ELI/.AliETII GLEN, M.Il
he said, nud I imagined a note of eoiiteni])t in liis lust
words. ' It's out of tlie question for you.'
" ' Wliy ? Yon make statements and you can give
no reason for them,' I said hotly. 'And you need
not allude so (•(►nteinptnously to Mary as " that sort
of person " ; she is a great deal better tlian most
]ieo|)le, and she is capable of a great deal of sacrifice
wliicli we could never hope to emulate.'
" ' We don't want to — at least, I don't ; and I hope
to goodness, Liz, neither do you,' said Keitli grimly.
* Look here, dear' — and his voice fell a little, and grew
very tender — ' you're not going to throw me over
like this. Everybody knows we're to be man and wife
some day.'
" ' Then everybody knows too much,' I cried
rebelliously. ' And I'm not going to be disposed of
in any such fashion to you or anybody else, Keith
Hamilton. 1 can live my own life, thank Heaven,
independently of you or of any other man.' "
'^ What made you so mad, Elizabeth ? " I asked.
" These words sound harsh enough now, but if you
spoke them in the heat of passion they must have
been rather hard hearing for Mr. Keith Hamilton."
" I was awfully angry, dear. I never remember
feeling quite so angry before or since. You see, he
HER OWN ROMANCE.
399
ill liis last
I can give
vou need
' tbat sort
rliaa moat
)f sacrifice
lud I hope
Ml jjrrimlv.
, and grew
me over
n and wife
I cried
isposed of
se, Keith
I Heaven,
' I asked.
3nt if you
anst have
lilton."
rememloer
)u see, he
jnat took the wn.:ig way with me. I luid trusted him
before anvl)odv witu a secret which was almost sacred
to me in those days, and to have one's most cherished
ambition pooli-poohed is not very easy to bear. And
all the time there was a secret soreness b(?cause 1
knew I liked Keith so much that it would uearlv
break mv lieart to leave him."
" Well, what did he say next ? "
".Just the very thing, of course, which lie ouglit
not to have snid. He began somewliat in this fasliion,
and I imagined a certain lordly, patronising air in him
whicli made me wild.
" ' It would never do for you, Elizabeth, to go m for
such advanced ideas. No woman wlio thinks anv-
thing of herself would or could go in for medical
study. Why, it takes a fellow all his time to get
hardened to it. Your father will never consent to it ;
and to me it is intolerable to think of you subjected
to experiences which will rob you of that exc^uisite
womanliness which makes everybody love vou.'
"* Exquisite humbug,' I said, for these were the
very arguments Mary had prepared me to expect.
' If my womanliness is to be so easily damaged,
Keith Hamilton, it is a quality not worth possessing,
and I'm very much obliged to you for your very
lOO
ELI/lliETIl (;LE.\. Mil
[Kior opinion of a woman yon luive known all your
life.'
'' He looked at me perplexedly, and I saw him bite
ills lipis. We had fallen out many timeH in our lives,
but these were the first hot words which had passed
between iis since wc accounted ourselves grown up ;
and they liurl us both a good deal more than we
would have cared to acknowledge. Presently he
began again.
'' ' Putting aside all these other considerations,
whic^h I regard as serious, though you scofi' at them,
it's an awfully hard grind. 1 don't believe you'd
ever get through, and if you do it'll be at the expense
of your health.'
" ' We'll see,' I said grimly. If there had been a
lingering spnrk of indecision in my heart these words
dissolved it, and from that moment I was a person of
one idea — to obtain with the liighest possible credit
that difficult degree.
" W^e rode on then in silence for a time, and I could
see that Keith was very miserable, but I didn't feel
a spark of pity for him. He had wounded my pride
and my susceptibilities too deeply, and I told myself
he'd need to humble himself in the very dust before
I would forgive him."
HEF OWN ROMANCE.
30'
all voiir
' him bite
our lives,
ad passed
rowii up ;
than we
seutiy he
derations,
f at them,
eve you'd
e expense
id been a
ese words
Derson of
Die credit
d I could
dn't feel
my pride
d myself
st before
" Why, Eli/.}i])t'th, liovv vindiifivc ! I hud no idea
you could cherish so much nuilice."
