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 \ DR. BRUNO'S WIFE. 
 
 
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 ^R. BRUNO'S WIFE. 
 
 A TORONTO SOCIETY STORY. 
 
 • 
 
 BY 
 
 Mrs J. KERR LAWSON, 
 
 .uthor of "A Vain Sacrifice," "Etq>hie Lyn, or The Finhem 0/ Old 
 
 Jnweerie," etc, etc. 
 
 SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT, & CO., 
 
 Ltd. 
 Anstruthkr: CHARLES S. RUSSELL. 
 
 j 
 
. _«-.».-.-»J.*-'>'.'*. *• I . 
 
 PS 
 
 A7&D4 
 
 AnSTNUTHEB ; 
 PR,NTED BY CHARLES S. ROSSEUL. 
 
 35000 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 CHAP. I'AUK. 
 
 I. ONK OF THE DIVIDKNDS OF "THK (iREAT EUREKA MINE 
 
 SHARES (limited,)" . 
 
 11. MEDICAL OENTLEMEN* AND BENEVOLENT 
 III. " HER MOOD WILL NEEDS HE PITIED," 
 IV, DR ARBUCKLE OETS A PAYING PATIENT, 
 
 V. FREDDIE, YOUNO CANADA, 
 VI. " i'm in LOVE WITH A MAD WOMAN !" 
 
 VII. WHAT IS IT TO LOVE "! . . . 
 
 VIII. DR ARBUCKLE's BOLD <UME, . 
 
 IX. Natalie's resolution stren»jtiieneu, 
 X. MKs Tranent's i>etermination, . 
 
 XI. AN OLD SWEETHEART TO THE FORE, 
 XII. DURINO COURTSHIP, 
 XIII. " THE LEAST OF THE.SE, MY BRETHREN, 
 XIV, " FREDDIE PUTS HIS FOOT IN IT," . 
 XV. MRS TRANENT CALLS ON MISS WYNOATE, 
 XVI. NATALIE SEES FOR HERSELF, . 
 XVII. AN AWFUL REVELATION, 
 XVIlt. " HER WORDS HAD OTHER I.SSUE THAN SHE WILLED," 
 
 • • • 
 
 11 
 
 SOCIETY LADIES, 
 
 24 
 
 
 , 29 
 
 
 . 25 
 
 
 42 
 
 
 . 53 
 
 
 . 61 
 
 
 . 70 
 
 
 80 
 
 
 8o 
 
 
 92 
 
 
 101 
 
 
 106 
 
 
 113 
 
 
 122 
 
 
 130 
 
 
 139 
 
 SHE WILLED," 
 
 148 
 
Contents. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 XIX. . . . '•'«/;; 
 lo6 
 
 XX. Hetty's trump card yk\\& to wix 16i 
 
 XXI. THK CUP OF COLD WATER WHICH HR0U(.I1T ITS REWARD 171 
 
 179 
 
 185 
 
 XXIV. AND LOVE IS LIBERAL AS THE SUMMER AIR . . .192 
 
 XXV. DELIVERANCE, 207 
 
 XXVI. AFTERGLOW, .... . . 197 
 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 
 I 
 
IDt Bruno's maife. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 THE whole town was in a panic, the streets all but 
 deserted. Children had been suddenly hustled in- 
 doors and locked in, and scared faces were staring ap- 
 prehensively out of the windows. These saw a few 
 men running wildly hither and thither, with fear in their 
 looks and guns in their hands, ready cocked for firing 
 at something they dreaded, yet looked for at every turn. 
 
 At the gate of the Royal Arms, which stood back 
 from the street, and was fronted by a fine carriage en- 
 trance, stood two young men, and the unusual sight of 
 the frightened townsmen, thus armed hurrying past, at 
 once roused their curiosity. 
 
 "A mad dog!" was the hurried answer to their ques- 
 tions, as the men ran on. 
 
 " By Jove!" simultaneously responded both, and turn- 
 ing they were about to enter the gate, when one sud- 
 denly uttered a cry of horror and fled into the hotel. 
 The other, a stalwart, dark-eyed youth of eighteen or 
 twenty, turned pale as death ; but springing into the 
 middle of the road, and stripping off his coat, he held it 
 by the shoulders outspread befor.. him, and stood with 
 knitted brows and white, set lips, awaiting the onset of 
 
 »';i 
 
2 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 a hug-e Newfoundland, that with gleaming- eyes and 
 frothing jaws came tearing on towards him. As th<i 
 frantic animal dashed blindly upon him, in a twinkling,) 
 by a dexterous movement, he enveloped its head tightly 
 in the coat, and bearing the struggling brute to the earth 
 with sheer strength of wrist, held it down with his knees 
 while desperately clutching its throat. 
 
 The contest was frightful ; the animal with the strength 
 of madness struggling to be free ; the young man, well- 
 nigh beaten at times, but with desperate energy still 
 holding on, with unrelaxing, ever-tightening grip. 
 
 For a time the result seemed dubious. Shrieks from 
 the terrified women in the hotel filled the air. Two men 
 armed with pistols, came ostentatiously running down 
 to the rescue, but ere they reached the road the animal 
 was stretched motionless, with the dusty, torn coat still 
 wrapped about its head. 
 
 "That was a brave deed," ^aid one of the men. 
 
 "We'll make sure he's dead, though," said the other, 
 firing two shots through the coat into the animal's head. 
 
 The young man rose slowly, wiped the sweat from his 
 forehead, and walked gravely up to the hotel, where he 
 was surrounded by the proprietor, guests, and servants, 
 all loud in praise of his bravery. 
 
 "What will you have, wine or brandy?" asked the 
 proprietor. 
 
 , " Neither, thank you ; but I'll take a glass of water, 
 if you please," replied he, somewhat faintly. . 
 
 ; Instantly a pretty barmaid, who, with the others, had 
 crowded to see the hero, darted off and returned with a 
 glass of clear, cool water. — - 
 
 He smiled as he took it from her hand, and said — 
 
 
Dr Brtino^s Wife. ^ 
 
 " A close call, wasn't it, Hetty?" But she only smiled 
 wanly. 
 
 i "It was brave! grand! wonderful!" chorused the 
 crowd. 
 
 •'I beg to differ with you people. I think I must 
 ' have been as mad as the poor dog. It was the instinct 
 of self-preservation. I couldn't help myself— it was 
 madness to attempt it. However, now it's over, I'm 
 really glad the poor brute's out of his trouble." 
 
 So said the young man, his strength and colour com- 
 ing back to him, and with a smile he ran upstairs to his 
 room t'* remove the dust from his hands and face. 
 
 Thit. 3r he was followed by his companion. 
 
 '* I say, old fellow, you are a brick!" cried he, admin- 
 istering a tremendous clap on the shoulder. 
 
 " Nonsense — I tell you it was a fooolish thing to do; 
 I wouldn't do it again. Where were you?" 
 
 •• i ! I never halted till I got safe in doors. I thought 
 sure you were behind me. I'm a kind of ashamed of 
 myself now." 
 
 '"Well, you needn't. You were the more sensible of 
 the two. It's no shame to run from a mad dog." 
 
 " Did you see how the pretty barmaid smiled on you 
 when she gave you the water? I thought she was going 
 to faint when she saw you first on top of the ciog. I be- 
 lieve that girl is getting fond of you, Ned." 
 
 " Nonsense! Why, you flirt with her more than I do, 
 I'm sure." 
 
 " Maybe so ; that isn't the poin^ The fact is, Ned, 
 that girl is getting downright daft about you." 
 
 Ned Arbuckle was lathering his hands and wrists with 
 soap while his friend talked, and for a moment or two 
 
I 
 
 .31 , Dr Bruno's Wife. /^ 
 
 he did not speak. He looked grave and thoughtful i( 
 •'I'd be mighty sorry if that was the case, for I'nh^ 
 sure I meant nothing but a little pleasant banter tqi» 
 while away the hours occasionally. Hetty is nice enougliy 
 looking and all that ; but though she is but a barmaid, yV 
 I wouldn't like to hurt her feelings in any way, I'm sure. 
 But, pshaw! Frank— it's all nonsense." 
 
 " It's all fact, I tell you," persisted his companion. 
 " Well, then, it's got to be stopped, that's all. I'll be 
 more careful for the future. Anyhow it is a little shabby 
 of fellows to take advantage of a prettv girl's inferior 
 situation to make love we do not feel, eh? And, of 
 course, neither of us is going to marry a barmaid." 
 - M No— hardly," was the prompt reply. 
 
 The two young men were students, college friends, 
 who were spending their holidays in this picturesque 
 little sea-bathing resort on the Clyde. On first becom- 
 ing acquainted these two had found their circumstances 
 to be singularly alike, both being orphans, having nei- 
 ther sister nor brother. Both were of respectable par- 
 entage, knew they must make each his own way in the 
 world, having no more cash than would see them com- 
 fortably through college. 
 
 Ned Arbuckle was slightly the better off, having 
 literary abilities which found scope in occasional let- 
 ters and articles to magazines, for which he was paid 
 a fair price. His notn-dc-gucrre, X.Y.Z., had come 
 to signify £ s. d. The unusual lack of home friends 
 and relations had drawn the young men all the more 
 closely together, and this summer Ned Arbuckle, hav- 
 ing netted considerably more than he had anticipated 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife, c 
 
 from his ready pen, insisted on spending it on a pleasant 
 holiday in this sea-washed town, he bearing all the ex- 
 pense. The protests of his friend were pooh-poohed 
 away by the statement that he could soon grind out 
 plenty more. His pen was like the magical mill which 
 made tr. sea salt; he had only to say— "Pen, pen, grind 
 away ; grind some cash for me, I pray," and straightway 
 it would begin and scratch, scratch, scratch to the ex- 
 tent of from one to five gold guineas or so. Money, he 
 declared, burnt a hole in his pocket, and the inward sat- 
 isfaction he felt in having his friend with him here, board- 
 ing at the hotel, made him feel he was the one to be most 
 thankful. Perhaps it was this feeling which had that 
 morning prompted him to buy a pretty, inexpensive 
 little ring to bestow on Hetty, the handsome barmaid, 
 with whom he had flirted very pleasantly for the past 
 six weeks. It was in his pocket, but he did not like the 
 idea of it now quite so well as he did when he had bought 
 it a few hours back. True, he had done a little flirting, 
 but so had Ramsay, his friend, and all the other good- 
 looking fellows who occasionally lounged into the bar. 
 They all admired Hetty. She had a pretty face, fine 
 complexion, dark brown hair, sharp blue eyes, and a tall, 
 slim, lissome figure to boot. But tliat; she sho.ild have 
 singled him^ out of all the crowd of her admirers as the 
 one particular object of her regard was annoying. How- 
 ever—it would soon be over now — she should have the 
 
 little keepsake since he had bought it, and to-morrow 
 
 to-morrow he should be gone, never to come back or see 
 her face again. What harm ? 
 
 He got a fine opportunity for saying good-bye, and 
 presenting his souvenir. The evening was soft and 
 
6 Dr Bruno's Wife ' 
 
 clekr, and the proprietor, who was a bachelor, with tue 
 boarders, had gone out for a quiet stroll, or a game of 
 golf along the links, leaving the house to the care of the 
 housekeeper and Hetty. 
 
 ••Well, Hetty, at that novel yet?" said Ned, as he 
 entered the bar, and caugnt her surreptitiously reading 
 an old, worn novel. 
 
 "I'm just near the end now ; I'll finish it before I sleep 
 to-night," replied Hetty with a sudden blush. Ned Ar- 
 buckle had always been a marked favourite with her, 
 but the day's adventure with the dog had deepened the 
 impression he had made on her not very sensitive heart, 
 and the barmaid was now as thoroughly in love with 
 Ned Arbuckle as she was ever likely to be with any man. 
 
 " I just ran in to say good-bye to you, Hetty. I'll be 
 up and away before you are awake to-morrow morning." 
 
 Hetty closed the ragged book quietly, but she had 
 suddenly turned pale. 
 
 •' Oh!, so soon?" 
 
 '• Yes, my girlie ; but I don't want you to quite forget 
 this pleasant summer, so I brought you a little souvenir 
 — that means a keepsake, you know " — and Ned, who 
 had not failed to note how pale the peachy cheeks had 
 grown, began to fumble in all his pockets at once for 
 the little box with the ring in it. He was getting some- 
 what hot, and wishing it were well over. 
 
 "Here she am!" he exclaimed, gaily, using bad 
 grammar to cover any sign of confusion. " Hold your 
 finger, Hetty — there, when you're an old married woman, 
 with a flock of piccaninnies about you, look at that ring, 
 and heave a sigh for yours truly." 
 
 ** It's a beautiful ring, and I'll wear it for your sake, 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife- 7 
 
 but what kind of stone is that ? I must come out to the 
 lig-ht." Did she want to see the stone better? or was 
 it only the ruse of a coquette to get close up beside the 
 giver of the ring ? who can tell ? Any way, she came 
 outside the bar, and holding it up, admired and praised 
 it. But the colour came not back to her cheeks, and 
 there was a tender tremor of feeling in her voice when 
 she spoke that touched the youth of nineteen. 
 
 Ramsay was right — the poor girl taas smitten ; he 
 would be a fool indeed not to see that, or the expression 
 of sadness and disappointment she tried to veil with 
 smile and chatter. 
 
 "Well, I mustbeoflF. Good-bye, Hetty." 
 
 "Good-bye, Mr Arbuckle, and thank you," she said, 
 almost inaudibly, and Ned, thankful that 't was over, 
 bounded out upon the lawn. He was but nineteen, re- 
 member, so it is without a blush for him that we record 
 the fact that, despite his thankfulness, there arose in his 
 throat a lump that he had some difficulty in swallowing. 
 
 "Good gracious! what am I to do?" he suddenly ex- 
 claimed, for he had just discovered that he had left his 
 pocket-book on the bar counter. He could not proceed 
 a step farther without it ; all the cash he possessed in 
 the world wa« in it, having drawn it to be ready for his 
 journey next morning. He hesitated a moment, then 
 made a desperate rush back again, and leaped into the 
 bar through the open window. 
 
 The pocket-book was lying on the counter where he 
 had left it. At once he seized it, and was about to 
 vanish by the way he came, when the sight of Hetty 
 cowered up, with her face buried in her hands and sob- 
 bing bitterly, arrested him. 
 
8 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 •* Why, Hetty! what's the matter, my girlie?" he said, 
 touched by her genuine grief. 
 
 But Hetty only sobbed the harder. 
 "Come, girlie, don't take on so, don't be foolish. 
 We must all part some day or other," he murmured, in 
 a half-hearted kind of way. 
 
 "Oh, I cannot help it — I cannot," she sobbed, rising 
 and drying her eyes ; " I never cared before who came 
 or went, it was always the same, but you're so different 
 someway. I — " and here she broke down and wept 
 again — this time on his shoulder. For his heart was 
 young and tender, and remorse for his thoughtlessness 
 constrained him to put his arm about her waist. Then, 
 to console the poor thing, he took her pretty dimpled 
 chin between his finger and thumb, and kissed her 
 quivering ruby lips. 
 
 That night the moon rose full and glorious, and Ar- 
 buckle and Ramsay lay talking before they went to 
 sleep — Ned describing to his friend the bad quarter of 
 an hour he had parting with the barmaid. 
 
 "And don't you go flitting with her after I m gone, 
 Ramsay, or mpybe she'l' fall in love with you too," he 
 wound up with late wi.sdom. 
 
 " No danger. Where shall I write to you?" 
 "Oh, to Poste-restante , Melbourne; but I'll write to 
 you to Edinburgh — to be called for — from Port Said. I 
 think I'll ^et ashore there for a few weeks. Well, good 
 night, old fellow ; I won't wake you in the morning. 
 Take care of yourself till I come back." 
 
 "Good-nigh , and good luck, Ned. Bon voyage!" 
 And they each turned over and went to sleep, little 
 dreaming that this was an eternal farewell. 
 
• Dr Bruno's Wife. g 
 
 Hetty, in her little bed in the servants' attic, lay toss- 
 sing sleeplessly. "He loves me, he must have loved 
 me, or how would he have given me such a beautiful 
 ring? He loves me, and I'll maybe ne^er see him again, 
 and all because I'm a poor servant in a hotel — a bar- 
 maid. Oh, if I were only rich ! if somebody would die 
 and leave me a fortune. Ah, wouldn't I be happy— for 
 I would give him it all, and we could be married," and 
 so on, and so on, after the manner of girls, sighed poor 
 Hetty to the moon, shining so grandly down upon the 
 sea. Then she turned her face to the wall, and tried to 
 sleep, in vain. " He loves me ; surely he never would 
 have kissed me if he didn't love me," she kept whisper- 
 ing to herself, till in her restlessness she rose and stood 
 looking out at the window. 
 
 "He gave me a keepsake, and I've nothing I can 
 give him in return. Oh! what can I give him?" she 
 whispered desperately, and then like a flash she remem- 
 bered a little silver pencil-holder which she had found 
 on the bar floor two years ago, and for which no owner 
 had ever turned up. She would give him that. Yes, 
 she would slip down now, when the house was all as- 
 leep. She would open the young men's door, softly, 
 and slip in and lay it on the toilet-table before the glass, 
 where he could not miss seeing it. But what if she was 
 caught? The .thought made her gasp with terror, and 
 she put her hand on her heart. But no! she should not 
 be caught. She lit her candle, took out a bit of note- 
 paper out of the drawer, and writing upon it the words, 
 " When this you see remember me," she wrapped the 
 pencil-case in it, addressed it to Mr Edward Arbuckle, 
 and slipping on a v*^rapper, came softly downstairs to 
 
lo Dr Bruno's Wif\ 
 
 No. 13. At the door she stood listening, but 'learing 
 no sound, she turned the handle softly, and peeped cau- 
 tiously in. The window blind was up, and the moon 
 shone full upon the bed, and upon the two young men 
 who lay calmly asleep. Hetty paused a moment, and 
 then with bare feet tiptoed noiselessly over the carpet to 
 the toilet-table, and laid the pencil-case down in front of 
 the glass, and as silently retreated. She was about to 
 shut the door when a sudden flap of the bed clothes 
 made her flee to the far end of the corridor, where, in a 
 recess, she stood panting and pressing her hand hard 
 over her heart. As she craned her neck to listen, she 
 fancied she heard sounds as of someone in distress, and 
 losing her fear of being caught in the greater dread of 
 her lover being ill, she again tiptoed up to the door, and 
 looking in, grew speechless, struck dumb with mortal 
 fear. It was a full hour before she returned to her 
 little bed in the attic, and though it was a soft, summer 
 night, her teeth chattered in her head. She shivered 
 and shook as in a fit of ague, the very blood in her young 
 veins ran cold with horror. She dressed herself with 
 trembling hands, and, thinking her senses had surely 
 deceived her, she glided fearfully down again and looked 
 in. The two were now lying quietly on the bed — Ram- 
 say back in the shade ; Arbuckle's face turned to the 
 light ; sleeping calmly. 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife, ii 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ONE OF THE DIVIDENDS OF "THE GREAT EUREKA MINE 
 
 SHARES (limited.)" 
 
 ONE of the prettiest little residences on East Avenue, 
 Toronto, Canada, was occupied by Mrs Colonel 
 Wyngate and her only daughter, a young lady of nine- 
 teen. 
 
 Mrs Wyngate was a petite elderly lady, a faded beauty, 
 with a certain haughty dignity of manner, which com- 
 pelled attention and was considered proof of high breed- 
 ing. She had moved in a select society circle in the old 
 land, but after the death of Colonel Wyngate, her con- 
 sequent inability to entertain as formerly had constrained 
 well-informed friends to advise her to remove to Canada; 
 where, they were told, a lady with a limited income could 
 live without any appreciable difference of the style to 
 which she had been accustomed, and without running 
 the humbling risk of being considered a poor relation. 
 
 No doubt Mrs Wyngate's relations were entirely sin- 
 cere in their anxiety to ship her off to Canada. Their 
 consciences were also at rest as to her future, for it was 
 known that the late Colonel had left sufficient, with pru- 
 dent management, to provide not only a comfortable 
 living, but also a certain amount of quiet, aristocratic 
 style. . 
 
JH Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, as Mrs Wyngate's friends 
 probably foresaw, prudent management was out of the 
 question, for the widow knew no more of the manage- 
 ment of finance than a baby. To precipitate ill fortune, 
 she in an evil hour had become acquainted with the Rev. 
 Dr. Bruno, rector of a popular ladies' seminary, with 
 whom she had placed her daughter some years ago on 
 coming to the country. The reverend doctor was a fine, 
 bland, gentlemanly man, of suave manner, and some- 
 what stately presence. Not quite stately nor quite fine, 
 but something suddenly stopping short of that, a man 
 whom you at first sight distrusted, but who made you 
 reproach yourself for it afterwards. Two years ago he 
 had taken a run down to Colorado, and had returned 
 thence the full-fledged and properly authorised agent of 
 "The Great Eureka Mine," a wondeVful find of silver ore 
 which needed only capital to work it and make it an 
 unparalleled success. 
 
 Now, the good Doctor was neither an ill-meaning 
 man nor a villain ; he was simply a man unable to re- 
 frain from dabbling in concerns about which he knew 
 not enough. And, if the whole truth must be told, he 
 was rather luxuriously inclined, was fond of popularity, 
 and, besides, had on hand several pet educational and 
 other schemes which he found he could not carr)/ out 
 without that power and influence which comes only 
 through the possession of ample funds. 
 
 To do him justice, he had been extremely cautious in 
 his acceptance of this agency. Not satisfied with black 
 upon white proofs that this was a bona fide concern, he 
 at his own expense took a trip to Colorado in order to 
 make sure, and had been made as certain as the most 
 
Dr Bnino's Wife, %% 
 
 sumptuous American diniv^rs could make him. He had 
 even visited the mine in propria persona, and what more 
 rauld he do? 
 
 Of course he had to consider also that his profession 
 as a minister of the denomination to which he belonged 
 demanded nothing- less than a renunciation of every- 
 thing connected with mammon or money-making pure 
 and simple; above all, speculation. But then the Doc- 
 tor was a man of broad views, and held that denomina- 
 tional tests, though sworn to in good faith at the time 
 of induction, were to be interpreted, not literally but 
 liberally, even as certain scriptural maxims were inter- 
 preted in the spirit, not the letter of the text. For 
 himself, he could declare that no one who knew him 
 could say that he loved money for its own sake. 
 
