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IM.AIT'S HUSBAM) . • • . 02 NOKA FLEMING T. . 118 VL JOHN RANSOME's love iSTORY . 146 CONTEXTS. I ! I' r ' !4 I VFI LT'CY GFWMAIXK's MAKRIAGK . Vill. PORT LKYTON'S HEIR IX. BARBARA X. A C0MM0NPLA(F \\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()Alssed 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 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^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 ♦ 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|)enepeared 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 nmbiaok 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 actmiis 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 stenoor 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]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 '\\.\\ 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 strus(' 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 \wn 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:inniiiuse 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. ^ ^f^^. w \r 1^ ■> IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.25 ^1^ 1^ ■^ lii& 122 U 11.6 Photographic Sciences ion 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. M5M (716) 872-4503 f\ iV [V :<\^ :\ \ ^^^- ^^% ,> ^ $ 7S 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 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 kinect. 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 ? ' "'Sul 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 evis 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« 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 ^ ■!! *^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 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.\ 1er, 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 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A ^ >. 1.0 ^■^ U£ " m 12.2 E lit ■■ 1.1 t Itt |2.0 kIMU 1.25 1 U 1 ,.6 <^ VQ /; ^;. /A "W 7 Photographic Sciences Corporation t\ ^. ^^ O 6^ 73 WIST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. USSO (716) S72-4S03 •^v^ V 6^ <^ "U£ ONLY HOWED STIFFLY, AND WALKKD OUT OF THK HOU8k!.' 'p. l«J7. JOIIX RANSOME'S /.or/: STORY, 167 lOT. Barratt had been to raj' house, and for wluit pnr'pose, when there came a tremendous rin 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^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 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 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 fBP BT - 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, diRT 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,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(> 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 liolilativc 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 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I itt U2 |22 2.0 Ui m 1.25 111.4 1.6 < 6" ► ^ V / f V Hiotographic Sdences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 145M (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 inad 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 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«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 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 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 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 bof 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 iraplorind,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 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'ietor 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 ■iiiie an THE KND.