"I was very young," said Elizabeth, with a faint,
sweet smile, *' Jind if it's any satisfaction to you to
know it, I was (piitc as miserable as it was possible,
for him to be, tlioupfli I would ratlier have died than
admit it. So we rode on in silence till we caine to the
• lych-gate at Gleiispeed, generally our partin«j: as well
as our trysting-place. You remember tlie biidle-path
that comes up throu«rli tlie birch wood, and past the
old burying ground ? \V(dl, we rode up there in
silence, jiiid our hors(!s, by use and wont, stopped at
the gate. Then Keitli looked at me quietly and
steadily, and 1 returiHid liis look witli eipial steadiness,
though I don't know how I managed to control
mvself.
" ' I say, Liz, you didn't mean all that. You're
not really contemplating such a dis.istrous step.'
*' ' You don't choose your words very haj)pily,' 1
replied coldly and evasively.
" * I use the words which express wliat I feel. If
you persist in this folly of course it is disastrous. It
will put an end to everything that is worth thinking
about in this world.'
*'' Opinions dift'er,' I said lightly. * To me it
302
EUZAHETH GLEN, M.B.
seeiuK l)ut a boj^inning— tlie bo<ri»nin<^ of a new
life full of uscfniiit'srt and absorbing interests.'
" * Then my wish — my, my liapijiness — is of no
account to yon, Liz. What a fool yon have made
of me I I thouiiflit von <*Mred lor me as I have don<'
for you all the days of my life.'
"A mist swam before my eyes, but I took care
he ahonld not see it. I never uttered a word.
" ' You won't give up this absurd idea then, and
1 suj)|)ose it is all over between us.'
" ' 1 don't know what you mean by " it," ' I said
calmly ; ' I was not aware there was ever anything
between us except neighl)ourly kindness.'
" I saw him get a little white about the lij)s ; but
1 went on mercih'ssly, 'You have taken too much
for granted, Keitii, like the rest of your sex. Hut
there is one woman in the world to whom marriage:
is not the Ultima Thnle of existence.' "
" Oh, Elizubetli, how could you? " I exclaimed.
"I don't know how 1 couhl, but 1 did. I told
Margaret about it long after, wiien we were rather
despondent one da} together in London, at the be-
gmning of my career, and she said, ' Sakes, lassie, the
de'il was in ye,' and I suppose he was. I fell wicked
eiiuugh anyhow to have said a great deal more."
>f a new
its.'
■is of no
ive nmdc
iiive doiH'
took carc^
[.
thou, and
"' 1 said
anything
lips ; bnt
too much
sex. Hnt
marriage
limed.
I tokl
re rather
,t the be-
assie, the
t wicked
re.
»)
IIEK OWN NOM.INCE.
303
"I don't know wlu'thor it in a relict or a disnp-
pointmeut to learn that you are as unreasonable as
the rest of us, Eh'zabeth. I should tliink the poor
fellow felt pretty bad just then."
" He did. I can see him now, just as he looked
then. He lifted l»is cap, and after o])ening the lych-
gate for me, turned his horse's head witliout anotlicr
word, though 1 called him back to say — what do you
think ? "
" I couldn't hazard a guess.'*
'' Well, I just said (|nite sliurply, 'May I aak you
not to mention this matter to my father ? He does
not know yet, and I would wish him to give my
case an impartial hearing, wliich will be impossible
if he first sees you.' "
" What did he say ? "
" Not a word, but rode away as if the wind pursued
him, and the next thing I heard of him was that he
had gone to Egypt with a party from Oxford, thougii
he had formerly declined tiieir invitation."
*^ Well, and how did you get 011 with your father?'*
" It took me three months to wring a consent from
him, and then I was aUovved to begin mv studies only
on the understumling that the idea of folh)\viiig Marv
to India shon'd be given up at once and for ever.
» ;:
i i
304
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
Mary consoled me by telling me I liad a field among
the heathen at home. I must confess 1 began my
new career rather half-lieartedly, and had Keith
come to me in a pro])cr mood any tiiu(^ during the
first year, I might have ignominiously ijiven in.
Wonld von believe it, I never saw Keith for twelve
whole months ? though I was home three or four
times, and he was always at Flisk when I happened
to be at Glenspetd."