 Not he. Dr Bruno felt that he could look the whole 
 world in the face and defy it to say that he loved money 
 as money. If he did undertake to float this very prom- 
 ising concern, it would only be because he saw in it 
 abundant opportunities of doing good, of ultimately 
 carrying out his schemes, and of finally proving to a 
 sceptical age that it is possible to make the best of both 
 worlds. 
 
 One grand characteristic of Dr Bruno was that he 
 never did things by halves. He was naturally of a 
 sanguine speculative disposition, seeing the end of 
 things clearly from the beginning, and allowing no 
 possible contingency to arise and eclipse that view. 
 He not only saw it himself, but lie had the singular 
 faculty of making others see it too, as distinctly as one 
 sees a distant mountain top against the golden glow of 
 sunset. His position and character afforded him every 
 
14 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 advantage ; people could entrust their money where they 
 had so successfully entrusted their daughters, and as 
 soon as the delicately tinted, artistically got up pros- 
 pectuses were scattered abroad, money flowed in, and 
 the shares went off like hot cakes. 
 
 Mrs Wyngate thought it a charming idea ; exceed- 
 ingly good of the Doctor to mention the matter to her ; 
 for although they had funds sufficient, still a little 
 addition would not be undesirable. Accordingly she at 
 once proposed to invest half her funds in "The Great 
 Eureka Mine" Shares (Limited); but when the genial 
 Doctor, with a happy smile of entire confidence, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 •' My dear Mrs Wyngate, if it is good for half, how 
 much better for the whole ; think of the dividends!" the 
 lady at once assented, with a — "Why, of course. Doc- 
 tor! certainly!" and ventured her all. 
 
 The reverend gentleman's enthusiasm was infectious ; 
 there was no resisting it or him, and Mrs Wyngate 
 kept back barely enough for a year's necessities. No 
 need for more, since the dividends would be in so soon. 
 
 But the year had slipped by, and a few months be- 
 sides, and still no dividends. They were living in an 
 expensively furnished house, paid for in advance, and 
 rented for a year to come, but first one and then the 
 other servant had to go. 
 
 At last their impecuniosity could no longer be con- 
 cealed. Mrs Wyngate had sent for Dr Bruno, but he 
 was away at Long Branch, and not at home even when 
 there, so while the dividends lingered the bills steadily 
 grew. Natalie, answering the door now to the grocer, 
 butcher, and baker, was of too transparent a nature not 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife, 15 
 
 to betray in her face the doubts she felt as to the ulti- 
 mate payment of those bills they daily asked payment 
 of ; and they, taking fright and smarting from past ex- 
 perience, concluded to stop supplies until some cash 
 should be forthcoming. 
 
 To make matters worse for Natalie, she had, a few 
 ■^^r^'ago, in the street cars, heard Dr Bruno denounced in no 
 measured terms by two business-L.ve men sitting oppos- 
 ite her. Their words had struck her with mortal fear ; 
 with an overwhelming certainty that they were ruined, 
 left utterly penniless. As a girl at his school she had 
 taken an unaccountable dislike to the kind Doctor, a 
 dislike Mrs Wyngate had frequently scolded her for. 
 With a palpitating heart she had answered the bell this 
 forenoon, and returned to the parlour trembling. 
 "The butcher is at the door, mamma." 
 "Oh! Tell him to send up a small leg of lamb, with 
 mint, some green peas, and some onions." 
 
 "But, mamma, he has come with this bill, and he 
 says he can send no more meat until it is paid." 
 
 "Well then. Ah, let me see, how much is it? Fif- 
 teen dollars and sixty cents. Oh, well, tell him I'll call 
 and settle in a few days. I must write to Dr Bruno 
 about these shares. He puts me off, and puts me off, 
 but I rmist have money now." 
 
 " And here is the baker, too; they both came together. 
 The baker is very angry, and is standing in the kitchen 
 waiting for his money." 
 
 "The insolence of those tradespeople! They are 
 positively insufferable. Go this instant, Natalie, and 
 tell them they will both be paid in a few days." 
 
 Natalie stood, hesitating, the slow blood mounting to 
 
1 6 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 her pale, spirituel face ; her soft dark eyes heavy and 
 troubled. 
 
 " What are you waiting for, child?" 
 
 *' Oh, mamma! I don't like to go and tell them that; 
 they are so rough and rude these men." 
 
 "Well, Natalie, whose fault was it? You would in- 
 sist on dispensing with the servant — now you must take 
 the consequences." And the lady, the little, thin, faded 
 beauty, the erstwhile belle of Calcutta, drew a wrap 
 about her and sat down to her desk to write, while her 
 daughter, with slow, unwilling steps, went down into 
 the kitchen. 
 
 "By the way, what shall we have then for dinner, 
 Nataliw? I feel as if I could take a cup of coffee now. 
 Do get me a cup; there's a dear," said Mrs Wyngate, 
 when Natalie, with tear-swollen eyes, re-entered the 
 room. 
 
 "There is no coffee, mamma!" was the meek answer. 
 
 " No coffee! What is the reason of that? No coffee!" 
 
 "The grocer has not sent what you ordered on Mon- 
 day, and this is Thursday." 
 
 "And there is no wine either?" 
 
 Natalie shook her head sadly. 
 
 "I must say you are very careless, Natalie. When 
 you undertook to do the servant's duties last week, I 
 certainly expected you would have looked after things 
 better. You ought to have ordered in a fresh supply 
 long before the other was done." 
 
 " I did, mamma. I told you, and you ordered them, 
 but they have not come," said Natalie, in a vexed tone. 
 
 " Well, well, it can't be helped. I have written to Dr 
 Bruno for some money at once. Meantime, see if you 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 17 
 
 can't get just half a glass of wine out of the bottles — 1 
 do feel so faint. " 
 
 Mrs Wyngate really looked faint, but not more so 
 than her daughter, who went as she was bidden. 
 
 "There isn't any, mamma — not a drop. You got the 
 last yesterday afternoon. There is some tea, but there 
 is no sugar, nor any bread or butter." 
 
 Mrs Wyngate turned and leant her head upon her 
 delicate white hand. 
 
 " It is a shame, a positive shame!" she exclaimed, the 
 hot tears rising and filling her eyes. " I can't think 
 why Dr Bruno should treat me so. He promised that 
 we should have dividends from the mine in less than a 
 year, and yet there isn't a penny. This letter, however, 
 will bring me something, for there is no doubt he is a 
 gentleman." 
 
 Natalie said nothing for a few minutes, but presently 
 she rose and stood behind her mother, her tall, slight 
 figure towering over the petite form in the chair. 
 
 "Mamma, dear mamma, don't trust to Dr Bruno or 
 anyone. I am afraid you will never see any of your 
 money again. When I was coming up in the street car 
 the other day, I heard two gentlemen discussing him in 
 a most unfavourable manner, one of them threatening 
 all sorts of vengeance on him for well-nigh ruining him." 
 
 As she said this, she gradually stooped and laid her 
 arms caressingly about her mother's neck. 
 
 "Natalie Wyngate! how can you give ear to un- 
 worthy aspersions on the character of such a gentleman 
 as Dr Bruno. He is one, when he takes in hand to do 
 a thing for you, will do it thoroughly ; but you must 
 give him entire control, and very properly, too, When 
 
1 8 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 I proposed putting half our little fortune in the * Great 
 Eureka Mine Shares,' he said to me — 'My dear Mrs 
 Wyngate, either go all, or not at all. It would not be 
 worth while negotiating unless with a handsome sum; 
 and besides, the faster the shares are boughtj up, the 
 more quotations rise.' He told me that himself, and 
 why should I doubt the word of a gentleman? But I 
 wish I had kept a little, just a little to keep us comfort- 
 able until the dividends had been declared." 
 
 "There never will be any dividends, mamma. Oh, 
 mamma, dear mamma, do consent to let m^^ teach music 
 or painting or something whereby I can earn a little. 
 I—" 
 
 ** Silence, Natalie. Don't dare to mention such a 
 thing in my hearing again. What ! Colonel Wyngate's 
 daughter teaching music — hired by those vulgar trades- 
 people to teach their brats — never! We will die first;" 
 and Mrs Wyngate stamped her foot at the idea. 
 
 "But, mamma, work is honourable. And I like 
 music, and I should like to teach — and — " 
 
 "Silence, I say! Let me hear no more of it. I for- 
 bid you ever to mention such a proposition in my hear- 
 ing. I will go and lie dov/n a little while you mail that 
 letter." 
 
 " Have you three cents for a stamp?" asked Natalie, 
 faintly. 
 
 " Look in my portmonnaie and see." 
 ; "There is nothing here, mamma." / » 
 
 "Then the letter will have to wait ; we can post it to- 
 
 morrow. " 
 
 As the lady lay down on a lounge, Natalie covered 
 her up, and with a hopeless sigh left the room. 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife, lO 
 
 For the next three days Mrs Wyn^ate and her daugh- 
 ter ate but one meal a day, and that was made of the 
 scraps which they found in the pantry — crusts of bread, 
 morsels of cold meat, which had been scraped into a 
 dish to be given to the charwoman for her chickens, &c. 
 ' But the fourth day dawned and there was nothing what- 
 ever in the house to eat. Mrs Wyngate attempted to 
 get up on the morning of the second day, but staggered 
 and fell forward un the floor. Natalie proposed getting 
 a doctor, but her mother emphatically said ''No;" there 
 would certainly be a letter from Dr Bruno before long, 
 and then everything would go right. These things of 
 course took time to mature, and the Doctor was such a. 
 gentLman. Sure enough, the letter from Dr Bruno 
 came that very day: and Natalie, espying the carrier, 
 slipped softly to the door and took the letter from his 
 hand, lest his ring should awake her mother, who slept. 
 Doubtful, eager for news, Natalie opened the letter. 
 Dr Bruno regretted to inform Mrs Wyngate that it 
 would be at least two years more before dividends could 
 be realised ; all that was wanted at the present exigency 
 was more money to make the thing an immense success. 
 There were millions in it when once set agoing. In the 
 meantime it was necessary to purchase new machinery, 
 and this machinery would cost nearly all that they had 
 on hand. However, shares were still going up, and in 
 great demand, and by and by they would realize, &c., 
 &c. Natalie did not show her mother this letter. 
 Though Mrs Wyngate had professed to disbelieve what 
 her daughter overheard in the street car, nevertheless 
 it had troubled her so that she had slept very little since. 
 She had become more fretful and impatient than ever 
 
2,o Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 before, but want of food alone was sufficient to cause 
 that, thought the daughter, with filial charity. To-day, 
 however, there had crept over her mother's face a queer 
 grey look which alarmed Natalie, and aroused her 
 failing courage. In desperation, and with a nameless 
 fear at her heart, she slipped on her hat and cloak and 
 went to the grocer's and asked for a little wine, which 
 she promised to pay with the rest of the bill very soon. 
 
 The grocer shook his head and said he couldn't do it. 
 
 Then she tried the butcher for a pound of steak, but 
 he also promptly refused, and sick at heart she turned 
 home again. As she stopped to open the gate, she saw, 
 a couple of feet up by the wall, a small biscuit, evidently 
 dropped by some child, and at that moment it was to 
 her as manna from heaven. It would be a little for her 
 mother till she should get her something else. She 
 glanced stealthily around to see if anyone was looking 
 out of the windows opposite, and then she stepped up 
 and lifted it as though it had been something she herself 
 had dropped, and walked jauntily into the house with it. 
 
 "Mamma! mamma, dear! are you awake? See, 
 darling, here is a nice little biscuit for you." 
 
 Mrs Wyngate stirred uneasily, murmuring — 
 
 "No doubt, Dr Bruno is a — gent — le — man;" and 
 almost immediately fell asleep again. The g"irl sighed, 
 laid the biscuit down, and turned away. Towards 
 evening, Natalie, her white lips showing below the 
 black gauze veil which was tied across her face, stepped 
 timorously into a pawnbroker's shop on York Street. 
 She had read of pawning articles for money, and she 
 knew that three golden balls always indicated a pawn- 
 shop. 
 
, Dr Bmno's Wife. 21 
 
 As she passed in, a bloated-looking^ man, unwashed 
 and unshaven, turned round and stared at her, his beery 
 breath sickening her. 
 
 - " Now, then, vat you vants, youngf oomans?" deman- 
 ded the pawnbroker, who was a great fat German Jew. 
 
 NataHe glanced timidly at the man, and then produc- 
 ing- a gold ring set with an opal and pearls, asked if he 
 would buy it. 
 
 " Ve not py sooch dings, ve shoost pledge dem." 
 
 "Then I will pledge it. What will you give for it?" 
 
 "Shoost let me see der ring, vill you? Ah! vere a 
 young ooman like you get sooch a ring?" demanded 
 Solomon, examining the ring. 
 
 "It is my own, my father gave it to me," replied 
 Natalie, trembling. 
 
 . "Your fader, hey? Dat is all fery veil, young 
 oomans. Put der boliceman come to me and say— 
 ' Vere dat young oomans mit der ring?' I say — ' Vat 
 ring?' ' Der ring she stole,' he say, and off he vill valk 
 mit der ring; and den, vere is mine monish?" 
 
 "I don't understand what you mean, sir, but will you 
 take the ring ?" faltered Natalie, growing faint. 
 
 "Give the poor girl a chance, you gol — darned 
 Hebrew son of a gun," roared the tipsy but sympathetic 
 unwashed, who, full of whisky and pity, had been look- 
 ing on. "Come on, m> girl, I'll take you to a place 
 where you'll get your ring sold, and no questions asked. 
 Come along," continued he, with maudlin kindness, 
 trying to slip his arm about her waist; but Natalie, 
 with a muffled shriek of terror, broke away from him 
 and fled into the street, leaving the ring with the Jew, 
 who quietly dropped it into his box. 
 
22 Dr Bnino's Wife, 
 
 It was dusk whr^n, faint and despairing, she arrived 
 home and en'ered the house. As she opened the door 
 she paused a moment, for just then, with a thrill of joy, 
 she remembered a small can of o neal which had been 
 purchased some time ago to make gruel for the servant 
 when she was ill. To think she should have forgotten 
 such a treasure trove when searching the pantry! She 
 could make a little gruel of that with salt. Thank God, 
 they had salt at least, if not sugar, and elated with hope 
 she entered. That gruel would preserve life in them till 
 to-morrow, and to-morrow she would go and get work 
 somewhere and somehow. 
 
 "Are you asleep, mamma?" she breathed softly, as 
 she entered the bedroom. There was no answer. She 
 tiptoed over the bedside and listened. There was no 
 sound of breathing. She laid her hand caressingly on 
 her mother's cheek — it was cold — marble cold ! 
 
 A nameless dread stilled her pulses and held her mute, 
 while she scratched a match and lit the coloured wax 
 taper that stood in its candle-stick on the table, and 
 again bent over the still form in the bed. 
 
 ••Mamma! mamma! speak to me, mamma!" she 
 cried, her voice dying away in a long, heart-broken 
 wail. 
 
 A bat, which had flown in through the open window 
 in the darkness, now in the dim taper light began to 
 wheel, phamtom-like, round and round the bed, the 
 room, full of strange shadows, began to revolve, some- 
 thing dashed blindly against her face, and with a long, 
 shivering shriek, Natalie fell back upon the floor. 
 
 Some three days after this a wild rumour thrilled the 
 city — a rumour of a lady and her daughter, living in one 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 2$ 
 
 of the most fashionable streets, having been found — the 
 one dead, and the other dying of sheer starvation. The 
 lady, it is said, had lost all her money by speculation ; 
 and too proud to make her wants known, had chosen 
 rather to die. 
 
 The daughter, a beautiful young girl, had been re- 
 moved to the General Hospital, in a dying condition, 
 and had been placed in a private ward at the expense of 
 the Ladies' Benevolent Society. 
 
 This was but one of the dividends of ''The Great 
 Eureka Mine Shares (Limited.)" 
 
^4 i^^ Bruno's Wife. 
 
 ',',*■■ 
 \ ' 
 
 "\ CHAPTER II. - \ 
 
 f'-'' ■■■■'■ ^ ■■'"'''■ . '^. . 
 
 MEDICAL GENTLEMEN AND BENEVOLENT SOCIETY LADIES. 
 
 THE medical fraternity was plentifully and variously 
 represented in the city of Toronto. There were 
 the elderly and well-to-do in the profession, who lived in 
 palace villas, objected to going out in the night time, 
 charged two and three dollars a visit, and swore to their 
 yearly assessable income as below two thousand dollars. 
 Then there were those who were just struggling to get 
 a footing on the ladder; who in order! to make believe 
 that they were almost run to death by patients clamour- 
 ing for their special services, registered themselves as 
 the yearly recipients of double the income of the old 
 doctors, and were assessed accordingly. Then there 
 were the newly-fledged medicos-patient; despairing souls 
 — each of whom had recently hung out a modest sign by 
 the door bell, announcing the hours when they could be 
 consulted, as if they were quite too busy to be seen at 
 any other time. These sat hour after hour in their 
 modest parlour-surgeries for weeks, ay, and months to- 
 gether, with rent overdue, debts accumulating, and duns 
 blandly being met with promises ; wishing to goodness 
 some accident would occur providentially in front of 
 their doors, or some woman be brought to bed in a 
 hurry, or that something would happen, no matter what, 
 so long as it but brought them " a case." 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 25 
 
 To this latter class belonged Dr Arbuckle. He had 
 graduated with honours, had written several clever 
 articles on nervous and brain diseases to the Canadian 
 Lancet, and had, not far from another doctor's residence 
 in a central part of the city, rented a house, on the out- 
 side of the door of which he had caused to be fastened 
 a brass plate, with Edward Arbuckle, M.D., engraved 
 on it. The Doctor was a tall, fine-looking fellow of thirty 
 at least; with manly features, strong, firm chin, eyes 
 that were honest-looking and clear, and though of a 
 thoughtful turn, quite as far from moroseness as he was 
 from flippancy. 
 
 Like otht r young doctors who had no elderly friend in 
 the profession to extend to them the right hand of part- 
 nership, and so ensure present and future patronage, he 
 found he would have to bide his time; but the interval he 
 whiled away, not by reading novels, or "working the 
 Joss house," as cultivating the good graces of the dif- 
 ferent denominations was called, but by reading and 
 acquiring all the knowledge he could possibly get on his 
 favourite studies, and by writing articles containing his 
 own ideas thereon. Instead of patriotically giving these 
 ideas gratis to the papers of his own country, he sent 
 them off" to the States, receiving cash in return -cash 
 which he threw as sops to the Cerberus of debt vi^hich 
 had begun to bark at him. 
 
 He was also a lover of music and had for some time 
 back cultivated violin practice. * ^ ' 
 
 A good deal of his time he also gave to the Hospital, 
 which was a reciprocal advantage. It was when return- 
 ing from it one day that he became unconsciously the 
 subject of conversation between two ladies who were 
 
Sf6- Dr Bnino's Wife. 
 
 walking a little behind him in the same direction. They 
 were both fine-looking and stylishly dressed ladies, 
 neighbours and residents on University Avenue, the 
 finest street in the city. 
 
 •' I wonder who is that fine-looking fellow in front of 
 us ? Do you know him ?" said Mrs Tranent, the best- 
 looking of the two — a woman with erect figure, full- 
 bosomed and flaxen-haired, carrying herself wit', a grace 
 that had something defiant in it. 
 
 ** No — unless it be the doctor who has just come to 
 live here. Yes — it is, he ; see, he is going in now," 
 answered the other. 
 
 Dr Arbuckle ran up the steps and shut the door 
 smartly behind him, all unaware of this feminine obser- 
 vation. 
 
 Mrs Tranent looked at the door-plate after he had 
 gone in, and then suddenly stopped, turned, and looked 
 again. 
 
 "Arbuckle is the name, isn't it?" asked the placid- 
 looking lady, as Mrs Tranent resumed her walk by her 
 side. Mrs Tranent did not at once reply. She paced 
 musingly on for a few steps, and then recollecting herself 
 said — 
 
 '• I beg your pardon, Mrs Rutherford?" 
 
 *' I was saying that I thought Arbuckle was the 
 name," repeated Mrs Rutherford, benignly. 
 
 '* Yes, that is the name on the door-plate. Is he — ah 
 — does he belong to the city ?" 
 
 ••I don't know, I'm sure. All I do know is that I 
 heard Mr Rutherford saying that Dr Caxton had got a 
 rival opposite." 
 
 ** Ah, he is certainly a fine-looking man — if that is he." 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 27 
 
 The blonde lady was very quiet during the rest of her 
 walk ; but at last they reached their destination, which 
 was the vestry of a handsome Methodist Church, which 
 adorned and lent a dignity to an otherwise so-so street. 
 They were two of a large and influential society of ladies 
 who met once a week to transact Church business, ar- 
 range socials, receive and consider applications on behalf 
 of poor and needy worshippers, and all other such laud- 
 able work. The support of the poor in Canada being as 
 yet on a purely Christian basis, the word pauper being 
 unknown, ladies of leisure and benevolence generally find 
 plenty to do. However, there was a certain pleasure in 
 the work, for besides the luxury of alleviating poverty 
 and giving pleasure, there was also a social side to the 
 arrangement which made it both pleasant and profitable. 
 
 *' Have you heard how poor Miss Wyngate is getting 
 on ?" asked one of the ladies. 
 
 •' She is getting better, but her reason is entirely gone. 
 It is very sad, she is such a lovely girl," replied Mrs 
 Rutherford. 
 
 "This young Dr Arbuckle takes quite an interest in the 
 case, I hear. He won't hear of her being taken to the 
 Asylum yet at least, and he thinks the company of the 
 nurses and their cheerful talk will be better for her in the 
 meantime. He makes nervous and brain diseases his 
 study, and I am inclined to think he will bring her all 
 
 I 
 
 right yet. Only think — she kissed and cuddled the 
 flowers I took her up the other day." 
 
 ♦'You must take me to see her some day, Mrs Ruth- 
 erford," said Mrs Tranent quietly. " I feel so S' -ry for 
 her, poor thing ! Has Dr Arbuckle much of a practice 
 do you know ?" 
 
28 
 
 Dr Bnino's Wife. 
 
 * ' No — I don't think so. Of course he's only beg-inning- 
 yet, and it's a steep pull at first." 
 
 "Then we must give him a lift somehow. Next time 
 I am sick I shall send for him, and if I like him I shall 
 soon have him into a g-ood practice. A doctor who un- 
 derstands nervous women is badly wanted, I think," said 
 Mrs Tranent, with her charming, all-compelling smile. 
 
 Mrs Rutherford gravely assented, but one or two of 
 the ladies smiled quietly, for Mrs Tranent was a beauti- 
 ful blonde widow in ^-er prime, and Dr Arbuckle was a 
 clever, handsome man, also in his prime. Ergo—-w\vA\. 
 more natural than that — ? 
 
 ';";;• !■ 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife, 39 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 •'HER MOOD WILL NEEDS BE PITIED." 
 
 ^^O HALL we go in and have a look at Miss W>ngate 
 
 vJ now?" asked Dr Arbuckle of the amiable and cap- 
 able head-nurse, Miss Stobie, as he met her coming out 
 of one of the wards. 
 
 " If you like, Doctor. Have you time this morning?" 
 
 '* Plenty of time, and plenty of will, Miss Stobie. I 
 am very much interested in this case. What do you 
 think ? Is she improving ?" 
 
 Miss Stobie shook her head sadly. 
 
 " It's a sad, sad case, Doctor; she looks at me so 
 wistfully, so earnestly, with those great, dark melancholy 
 eyes of hers that it makes me feel like crying sometimes; 
 and you know. Doctor, how unlike me that is. I think 
 it is her extreme beauty and gentleness touches me so, 
 and then to think what she must have suffered to bring 
 her to that." 
 
 The Doctor listened thoughtfully, with bowed head. 
 
 "We must do our level best for her. Miss Stobie ; I 
 am going to make this case a special study," said the 
 Doctor. " I have a strong hope we will bring her all 
 right yet, and I hope she won't be sent to the Asylum 
 until we have given her up entirely." 
 
 •'I'll see she stays till then," said the nurse nodding 
 confidentially, and they both p.issed into the ward. 
 
30 , Dr Bnino's Wife. 
 
 Natalie Wyngate was sitting in an easy chair, looking 
 out of the window, with her fingers moving restlessly in 
 her lap. She did not turn or look at the Doctor and 
 Miss Stobie as they entered. 
 
 •* Well, Miss Wyngate, how are you to-day ? — better, 
 eh?" 
 
 Natalie turned her eyes full on the Doctor, and laughed 
 a low childish laugh. 
 
 The Doctor took from '^e depths of his great coat 
 pocket a pretty, fluflfy white kitten, and laid it in her 
 lap She felt the warm creature nozzling under her 
 hands, and she looked at it wonderingly, and laia htr 
 thin transparent fingers softly down on its warm fur, 
 and smiled. 
 
 " Pretty kitty— isn't it ?" said Miss Stobbie. 
 
 " Pretty kitty," she murmured, stroking it softly, and 
 looking at it still with wonder. 
 
 •' Who brought it?" she asked, suddenly and without 
 looking up. , 
 
 The Doctor's eye flashed. It was more than he had 
 expected this. 
 
 *' I brought it for you," said he, dropping on one knee 
 before her in order to catch her eye. 
 
 " What is its name ?" she again asked. 
 
 " What shall we call it. Miss Stobie? help me. What 
 shall we call the kitten?" . 
 
 Miss Stobie smiled. "Call it Natalie or Nattie— her 
 own name." -■.•'■,■,'■-■■ ■•;■'.:/•■■ .v_;,- -;■;-- , ,;■>. 
 
 •* Yes that will do. This is Natalie," he said, stroking 
 the kitten with one hand, and holding one of her thin 
 wrists in the other, counting her pulse. 
 
 As he pronounced the word Natalie, she started, half 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 3I 
 
 raised herself out of the chair, and cried '* Yes, mamma 
 — I am coming!" and sank down again, trembling like 
 a leaf. 
 
 *• Ah ! that was unfortunate," murmured the Doctor, 
 we will have to call it something else. "Kitty, kitty, 
 nice kitty. You love kitty — poor little kitty !" sa-w the 
 Doctor, trying to get her to notice the animal. 
 
 Her head was bent over the cat, but while he regarded 
 her with eager, steadfast look, she suddenly lifted her 
 dark beautiful eyes and looked at him calmly. Her gaze 
 seemed to rivet his, he smiled, she smiled ; then laying 
 her hand softly on his cheek, she said — " I love you f 
 
 The Doctor rose to his feet with a laugh, in which 
 Miss Stobie joined ; but the blood had surged into his 
 neck, his face, his head, and ebbing slo^^»ly, left him paler 
 than his wont. - 
 
 *' By Jove ! she had the best of it there, hadn't she?" 
 he laughed. '* However, I'd let her keep the kitten in 
 her own ward here, and see what effect the care of a 
 living thing will have upon her. Rather hard on a fel- 
 low that sort of thing though," he concluded, as another 
 flush at the recollection of it again rose to his brow. 
 
 " Poor thing, if making love to you, Doctor, will but 
 bring her round, why not let her. She'll soon quit," said 
 Miss Stobie, as together they left the ward — to the care 
 of a nurse. .;: v '/ ' i; 
 
 "We'll see what interest she'll take in the cat," said 
 the Doctor. " Did you observe the connection of ideas 
 when she asked who brought it ?" 
 
 " Yes, it looked hopeful. It is the first connected idea 
 I have seen her express since she came. I do trust you 
 may be able to help her. Doctor." 
 
32 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 " She is a frail plant just now. However, it is not the 
 madness of hereditary disease, it is simply the result of 
 an overstrain on a fine sensitive organism. Nature, 
 unable to bear the burden, has cast it from her and taken 
 refuge in temporary oblivion. By and by, when she has 
 recuperated, the reasoning faculties will resume their 
 sway, and she will be all right again. Who knows? — 
 perhaps this is the most merciful way of coming back 
 again to the world she had so nearly left. It was a 
 heartrending affair." 
 
 Just then a lady of stately appearance and fair coun- 
 tenance came stepping softly along <.he corridor where 
 Miss Stobie and Di Arbuckle stood talking. 
 
 '•How is Miss Wyngate to-day. Miss Stobie.^" she 
 inquired, graciously. As she spoke, Dr Arbuckle looked 
 at her sharply, then, raising his hat, passed on to the 
 other wards. 
 
 **She is much the same as usual," replied the nurse, 
 in a professional tone. The blonde lady produced a card. 
 
 The nurse took th*. card and saw on it, "Mrs Trantmt, 
 The Larches," and, with a comprehensive glance at the 
 lady, said, "Certainly," and led the way to the private 
 ward. For Mrs Tranent of The Larches was one of the 
 'Toronto Ladies Benevolent Society,' and this was visit- 
 ing day at the hospital. 
 
 Natalie was still sitting in her chair, but she had taken 
 the furry little pet in her arms and was cuddling it close 
 into her neck, humming to it some low monotonous re- 
 frain. 
 
 "She seems very quiet and sensible like," remarked 
 Mrs Tranent, who stood looking at her as she might 
 have looked at any singular phenomenon. 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife, ^3 
 
 "Yes, she is very quiet," responded Miss Stobie, 
 
 briefly. 
 
 ♦•Does she never talk? Let's see if she will talk to 
 me. How do you do, my dear?" 
 
 Natalie continued to hum to the kitten without lifting 
 her eyes or taking the slightest notice. 
 
 " What makes her like that? Is she stubborn?" 
 
 "You forget, Mrs Tranent, she has lost her mind en- 
 tirely," said the nurse, gravely. 
 
 "Ah, yes, to be sure ; but still I think. Miss Stobie, 
 you ought to rouse her out of that state a little." 
 
 " I abide by the doctor's orders — strictly." 
 
 "Yes, yes, that's so, that's right, still—let me try." 
 And, going up close, she, with her faultlessly -gloved 
 hand, laid hold of the kitten and attempted to take it 
 
 away. 
 
 With a wild cry Natalie's fingers clung to the little 
 animal, and lifting angry eyes she fixed them on Mrs 
 Tranent with an ominous glitter. 
 
 " Good gracious! She can be wicked when she likes, 
 I see," the lady exclaimed, recoiling. 
 
 The nurse made no response, her face was immovable. 
 
 "Is ^e often like this?" inquired Mrs Tranent, un- 
 easily. 
 
 " No, she is very gentle," replied Miss Stobie. 
 
 " I fail to see it. See how she looks at me. She is a 
 vixen that, believe me," remarked Mrs Tranent, moving 
 
 away. 
 
 Again the nurse kept silence. As they passed out 
 Mrs Tranent said — -^ 
 
 " I brought up some grapes for young Falconer. How 
 is he getting on?" 
 
34 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 ' * Very well, but I 'm afraid he will not be able to get 
 your grapes for some weeks yet." 
 
 " Oh, indeed. Is he so bad as that?" 
 
 "Yes, it is malignant typhoid." 
 
 "Oh, dear me! Where do you keep him?" asked 
 Mrs Tranent, glancing down the corridor in visible 
 alarm. 
 
 " Over in the typhoid wards, on the other side." 
 
 "Ah!" breathed the lady, much relieved. "By the 
 way, would you mind telling Dr Arbuckle — that was he 
 talking to you when I came in, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, that was Dr Arbuckle." 
 
 "Well, Miss Stobie, will you kindly ask him to call 
 at The Larches when he leaves the hospital to-day? I 
 have not been feeling so well of late, and really think I 
 must get him to prescribe for me." 
 
 " Oh, yes: I will tell him ir 1 see him again before he 
 goes," said Miss Stobie, her experienced eye searching 
 Mrs Tranent's face in vain for the first symptom of fail- 
 ing h«^alth. On the contrary, she w^s exceedingly fair, 
 fresh, and rosy; her lips red, her eyes bright and blue, 
 and her soft flaxen curls clinging in infantile rings 
 about her glimpses of snow-white brow. There was no 
 doubt Mrs Tranent was a fine-looking woman — an ag- 
 gressively fine-looking woman; broad shouldered, full- 
 bosomed, tall and stately, a veritable Juno, dressed in 
 the latest fashion, richly, but with perfect taste. Her 
 pretty little phaeton stood waiting for her at the hos- 
 pital door, and as she stepped into it, she said to the 
 man in big buttons who held the reins — 
 
 "Straight home, Brown." 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 35 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DR ARBUCKLE GETS A PAYING PATIENT. 
 
 AS soon as Mrs Tranent arrived at The Larches she 
 rang for the housemaid. 
 " I wish you, Nicol, to turn down the slats of the 
 drawing-roojn shutters and make the room dark and 
 cool. Show any visitors who may call in there." 
 "Yes'm." 
 
 "And, by the way, Nicol, I expect Dr Arbuckle 
 shortly. While he is here, I am not at home to any 
 
 one. " 
 
 "No'm." ■ ■ . , ; 
 
 Mrs Tranent .vas not a hard mis<^ress by any means. 
 Her three servants, the cook, housemaid, and Brown, 
 who was coachman and odd-man about the place, com- 
 bined, had indeed a very easy time of it, so long- as they 
 did their work, which was comparatively light, and 
 obeyed orders promptly. But Mrs Tranent would 
 stand no fooling, and was, moreover, very particular 
 about her servants keeping their own place, and show- 
 ing her on all occasions due respect. She always bar- 
 gained that her house servants should be called by their 
 surnames ; that they should wear servant's caps and 
 aprons, which she herself provided; and that on no 
 occasion whatever should they address her without first 
 saying, '* please ma'am." 
 
 When Mrs Tranent had bought The Larches some 
 
36 Dr Bruno's Wife, 
 
 nine years ago, she had found Canadian giris extremely 
 difficult to manage. They objected to wearing caps, 
 and would, though excellent workers otherwise, refuse 
 to say, "please, ma'am," or to wear towards her that 
 air of subservience which she considered the first quali- 
 fication of a servant. So annoyed had she been with 
 their independent ways, that at her husband's death she 
 went back to Europe for a couple of years, and return- 
 ing thence brought with her a model cook and house- 
 maid, who were as docile and thoroughly trained as 
 could be desired, she having procured them from some 
 "Home" in London, England. 
 
 Mrs Tranent was a woman of means, having a snug 
 private fortune of her own, a woman who was the envy 
 of Toronto society circles for her high, aristocratic man- 
 ners, her elegant five o'clock teas, and her charming 
 little dinner parties. She could play a little, paint a 
 little, and at an early period after her arrival at The 
 Larches had with her husband joined the large and in- 
 fluential Methodist body. She was a woman whom 
 people would have liked to t^lk about, only there was 
 positively nothing to say, except that she was an un- 
 mistakably fine -looking rich young widow, who took 
 good care to give no cause for gossip. 
 
 The fact of her being rich and quite able to be a cheer- 
 ful giver, had caused a deputation of the " Ladies' Ben- 
 evolent Society " to wait upon her and ask her to become 
 one of them, a request which she had gr^xiously respr>n- 
 ded to, accompanying her assent with a handsome don- 
 ation towards the praiseworthy objects of the Society. 
 This happened while Mr Tranent lived, however, and it 
 had been remarked at that time how superior in every 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 37 
 
 way she seemed to her husband, who, they whispered, 
 was rather coarse and spoke shockingly bad grammar. 
 
 When Mrs Tranent entered her pale-blue and drab 
 boudoir, a most aesthetically furnished apartment, up- 
 holstered with an eye to her flaxen hair and fair com- 
 plexion, she shut the door, and coming up to the glass, 
 looked at her own image long and searchingly, almost 
 wistfully. 
 
 "Well, well, well!" she sighed softly, and laying oflF 
 her out-door costume, she washed her face and arms 
 with sweetly-perfumed soap, dried them carefully, and 
 then applied to her face some rare cosmetic powder, 
 giving her naturally fine complexion a peachy, in- 
 fantile softness. Then she arranged the sunny rings 
 carelessly over her brow, stuck a fancy pin on either 
 side of the masses of golden coils crowning the top of 
 her head, and, arraying herself in an elegant tea gown 
 of pale-blue crepe-de-cheine, trimmed and faced with pink 
 satin of the faintest hue, she again stood up before the 
 glass and surveyed herself critically. 
 
 •'Is it true, I wonder, that all things cometh to him 
 who can wait?" she asked herself aloud, but just then 
 came a low knock, which she recognised, at the door of 
 the boudoir. 
 
 "Come in, Nicol." ' 
 
 Nicoi opened the door quietly, r.nd respectfully held 
 out a silver salver on which lay a card with " Dr Ar- 
 biicklc, M.D.," written on it in a bold hand. -■ -. .^ ,;■ 
 
 •'Thank you, Nicol. You showed the gentleman in- 
 to the drawing-room?" 
 "Yes'm." 
 ••That's right." And NIcol, white-capped, white-ap- 
 
38 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 roned, and demure, noiselessly slipped out and closed 
 the door. 
 
 *' Oh, my heart, my heart!" exclaimed the lady to her 
 image in the glass, laying both hands, which were large 
 but white, upon her left side. "What shall I say is 
 wrong? Wrong! My heart, of course — isn't that the 
 truth? Well, here goes!" and she shook the tea gown 
 down into graceful folds, let one drop of violet perfume 
 fall into her tiny cambric handkerchief, and, arranging 
 loosely a ring of hair that hung too stiffly over her brow, 
 with another look at herself she descended to the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 "How do you do, Dr Arbuckle?" she said with a 
 charming blush and smile as she entered gracefully. 
 
 The Doctor was standing with his back toward her 
 admiring a French engraving, and starting at the sound 
 of her voice, he turned and apologised. 
 
 ** I suppose we shall have to introduce ourselves to 
 each other, since we are strangers yet. Be seated, 
 pray," she added, waving him to a chair near. 
 
 The Doctor was a man like other men, susceptible to 
 the charms of feminine beauty, but he seemed more than 
 usually struck by the appearance of the lady before him. 
 The room was rich and cool and dim, and the lady who 
 now sat opposite him was in perfect keeping with her 
 aesthetic surroundings. He must have thought her ex- 
 ceptionally fine -looking, for it seemed to cost him an 
 effort to be on his good manners, and remember that he 
 had been sent for. 
 
 *' You wished to see me, I believe? Miss Stobie men- 
 tioned—" 
 
 "Ah — yes — I met you in the hospital to-day when I 
 
Dr Bntno's Wife. 39 
 
 was visiting- poor Miss Wyngate. She occupies one of 
 our private wards, you know. I mean — the Society 
 pays for her there." 
 
 "Yes, I understand," said the Doctor, his eyes still 
 fixed with a puzzled expression on Mrs Tranent's hand- 
 some face. 
 
 '* I hear, Doctor, that you make a specialty of nervous 
 diseases, so I thought I would get you to prescribe for 
 me. I'm dreadfully nervous at times." 
 
 "Ah, indeed!" said the Doctor, pulling out his watch, 
 and laying his fingers upon the lady's wrist. 
 
 A deep red flush swept over her face from neck to 
 brow, as he touched her hand, but he did not observe 
 it ; he was intently looking at the^face of the watch and 
 noting the pulsations. He felt the tremor, however, 
 which had come over her, and, looking up with a smile 
 as he put back his watch, he said — 
 
 "Yes, I see you are a little nervous. Do you sleep 
 well at night?" 
 
 " Pretty well — not always. I am easily upset." 
 
 " Well, you must keep your mind easy, and not worry 
 about things. Take regular food and exercise, and I 
 will give you a sedative which will sooth the nerves." 
 
 "Oh, thank you. Doctor — thank you. It is such a 
 comfort to gel a medical man who understands one. I 
 have had Dr Caxton these eight years, and I remember 
 when we were up the Mediteiranean last summer, I got 
 quite ill, and an old doctor came and prescribed for me 
 in French." 
 
 " Did you understand him?" ' - .— 
 
 "Oh, yes, I understand French very well; but, as I 
 was saying, he did me no good. I believe in the young 
 
40 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 doctors who have the advantages of the latest discover- 
 
 ies in science." 
 
 As Mrs Tranent spoke, the puzzled, searching expres- 
 sion faded from the Doctor's countenance, and he now 
 looked at her with calm admiration. She was indeed a 
 fine-looking woman. 
 
 ** There is a friend of mine, an elderly widow lady, 
 whom I am sure you would benefit very much. She is 
 terribly bothered with nervousness. I must get her to 
 see you; and oh! by the way, there is Mrs Newington, 
 a lady of means with a large family, who has just come 
 to settle in the city. At the 'Ladies' Meeting' the other 
 day she was just asking me to recommend to her a really 
 good doctor; her daughters are rather delicate. I must 
 introduce you to her." 
 
 " You are very kind, Mrs Tranent." 
 
 ** I am kind to my friends when I recommend you to 
 them. Doctor," was the smiling reply, and though the 
 compliment was rather broad for perfect taste, still, 
 coming from a lady who was evidently warm-hearted 
 and impulsive, the Doctor swallowed it. Certainly it 
 was not in his line, nor could he afford to quarrel with 
 good fortune when it came in his way. 
 
 " I will tell Brown to call for the medicine," said the 
 lady, as she shook hands with the Doctor, "and you 
 will call again and see what effect it has had?" 
 
 When the Doctor reached the front door he found the 
 housemaid, a pink of neatness, standing holding the 
 door open for him. Mrs Tranent had an exceedingly 
 well ordered house, and was evidently a lady, thought 
 the Doctor, as he passed out ; and walking up the little 
 avenue of larches, he smiled to think of his luck in se- 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 4> 
 
 curing this wealthy patient. Nay! not only herself, but 
 these well-to-do friends whom she had mentioned. Well! 
 well! it's a long lane has no turning; at this rate he 
 would soon round the corner and leave impecuniosity 
 far behind. 
 
 
42 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 MRS Tran 
 at his 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 FREDDIE, YOUNG CANADA. 
 
 Tranent had her trials. She had a son, whom 
 birth she had named Frederick, but who 
 was known far and near as Freddie. Although but ten 
 years old, he had the vigour and energy of twenty. 
 When only six, the long yellow curls which were his 
 nurse's delight and labour to comb and curl over her 
 fingers, he had ruthlessly shorn off, because he had 
 been mistaken for a girl once or twice. To be called 
 a girl, P'reddie felt, was an intolerable insult, which 
 he revenged by stoning the boy who did so, and after- 
 wards whanking off, with the cook's scissors, one by 
 one, the long yellow locks which had provoked the at- 
 tack. This he did on his sixth birthday, about an hour 
 or so before he was called in to be dressed for the 
 great juvenile party which his mother had got up in 
 his honour. For this special occasion a jaunty navy 
 blue sailor suit had been ordered ; over the ample 
 gold-braided collar of which Mrs Tranent thought the 
 matchless flaxen curls should fall most bewitchingly. 
 When, therefore, Freddie presented himself before his 
 mother with short, irregular tufts of tow sticking out 
 all over his head, her wrath and dismay may be im- 
 agined. The cherub, minus his soft halo of curling 
 hair, looked a very ordinary, fat-faced boy ; so much 
 so, that Mrs Tranent first seized him and slippered him 
 well, and afterwards cried from pure vexation. 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 43 
 
 From that day forward he had been the plague and 
 torment of her life, evincing a most unaccountable afiinity 
 for street arabs, and an outspoken admiration for their 
 free and easy mode of living. Their language, which 
 was a mixture of smart slang and bad grammar, he had 
 adopted entire, to the exclusion of more conventional 
 methods of expression. He bawled and made the kitchen 
 a scene of desolation one day, because he could not be 
 allowed to go on the streets and sell papers. He saluted 
 rev. gentlemen who came to visit at The Larches with 
 " Hello, guv'ner!" and made a point of driving off with 
 the butcher boy every time he came. His mother had 
 no control over him whatever. At his birth he had been 
 turned over completely to the care of a nurse, Mrs Tran- 
 ent understanding that was the correct thing for a so- 
 ciety lady to do, and for five years the nurse had mothered 
 him. At five, having outgrown his nurse, his mother 
 tried her hand at managing him, and failed. Even she 
 herself had to confess that as a mother she v/as certainly 
 not a success. But she was proud of his saucy, jaunty 
 ways; and when he said "No! I won't" to her, it was 
 always with a shake of the yellow curls which brought 
 him off scot free. Now, however, when there were no 
 more curls to shake, the offence seemed so gross and so 
 frequent that open war had become a daily occurrence 
 between mother and son, the former scoring an occa- 
 sional victory only by dint of superior force. 
 
 About a month after Dr Arbuckle's first visit she had 
 been roused from an early morning nap by a terrific 
 ring at the front-door bell, and simultaneously the sound 
 of an angry Hibernian voice holding forth in the hall. 
 With a palpitating pulse she rang for Nicol. 
 