" Did your father know of the estrangement ? "
'' He knew we had disagreed about the medical
career ; and when he told uie he had hoped to see
Glenspeed and Flisk joined by a closer tie tlum mere
friendship, I just said flatly, ^ Keith has never asked
me, and i'm not going to tlirow myself at any man's
head.' "
" That wasn't true, Elizabeth."
'' It was literally true, though I knew, of course,
that there was nothing Keith Hamilton wanted so
much in the world as to marrv me. And I meant
to marry him, too, wlien he had come to his senses."
" Which he never did."
I
*' Not in time. I got interested in my work, and
nothing would have moved me to give it up. I had
a pretty successful college career, as you know, and
II ER Olt'X ROM.] JVC E.
-JO J
my father grew mther proud of my prowess. Wl.eti
lie got ns(Ml to the idea, he saw nothiuo- inconornons
ill my setting- „p as a doctor, and after I cured Jiim
of a troublesome cou,irf, his conHdence iu me was
unbounded."
"Did you ever get a chance to crow over Keith
about your success ?"
"I never did. 1 used to meet liim occasionally
-but never alone, of course-and we met just like
acquaintances. Yes, I had a good muuy sore hearts
over it, but I stuck manfully to my work, and found
a panacea in that. But all tlie time I never forgot
him. 1 used to compare all the men I met with him,
and though I could have })een married again and
again, I felt somehow that I belonged to bim and
that all would come right one day, though how 1 did
not know. Therefore you can nnch^rstand what a
shock it was to me to meet him in such circumstances
last year at Lucerne."
I saw Elizabeth's mouth tremble and her eyes grow
dim.
" But I can't imagine, dear," 1 said gently, "what
kept you apart all these yea.'s. How h>ng have you
been in London ? "
u
Mor
e years than 1 care to count, as I told K
ei
th
i,
20
3o6
EUZABETU GLEN. M.ll
oiilv vestorflnv, for now I wisli I was vomit; and lovelv
ibr his sake."
T felt tein])tecl to say, as I looked at her true face,
upon which was writ large the sweetest and most
])erfect wonujiliood, that lier loveliness far surpassed
the charms of youth and me" > girlish beauty ; but I
knew that Keith had told her so himself.
" Can you tell me any more, Elizabeth, or are we
to couple your Lucerne experience with what you have
given us, and till up the gaps for ourselves ?"
" No, I'll tell von— there isn't much to tell. It
was a very commonplace meeting after all, and there
was verv little said to smooth awav the silence of
the years. 1 saw him at Lucerne the day they left,
taking poor Effie Lawrence back to Scotland to bury
her in familiar soil. He came up to the Chalet Loret
and made a call, ai^d just before he was going Ellen
went out of the room. Then Keith turned to me, and
his eyes read me through and through.
" ' I want you to forgive me, Elizabeth, for what
I said. I was mad with my disappointment. Time
has shown that you were wiser than I ; and I want
to thank you for what you did for poor Effie. I shall
never forget it.'
" 1 could not speak a word. Oh, how my heart
■i
tiER OH'/V ROMANCE.
307
ukI Jovelv
true face,
ind most
sui'juissed
^y ; but I
T are we
you have
te]l. It
nd there
ilence of
:hey left,
to bury
let Loret
ig Ellen
me, and
for what
. Time
I want
I shall
y heart
went out to him I VVlien I looked at the grey
hairs on his temples, and saw the grave linens ui)out
his mouth, I knew that I liad cheated him of a
man's best gifts ; and that the grey, desolate years
bad set their seal upon him more crudlv than
upon me.
'"Are we friends ' then, dear?' l.e asked, in the
same grave, ^^nth^. way. vL(>t us leave here the
barrier which has been so long between Flisk and
Glenspeed and be as we were, for Effie's sake.'
"'It is I who need forgiveness, Keith ; I alone,'
I said. ' Don't say another word, I ean't bear it ;
I can't indeed.'
" So he went away then, and I saw him no more
till last month— one sultry evening wlien I was
sitting dreaming in my own room, and counting the
hours till I should go to Glenspeed, which to me
meant a chance of seeing him. I no longer hid from
myself that I was a miserable, empty-heaited woman
who had tried to feed herself with the husks of life,
jmd only found herself hungry still. I knew now-
ay, and bravely faced the meaning of the dull heart-
ache I had often experienced going about my work,
when I would get a sudch'n, sweet glim])se of home
1
hapj
H
nness, and see what lit
e can be to a woman wl
10m
-joS
ELIZA HI TU r.LEN, MB.
t i
; 1
\ I
God lias blessed with the devotion of a true hnsb.ind
and the love of littlo children. Yes, I sat alor with
my enapty, empty heart when lie was shown m by
Maru:aret, who cast uj»on me. ere she de])arted, a look
so distin(ttly significant nnd iraplorin<j: tliat it has
made me hino:li since raanv times. I did not say 1
was surprised to see him, because he had been so
])er}»etnally in my thoughts that it seemed the most
natural thing in the world to see him standing before
me.
" ' I did not Ivuow you were in London,' I said quite
(piietly.
" ' I came only last night,' he replied ; ' I had
sonu'thing important to see after. My tnther has
been at Belgrave S(juare for the last six weeks.'
'' ' Living alone ? ' 1 asked.
'"No, my aunt, Mrs. Crawford Page, and her two
daugliters are there. They have occupied the house
this season : my cousins were only })resented this
ve;ir. Have vou h.eard tliat there is to be a dis-
V' V
solution !"'
"' What of?' I asked vaguely ; and he smiled, a
ghost of his old merry smile.
" ' Why, of Parliament, t(^ be sure, and my father
wants me to stand for the count v."
1. ^ with
1 in by
, a look
it has
t say I
been so
tie most
r before
id quite
'I had
R
r ha?
ler two
house
'd this
a dis-
liled, a
father
I
HE WA.S SHOWN IN KY JUAl.tiAl.KT,"
; y*. SKlH
! •■: i
^■t
^ER UllN ROMANCE.
" ' Oil, do,' I cried, all i„„,,.e„t at ,.,„•,. • Thcv
«ant m,.„ liK-,. yo„ in rho Mou«e. I 1,.,,,. vou'll „:,
111 ftrid win.' ' ^
^•He turned to me ,vith a nM.u ligbt in hi«
e \ es.
ft
'■ -1 will, R|i..,,eth, ,T ,o„ bid ,,< l.e saiJ ...ietlv.
1 !'• I ..n M,cr what I .a.ne for. 1 knowven we'll
'* J -I" SO in I .shall be tl„. sn.ve..f„l eandida.'e, aud
I n. not, goiug to exist six or ei.d,t n.onths of the vear
'" "'"'" ' "'"■ '"" ' y"i"g to i>d,aWt that bijr honj,. in
BeJg,a.ve S.jnare alone. What do yon sav, then v •
"1 couid not speak, dear:! knew ,he tnrnin^
po.nt of n,y life had eome. He ,lid not seen, to reseni
'".V s.lenee or to wonder at it. He took a. ,arn or two
=-ross the room, an.l then eame and stood in front
ol me.
'"J know that yon have now a snecessfnJ an,i
.nfluentnd position here, Kli.abetl,,' he said ,,nietiy
'1 Imxo heard of yon in a .,e,t many nnexpected
<l"-ters. It is asking a great deal, that vou shot.ld
fe'ive It „p for sneh ordinary things as I ean otfer
my lovo is nor ,,,.(j
(upjivefs to
Onlv
I-
S(Hl]
Lucerne wlie
what I had
iiiH?T, Elizabcfl
yon, as I ]<
I : my verv
new
II we mei iUce to fa
(I
one
III
aski
rli.'it bitter day at
.^•e, Mud I realised
iiR another woman to hJI
310
ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B.
the place you smd you jilone could fill. It is ri<j:lit
you should know tlie outs and ins of that episode now.
Before my mother died she asked me to marry Eftie
Lawrence, whom she loved as her own daujj^hter. I
•j-ave my promise, and I would have done my utmost
to make lier happy had she lived. But it was an
awful mistake ; I knew it that dav when I saw vou
on the steps of the Schweizerhof. Neither of us is
young, Elizabeth, but we have still a goodly portion
of life before us. If you can care for me, for God's
sake (h)n't let anything come between us tliis time.
You are a lonely wonuin here. Flisk is empty with-
out a woman's presence, and I love you as my own
soul.'
" I could not answer him in a moment, and I saw
the (|ui{'k shadow of disappointment gatlier in his
eyes.