44 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 ''Whatever is the matter, Nicol? Who is that talk- 
 ing so loudly at this hour?" 
 
 " Please 'um, it's some mischief Master Freddie's been 
 hup to." 
 
 " Freddie!— impossible. Why, the child isn't up yet, 
 is he?" 
 
 "Please 'um, he went hout this morning- hat five 
 o'clock ; Brown saw him agoing." 
 
 "Oh, mercy! What am I to do with that boy? 
 That'll do, Nicol — tell the peson — stay, who is it?" 
 
 '• Please 'um, I don't know; she — " 
 
 "Never mind; I'll come down myself;" and, with a 
 sigh of despair, Mrs Tranent rose, and throwing on a 
 rose-coloured wrapper, and a soft, white boating shawl 
 over her head, came sailing down the softly-carpeted 
 stairs. 
 
 ".What do you mean by coming here and kicking up 
 a noise like this?" demanded the lady, towering finely 
 in her rose wrapper and long train. 
 
 "What does I mane?" retorted the irate intruder. 
 
 " Faix, then, I manes just this — that if yez don't be 
 afther chainin' up that divil av a bye av yours, it's black 
 and blue mesilf '11 be makin' the hide av him." 
 
 "What has he been doing now?" demanded Mrs 
 Tranent, with visible annoyance. 
 
 "Doin'?" shouted the woman, shaking the raw hide 
 threateningly. "Sure, isn't it afther 'im the ould man 
 an' mesilf have been chasin' this half-hour an' more, him 
 an' another divil, an' thim a-turnin' round at iviry shtrate 
 corner, an' cursin' like haythens, wid all thir tin fingers 
 sphread out afore the pint av thir noses?" 
 
 "Tchick! tchick! oh dear me! But you had no right 
 
Dr BniHCis Wife, 45 
 
 to chase the boy. What was he doing to you? I 
 thought he was in bed." 
 
 " Bed!" shouted the woman, with added wrath; '*oh, 
 thin! nary a bed. Shure, an' hasn't he been gallopin' 
 me poor, onforthunate cow to death ivir sin' five o'clock 
 this blessed marnin', blasht his sowl! Yes, ma'am! 
 himsilf an' another bye, ashtride of Paddy M'Guire's 
 ould plug, wid soords in their hands, if yez plaze; an' 
 me laddie-bug wavin' a red handkercher afore me poor 
 cow, an' a-racin' an' chasin' her, till the divil a dhrap o' 
 milk she'll let down, she be so clane bate out wid the 
 way they illbehaved to her. Och ! och ! it's mesilf that's 
 heart scalded wid that same bye. Shure, last week 
 didn't he come over to the hin-house, he an' sorre more 
 av 'em — " 
 
 Here Mrs Tranent turned and fled from a further re- 
 cital of her son's exploits, but it subsequently transpired 
 that the worthy Irishwoman did well to b,. angry ; for 
 Freddie, with the assistance of a bigger boy whose ac- 
 quaintance he had made, had really been rehearsing an 
 amateur bull-fight suggested by a story which the big 
 boy had been reading, with Mrs O'Brien's cow, Paddy 
 M'Guire's long-ribbed rosinante, and a red silk handker- 
 chief, as the chief features of the show. 
 
 A handsome black ostrich feather, costing some eight 
 or nine dollars, also disappeared, and was never again 
 seen after that morning; Freddie having stuck it into 
 his hat to make him look liLc a Spanish matador. 
 
 Mrs Tranent felt that things had come to a crisis. 
 She sent and paid the damage claimed — viz., ten quarts 
 of milk ; but her nerves were quite upset by this latest 
 adventure. Something or other must be done. She 
 
46 Dr Bruno's Wife, 
 
 must consult some man about what was best to be done 
 with a boy of that kind, and so she told Brown to take 
 the carriage and drive down to Dr Arbuckle's door with 
 a note. 
 
 In one short month Dr Arbuckle had become quite a 
 busy man. Not only had the two friends whom Mrs 
 Tranent had mentioned become his regular patients; 
 others, prompted from the same source, had also called 
 him in, and liking his genial manner and gentlemanly 
 bearing, had installed him as their family doctor. He 
 was beginning to be envied by the less fortunate medi- 
 cals who still waited on, trusting to some epidemic to 
 help them out of the rut. 
 
 So quietly, and in such a matter-of-fact way, had Mrs 
 Tranent made his wonderful skill known among her 
 circle of friends, that no one, least of all the Doctor 
 himself, suspected her interest in him. She had given 
 a garden party, at which he had been an invited guest, 
 but she had paid no more attention to him than to the 
 others; and besides, Dr Caxton v/as invited also. Dr 
 Arbuckle would have been less or more than man had 
 he not admired h6r, moving, magnificently arrayed, 
 among her guests. She was a very fine-looking woman 
 indeed ; not so well read, perhaps, as well travelled, 
 having been in France, Italy, and England for some 
 time. The Doctor, on the whole, rather liked the fair 
 widow, and the widow if she knew it, never by word or 
 look betrayed that she knew. She was a sensible 
 woman. 
 
 It was well on in the afternoon when he arrived, in 
 response to the note. He had been busy since morning, 
 and had only received her note when he arrived home. 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 47 
 
 *'Then you haven't had dinner, Doctor?" 
 
 "Time enough," answered the Doctor, with a smile. 
 
 "Stay and dine with me this afternoon— I want to 
 take your advice. You men know so much better than 
 we what to do in some cases;" and Mrs Tranent laid 
 her hand on the bell. 
 
 "Covers for two, Nicol," she said, when the house- 
 maid appeared. 
 
 " Please 'um, and for Master Freddie too?" 
 
 «' No, the naughty boy! He shall take his dinner in 
 the nursery alone for his conduct this morning." 
 
 The maid withdrew, and Mrs Tranent turned to the 
 
 Doctor. 
 
 " It's about Freddie I want to speak to you," she said. 
 
 "Ah! what ails the boy? Nothing serious I should 
 say. I got a glimpse of him pursuing a hen in an alle- 
 way this forenoon, and just now I saw him walking like 
 a tight-rope dancer along the stable roof." 
 
 Mrs Tranent uttered an exclamation of impatience, 
 and again rang for the servant. 
 
 "Is Freddie on the stable roof, Nicol?" ; 
 
 " Please 'um, yes, he won't come down." 
 
 "Then make him. Tell Brown to bring him down at 
 
 once." 
 
 "Yes'm," said Nicol, and vanished. 
 
 " What on earth. Doctor, am I to do with tha4. boy?" 
 
 " Why, what has he been doing?" queried the Doctor, 
 with twinkling eyes. 
 
 " Don't you see, Doctor? always in mischief; think of 
 __ him even now on the stable roof!" 
 
 "Pooh! That's nothing, Mrs Tranent. What if he 
 does fancy walking anywhere rather than on terra Jimia? 
 
48 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 I confess I rather like to see a youngster with some go 
 in him," replied the Doctor, quite cheerfully. 
 
 •• He'll break his neck one of those days; I know he 
 will. But this morning I got such a shock. I haven't 
 got over it yet." 
 
 Mrs Tranent recounted for the Doctor's benefit the 
 early morning visit of the boisterous Irishwoman and 
 the cause thereof. 
 
 Dr Arbuckle listened with quite a professional air un- 
 til the bull-fight came on, when he leant back and burst 
 into a hearty laugh. 
 
 " I tell you, Mrs Tranent, that boy of yours is a brick 
 —Freddie's a brick. Where is he now, I wonder?" 
 
 ** Here she are!" replied Freddie, promptly, who, when 
 he heard he was to dine In the nursery alone, had hurried 
 down of his own accord, and hied thither to plead his 
 own cause. He had sHppec' up softly to the drawing- 
 room door in time to hear himself discussed and approved 
 of by the Doctor. 
 
 ♦'Here she are! and I say. Doc' Buckle, don't you 
 think it a shame for a feller to take his dinner all'one 
 upstairs, when I ain't done nothin' bad?" 
 
 "Freddie Tranent! you are a bad, bad boy, and you 
 know it," said the half-smiling, half-annoyed mother. 
 '•Don't you call it naughty and wicked to go racing 
 poor Mrs O'Brien's cow — " 
 
 "But, ma, Mrs O'Brien ain't poor. She owns that 
 shanty, and has two hundred dollars in the bank. Sure's 
 leather! Sam Tuck tole me so." 
 
 "Oh, dear, dear!" sighed the defeated lady. 
 
 " Run away upstairs and get washed, and tell Nicol 
 to give you your blue suit to put on." 
 
Dr BniJio's Wife, * $f^ 
 
 " But, ma, the blue suit's all tar." ,.:... 
 
 "Tar!" 
 
 "Yes, ma, chock-a-block. Me'n Sam Tuck was 
 havin' larks with the man that was layin' the streets. 
 We wasn't doing a single thing to him, only firing peas 
 in his eyes, when he went to hit me a clip, and I sat 
 down on the tar and couldn't get up again." 
 
 " Well, well!" exclaimed Mrs Tranent in wild despair; 
 •' go and get something on, for any sake." 
 
 "And can I get dinner with you and Doc' Buckle in 
 the dining-room, then?" asked Freddie, with brisk 
 eagerness. 
 
 " Oh, well — what do you say, Doctor? Do you think 
 I ought to let him off this time?" 
 
 The Doctor, whose fine teeth had been gleaming from 
 under his dusky moustache during this colloquy, pulled 
 himself up with an effort at gravity. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I think so — if Freddie will do better for the 
 time to come." 
 
 " You bet your boots. Doc' Buckle ; I'll be awful good. 
 Sure pop." 
 
 "Mercy! run away. Don't you think, Doctor, that 
 boy would be better under somebody who is used to 
 the care of children ? I mean some one who makes 
 his living by it; some man who keeps a boys' school?" 
 asked Mrs Tranent, when Freddie had gone. 
 
 Dr Arbuckle mused a little. His thoughts had flown 
 back to his own boyhood, orphaned and lonely, when 
 his heart had grown sick with yearning for the mother- 
 love and sympathy he had envied other boys the posses- 
 ion of; and he wondered if his mother — the sweet dream- 
 face he remembered so dimly — would have sent him 
 
5© Dr Bruno's Wife. ^ 
 
 away from her own tender care as Mrs Tranent had now 
 wished to send Freddie. But then Freddie was a terrible 
 boy, a really troublesome boy, there was no gainsaying 
 that — and he laughed again as he thought of him. Still, 
 in spite of his better judgment -probably because there 
 was no one else to do it — ^he took his part. 
 
 ** Oh, I would wait a little, Mrs Tranent. He will 
 grow out of all that by and by. What he wants is 
 something to do. How does he stand at school?" 
 
 "Dux — always dux — except when he forgets and is 
 late. But then he is sure to be up again the very first 
 chance. I'm sure I don't know where and when he 
 learns his lessons." 
 
 '* He's a smart little fellow. I think, Mrs Tranent, 
 you should try a little patience with him for a while — 
 let him have animals — rabbits, pigeons — to look after." 
 
 " Oh! pray, Dr Arbuckle, don't suggest such a thing; 
 he would have the nasty little things up in his bedroom, 
 I believe. Why, our milkman brought him a bantam 
 rooster about a year ago, and as I was coming in from 
 a party one morning about one o'clock, what should 
 greet my ears but a loud crow. That boy had actually 
 taken the rooster in a basket up to his bedroom, and 
 there they were locked in together. I was too tired to 
 bother rousing him up, so I went to bed ; and. Doctor, 
 if you'll believe me, that bird crowed every hour all 
 night through i But as soon as he went to school next 
 day you may be sure I got cook to make short work of it." 
 
 "Didn't he object?" ' ' ' '• 
 
 *' Oh, he never knew what had become of it. I sup- 
 pose if he knew even now that he had eaten of it, he 
 would raise the roof." ' '" •- ^ -^ 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. %\ 
 
 Again the Doctor mused. He had been a boy him- 
 self; and an unaccountable pity for this little rascal 
 Freddie filled his soul. 
 
 " Do you object to having pets for him?" he said. 
 
 «'Oh, certainly! What he wants is to be sent away 
 to a boys' school, under the constant superintendence of 
 a man who will make him behave." 
 
 '«But won't you miss the boy?" asked the Doctor, 
 fixing his dark eyes anxiously on the lady's face. 
 
 «*No, not I. Besides, it's for his good," she added, 
 prompted to say so by some unusual expression in the 
 
 Doctor's look. 
 
 They were still talking the matter over when the door 
 bell rang, and in a few moments Freddie's voice, clear 
 as a bell, came running into the drawing-room from the 
 
 hall. 
 
 «« Hello! mamma! ain't you sittin' there in the draw- 
 ing-room talking for all your worth to Doc' Buckle? 
 Here's Nicol gone and tole a lie to Mrs White, come to 
 call. Said you weren't at home— when you were. 
 Won't Nicol go to hell-fire if she tells whoppers like 
 
 that?" 
 
 Mrs Tranent laid her hand on her heart, and with 
 
 wide, horrified eyes, whispered faintly— 
 
 "Doctor, oh. Doctor-that boy! What shall 1 do? 
 
 -I am faint at the thought of it. Mrs White, of all 
 
 people!" 
 
 At this moment Freddie rushed in— 
 
 '* Ain't it, ma? Ain't it a lie? Ain't you in?" 
 
 Mrs Tranent, forgetting herself, made a lunge at 
 
 Freddie, and seizing his arm, shook him without mercy. 
 .•You— you awful boy! how dare you? Go this in- 
 
52 
 
 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 stailt and say I am ill, and that Dr Arbuckle is here to 
 prescribe for me! Oh! oh! oh!" and Mrs Tranent 
 stamped her pretty slipper upon the carpet. 
 
 "Are you sick, ma?" asked Freddie, backing slowly 
 out of the room in much perplexity and doubt. 
 
 "Sick! sick to death— go — hurry!" and thus adjured 
 Freddie returned to the door, which was just closing on 
 the lady, who had quietly left her card. Ere Kicol 
 could prevent him, he had pushed outside, and was 
 shouting at top of his voice, in his eagerness to repair 
 the mischief he had done — ; 
 
 " Say Mis White — hallo! ma says she's dreflful sick to 
 death, and Doc' Buckle's persecuting her. That's why. 
 You ain't mad, are you?" ' ' 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 53 
 
 1 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ♦*i'm in love with a mad WOMAN! 
 
 T had taken no little mediation to induce Mrs Tranent 
 ^ to allow her boy to stay at home for another year at 
 least before sending him to a boy's school. Dr Arbuckle 
 held doggedly to a theory of his own that mothers should 
 mother their own children, at least so long as they were 
 children. Mrs Tranent's disinclination to do so had dis- 
 appointed him with her not a little. 
 
 She had always appeared so kind, so large-heartedly 
 generous in any charitable concern she took up in con- 
 junction with other ladies; and, moreover, had been so 
 unostentatiously serviceable to himself, that he had 
 concluded the maternal feeling must necessarily be strong 
 
 also. , . • 
 
 Herein lay his mistake He did not see that the givmg 
 of a large cheque, which was duly announced and praised 
 in the daily papers, or the attendance at the Society's 
 meetings where she was consulted, deferred to, and 
 openly admired, differed very widely from the daily and 
 hourly unrecorded self-denial of true motherhood. 
 - Mrs Tranent was entirely wiUing to be a fashionable 
 Christian worker; nay, more than once she had driven 
 in her little phaeton to the doors of some miserable un- 
 fortunates, and with her own hands had dispensed her 
 own and the Society's bounties, and been called an 
 
54 Dr Bruno's Wife, 
 
 angfel therefor, both to her face and behind her back. 
 But to be a Christian mother, to overshadow her boy 
 with invisible wings of ever present love and care, 
 "even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings," 
 to keep him from the evil and prompt him to the 
 good, to sympathise with him and make him feel that, 
 though all the world were against him, mother was 
 always at his back to strengthen, encourage, and help 
 him to think rightly — at such a task as this Mrs Tranent 
 drew the line. She had brought him into the world, 
 supplied him with a competent nurse, also with all the 
 food he could eat and the raiment he could wear or tear; 
 she was willing, nay anxious, to send him to an expen- 
 sive school — beyond that she strut'k. She had also sent 
 him to a Sunday school of their own denomination, 
 where he amused himself popping peas at the bald poll 
 of the superintendent; indeed, he provided himself with 
 peas every Saturday night for the morrow's use, as 
 punctually as the elder people provided themselves with 
 small change for the collection ladle. 
 
 This lack of motherliness, this peculiarity, grated on 
 Dr Arbuckle disagreeably. He thought of it, and let it 
 worry him after he had sunk into his easy chair and lit 
 his meerschaum. She had been so soft, so blushingly 
 lovable and womanly to him, so hard and heartless to 
 Freddie. 
 
 Women in general were such contradictory, incom- 
 prehensible creatures, he thought it must be on account 
 of Freddie's extraordinary liveliness, and the incessant 
 worry he gave her. Anyhow, under the soothing influ- 
 ence of his meerschaum, he grew charitable and less 
 disposed to acknowledge his disappointment, for, after 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 55 
 
 all, Mrs Tranent was a fine-looking woman, and a 
 charming conversationalist. 
 
 His meditations were interrupted by a ring at the sur- 
 gery bell. 
 
 '• Miss Stobie!" he exclaimed, as, opening the door, 
 the light fell full on the face of the head nurse. And he 
 shook hands warmly with the lady. 
 
 ••Can you come down to the hospital for a little, 
 Doctor? Miss Wyngate has lost all control. The 
 house surgeon insists that she must go to the Asylum 
 at once; but I have an idea that this is but the prelude 
 to recovery. After the last fit like this, she had a long, 
 lucid interval— longer than ever before, and I do hate to 
 have her go away, poor thing." 
 
 The Doctor took down his coat from the nail and put 
 it on while Miss Stobie spoke. 
 
 •'Ah! I intended to come down to-night, but I was 
 called down to The Larches, and stayed the evening." 
 Miss Stobie raised her eyebrows slightly, but not in 
 
 surprise. 
 
 •'I have observed that you can soothe her when no 
 one else can, so leaving her with the nurse, I took the 
 car to the door here, and I'm glad I found you." 
 
 ••I'm more than glad. I'm mad at myself, too, for not 
 
 being down before. I haven't seen her these two days." 
 
 •• Three days," corrected the nurse. 
 
 "Ah, is it? Yes, we'll go. Back about twelve, Mrs 
 
 Rodger's," he said to his servant, who stood waiting in 
 
 the hall ; you had better go to bed." 
 
 As he opened the door, the tinkle of the street car bell 
 was heard. It stopped at his signal, and in a few mo- 
 ments they were at the hospital gate^ . ,;; r^c fnT?: 
 
56 Dr Bnnio*s Wife, 
 
 The private ward door was shut when they came up, 
 but at a peculiar rap from the nurse, it was opened from 
 within. Natalie was pacing rapidly up and down the 
 room. It was warm, and the Doctor doflFed his hat and 
 light overcoat, and began walking beside her. 
 
 "We will have a walk, Miss Wyngate ; come with 
 me," he said, and passed his arm through hers; but she 
 turned upon him with a look of aversion and terror, and 
 fled shrieking around the room. 
 
 '* Dear me, dear me! — this is sad," he murmured. 
 
 "You shall not touch me, you horrible man. Keep 
 the ring, keep the money — ah! ah!" she cried, looking 
 at the Doctor with an unearthly glitter in her eyes. 
 
 The Doctor watched her with ineffable pity, she looked 
 so weirdly, wildly beautiful, standing at bay- poor, 
 phantom-haunted soul! In utter perplexity the Doctor 
 looked at her, an unusual moisture gathering in his own 
 eyes as he saw Miss Stobie's calm orbs fill. He uncon- 
 sciously felt for his handkerchief, and drawing it out, 
 some hard things fell on the floor. The under-nurse 
 stooped and lifted it, handing it to him with a smile. 
 
 "What on earth! — why, if that isn't Freddie Tran- 
 ent's mouth-organ! Now, how on earth did the rascal 
 manage to put it there? By Jove! — it might as soon 
 been one of his mother's spoons," said the Doctor, with 
 a smile, to Miss Stobie. 
 
 "A pity but you could play on it. I .link she is 
 musical, the way she hums snatches of operettas at 
 times." 
 
 "Is that so?" said the Doctor, as if struck with an 
 idea. " Look here, Miss Stobie; couldn't you send for 
 some one up to the house for my violin?" 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 57 
 
 •'Certainiy — >anything' you wish, Doctor," said the 
 nurse, and in a short time the violin was in the Doctor's 
 hands and he screwing" up the stringfs. 
 
 Presently he began in what was scarce higher than a 
 musical breathing, the gentle melody of " Home, Sweet 
 Home!" with his eyes fixed on hers to watch the effect. 
 At first she stood unchanged, but as he played on, the 
 frightened glitter in her eyes softened, her hands became 
 unclinched and hung by her side, her head bent lightly 
 forward, her set lips softened and parted, her face be- 
 came irradiated with mild surprise and pleasure, and 
 she took one and then another slow step in his direction. 
 
 "Play on, Doctor! play on!" whispered Miss Stobie, 
 in scarce controlled excitement, but the Doctor needed 
 no prompting. He was exerting a new-felt power, born 
 of intense anxiety and desire to bring back this beauti- 
 ful, innocent soul, who had been driven forth into the 
 haunted wastes of madness by the demon of despair. 
 He could not let her go; she must be charmed back 
 within the safe confines of reason and mental lucidity. 
 If it could be done, he would do it, and the whole power 
 of his inflexible will was concentrated in the gaze he 
 bent upon her as he played on. 
 
 Both nurses exchanged glances, when with illuminated 
 face, she took another and still another step near the 
 player, and began to beat time with her right hand to 
 the rythm of the tune. At last she glided up close, as 
 if drawn towards him, all the glittering wildness of her 
 eyes dying out before the slow dawning of human sur- 
 prise and delight. 
 
 So close did she come to him, with her gaze riveted 
 on his, that he felt her breath upon his cheek; gentler 
 
58 Dr Bruno's Wife, 
 
 and more gentle grew her expression, her manner be- 
 came grave and serious, and her swcet lips began to 
 quiver with emotion. He had conquered! With a 
 sudden, swift instinct, he glided into the slow and 
 solemn strains of the "Old Hundred," but ere he reached 
 the fourth line she had thrown her arms upon his should- 
 ders, weeping convulsively. 
 
 '• Take her and lay her down, nurse," said the Doctor, 
 in a low undertone, and as they took the sobbing girl 
 and bore her to the bed, the Doctor, white as a sheet, 
 and with a strange feeling of utter exhaustion, sank 
 down in a chair and leant back, covering his eyes with 
 his hand. 
 
 For nearly half an hour there was perfect silence, 
 broken only by the slowly subsiding sobs from the bed. 
 By and by they also ceased, and there was only the 
 sound of soft, regular breathing. 
 
 Miss Stobie with noiseless feet crossed over to the 
 Doctor and touched him. 
 
 "She is asleep, Doctor —sound asleep. I did not 
 think it was possible Are you a mesmerist ?" 
 
 Dr Arbuckle shuddered. 
 
 " Mesmerist! No — not I. But when I saw the effect 
 of the old melody, saw the nervous glower relax, I took 
 such a dread lest she might lapse back again, that I 
 played, and kept playing with the determination that 
 she shouldn't, that I would hold her and keep her there. 
 But I tell you, Miss Stobie, it's terrible work. I haven't 
 got over it yet ; get me something bracing, will you, 
 please?" , / , 
 
 Miss Stobie handed the keys to the under-nurse and 
 whispered to her, and she went out, returning soon 
 
Dr Bnino's Wi/c. 59 
 
 with a glass of some liquid, which the Doctor swallowed. 
 
 " I will be round early in the morning," said he, as 
 he put on his coat. " I shall be anxious to hear the 
 result of this unprofessional treatment." 
 
 Miss Stobie smiled brightly. Doctor Arbuckle was 
 one of the doctors she liked. 
 
 "Indeed, so shall I, so don't be tied to conventional 
 hours. And let me thank you, Doctor, smcerely." 
 
 " Good-nifj'ht, and a good night's rest." 
 
 "Good-night, Doctor — stay, you have forgot some- 
 thing," and she handed Freddie's mouth-organ. 
 
 Dr Arbuckle took it, with a strange disagreeable feel- 
 ing of dislike to the inanimate thing, which had been 
 the cause of so much good to his patient. The touch of 
 it, as he put it in his pocket, annoyed him, simply be- 
 cause it belonged to The Larches. As sudden was the 
 almost instantaneous dislike he had taken to the mistress 
 of The Larches, the very lady over whom he had been 
 ruminating so pleasantly a couple of hours ago. He 
 saw her in his mind's eye, the tall, full-bosomed, ag- 
 gressive blonde, smiling and attractive in her beauti- 
 fully-appointed house ; but between her and himself 
 there now glided another — pale, with dark masses of 
 dishevelled hair thrust wildly back from her white brow> 
 with large, wistful, melancholy eyes bent on his, soul 
 seeing soul dimly in the darkness ; and with an uncon- 
 scious recoil from the smiling 'olonde, he murmured — * 
 
 "Natalie! Natalie! Oh, child, come back to me!" .. 
 - The desire was strong upon him still to bring her 
 back to life and hope, and perfect mental health. He 
 could not shake it off; it had taken perfect possession of 
 him, and with it came a dread lest being being restored 
 
6o 
 
 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 he might after all lose her. He went home and to bed 
 with his mind full of her. 
 
 But Dr Arbuckle was a man of many moods, for after 
 tossing: about sleeplessly till the clock struck two in the 
 city, he burst into a short ironical laugh and exclaimed— 
 
 "The idea! That I, a physician, should be in love 
 with a mad woman!" 
 
 <i . .1 
 
 (•' I' 
 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife, $i 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHAT IS IT TO LOVE? 
 
 AT ten o'clock next morning Dr Arbuckle called at 
 the hospital. 
 
 *' Good-morning, Miss Stobie," said he, shaking hands 
 with the nurse, whose grave grey eyes, as she returned 
 his greeting, shone with some inward pleasure. 
 
 '* How is she to-day?" he queried in a low tone. 
 
 "Come and see," was the cheerful reply; and Miss 
 Stobie, with light footsteps, turned down the corridor 
 to the ward, keeping several steps ahead. 
 
 Miss Wyngate, in a neat, dark dress, was up, and 
 seated in a chair, sewing quietly. Her dark hair was 
 arranged in smooth coils about her head ; her face was 
 pale, pure, and serene; her fine eyes soft and beaming 
 with quick intelligence ; and in her lap lay curled up, in 
 comfort and content, the white kitten. 
 
 At the first glimpse of her, the Doctor turned and ex- 
 changed a glad glance of meaning with Miss Stobie, and 
 then advanced and held out his hand. 
 
 '• How are you this morning. Miss Wyngate?" he said 
 gently. *' Getting stronger, I hope?" 
 
 "Oh, much better, thank you," she said, rising and 
 shaking hands with the most perfect good-breeding. " I 
 think I must be well now." 
 
 She looked at the Doctor calmly as she spoke, and 
 offered him a chair which was near. 
 
 The Doctor sat down, and presently Miss Stobie 
 
62 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 catching the question in the patient's eyes, hastened to 
 explain. 
 
 "This is Dr Arbuckle who attended you in your illness, 
 You don't remember him, do you?" 
 
 Natalie bowed politely, and a faint colour rose to her 
 thin cheek. 
 
 "No," she said smiling. " I do not recollect having 
 seen him before." 
 
 A strange sense of disappointment came like a chill 
 upon the Doctor's spirits as he heard her. He did not 
 know till then how he had hoped she would recognise 
 him. The calm, soft innocence of her looks thrilled him 
 through and through ; the pity of it all melted his very 
 soul. Nurse Stobie read his thoughts, and, understand- 
 ing his disappointment, continued — 
 
 " It was Dr Arbuckle who brought the kitten, my 
 dear." 
 
 "Oh! indeed," she said, her eyes lighting up with 
 pleasure. "Thank you very much Doctor; it was very 
 good of you to think of me. Indeed, I love pussy, it is 
 such a pretty playful little thing, it makes me laugh when, 
 perhaps — " a sigh finished the sentence, and an expres- 
 sion of profound sadness settled on her face. 
 
 " Miss Stobie," said the Doctor, suddenly turning, 
 " it's a beautiful day, and Miss Wyngate is convalescent 
 now. Don't you think you and I could go out and let 
 her have a short drive round the outskirts of the city in 
 the afternoon during your hours off?" -;, 
 
 Nurse Stobie was taken aback a little. Such a pro- 
 position from a Doctor she had never heard before, and 
 she hesitated a little. : ,, ; •../. :> >•. 
 
 . "Would you like to go and get a drive, my dear?" 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 63 
 
 she added. Somehow Miss Stobie had fallen into away 
 of addressing this patient like a child beloved. Her 
 pitiful history, her beauty, and her helplessness had ap- 
 pealed to her maternal nature. She was quite out of 
 the general run of patients who had friends to visit 
 them. 
 
 Natalie had no friends. Her mother's exclusive notions 
 had kept them within an extremely limited circle, and 
 those had been so shocked by the revelation of her ex- 
 treme poverty as to be glad when they learned that the 
 Ladies' Benevolent Society had taken the case in hand. 
 With the ladies they left her; it would not have been the 
 correct thing to interfere. Nurse Stobie, much older in 
 experience than in years, understood it all, and took the 
 poor friendless girl to her big heart. 
 
 "Oh! very much. I would so much like to see the 
 fields and the trees and, oh! the lake!" replied Natalie, 
 clasping her thin fingers in rapture at the prospect. 
 Seeing Miss Stobie hesitate, however, she instantly 
 added — " But just as you wish, dear Nurse. If you 
 don't wish me to go, of course I won't even want to." 
 
 " You dear good girl! Yes, you shall go, but I will 
 be unable to go with you. However, you wont mind 
 driving her out yourself. Doctor, will you?" 
 
 " Not at all. Well, suppose we say three o'clock. 
 Will that do?" 
 
 "Very well, we will be ready," said Nurse Stobie. 
 
 *' I must thank you. Doctor, you are very, very good. 
 I do want to get well soon, and — and — get some work 
 to do," said Natalie, her pale lips quivering as she spoke. 
 
 "Work! — nonsense! You are to stay here and get 
 well; you mustn't think of these things for a long time 
 
64 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 ' yet," said the Doctor, firmly, and clasping her thin fingers 
 in his for a moment, he departed. 
 
 This was the first of many drives round the outside of 
 the city, and along the lake shore, sometimes with, but 
 often without Miss Stobie for company. Since that 
 awful evening she had not once gone back or shown the 
 least sympton of mental derangement, and she herself 
 now understood the sad condition she had been in, though 
 no one had told her. With returning bodily strength 
 her mental perceptions, partially clouded, shone forth 
 with renewed strength ; and, now uncurbed and unre- 
 stricted * y a superior will, her conscience and her facul- 
 ties reasserted themselves. She now saw the folly of the 
 overweening pride of family and position which had mis- 
 takenly subjected her to daily martyrdom, to starvation, 
 to madness, nay, death itself, rather than allow her to be 
 classified with people who honestly earned their own 
 living by honourable occupations ; and, believing that all 
 hope of ever getting back what had been swallowed up 
 in Dr Bruno's pet scheme might be given up, she had 
 come to the resolution regarding her own future. Of 
 this resolution she intended to tell Dr Arbuckle the first 
 opportunity, and to take his advice about it before 
 mentioning it to Miss Stobie. What friends she had 
 in both! Miss Stobie was to her an angel in human 
 guise, an angel in the calmness of her strength, her 
 wisdom, her unvarying gentleness, her womanly lov- 
 ing-kindness to herself in private. To outsiders, and 
 sometimes to those under her, Miss Stobie seemed a 
 cold, capable, thoroughly qualified nurse, quite equal to 
 her responsible position, and not at all troubled with 
 sentiment. But Natalie had seen her when the veil of 
 
 ■Wi 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 65 
 
 official reserve was withdrawn, and the picture to her 
 grateful eyes was that of a most lovable woman. As for 
 the Doctor — gratitude to him had gone deeper still. 
 The thought of him, his kindness, his rich, low, tender 
 voice, that played on her nerves like the wind over an 
 i^olian harp — ah! — the day could never dawn when she 
 could cease to remember him, and all that he had done 
 for — and been to her! 
 
 It was a beautiful afternoon when, driving slowly 
 along the lake shore, Dr Arbuckle in one of those reveries 
 into which he invariably fell when driving Natalie out 
 lately, was startled by his companion saying, softly — 
 
 •* Don't you think I am getting steadily better, 
 Doctor?" 
 
 '* Why! Yes of course you are. Miss Wyngate." 
 
 "And I'll continue to get strong, you think?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly! Why? What makes you ask?" he 
 said, turning to her with a troubled look. Dr Arbuckle 
 was complete master of facial expression where his ordin- 
 ary patients were concerned ; but in presence of this frail 
 woman, whom he had brought back to reason and 
 rational life, he was incapable of subterfuge of any kind 
 whatever. He could not be otherwis .' than utterly honest 
 with her — his openness was almost boyish. He could 
 not encounter the clear, guileless look of her soft, dark 
 eyes, and be other than honest himself. 
 
 She had unconsciously taken possession of his whole 
 being, the while he laughed scornfully at himself and 
 said, over and over again — 
 
 "What a fool I am! As soon as she is out of my 
 care some fellow who can't appreciate her half as much 
 as I do will marry her, and oflF she'll %o. Ah well ! I 
 
66 Dr Bruno's Wife, 
 
 can't help myself — I love her, and that's the end of it." 
 This question about her strength had alarmed him; it 
 portended something. Therefore he asked — 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 ** Because, Doctor, I want your advice. Will you help 
 me?" she asked, turning her eyes in anxious appeal to his. 
 
 " My darling! oh, my darling!" were the words that 
 leaped from his heart, but he gave them no utterance. 
 He only said, with a slight accession of colour — 
 
 "Certainly; you know, you must know, I will help 
 you in every way I can." 
 
 "Well, I would rather never leave the hospital, never, 
 never again. Miss Stobie has been so kind, so very kind, 
 and I love her so much." Natalie paused, musing a 
 little, and collecting her thoughts as she gazed dreamily 
 across the lake. The Doctor looked at her in uneasy 
 anticipatioii. What could she mean ? 
 
 " I have been thinking for the last few weeks, indeed, 
 ever since my reason was restored," she said to his 
 amazement, " what kind of work I am best fitted for in 
 the world. I would have worked long ago if mamma 
 had only allowed me. I know now it is sinful to be idle 
 in a world where there is so much work to do, and to 
 keep one's self aloof from the workers who keep the 
 world going. I have thrown off the past, I wish to bury 
 it for ever. I am young yet, and, please God to grant 
 me health and strength, I will be no longer a worthless 
 drone in the world's busy hive. I would like to become 
 a nurse — " 
 
 "Impossible! You shall do nothing of the kind," 
 cried t '^ Doctor, decisively, in his heat flicking up the 
 pony till it started off at a trot. 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 67 
 
 "Wo — wo! lady; I didn't mean that — there — wo!" 
 
 The obedient animal, apparently understanding that 
 the whip up was a mistake, obeyed and resumed its 
 former easy walk. 
 
 "Why! what has put such a ridiculous notion into 
 your head, Miss Wyngate?" demanded the Doctor, ner- 
 vously. 
 
 ' It is not ridiculous to earn my own living honourably, 
 is it, Doctor?" she asked, turning to him with her usual 
 straight look. 
 
 The Doctor looked down sideways at the horse's legs. 
 
 " As a general rule, no," he said, briefly. 
 
 " I would like to go in as nurse-in-training, under Miss 
 Stobie, for two years, if you will be so good as to recom- 
 mend me," she pursued, looking at him anxiously; but 
 the Doctor still studied the fine proportions of his horse. 
 He made no answer, but began to fidget about in his seat. 
 Then suddenly seizing the whip he laid it about the 
 horse's flanks, twitching the bit as he did so ; and the 
 animal, sure there was no mistake this time, dashed off 
 at full speed, while the Doctor held the reins in grim 
 silence. 
 
 Natalie glanced up into his face, and saw it set and 
 angry. What had she said ; what had she done to offend 
 him like this? 
 
 On they sped, still in silence, till they reached a turn 
 of the road, round which they dashed, speeding on to- 
 ward the railway crossing. Suddenly a white vapour 
 moving toward them from the other side of the wood 
 caught his eye, and with a sharp exclamation, he suddenly 
 turned the horse's head, and drove back again. Not a 
 minute too soon; for the train, turning a curve, came 
 
/ 
 
 68 Dr Bntno's Wife, 
 
 thundering over the crossing, startling the horse and 
 making it rear. 
 
 ** Good heavens! what a brute I am. Miss Wyngate. 
 will you ever forgive me?" he exclaimed, in a desperate 
 tone, as he turned the horse's head and drove slowly back. 
 
 "I don't understand. Doctor; I couldn't think what 
 was wrong. I wondered if I had offended you," she 
 said, looking at his pale, set face in wonder. 
 
 '* Offended me! no," he laughed, shortly; "but, seri- 
 ously — please, don't trouble yourself about this notion of 
 work — of becoming a nurse!" 
 
 " Why?" she asked, looking at him, searchingly. 
 
 *' Why?" he repeated, dropping the reins and catching 
 her hands; '* because I am mad, Natalie — because I love 
 you, my darling — because I want you for my wife. " 
 
 ** Mad, surely!" murmured Natalie faintly; "mad in- 
 deed, to want ntCf a poor forlorn, homeless wretch 
 brought back from the grave. Oh, Doctor! — your pity 
 is too cruel ; I cannot bear it," and, freeing her hands, she 
 hid her face in them. 
 
 Dr Arbuckle was totally unmanned ; he was afraid of 
 what he had done, but again, with redoubled force, had 
 that dread come over him, the dread of losing her. ■ 
 
 After a few moments she looked up, with a faint at- 
 tempt at a smile as she dried her wet eyes. 
 
 "You carry your kindness too far, Doctor; I shall 
 earn my own living. And I must ever be grateful to 
 you, but I could allow no man to marry me for pity." 
 -" Her heart was wonderfully sore as she said this, but 
 she must needs say it, nevertheless. 
 
 The Doctor saw the blunder he had made, and hastened 
 to rectify it. 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 69 
 
 " Surely, "Natalie, surely you will believe me when I tell 
 you it is not pity, but love, love only, that prompts 
 me. If you cannot love me in return, I cannot help 
 it. I dreaded it would be like this ; I have said to my- 
 self all along, 'She will never care for you,' and it is 
 so, I see. I must bear it as best as I can. But I love 
 you always and forever. I loved you the first time I saw 
 you, lying unconscious in the ward ; I have loved you 
 ever since. I am infatuated, I suppose, but I cannot 
 help it." 
 
 Natalie looked at him with searching wistfulness. 
 
 " What is it to love?" she asked earnestly, with sudden 
 pallor. 
 
 •' To love?" he burst out passionately. "It is to have 
 you in my mind always, night and day wherever I go, 
 whoever may be present. It is to think of you, dream 
 of you, long for you till my heart fails and my spirit 
 sinks, to be revived only by your smile. It is to feel life 
 empty and worthless without you, to feel it heaven where 
 you are, the dread of living without you insupportable. 
 This is love, as I feel it." 
 
 "Then I \o\q. you," was the solemn, straightforward 
 answer. 
 
70 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 DR ARBUCKLE's bold GAME. 
 
 MISS Stobie's surprise when she was told of Natalie's 
 engagement to the Doctor was not so great as might 
 have been expected. She was a woman of large experi- 
 ence and quick intuitions. The mysterious sixth sense, 
 completely lacking in some and but faintly developed in 
 others, was in her case keen and unerring. From the 
 first of her patient's convalescencj she had felt that it 
 would be so, and she was delighted to find she had been 
 right. ' - 
 
 But against all the Doctor's remonstrances Natalie 
 held her own in regard to becoming a trained nurse. 
 Suffering had developed the latent strength of her nature, 
 and there had been a complete reaction in her mind 
 against the old conventional ideas respecting the status 
 of women's work. In this resolution she was encouraged 
 by Miss Stobie. who, independent of her personal liking 
 for the applicant, saw that she had the qualities neces- 
 sary for a good nurse — viz., superior education, moral 
 character, quietness, reticence, and the rare quality of 
 being obedient and teachable. The only drawback to 
 her present entrance upon duties was the lack of bodily 
 strength, but that. Miss Stobie said, was a fault that 
 would be mending every day. Cheerful company and 
 exercise of the muscles would soon tell, for she was 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 7 1 
 
 young-, and now, but for the past dark memory which 
 still overshadowed her life — happy, with the greatest 
 happiness known to mortals, that of loving and being 
 loved. 
 
 The first day that Dr Arbuckle saw her attired in the 
 natty white cap and neat costume of the hospital staff he 
 stood trying to look disapproval, with eyes that glistened 
 with admiration. For obvious reasons it had been de- 
 cided by Miss Stobie to keep the fact of the engagement 
 a secret between the three, unless indeed observant eyes 
 detected the intimacy, when it would be time enough to 
 explain. There was no use in attracting" farther atten- 
 tion to Natalie at the present, it was enough for the 
 insatiable public to know that the unfortunate Miss 
 Wyngate had entered the Hospital Training School 
 and was doing very well indeed. 
 
 As yet she was in her month of probation, and the 
 Doctor had not yet relinquished the hope of inducing her 
 to give up and marry him out of hand. His practice was 
 a well-paying one, and was growing rapidly; he was 
 clever, had read deeply, and was fast coming to the 
 front. He could afford to marry, provided his wife 
 were "an helpmeet," and not an expensive fashionable 
 ornament. An helpmeet indeed he knew Natalie would 
 be. 
 
 " Give it up, my darling, at the end of the month, and 
 come home and nurse me," he said. 
 
 But Natalie shook her head, and looking at him with 
 her dark true eyes, implored — 
 
 ** Don't ask me, Edward. It will be time enough two 
 years hence, when I shall have learned something, and 
 earned the satisfaction of knowing a little, and doing 
 
^2 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 a little. Why, I have g;rown to be totally ashamed 
 of myself. I am such a know-nothing- compared with 
 you." 
 
 * ' Nonsense, Natalie ! I hate the idea of a learned wife. 
 I want you just as you are." 
 
 " But I shall not be learned, nor other than I am now. 
 I shall only be more capable, more useful, more able to 
 understand and help you in your profession, more at one 
 with you every way. " 
 
 ** Perfect nonsense!" exclaimed the unreasoning lover. 
 
 " No, Edward, it is truth. My education has been 
 very shallow and superficial — what does it amount to? 
 A little painting, a little music, a ^mattering of languages. 
 How long would that last you, my master?" said she, 
 rallying him out of his frown with charming vivacity. 
 Why, you would get tired of me in a year or two, and I 
 should soon be in the list of tolerated wives. No, Doctor, 
 I can never be entirely equal with you except in one 
 thing-, but at least I can bring myself much nearer you in 
 the experience of life I shall get in these wards. Had 1 
 been as determined to do my duty some months ago as I 
 am now, my mother had not died, and I would have 
 never been a raving maniac." 
 
 *' For Heaven's sake, Natalie! my darling!" cried Dr 
 Arbuckle — for over her face swept a shadow, a sterness 
 he had never before seen. Presently it vanished, and 
 the pure face was again lit up as she looked at him. 
 
 •' You are not angry? You see I am right?" she said 
 softly. 
 
 ** Angry? No, oh, no! And, of course, I must con- 
 fess that, strictly speaking, you may be right. But — " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
Dr Bntno's Wife. 73 
 
 ♦* Oh, well, never mind ! But you said you were equal 
 to me in one thing. What is that one thing?" 
 
 Natalie's pale cheeks flushed swiftly, and her eyes 
 shone with soft fire as she answered him — 
 
 *' Don't you know? cannot you guess? Then I must 
 wait for time to prove it to you." 
 
 ** Ah!" was the Doctor's sudden, glad exclamation as 
 her meaning flashed upon him. •' Equal in love!" And 
 in the joy of his heart he threw out his arms to embrace 
 her, but with an arch smile and a mute kiss thrown to 
 him from her small finger tips she vanished through the 
 door of the room, nor did he set eyes on her again until 
 half an hour afterward, when, at the end of a long ward, 
 he saw her holding a feeding-cup, while she tenderly 
 raised the head of a poor sick lad to give him a 
 drink, 
 
 ** Let her alone. Doctor, she is right, "said Miss Stobie 
 that afternoon, when he was pressing her to use her in- 
 fluence to get Natalie to give up her project. *' Let her 
 alone. Some day you will be thankful for all this. You 
 do not know what she suff"ered long before it came to the 
 end. There are some debts, too — tradesmen's bills — 
 which were owing at the time of her mother's death, and 
 these she is determined to pay. It will take a longtime, 
 but she is determined to do it. She says she could never 
 respect herself unless she had paid with her own money 
 the food she has eaten. She has extreme notions; she 
 says she would consider herself a thief if she didn't." 
 