*' ' Is it too much to ask?' he be<;an, breaking tlie
painful silence. ' It is all very well just now — when
vou are ii,l)le to eniov vour work, and feel no need of
nnyrl/ing else. But auotlier dny will conic, I'^lizabeth.
It is tliat which makes me bold. Weigh it all well
beibre you send me away.'
" Still 1 coidd not speak.
" ' I don't even ask you to give up your profession
HER OJIW ROMANCE.
3n
't is rijjflit
isode now.
arrv EfHi;
nj; liter. I
iiy utmost
it was jiu
[ Haw voii
' of us is
ly portion
for Gofl's
tliis tiiiic.
ipty witli-
i my own
LHcl I saw
ler ill his
aking the
)w — when
10 need of
l']li/,abetli.
it all well
profession
nnw. T would h-ave you perfectly free, Eli/.ul.rth.
('ouldn't you trust me ms far as that?'
'' 'Trust you I ' I said, and I felt niv faee .rjow as I
turned it to liim. ' \\\ tnist
you, Keith, to the end
of the world, and after it, wit I
lout a word. And if
you are willing to take me
gone, I'll "five
now that my youth is
give np everytliing for you— and be glad
to do it '-and I am," said Elizalx'th, looking at nu-
without blusli or shame. '• For. he's an honest, bi-.
a good lujui — who make> tl
le
hearted fellow— and
moral atmosphere pure wherever he goes -and tlien,
you see," and she blushed as she spoke, '' 1 have
loved liim allmv lite."
" So you are going to settle down into a member's
wife? Your next ambition will be a political snio.,
-exit Doctor Glen, enter Mrs. Keith Hamilton,
of Flisk (^istle, N.B., and Belgrave Square, S.W.'
Well, well ; life is full of surprises."
Suddenly Elizabeth looked at me with a gr-at
wistfulness, and put a question so wuman-like that
my tears rose.
"Tell me truly, dear-you love me, I know,
but it is not that sort of love which is blind ; am
I very faded? Do I look my thirty odd years?
Yes, I'm as foolish as a school-girl over her tirst
j^t2
El.l/AHF.TIf r.l.F.N, \r R.
lovpr. I wnnt, to be vouiiji: and lovolv tor hi;
suko
»»
Then I tried to tell lier how bcuiititnl nhe wtis,
and how time, iuireh'i<tiii<f to most, seemed to Imve
for«^otten her \\\ Ids fli^Hit. A he.intit'nl, giucioiis,
qn
eenlv woman is our ICli/aheth, still retaiidujr
thai indescrihahle cliarm whicli is the herita<::e of
vontli.
And when my hushand and 1 lelV the house in
Belirravc! vScj^nstre, on the evening of Mrs. Keith
Hu,miIton's presentation day, whitliei- we had gone
to admire her in all iier braverv, 1 said to liim,
" Elizabeth amon^' all her [)otions has not forgotten
to mix the elixir of perpetual yontli." So l)<>etor
Glen, beloved of many, is no more, but we, tliough
walking in linmbler l)y-wa,ys, still keep our friend,
and we have made another. And wlien we go to
Flisk, and 1 see what Elizalteth i^ to her hnsband's
peo])le, and how perfect is ) 'v happiness, and that
of the e,"ood, noble man slie has nnirried, 1 have but
a ]»assing regret tor tliat cosy consulting-room in
Rayl»urn Place. And I often point to her proudly
as a living exponent of my fondly-cherished theory,
that the woman whose intellect has been fullv de-
velo})ed and whose heart beats warm, and sweet,
■! . I
^'^ly tor hi.s
t'nl Hhe WMs,
mum! fo ||„,v(.
»1, gracious,
11 retaiiiiiiir
herira<,^(! of
le house in
Mrs. Keith
' tad gone
■i<l to him,
)t forgotten
So Doctor
w'c, tliongh
our friend,
^^e go to
linsband's
. and that
have but
g-]'oom in
-r proudJy
3d theory,
fully de-
ad sweet,
HER OH 'IV RO\fANCE.
3'.?
ai.d true to her sex, l.y bringing nil her j.owers of
l'oa.l and LcMrt to hear nj.nn her snrronn.lin.-.
»^<^l"Vves fhe highest possilde results, und
"♦■arly thsm any can nialve the perfect h(
aeconiidished liut.
nioi'e
i>iiie an
THE KND.