 * * Tchick ! tchick ! she is too sensitive. Why, of course, 
 I'll pay all these things that worry her so, myself." 
 
 ** Not if you are a wise man. Let Natalie alone — she 
 will work out her own salvation all right, and be the 
 
74 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 better and stronger for it, too. She loves you, and that 
 is her chief motive power, the scarce of her strength." 
 
 "Who bore Mrs Wyngate's funeral expenses?" he 
 asked, suddenly. 
 
 *'The * Ladies Benevolent Society.' Ah! that also is 
 one of the debts she considers herself bound to discharge, 
 although surely Dr Bruno might have spared enough out 
 of his own private pocket to have buried the poor lady. 
 He ruined them utterly, which, I suppose you know." 
 
 "No, Miss Stobie, I never understood how that all 
 happened. Then they had means enough originally?" 
 
 "Most certainly. Whv! is it possible you do not 
 know how Mrs Wyngat was induced to give up the 
 whole of her little fortune into Bruno's hands for invest- 
 ment, and that she died waiting for his dividends?" 
 
 "Bless my soul, no! They are touting these shares 
 of Bruno's yet. Tell me all about it?" 
 
 Dr Arbuckle had been resting in Miss Stobie's comfort- 
 able easy chair during this colloquy ; but now he suddenly 
 sat upright in order to listen to the lady's narratio. of 
 Dr Bruno's speculation and its result. Kis brow 
 knitted, his lips set firmly, after a fasl.ton of their own, 
 and his decided chin seemed to square itself as he 
 listened. 
 
 "The infernal rascal," he exclaimed, but immediately 
 he apologised, saying — " I beg your pardon, Miss Stobie, 
 I forgot I was in the present- a of a lady. But, upon my 
 word, if you were not present J should feel like repeating 
 it." 
 
 " Do so, by all means, if it will htlp the matter any. I 
 assure you you have exactly voiced my opinion of Dr 
 Bruno." The cautious Miss Stobie knew to whom she 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 75. 
 
 was speaking, and relaxed her usual reticence accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 • • • t • ■ « 
 
 That evening the door-bell of Dr Bruno's residence was 
 rung somewhat sharply, and on the visitor being ushered 
 into the drawing-room he sent up his card — Edward Ar- 
 buckle, M.D. ' 
 
 Dr Bruno, big, bland, and ruddy from recent dining, 
 entered the drawing-room almost immediately, and prof- 
 fered his flabby white hand. 
 
 "Very glad to see you. Doctor. Always glad to 
 make the acquaintance of medical men, so long as it's 
 not professionally — eh? Ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 "This is certainly not a professional visit," said Dr 
 Arbuckle with a grim smile ; '* in fact, I came on business 
 to-night. The 'Eureka Mine,' are you still connected 
 wiih it? — still sell* :^ shares?" 
 
 *' Still selling," replied Dr Bruno, pleasantly. 
 
 "Well, honestly nov/, of course — one always likes to 
 be sure before investing; and, as this interview is strictly 
 private, is the thing paying or likely to pay?" 
 
 "Bless my soul! what a question! Why, we have 
 only to dispose of the remauiing shares in order to get 
 millions out of it." 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, I am extremely glad to hear that. 
 But it's a risky thing investing." 
 
 " Never invest where you have doubts, sir." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean that. What I mean is — supposing 
 some unforeseen calamity should happen necessitating 
 the immediate use of the money I had invested — say some 
 thousands of dollars, in such a contingency could I with- 
 draw or sell out my shares?" 
 
76 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 ** In such an unforeseen contingency, my dear sir, I 
 should buy them up myself," said Dr Bruno, leaning 
 back in an easy attitude, with one leg thrown across the 
 other, his elbows on the chair arms, and the tips of his 
 forefingers meeting and forming an arch, over which he 
 looked triumphantly at this cautious questioner. 
 
 " Pardon me, Dr Brur.o! My doubts of the worth of 
 the shares are at rest now and for ever. i3ut it would 
 be too much for me to expect you to buy them person- 
 ally—" 
 
 ** I am quite prepared, as I told you before," rejoined 
 the Doctor, blandly, but with just the slightest sensation 
 of pique at having been doubted at all. 
 
 "Then we may as well proceed to business at once," 
 said Dr Arbuckle, taking out his large pocket-book and 
 beginning to look for a certain paper he wanted. 
 
 "Ah! excuse me," cried Dr Bruno, gaily, as he 
 bounded to his feet and went towards the door. " I'll 
 just bring in pens, ink, and paper, and then we'll see how 
 many shares you can take." 
 
 It must be confessed that Dr Arbuckle's healthy coun- 
 tenance was considerably paler than when he entered the 
 room, and though his lips were set, and his nostrils 
 slightly dilated, a keen observer could have noted an 
 occasional nervous tremor of the hands as he produced 
 the paper. 
 
 "Ah! how much do you propose to invest?" asked the 
 good Doctor placing a handsome gold-mounted inkstand 
 upon a fancifully draped table. 
 
 " I do not propose to invest one cent," answered Dr 
 Arbuckle, in a ringing tone. His hands were quite 
 steady now as he held the paper and looked at Dr Bruno, 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 77 
 
 whose heavy underlip had fallen suddenly. "I have 
 come here to-night to make inquiries respecting" this 
 speculation of yours, and find according to your own 
 statement, that there are millions in it. Also, that you 
 yourself are willing to buy up the shares of those who 
 may wish to sell out. I am here on behalf of Miss 
 Wyngate, daughter of Mrs Wyngate, whom you al- 
 'owed to starve to death, and whose money you still 
 hold knowing her to be a dependent on public bounty. 
 You say you are prepared. It is well — for I demand 
 restitution of the whole spti hazarded — ninety-five 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 Dr Bruno sank into the chair behind him, trembling in 
 every limb, and grey as death. 
 
 " What! What did you say?" he gasped, wildly. 
 
 ** You heard me perfectly well. Yes, or no?" 
 
 ** I don't understand sir, why you—" 
 
 ** I have no time to waste, Bruno. Either sign that 
 paper authorising Miss Wyngate to draw on your banker 
 for the sum mentioned there; (we'll let you off" without 
 interest, though you don't deserve it), or say no at once 
 — for in that case my horse is at the door waiting to 
 drive me to— George Ross, Q.C — whom, perhaps, you 
 may have heard of." 
 
 Dr Bruno, who had begun to recover from the first 
 shock he had received, winced visibly at the mention of 
 this eminent lawyer's name. Ross! Good Heavens! 
 His life-long enemy ! The man who had cailed him an 
 oily hypocrite to his face, who had warned several 
 against b' ying "Eureka Shares" when they originally 
 •' boomed !" What had he ever done that he should be 
 made the victim of George Ross, Q.C. ? For he was one 
 
78 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 who would have no mercy on a transaction of this kind. 
 He was one of those men, hard-headed and unimagina- 
 tive, who, having never experienced religion as had the 
 good doctor himself, refused to believe in its existence 
 in any soul unless manifested unmistakably in the life. 
 Already he fancied he heard his blunt laugh of derision 
 as he cross-examined and held him up, like a beetle on 
 a pin, to public scorn. 
 
 The very thought was torture. Where could he turn? 
 whither flee? The death of Mrs Wyngate was even yet 
 spoken of with horror, though no one dreameH *^hat he 
 had been the direct cause. What would it , t when it 
 was proclaimed in open court, in all the daily papers, 
 that she had written imploring him for money, but that 
 he had evaded her appeal for help, and allowed her to be 
 buried by organised charity ! The curses, the impreca- 
 tions of the unthinking, unreasoning mob that would be 
 heaped upon him! — the ruin that would follow!— ah — 
 the ruin! — yes, he must consider that. It was a big sum 
 — the entire sum Mrs Wyng'ate had given him — but its 
 restitution would save him from ruin and disgrace. 
 
 Such were the thoughts that flashed through his mind 
 as he stood greyly regarding the note which Dr Arbuckle, 
 with resolute thumb and forefinger, held pinned to the 
 table before him. 
 
 "And supposing I sign this?" he faltered, huskily. 
 
 " It means escape from to-morrow's exposure, dis- 
 grace, and ruin. It means so much less to answer for 
 at the day of judgment, although I doubt if compulsory 
 restitution will count any in your favour there. Come — 
 yes or no? It's nothing to me, but everything to you. 
 I give you another minute to decide — no more." - ■ r 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 79 
 
 So saying, Dr Aibuckle pulled out his watch ; but as 
 he saw Dr Bruno's large white hand reach out and 
 tremblingly take hold of a pen, he forgot to count the 
 seconds, and a dew broke out on his own temples. For 
 Natalie's sake, and unknown to her, he had played a 
 bold game and won. His hand shook slightly as he 
 folded the paper and carefully replaced it in the pocket- 
 book. 
 
 "You will think of me as charitably as you can in 
 connection with this affair, Dr Arbuckle," said Dr Bruno, 
 humbly; "and I trust, now that I have done my duty in 
 honourably returning the money, it will be for ever a 
 private concern between us. " 
 
 Dr Arbuckle, who was buttoning up his overcoat, 
 bowed gravely. 
 
 Dr Bruno held out his hand, but, totally ignoring it 
 Edward Arbuckle, an appeased Nemesis, bowed again 
 and stalked out of the room, out of the outer door, and 
 running down the steps gathered up the reins, and leaped 
 into his phaeton. 
 
 ** Touch his hand ! No, indeed. Ugh ! there's blood 
 on it ! and Mrs Wyngate's won't be the last either." 
 
8o Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Natalie's resolution strengthened. 
 
 Next .morningf Dr Arbuckle called at the National 
 Bank at a quarter-past ten punctually. 
 
 " Is Mr M'Leod dovv yet?" he inquired at one of the 
 tellers. 
 
 "Yes, sir. Just step round to his private office and 
 you'll find him there." 
 
 •♦ Oh, how d'ye do, Arbuckle? Glad to see you. Sit 
 down," said the banker, who was one of the Doctor's 
 friends. 
 
 ** Haven't a minute to spare. I went to the Club last 
 night in hope of finding you there ; but I couldn't see 
 you." , 
 
 •* I wasn't out last night; we had some friends up to 
 thj house. What's business this morning?" 
 ' Dr Arbuckle silently took out his pocket-book, 'and 
 unfolded the note which Dr Bruno had signed the previous 
 evening. 
 
 > "How's that for high?" he asked, with an air of 
 peculiar triumph. 
 
 The banker, a slender, alert, rather distinguished- 
 looking man of about the Doctor's own age, took up the 
 paper, and rapidly glanced over the contents. 
 
 " Whee-ee-ew!" was his significant but noncommit- 
 tal comment. 
 
 •* Can you oblige me by making this transfer at once?" 
 asked the Doctor. . ^ — - — 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 8i 
 
 ** Certainly, if you wish it. But, I say, Arbuckle?" 
 
 "Say on." 
 
 " Dr Bruno is one of our customers — eh?" 
 
 Dr Arbuckle nodded assent. 
 
 *' But I'd give ten dollars to know how you managed 
 to get this out of him," continued the banker, with a 
 significant smile. 
 
 *' And I'd give the same amount to be at liberty to tell 
 you, M'Leod," was the merry retort. 
 
 The banker touched a gong on the table, and a clerk 
 appeared. 
 
 "Tell Mr Watson that Miss Wyngate opens an 
 account with the bank — the deposit being ninety-five 
 thousand dollars, transferred from Dr Bruno's account. 
 Let it be done at once, and bring me Miss Wyngate'*^' 
 bank-book as soon as possible." 
 
 "Arbuckle, you are a brick !" exclaimed Mr M'Leod, 
 when they were left alone together; "you must have 
 brought heavy pressure to bear on Bruno." 
 
 "Yes— rather." 
 
 The two men 'ooked in each other's eyes a minute, 
 smiled mutely and then began to talk of everything but 
 the subject uppermost in both minds. In a little the 
 clerk returned with the book, the transaction was an 
 accomplished fact, and Dr Arbuckle took the shortest cut 
 to the hospital. 
 
 " Look here, Miss Stobie — I won't detain you a 
 moment," said he, when he had arrived, and tapped at 
 the door of the nurse's headquarters. 
 
 "Will yju please give Miss Wyngate this bank-book, 
 with my compliments?" ' 
 
 Miss Stobie took the book and seeing Miss Wyngate's 
 
82 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 name on the back, she shut the door and motioned the 
 Doctor to a seat. 
 
 "Why, Dr Arbuckle! what have you been about? 
 Will you ever understand Natalie? Do you think for one 
 moment that she would accept money from you?" 
 
 "She will accept that all right," said the smiling 
 Doctor. *' Open it and see." 
 
 Miss Stobie opened the book and uttered an exclama- 
 tion of surprise. 
 
 ** Where on earth — what does this mean?" she asked, 
 looking up in amazement. 
 
 '* It means that I've bullied Dr Bruno out of that 
 money he wheedled from poor Mrs Wyngate. Every 
 cent of it too." 
 
 "Dr Arbuckle! — is it possible? How did you do? 
 Did Natalie authorise you?" 
 
 "Not she; she knows nothing of whatever of it. 
 By Jove! I nearly forgot the sum you told me, but I 
 risked it, for if I hadn't gone on the spur of the moment, 
 I could never have carried it through. But it's easy 
 scaring a guilty conscience. I threatened him with a 
 prosecution for fraud, conducted by Ross, and that 
 brought him to time." 
 
 "Well! well! wonders will never cease. And now I 
 suppose you will expect her to give up nursing." 
 
 " If I can persuade her." 
 
 " Don't try it, Doctor. Have patience with her, she 
 is happiest when working. Have you doctors no de- 
 light in your profession apart from its financial aspect?" 
 
 The Doctor laughed shortly. 
 
 " If we didn't, who would be a doctor? Not I for 
 ont\ Oh, yes, I believe in and love my profession. But 
 
Dr Rmno's Wife. 83 
 
 that has nothing to do with this question. It is not 
 necessary that a doctor's wife should be a nurse, is it ?" 
 
 '• No, but I don't think it any hurt for a doctor's or 
 anybody else's wife to feel that they have been able to live 
 an able, helpful life, independently for themselves, previous 
 to marriage. Such an one will make all the better an 
 helpmeet for the man she marries." 
 
 "I shall try to persuade her all the same," said the 
 wilful Doctor with a smile. 
 
 "You won't be able, sir," laughed Miss Stobie. 
 
 The Doctor found she was right. Natalie was proud 
 of the determination and strength which had so cleverly 
 wrested from Dr Bruno the fortune she had given up as 
 lost. All women admire determination and courage. 
 The joy the money afforded her was such that she was 
 fain to relieve herself, when in secret, of a few tears over 
 it ; it was surely too good to be true — that she would be 
 able to pay these debts, the thought of which weighed 
 her spirits down and humbled her to the very dust. To 
 pay them now, at once, without waiting for her small 
 monthly nurse's wages to accumulate to the necessary 
 amount. To be able also, here and now, to reimburse 
 with interest all that the Ladies' Society had so gener- 
 ously and delicately bestowed, to refund bountifully the 
 Christian charity which had provided her mother with 
 respectable Christian burial. In her gratitude to her 
 lover for this good deed he had done, she almost felt 
 tempted to yield to his importunities, break her resolu- 
 tion, and marry him now, as he desired. But with a 
 shuddering glance at the past she again clung to her 
 purpose. 
 
 " He is so good^ — he loves me so — that he does not 
 
84 Dr Bnnio's Wife. 
 
 see ; he has no idea how ignorant and helpless I am. As 
 I am, I would be a hindrance not a help to him. Mamma 
 knew enough of housekeeping to manage her servants, 
 but I could not even do that properly. And when I fail, 
 and everything is bungled, he is so kind, so big-hearted, 
 that he would pity me, and pretend it was all right, when 
 it was all wrong — and I couldn't — oh ! I couldn't bear it. 
 No, when I come to you, my love, my master, I shall be 
 no drag upon you, you shall be able to respect as well as 
 love me. People shall not pity Dr Arbuckle because of 
 his silly, helpless, lady wife, for I shall be able to keep 
 house, nurse him, and any others who may be sick. I 
 shall be none the less a lady in being first a capable 
 woman." So Natalie reasoned with herself, and so, but 
 in other words, she reasoned with her lover. And he, 
 man like, could not see that it was her love for, and her 
 pride in him, that helped her to hold her own against 
 him. 
 
 " I am only learning to live, Edward," she urged, "it is 
 so blessed to feel one's self of some use. I am so happy 
 that sometimes I dread lest it should suddenly come to 
 an end. Don't ask me to go back to the dependent 
 know-nothing, do-nothing existence. I couldn't bear 
 it." 
 
 "Natalie! could you not bear to be dependent on 
 me?" 
 
 "Ah, yes ! yes ! I am dependent on you now, and it is 
 life to me to be so. But, oh, Edward! I have grown 
 greedy — I want the vork and you too. I want my life 
 to be full — full to the brim, and overflowing, as it is now. 
 I love you too well to marry you yet." 
 
Df Bruno's Wife. 85 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 MRS Tranent's determination. 
 
 MRS Tranent was somewhat piqued. She couldn't 
 understand how it was, but it was certain she 
 was making no headway in her intimacy with Dr 
 Edward Arbuckle. In the first of their acquaintance 
 their friendship appeared to be growing gradually and 
 pleasantly; he had called regularly, professionally when 
 necessary, and as often non-professionally. The interest 
 — the almost fatherly interest — he had taken in Freddie, 
 proved his interest in herself, and she had spared no 
 pains to make herself attractive and her house home- 
 like to him. Of late, however, a subtle, indefinable 
 change had come over the Doctor — a change she felt, 
 but could not account for. Once or twice she had sent 
 for him to prescribe for herself, but her splendid health 
 was too apparent to keep up the pretext of nervousness, 
 and his excuse of being kept too busy for the discharge 
 of society obligations was too flimsy for Mrs Tranent. 
 She was quite out of patience when she considered that 
 she had helped to make him the busy man he now v.as, 
 and that after all he should spend the little leisure he 
 had elsewhere than at the Larches. She regretted now 
 that she had allowed him to turn her from her purpose 
 of sending Freddie away, for there was no use mincing 
 matters, he was a boy who needed a deal of looking 
 after ; an ubiquitous incarnate spirit of mischief. 
 
86 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 Before long, however, Freddie proved to her that he 
 was good for something, inasmuch as he had managed 
 to bring Dr Arbuckie to The Larches every day for the 
 last few weeks successively. And this is how he unin- 
 tentionally did it : — 
 
 The Ladies' Benevolent Society had each given a 
 grand parlour social — admittance twenty-five cents — the 
 proceeds of which went to the funds of the society, 
 which were considerably augmented thereby. The 
 whole house on these occasions was thrown open to all 
 sects and denominations, dainty and delicate refresh- 
 ments were provided by the mistress of the house, and 
 the best amateur and sometimes professional talent, 
 musical and literary, was secured to help "the feast of 
 reason and the flow of soul." 
 
 It had now come to Mrs Tranent's turn to entertain 
 the church people, and she and her servants had been 
 busy all the week preparing for the parlour social. It 
 had been quite a success so far, and she had made a 
 charming hostess. 
 
 Dr Edward Arbuckie was present among others, look- 
 ing slightly bored it must be confessed, and Mrs Tran- 
 ent had thoughout the evening introduced him to Dr 
 BrunOv when both gentlemen had bowed profoundly, 
 and, to Mrs Tranent's surprise, walked off in different 
 directions soon afterwards. To tell the truth Dr Bruno 
 had come with the intention of broaching the subject of 
 the "Eureka Mine" to Mrs Tranent, but this introduc- 
 tion had suddenly decided him otherwise. While the 
 guests were taking advantage of some fine classical 
 music being played to plunge into promiscuous conversa- 
 tion — making a sort of buzz accompaniment not in the 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 87 
 
 original sonata — Freddie seized the opportunity of sid- 
 ling up to his mother and asking if he could make a 
 wax-work in the garden, he and several other small 
 boys who had come with their parents. 
 
 "A wax-work, Freddie? How, my dear?" asked 
 Mrs Tranent, sweetly. 
 
 "Oh, you know, we just take jackets and hats and 
 things and dress up the bu-' '^s and the little trees with 
 them and call 'em wax figures. It's immense! just 
 howling !" 
 
 " 'Sh— 'sh ! don't talk so loud, Freddie. Well— yes. 
 I suppose you may. Tell Nicol to let you have a few- 
 things." Mrs Tranent was glad that her son had hit 
 on such a bright idea to keep himself and others out of 
 mischief, and full of his glorious project, Freddie left 
 the crowded room. Presently, however, Nicol, with a 
 troubled look on her face, threaded her way demurely 
 through the visitors to where Mrs Tranent sat fanning 
 herself and talking to Dr Bruno. 
 
 ** Please 'um. Master Freddie says — " 
 
 '•Yes, yes, Nicol. It's all right; let him have what 
 he wants; it won't hurt the things," said Mrs Tranent, 
 quickly, little dreaming what Freddie had demanded, 
 and Nicol, dumb with surprise and dismay, departed to 
 obey. 
 
 During the next half-hour a busy and exciting scene 
 was going on in the garden and little shrubbery around 
 it. The cloak-room had been well nigh emptied of the 
 visitors' w;aps, caps, and bonnets, and in these the 
 bushes and saplings had beei fantastically dressed by 
 the enterprising and ingenuous youngsters. Here a 
 young fir stood arrayed in a magnificent India shawl 
 
88 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 and widow's bonnet, the long veil hanging" dolorously 
 down in front. Here stood Dr Bruno, as represented 
 by his light overcoat and tall silk hat, with his back to 
 the path ; and farther on a light boating shawl enfolded 
 a plaster statue of Diana, who was crowned with a smart 
 fashionable hat with a scarlet wing in it, her long white 
 limbs incongruously appearing under the shawl fringe 
 from the knee downward. In this way some twenty or 
 more of the bushes were decorated, and the boys were 
 enjoying themselves hugely when one a^ked F^reddie if 
 he had a velocipede. Freddie somewhat sadly replied 
 that he hadn't, but that he could ride faster than any 
 fellow present on one for all that, seeing he had practised 
 on another fellow's away at the other end of the town all 
 summe.'. To prove the truth of his assertion he then 
 and there challenged any boy present who had a bicycle 
 to bring it there and he would show them a thing or two. 
 The challenge was instantly accepted by a boy who lived 
 a few doors off, and a bicycle race along the moonlight 
 garden paths was next in order, Freddie coming off 
 victorious. Boys are generous of praise where it is de- 
 served, and Freddie got no stint of it. So elated did he 
 become that he bet ten cents with any fellow present 
 that he could ride the bicycle downstairs. The bet was 
 accepted with acclamation ; Freddie ran in and borrowed 
 ten cents from the cook; the stakes were put up, an um- 
 pire chosen, and while the chief singers of the church choir 
 were rendering a sacred piece, Freddie, the velocipede, 
 and a boy to hold t while he got fixed on, softly ascended 
 the carpeted stairs, leaving the rest of the lads below to 
 watch Freddie's marvellous descent and mentally note 
 how it could be done. They were never able afterwards to 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 89 
 
 tell. All they remembered was Freddie fixed properly on 
 top of the velocipede, a warning cry of " Watch out, you 
 fellows there, "from Freddie, as he set the wheel* in motion, 
 then a confused flash and tumble, in which wneels, legs, 
 arms, went revolving indiscriminately, and Freddie, 
 bleeding ut the nose and yelling at the top of his voice, 
 lay at the bottom of the stairs with the smashed loco- 
 motive on top of him. 
 
 The accident brought the social to a sudden close, for 
 on lifting him up Dr Arbuckle found that Freddie's leg 
 was broken, as well as his head smashed. Soon, how- 
 ever, the polite expressions of pity were changed to the 
 wildest ejaculations of consternation, when, reaching the 
 cloak-room, the ladies found that the most of their wraps 
 had disappeared, although the stampede to the garden 
 when the boyish trick was discovered, was to the young 
 people one of the most enjoyable episodes of the evening. 
 
 During the following weeks, in which Dr Arbuckle 
 daily visited his amusing young patient, Mrs Tranent 
 found it comparatively easy to forgive Freddie for the 
 extra care and trouble he caused. And yet, though the 
 Doctor came daily, and spent considerable time talking 
 with her son, who had grown to worship him, Mrs 
 Tranent was far from satisfied. 
 
 Though courteous and urbane as ever, he no longer 
 stayed as before to talk with herself. The little confi- 
 dential chats that had begun so auspiciously had without 
 cause come to an end, and plan as she might she could 
 not revive them. She had grown slightly thinner than 
 her wont, and when the Doctor did not call at his usual 
 hour, she wandered up and down the richly furnished 
 house restless and unhappy. She dressed herself with 
 
go Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 scrupulous care, and threw into her really fine manner 
 all the added grace she could borrow, but more and more 
 she felt the shadow which had come between them. He 
 was not unhappy ; nay, he looked pleasanter and happier 
 than ever, with the pleasant, satisfied expression of a 
 prosperous man. What was it? She had never done 
 or said anything which could in any way be construed 
 into undue familarity, and, moreover, she knew for cer- 
 tain that nothing derogatory to her life or disposition 
 could have reached him from outside. 
 
 She was wretched. 
 
 " Have I offended you in any way. Doctor?" she asked 
 in desperation, one day when his manner had been 
 particularly reticent. 
 
 "Offended wc, Mrs Tranent? What a question! 
 How could you possibly offend me? You who have 
 always been so . Bless me! What a notion!" 
 
 Mrs Tranent laughed uneasily. 
 
 " Well, that's why I ask. I was not aware of any- 
 thing I had done to cause such a change in your de- 
 meanour. You used to be so frank and hearty and out- 
 spoken, telling me all your plans for the future, and 
 so forth ; but now, you always strike me as being distant 
 and reserved. I really thought I had offended you." 
 
 ** Then, please, don't think so any more, Mrs Tranent. 
 Some day," he said, "perhaps I shall tell you what is 
 occupying my thoughts." And, as he spoke, he looked 
 up into her face with a smile of entire content. He was 
 thinking of Natalie, and how some day he would give 
 Mrs Tranent such a pleasant surprise when he told her 
 of their engagement. He did not see how — misr.nder- 
 standing his words and manner — she had flushed crimson 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. gi 
 
 and faded pale with the intensity of the relief his words 
 afforded her; but he looked at her again, and noting a 
 slight deterioration in her looks, he took out his pocket- 
 book, and wrote out a prescription, saying, as he gave it 
 her — 
 
 " Take a spoonful of this tonic three times a day after 
 meals. You look as if you needed it." 
 
 So saying, he took up his hat, shook hands with her 
 genially, and parsed out. 
 
 Mrs Tranent looked at the prescription, laughed 
 hysterically and with sudden passion tore it to pieces and 
 threw it from her. 
 
 "A tonic indeed! medic'ne forsooth! Is the man 
 blind, or does he think I am a stone? Oh, the mole! — 
 the bat! Oh, Edward, Edward!"— and the lady buried 
 her head in the sofa cushions, and wept bitterly. 
 
 When Nicol entered the room about an hour afterward, 
 her mistress was sitting by the window, her elbow on 
 the window-sill, and her chin resting upon her hand. 
 All traces of tears were gone ; bui; she was pale, and her 
 lips set firmly. She was evidently thinking deeply ; and 
 when, after a time, she rose and shook down her soft 
 draperies, she murmured to herself, *' Yes, I will tell 
 him !" 
 
92 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN OLD S'.VEETHEART TO THE FORE. 
 
 On his way home from The Larches the Doctor began 
 to reflect on what Mrs Tranent had said concerning the 
 change she fancied she saw in him, for of course, he 
 argued, it was only fancy. Still, when he came to think 
 of it, he had not gone there of late in a social way so 
 frequently as he had done on their first acquaintance, 
 when he had more time. 
 
 It did not, after all, look well to slight the lady who 
 had so disinterestedly introduced him to families, excellent 
 paying patients, whose money might easily have been 
 diverted into other channels, but the fact was, he had not 
 been aware of the extent of his carelessness until she had 
 pointed it out to him. 
 
 But changed in his manner — no! — absurd! 
 
 He had always thought Mrs Tranent a fine looking 
 woman — a smart respect-compelling woman, with not 
 a fault that he could see, save in that she was not so — 
 well — motherly to Freddie as she might be. However, 
 he would now make amends; he would send a card as 
 soon as he got home, inviting himself to tea in the old 
 familiar way, and in the old familiar chitchat conversa- 
 tions he would tell her what had befallen him; of the 
 blessing which had crowned his life in the love of Natalie 
 Wyngate. He would ask her to go and call upon his 
 affianced wife; for, after all — and here he smiled a con- 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 93 
 
 tented, blissful smile — after all — it was possible he may 
 have been thinking of her so much of late as to exclude 
 all thought of social obligation. 
 
 Mrs Tranent's colour changed a little when she read 
 the Doctor's apologetic note inviting himself, and for 
 some moments she sat lost in thought. 
 
 Then she clasped her white jewelled fingers tightly 
 together, and muttered — 
 
 "Shall I, or shall I not? To think he never once 
 recognised me; and I, who thought him dead, knew him 
 at once!" 
 
 Mrs Tranent always spent a full hour at her toilet, and 
 really when she emerged from her dressing-room it did 
 not appear that the time was altogether wasted, seeing 
 the result was so pleasing to the eye. But this evening 
 it was not one but two hours she spent before her mirror, 
 and then she left it dissatisfied. Not that she had been 
 dressing all the time — she never had taken less time to 
 dress — but the minutes— five, ten, twenty at a time she 
 had consumed in pacing up and down, in sitting down 
 and rising up again in an agony of doubt and indecision. 
 
 "Shall I, or shall I not?" was the burden of her 
 thoughts. ** What will he say? How will he take it? 
 will he remember? — ah! will he remember?" 
 
 At last her indecision came to an end. Mrs Tranent 
 was a woman of will and purpose, and could execute, 
 once she had made up her mind. 
 
 Calm, smiling, unruffled, she came down and welcomed 
 the Doctor saying — 
 
 '* I am so glad you thought of coming. I wanted to 
 say something private to-night, so we'll have tea served 
 in the, little study." 
 
94 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 The little study was a kind of small library, aestheti- 
 cally and appropriately furnished as though Oscar Wilde 
 himself had superintended the appointment thereof; and 
 its one bay window looked out into the g-reen glooms of 
 a beautiful ravine that sloped down from the back of The 
 Larches. Into this room Mrs Tranent led the way. 
 The tea was already set when thej' .entered, and the 
 Doctor uttered an exclamation of delighted surprise as 
 he stepped to the window and looked out. 
 
 "Why, Mrs Tranent! how is it you never showed me 
 this most beautiful spot. I had no idea you had a window 
 in The Larches which commanded such a view. What 
 exquisite colouring in yon rocks over yonder! What 
 glorious maples! What sombre pines!" 
 
 ** You like it, then?" asked Mrs Tranent. 
 
 "Like it? It is simply glorious. One feels like 
 getting out and walking along the tree tops. These 
 children away below there, they look like fairies or butter- 
 flies dancing about on the edge of the brook, If I lived 
 here I should never leave this window. I suppose you 
 spend most of your time here?" 
 
 '* I — no, not I. I used to think it horrid, and thought 
 of getting a fence put to shut out the sight of these ugly 
 rocks over there. I wonder when I hear people raving 
 about the ravine. Why, a woman committed suicide 
 away up there a little while ago — threw herself right 
 
 over." 
 
 Mrs Tranent was candour itself. The doctor felt that, 
 and he turned to the tea-table thinking there was no 
 accounting for tastes. He must bring Natalie some day 
 to see this magnificent ravine — she would appreciate its 
 wild beauty. 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 95 
 
 Never before had Mrs Tranent appeared to such ad- 
 vantag^e as she did this soft autumn evening sitting 
 in the window recess, with her fair profile thrown 
 out against the dark wlldness of the glen. It was 
 a picture the Doctor rfmembered long afterward. 
 Slightly paler, slightly thinner, her soft flaxen curls 
 falling lightly over her brow, her face firm, yet 
 full of suppressed feeling, she sat rock'.ng herself 
 softly with her white hands resting on the chair arms. 
 
 Tea was over, and the Doctor was entertaining her 
 with some city news he had heard, when Mrs Tranent, 
 holding out her right hand, on which was but one ring, 
 with one or two small coloured stones set in it, said 
 easily — 
 
 " Did you ever see a ring like that before. Doctor?" 
 
 ■^ he Doctor examined the ring carefully before answer- 
 ing. 
 
 *' No — I cannot say I have. Is there anything peculiar 
 about it?" 
 
 *' Well, no — except that it was a ring which was given 
 to me once. I have kept it now for over twelve years." 
 
 Mrs Tranent's gaze was fixed on the Doctor's as 
 she spoke, but a shadow of disappointment clouded her 
 keen blue eyes when he carelessly replied — 
 
 " Oh, indeed! You value it then, I suppose." 
 
 '* It was given originally to a person — a young person 
 called Hetty — a barmaid in a hotel," answered Mrs 
 Tranent, with an imperceptible gasp and a growing 
 pallor. 
 
 The Doctor looked mildly interested, and again lifted 
 her hand and looked at the ring. 
 
 ** Ah, then! it has some peculiar history?" he inquired 
 
9^ Z)/' Bnino's Wife. 
 
 g-enially and with the air of a man trying- to be agreeable 
 to a hidy. A^ain the sliadow of disappointment deep- 
 ened in the hidy's eyes. So deeply disappointed was 
 she, that the angry blood rose to cheek and brow. 
 
 " You don't remember the name? You never heard it 
 before?" she asked tensely, evidently suppressing some 
 strong feeling. 
 
 The Doctor shook his head and politely considered a 
 little. 
 
 **N — no — I cannot say I have. Hetty — Hetty! It 
 seems like a dream to me — wait a litti'e — Hetty — I surely 
 have heard the name before, but I can't think where. 
 Why? — who was this Hetty?" 
 
 Mrs Tranent had leant back in her chair, an outspread 
 fan before her face. Her hand shook, her lip quivered, 
 her bosom heaved, but she would not allow herself to 
 give way. 
 
 " Excuse me for one moment," she said, rising hastily 
 and leaving the room. Closing the door behind her, she 
 dashed into the drawing-room and threw herself on her 
 knees before a lounge, and buried her face in the cr uons. 
 "Oh! oh! oh!" she moaned, "forgotten! utterly for- 
 gotten! not even my name remembered! Shall I tell 
 him? No, I won't! If he has forgotten me, let him; he 
 shall love Mrs Tranent independent of Hetty." So she 
 vowed, with returning resolution, as she returned to the 
 study — but it was too late. 
 
 Dr Arbuckle, left to himself for a few minutes, fell to 
 ruminating over the name. 
 
 "Great heavens! Hetty, the barmaid, my old sweet- 
 heart," he cried aloud, in the first wild moment of sur- 
 prise; for the closed doors of memory had suddenly 
 
Di' Bniuo's Jf/yi'. 97 
 
 sprung open as if touched by a spriiiof, and with lightning 
 vividness she saw Hetty—Hetty to whom he had just given 
 a ring weeping in a corner, and he himself, an impulsive 
 lad, comforting her, but leaving her forever. 
 
 One Tlance at his face, as she entered again, told the 
 lady that her guest had suddenly remembered all ; but the 
 look of wonder in his eyes was not yet one of recognition. 
 
 "Why, Mrs Tranent!" he exclaimed, with a laugh, 
 "that ring must be mine, then. 1 remember giving a 
 ring to a girl once when I was but a lad — one of those 
 foolish, those idiotic things that young lads w/7i do, 
 while meaning nothing. How did vo/f come by it? 
 Where is poor Hetty now, do you know ?" 
 
 Mrs Tranent could not answer him. It was more than 
 she could bear to hear herself, her past self, spoken of in 
 this light way, as though she was n t now the same being. 
 
 That the Doctor spoke in all nonesty, not suspect- 
 ing her identity, did not comfort her any. She had 
 tried to reveal herseli" in order to draw him to her by 
 the memory of that youthful episode. So far as she 
 could see now it had but driven ihem farther apart. But 
 it was too late now to retract. What should she say? 
 With a sudden impulse she turned to where he stood, 
 and laying a hand boldly on each shoulder while her 
 eyes swam in tears she could no longer repress, she 
 exclaimed, desperately— 
 
 " Dr Arbuckle! — Edward! — my old sweetheart! — do 
 you not see? I am Hetty!" 
 
 " You ! you Hetty!" he cried, drawing back and looking 
 at the lady before him in doubt and perplexity ; but as he 
 looked memory again woke, and with it conviction and 
 recognition. 
 
98 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 "Is it possible!— yes, it is Hetty — but you are so 
 changed — your hair was dark brown and " 
 
 "A chemical wash will work wonders, Doctor. I 
 prefer flaxen hair, and then, of course, I have grown 
 very stout," she said ruefully. 
 
 "And very handsome," rejoined the Doctor, gallantly. 
 " Upon my word, Hetty, this is the greatest surprise of 
 my life. And yet, do you know, the first time I saw you, 
 the first two or three times indeed, I was struck by your 
 resemblance to some memory, I could not tell what. 
 You see I had quite forgotton, as no doubt you did also, 
 that silly boy and girl affair." 
 
 "Oh, of course, I had forgotten too, until I saw you 
 again, but I knew you from the first. That is why I 
 interested myself so in your success," said Mrs Tranent, 
 who had quite recovered herself, and was now rocking 
 calmly in the chair by the window. 
 
 The idea of Hetty, the barmaid, patronising him, Dr 
 Edward /\rbuckle, sent a strange thrill of rebellioi: 
 through him ; he suddenly drew up with dignified hatctir 
 as the question flashed upon him -how came she here in 
 such a position? 
 
 " Of course, Mrs Tranent, it was not only the change 
 in your personal appearance, there was also the change 
 of circumstances. You are now wealthy, educated, a 
 lady recognised in society. Of course you can explain 
 all that, but you must see how it mystifies one who knows 
 nothing about it." 
 
 "There is no mystery about it. Doctor," she said, 
 quickly, feeling the chill in his voice; "there is far more 
 mystery about you than about me, I assure you. I was 
 left a fortune by an uncle, who died in Brazil, 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 99 
 
 and then I married the hotel-keeper, who, to do him 
 justice, had wanted to marry me before that. Then we 
 sold out and went abroad. I knew I could not enter 
 society without education, so I studied under good 
 masters, stayed in the Loretto Convent for some months 
 to be trained in society manners — it's all a matter of 
 imitation and practice. Then I ought The Larches, a 
 little before my husband's death— he died — and here we 
 are, Freddie and I." 
 
 As she ceased she rose, and unlocking the drawer of an 
 escritoire she drew out a yellow letter, dated some twelve 
 years back, and presented it to Dr Arbuckle. 
 
 "What is this?" .le asked, wondering. 
 
 '* Read, and you will see." 
 
 The Doctor opened the letter and read. It was the 
 solicitor's letter she had received, advising her that she 
 had been left heiress to her uncle, who had just died in 
 Brazil. 
 
 ** I would have believed you, Mrs Tranent," said the 
 Doctor, in apologetic tone. 
 
 "Perhaps so, but it is better you should have other 
 proof than my word," she replied, with a tinge of bitter- 
 ness. "As for my character here, I have taken good 
 care that the barmaid should hold her own as to that at 
 least. " 
 
 " You do your education aud >our fortune credit, Mrs 
 Tranent — ' Hetty' — I feel like saying, for old sake's sake. 
 Believe me I am glad — exceedingly glad — you have been 
 so fortunate. Few women could have carried a full cup 
 so well as you have done. I am sorry your husband did 
 not live longer to enjoy it with you." 
 
 A quick, impatient jerk of her fan was all the answer 
 
loo Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 vouchsafed to the Doctor's regret for her widowhood. 
 
 " Why did you not tell me of this before?" queried the 
 Doctor, after a pause. 
 
 '*! don't know," laughed the lady. "I thought I 
 would let you find out — -but when I saw you so blind, it 
 struck me I ought to enlighten you." 
 
 •* Dear me — now I think of it, I have so much to ask 
 you — did you ever hear of Ramsay after I left ? I went 
 to Ceylon first, and wrote to him repeatedly from Aus- 
 tralia, but got my letters all returned from the Dead- 
 Letter Office." 
 
 ** He was dead — that's why," replied Mrs Tranent, 
 who had suddenly turned pale as a sheet. 
 
 " Dead! P'rank Ramsay dead! Poor fellow! and I had 
 been blaming him for not writing, and — but when did he 
 die ? and where ?" 
 
 " He was found dead in his bed," was the answer, 
 given in a low husky tone. "Please don't ask me any 
 more, Doctor. It always upsets me when I think of it." 
 
 After the Doctor had taken his departure Mrs Tranent 
 paced up and down the drawing-room carpet. 
 
 *' What have I gained ? Nothing. He is as far from 
 me as ever. He is too frank — too courteous ; he is blind 
 and deaf and stupid ; and he calls me Hetty for old sake's 
 sake, as cool as a cucumber ! Does the man think me a 
 stone ? And yet sometimes I think he does care a little ; 
 I must allow for the surprise. But, anyhow, I have still 
 my trump card left. That will fetch him. Oh, my God!" 
 she exclaimed, suddenly ; and shuddering. lihe covered 
 her face with uer hands, as though to shut out some 
 vision that had sprung up out of the terrible past. 
 
Df B I'll no's Wife. loi 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DURING COURTSHIP. 
 
 IT would be idle to deny that Dr Arbuckle had got a shock 
 in the discovery he had made. That Mrs Tranent, 
 the stylish, wealthy widow, recognised by the Church 
 and society, should have turned out to be Hetty, the 
 barmaid of the Royal Arms, in the little town on the Clyde, 
 was something no man could have been prepared for. 
 And that she, of all people — ^she with whom he had 
 flirted in those days of adolescence, as adolescent fools 
 will flirt, should have been the one to introduce him to a 
 successful society practice, was a still more remarkable 
 turn of Fortune's wheel. 
 
 Still, it could not be denied that she must have 
 been a clever, capable woman to have educated herself, 
 and held her own in society circles as she had so blame- 
 lessly done. She was certainly a woman of great am- 
 bition, and one whom, the Doctor felt, he could in no 
 way despise. One thing he was glad of — he was glad 
 she had so soon got over the ephemeral liking she had 
 for him in these old days, for she must have married her 
 master that very year. Sensible girl she must have been, 
 as sensible indeed as she was now. He must tell Natalie 
 of this discovery he had made — ^h— m — no! Better not, 
 perhaps, perhaps. Few men like to tell their aflRanced 
 wives of past flirtations, and Dr Arbuckle was but 
 a man obeying a man's instincts. He had thought of 
 taking Natalie down with him some day to call on Mrs 
 
I02 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 Tranent, iiitroducing her as his future bride — but now — 
 wel! — no. As well not, perhaps. On the whole, it was 
 not quite to his liking, this discovery; he would rather 
 Mrs Tranent, his fine-looking wealthy patient, had been 
 anybody else than Hetty. However, there was no 
 making her otherwise now — he must simply do his duty 
 professionally as before, and as before call upon her 
 occasionally. 
 
 But Ramsay, poor Ramsay! whom he had left so well 
 and hearty, who had wished him hon voyage that night 
 before they slept. Dear, j'ear! To think all these 
 years, while he himself had been studying and struggling, 
 ardently pressing forward for a share of the world's 
 wealth ; to think his old fellow-student should, unknown 
 to him, have long since left it all ; should all these years 
 have been an inhabitant of the land of spirits — the great 
 and mysterious Unseen ! How much wiser was he 
 than himself to-day! What had he found there within 
 that awful impenetrable veil before which Science herself 
 stands baffled, impotent, with no weapon keen enough 
 to pierce the darkness that appals? 
 
 Was it eternal sleep? or, what he had always argued 
 for, founding his argument on the doctrine of evolution, 
 eternal progress? Had he, a man, made a little lower 
 than the angels, by leaving the clay that bound him to 
 earth, soared to an angel's plane of thought and vision, 
 become a spirit pure? He hoped so -he trusted so — ^it 
 must be so —else why this instinctive straining ever for- 
 ward toward a fairer future, a higher state of being? 
 Dr Arbuckle found he could not subscribe to the petty 
 details of creeds, but he was no unbeliever. On the 
 contrary, he wondered how, in the face of the dread 
 
Dr Bnnio's Wife. 103 
 
 realities of life which they daily encountered, men could 
 live, believing there was no God, no great sustainer of 
 trusting" souls. 
 
 '* No God !" he had exclaimed once when younger than 
 he was now, " why man, it seems to me that the prayers, 
 the agonies, the cries that have gone wailing up from the 
 lips of humanity from the beginning of time were enough 
 to have called into being the God yearned after. Natural 
 instincts, you say, are true and unerring. What does 
 the natural instinct of prayer mean?" 
 
 It was but a young man's crude protest against the 
 atheistic tenets held by some of his fellow-students, but 
 it was the cry of a soul that could not live without belief 
 in a supreme, sympathetic Spirit. For sc.ne years past 
 he had let the world wag, holding himself aloof from all 
 religious speculations whatever. He had weighed the 
 matter well, and had come to a final conclusion: "We 
 are not all dust ; we are part of Thee, Thyself, O 
 Spirit of the Living God !" was his profound inward 
 conviction ; and by this he abode steadfastly, in immov- 
 able calm. More recently, as his mind matured, he had 
 begun to study for himself the life of Christ in the gospels, 
 and as the problem of human suffering pressed itself more 
 and more upon his attention in his profession, the more 
 he understood how the pervading influence of such a life, 
 how a complete surrender to its example, could redeem 
 and save. 
 
 But all these conclusions and convictions were but a 
 part of his inner life ; the world, still less the world of 
 society in which he moved, would have raised its eye- 
 brows in surprise at the idea of the handsome, well-bred 
 Dr Edward Arbuckle having decided religious views of 
 
I ©4 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 anv kind. Stiil, it was well for him that he had such a 
 belief, for the day rame, was even now on the wing, when 
 that fait'ii in God was to be to him " as the shadow of a 
 great rock in a weary land." 
 
 Natalie, with quick discernment, saw that something 
 had occurred to disturb her lover's usual happy serenity, 
 but, knowing now by experience how many painful 
 episodes must happen in a medical man's daily life, she 
 forbore to question or to rally him on his sombre expres- 
 sion. Still, the interrogation which was not on her lips 
 was in her eyes, and he saw it. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped in the middle of some common- 
 place remark and said, gravely — 
 
 " I must tell you — I got quite a shock the other day. 
 I heard of the death of an old friend." 
 
 "Ah! indeed. When did he die?" inquired Natalie, 
 sympathetically. 
 
 "Many years ago. Ten or twelve, perhaps. I kept 
 writing and writing to him, wondering why he never 
 answered me, when all the while the poor fellow had 
 been dead." 
 
 " Dear me! how sad! But who told you? How did 
 you come to know at last?" 
 
 Dr Arbuckle was about to say " Mrs Tranent," but 
 somehow he shrank from it. Had Mrs Tranent been 
 anyone else than Hetty, the barmaid, a chance acquaint- 
 ance of long ago, he would have spoken out without 
 hesitation, but he merely said — 
 
 " A lady who knew him in the old country told me." 
 
 " You must have felt strangely to hear of it." 
 
 " I confess I did. I have felt shivery ever since. I 
 cannot get him out of my mind. I find myself wonder- 
 
Df Bruno's Wife. 105 
 
 ing if he will remember me as I remembered him. That 
 terrible Unseen! how it envelops us, baffles us, mocks 
 
 us!' 
 
 " Yes, and how we cling to the idea of life and memory 
 beyond in a different state of being," said Natalie. 
 "Tennyson sings — 
 
 •Eteriuil form shall still divide 
 The eternal form from all beside, 
 
 And I shall know him when we meet.' 
 
 Do you know I take wonderful comfort from that ex- 
 pression of the universal hope, if not belief." 
 
 " It would be hard for you and me not to believe it, 
 Natalie, otherwise how in the end could we ever part?" 
 
 "Don't speak of the end, Edward; I cannot bear it. 
 Let us be happy while we may. I am tired of trouble 
 and death, but there is a wonderful happiness in being 
 able to alleviate the trouble ever so little." And she 
 
 sighed a happy sigh. 
 
 " My darling! oh, my darling!" cried the lover, im- 
 
 passionedly, forgetting all but her— 
 
 ' O, we will walk this world, 
 Yoked in all exercise of noble end, 
 And so through those dark gates across the wild 
 That no man knows.' 
 And so, quoting the poet; rambling hither and thither 
 in the fields of literature, science, and art, mind answer- 
 ing mind with full understanding, hearts content in 
 mutual love, this and the other happy evenings wore 
 away. 
 
io6 Dr Bruno's Wife, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 "the least of these, my brethren." 
 
 FRXDM the day in which she had revealed her identity 
 to Dr Arbuckle, Mrs Tranent had not once reverted to 
 the circumstance of their previous acquaintance. The 
 episode had been as a pebble dropped into a serene, sun- 
 lit pool ; a plash, a few circles quivering and dying upon 
 the outer rim, and all was peace again. The same suave 
 society smile lit up their faces in conversation ; they 
 chatted and talked of the weather; the beauty of this 
 most beautiful of all Canadian months, gorgeous October; 
 of the questions being agitated in the public press ; of 
 Freddie, and the happy progress his leg was making 
 towards recovery; but of what was ever uppermost in 
 the minds of both when thty met, never a word. Mrs 
 Tranent was restless, ill at ease, and miserable when Dr 
 Arbuckle was not present. 
 
 She was surprised, annnoyed, deeply disappointed. 
 She had assumed that the knowledge of her identity 
 with the Hetty to whom he had made such ephemeral 
 love so long ago would have broken down that impal- 
 pable wall of polite courtesy over which the Doctor 
 quietly talked to her, and beyond which she felt she 
 herself could not pass without risking the loss of his 
 respect. Her reluctant move had been made in vain ; 
 she might as well have kept her secret to herself for all 
 the difference it had made. He cared as little for her 
 now -less, in fact, than in these old days he had for- 
 gotten so lightly, but which she could never cease to 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 107 
 
 remem' r. Nevertheless, she loved him well enoujjh 
 to wait; she rriiight — she must win him yet; and so long 
 as he did not seek to marry another — ah — let him but 
 try that — and then — then!— 
 
 Such a possibility flashing across her mind would cause 
 her white brows to frown, her red lips to whiten and 
 contract, her hands to clench stiffly. At such moments 
 she would mutter wildly — *' If he did! -if he dared! — 
 no ! — he shall not fool me twice. I should play my trump 
 card then — and win!" 
 
 Freddie had been particularly good and obedient dur- 
 his confinement ; he was now able to move about on a 
 crutch, and to-day he was waltzing about in a paroxysm 
 of impatience and delight, for Dr Arbuckle had prom 
 ised to drive him over to see the sick little boys at the 
 Children's Hospital. The Doctor had found Freddie a 
 very generous-souled boy, and had no trouble in per- 
 suading him to save the five cent, pieces he had usually 
 purchased peas with for special Sunday school exercise, 
 and give them to the poor convalescent lads there who 
 had no money. It was not for this, however, that he 
 drove Freddie there to-day; he was humouring the re- 
 quest of a sick boy who lay there — Sam Tuck, a city 
 arab. 
 
 Sam had been the chief support of a dissipated grand- 
 mother with whom he lived, his father and mother being 
 dead so long ago that he had no remembrance of them. 
 The old lady's Presbyterianism and love of liquor v/ere 
 of equal strength — the former she exercised by drilling 
 him contin\ially in the ** requirin's an' forbiddin's" of the 
 fifth commandment, and the duty of being grateful to her 
 for doing so much for him— viz., allowing him to sleep 
 
io8 Df Bruno's Wife. 
 
 at her back, where the smell of whisky permeated the 
 very bedclothes, and for taking care of the money he 
 earned, which she did by swallowing' it. 
 
 "Children should aye be gratefu' to them that brings 
 them up; an' ye maun aye mak' a' the bawbees ye can, 
 Sammy, my man, an' jist be doin' awa' wi' the shoon ye 
 hae till I get 'i chance o' a guid second-hand pair for ye. 
 Hoots, ye ken! ance the snaw fills up that crack in the 
 side, an' that hole in the heel, ye'll no find the cauld 
 when ye're rinnin' aboot. Noo, gle me the siller. Eh! 
 ye've dune fine the nicht. Tak' the bottle an' rin ower 
 to the tavern an' get me a pint o' auld rye— eh? — what? 
 No gaun oot the nicht again? No! for a' yer puir auld 
 grannie, that's brocht ye up an' dune sae muckle for ye, 
 is jist deein' wi' the cramps in her inside? Oh, the on- 
 gratitude o' the risin' generation! Folk wearin' their 
 heart's bluid oot for them, an' that's a' ye get ! would let 
 you lie here an dee — oo -hoo — hoo!" 
 
 Such was the general nightly lecture to which Samuel 
 Tucket, or Sam Tuck as he was called, had been treated 
 all the preceding winter. 
 
 In summer he had not been so badly off, for fruit was 
 p jntiful, bread he could buy, and the nights so warm he 
 could sleep about the wharves, or in any out-of-the way 
 corner, where his grandmother's muttering and snoring 
 could not reach him. 
 
 Then he had made the acquaintance of Freddie Tranent, 
 who was about his own size, and who had given him a 
 stunning suit of clothes, which his grandmother was 
 planning to steal and sell for drink. But he had kept 
 out of her way, and left her to bewail the strength of 
 original sin rampant in the boy who had so ungratefully 
 
Dr Bntno's Wife. 109 
 
 left her and her nightly lectures on the duty of children 
 '* to pavvrents." 
 
 And now Sam lay dying. He had been found one 
 morning lying on one of the wharves drenched with the 
 rain which had fallen in the night, unable to get up be- 
 cause of a keen pain in his side, which made him sick 
 and fain to cry out when he moved. 
 
 When Dr Arbuckle in passing through the wards had 
 noticed the pale, half-starved boy, he was struck by the 
 wistfulness of his look, and presently he saw him put out 
 a thin hand, and beckon him. 
 
 ** Are you Dr 'Buckle?" he asked, in a small, weak 
 voice. 
 
 "Yes," answered the astonished Doctor, "do you 
 know me?" 
 
 " Yes. F'reddie Tranent tole me about you. When'll 
 ye see Fred?" 
 
 " I'll see him to-day. What do you want, my lad?" 
 
 "Tell Fred to come and see me; guess I "got to go 
 soon. I want to say good-bye to F'reddie, he bin awful 
 good to me. " 
 
 Dr Arbuckle looked at the little lad. He knew it would 
 be all over with him before long, and he wondered what 
 sort of life the poor waif had led that he felt so little 
 regret In leaving it. 
 
 " F'reddie has had a broken leg himself, and is only 
 beginning to be able to walk about again." 
 
 "Oh," said the lad, a glad light of relief breaking 
 over his wasted face, " I knowed it! I knowed suthin' 
 was up when he didn't come out when I whistled for 
 him. Oh, my! won't he be mighty glad to see me again? 
 and me him? Will he come to-day. Doctor?" 
 
I lo Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 *' No, no, not to-day, my lad, but to-morrow I'll fetch 
 Freddie to see you." 
 
 "They won't tote me ofT afore then, will they?" he 
 asked, anxiously. 
 
 ** Oh, no, my boy; no, no, keep your mind easy. I'll 
 bring Freddie all right to-moirow," said the Doctor, 
 assuringly, but rising hastily. 
 
 The children, the sick and dying children, with their 
 wistful eyes and innocent, simple questions, always tried 
 him keenly, and left him with a rankling heartache. 
 
 '* Do you know who I am going to take you to see to- 
 day?" asked the Doctor, as he helped Freddie up the 
 long flight of steps leading to the balconies of the 
 Children's Hospital. 
 
 " No, "said Freddie, stopping and looking woi.deringly 
 into the Doctor's face. 
 
 " Did you know a boy, a very poor boy, they call 
 Samuel Tucket!" 
 
 Freddie shook his head, and answered " No." 
 
 "Why, that's strange. He said he knew you and 
 wished me to tell you that Sam Tuck wanted to " 
 
 "Oh!" shouted P'reddie, joyously, "Sam Tuck! Do 
 I know Sam Tuck? You just bet 1 do! Is he in here?" 
 
 " Yes, my boy — he — he is — " dying, the doctor was 
 about to say — but he spared the child ; what could Freddie 
 know of death? and simply said, " going away soon, and 
 wants to say good-bye to you." 
 
 " Where's he going to, Doc 'Buckle?" 
 
 "To heaven, where all good children go." 
 
 Freddie glanced quickly up at the blue overhead, mused 
 a moment, and then said — 
 
 " Is that so? And where do the bad go?" 
 
Dr Bruno s Wife. iii 
 
 The Doctor smiled. 
 
 '• I don't think there are any bad '"ttle children. I 
 never met any, at least." 
 
 " No more did I," returned Freddie promptly, as, quite 
 out of breath, he at length stood upright on his crutch on 
 the balcony. 
 
 •' Is he asleep, nurse?" asked the Doctor when Freddie 
 and himself came up to the cot, where Sam lay with his 
 eyes closed. 
 
 '* I a'^ just wondering," replied the nurse, bending 
 over the child, whose wasted face had assumed a strange 
 expression of rest and serenity. 
 
 "Why, Doctor! he spoke to me only a few minutes 
 ago — he asked me if Freddie had come yet." 
 
 "That's me! I'm Freddie! Tell him I come to see 
 him all right," whispered Freddie — whispering he knew 
 not why — something in the faces of the Doctor and nurse 
 constraining him. 
 
 . The Doctor laid his hand on the stilled heart under the 
 clothes and withdrew it again with a short sigh. 
 
 " Poor little fellow! Come away, Freddie, dear." 
 
 "Ain't you — can't I- why don't Sam open his eyes 
 and speak to me?" asked Freddie in a choky voice. 
 
 " He can't, my boy. God has taken him, just a few 
 minutes ago," said the Doctor, as they stepped out again 
 upon the balcony. Again Freddie glanced up at the blue 
 and mused. 
 
 " And won't I — won't I never see him again no more?" 
 he questioned, his face paling and his lips quivering. 
 
 " Be a good boy, Freddie, and God will take you too 
 some day," said the Doctor, compelled to say something 
 to comfort the lad. But Freddie had it out with himself, 
 
,,2 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 all aione, round the corner of the balcony, while the 
 Doctor, infected by the child's emotion, walked up and 
 down, finding some difficulty in controlling his own 
 feelings. By and by, as the sobs grew less violent, he 
 
 said, kindly- - 
 
 Now, then, Freddie, I will give you a drive round the 
 
 << 
 »» 
 
 ""' Freddie wiped his eyes, took up his crutch, and sobbing 
 still, prepared to follow the Doctor. 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 113 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 •'FREDDIE PUTS HIS FOOT IN IT." 
 
 I HAVE brought a young- g-entleman to see you to-day, 
 Natalie," said Dr Arbuckle gaily as he entered 
 the hospital reception room. 
 
 "This is Master Freddie Tranent, a great chum of 
 mine, and one I want you to be very good to indeed." 
 
 •* How do you do, Freddie? We shall be very good 
 friends, I am sure,' ^aid Natalie, shaking hands with the 
 young gentleman, who had already made himself com- 
 fortable on one of the lounges. Freddie had a pair of 
 honest brown eyes, and they said, when he shook hands 
 with Miss Wyngate. as plain i.s eyes could say — ** I like 
 you." The child stared at her in undisguised admiration. 
 It was her afternoon off duty, and she had doffed her 
 nurse's uniform, and was attired in soft draperies, which 
 hung gracefully about her form, and set off her supple 
 figure. Her dark hair was brushed up and drawn back 
 from her white forehead, emphasising her pronounced 
 and finely-arched eyebrows. Her face was pale, of a 
 creamy healthy paleness ; her soft, dark eyes were alight 
 with love and pleasure, and her beautifully curved lips 
 were smiling. The Doctor saw the open admiration in 
 the lad's face, and was intensely pleased thereby. 
 
 "Can I leave Freddie with you for half an hour or so? 
 I have to call at one or two places where there is scarla- 
 tina, and I don't care about taking him to the door and 
 jumping in beside him, right from the infection. Let him 
 amuse himself here awhile. I shall call for him on my 
 way home." 
 
114 ^^ Bruno's Wife. 
 
 •'We shall be delighted, Freddie and I, shan't we?" 
 said Natalie. 
 
 "You bet!" promptly responded Freddie. 
 
 " I ain't in no hurry Doc' 'Buckle, take your time," he 
 called after the Doctor patronisingly. 
 
 " Are you the Doctor's sister?" he queried, as soon as 
 they were alone. 
 
 " No, oh dear no!" laughed Natalie. "What makes 
 you think so?" 
 
 " I dunno. I wish't you was," said Freddie, gravely. 
 
 ' * Why ? What difference would that make, Freddie ?" 
 
 "Oh, 'kase you see I could come and see you when- 
 e/er I liked. I want to come and see you all the time." 
 
 "You are very kind, Freddie; but you can come any 
 day I am off duty— any day Dr Arbuckle fetches you. 
 Are you lame?" 
 
 " No, I ain't lame; but I got my leg broken, and Doc' 
 'Buckle says I must hippety hop on this here crutch till 
 my leg gets stronger. Might crack again, you see." 
 
 "Oh, indeed! but how did you happen to break your 
 leg?' asked Miss Wyngate, presenting Freddie with a 
 bunch of fine Concord grapes on a plate. 
 
 " I was ridin' a phlocipede down our stairs, when the 
 blamed thing got baulky, and then started off before I 
 knowed. When I'm better, I'm going to try it again 
 though. It's bound to go next time." 
 
 Natalie, whose eyes were sparkling with fun, uttered 
 a little cry of protest. 
 
 " Oh! no, no, Freddie, dear; you mustn't think of such 
 a thing — you might break your neck. Have you any 
 more brothers or sisters?" 
 
 " No, not a blessed one, o"ly ma." 
 
.A^r t-fft-i^ o rr »-/^i 
 
 •* Oh, well, mamma must be very fond and proud of 
 such a bright boy as you Freddie." 
 
 *' I dunnc," said Freddie, vaguely; " she says I'm an 
 awful bad, wicked boy, and she is goin' to send me to a 
 man's school next year, where I'll be kep' under." 
 
 Natalie looked at the honest little fellow, picking his 
 grapes off one by one, and speaking in all earnestness. 
 
 " Oh, well, of course that's to educate you; but you 
 love your mamma, I'm sure." 
 
 Freddie paused, and looked at the winsome face scan- 
 ning him so curiously. 
 
 «< I — dunno. I guess so," he replied, slowly and 
 doubtfully. •' But," he added, briskly, •' I love Doc' 
 'Buckle — you bet your boots I do." 
 
 The pale face was suffused with a rare flush at the 
 boy's enthusiasm, and she stepped over to the table and 
 brough lim another bunch of grapes, and sat down on 
 the lounge beside him. Freddie had endeared himself to 
 her by his love for the Doctor. 
 
 " He cured your broken leg, then?" 
 '• Oh, yes, but I knowed him long afore that. He is 
 often at our house. He comes for dinner and sometimes 
 for tea— oh — often and often. Ma don't let anybody else 
 in when Doc' 'Buckle comes." 
 
 *» Oh, indeed!" said Natalie, with a dawning wonder 
 why her lover had never mentioned this lady with whom 
 he was on such intimate terms. It scarcely amounted 
 to a thought, however, for he had many affluent patients, 
 and was generally well liked. 
 ** Do you like pictures?" 
 
 '• Do I !" answered Freddie, in a what-a-question tone. 
 •'Then I have a lovely picture-book here, all abou 
 
ii6 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 every kind of bird, and the different kinds of nests they 
 build, and the eggs they lay. I'll write your name in it, 
 and you can take it home with you and put it amongst 
 the rest of your books. Will you care to have it?" 
 
 "Willi? Well now!" 
 
 Natalie was intensely amused at this queer free and 
 easy boy. Her experience of boys had been limited, and 
 the small juvenile prigs she remembered visiting her 
 mother with their mammas were in no wise like this 
 frank, brown-eyed, slangy youngster, who was so much 
 in earnest in all he said and did. 
 
 As he watched Nai ilie writing his name in the book a 
 sudden idea flashed into his busy brain and illumined his 
 face. He had been puzzling out why Dr Arbuckle should 
 have left him here with a lady who was not his sister, nor 
 any relation, so far as he knew, and now it struck him, 
 and he smiled. Natalie brought over the book to him, 
 and as he took it from her hand he said, with comical 
 knowingness — 
 
 "Ah! I know now." 
 
 "Know! what is it you know, Freddie?" asked 
 Natalie, in boundless surprise. Freddie was full of sur- 
 prises. He laid hold of her arm, and pulling her down 
 till her ear was at his mouth, he whispered, loudly — 
 
 "You're his gal!" 
 
 Natalie sprang up and stared at the boy, her face in 
 the rosiest confusion, and at that moment Dr Arbuckle 
 entered the room and suddenly stopped short in wonder 
 at Natalie's comic expression of dismay. 
 
 " Ain't she, Doc' 'Buckle? — ain't she your gal?" cried 
 Freddie, following up his advantage. The Doctor was 
 electrified by this appeal to him, and swiftly taking in the 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife, 117 
 
 situation, he sat down on the nearest chair and burst 
 into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, in which Natalie was 
 fain to join. 
 
 '• Master Freddie, you take the cake over all the 
 youngsters I ever met. What was he saying to you 
 when I came in, Natalie?" 
 
 "Oh! don't ask me, please. He is certainly a 'cute 
 boy; aren't you Freddie?" said Natalie, not quite re- 
 covered from her laughing confusion, but handing the 
 fruit basket to the Doctor. 
 
 ''Ain't she, Doctor? Miss Wyngate's your gal, ain't 
 she?" persisted Freddie, and the Doctor, despite Natalie's 
 imploring looks, answered honestly — • 
 
 " Yes, Freddie — you have a long head, my boy. You 
 are quite right. Miss Wyngate here is to be Mrs 
 Arbuckle some of these fine days, and then you'll come 
 and visit us all you want to." 
 
 "But won't you come and see mamma, and take 
 dinner and tea like you used to all the time?" 
 
 •'Oh, yes — yes — of course," said the Doctor, hastily. 
 " Meantime we had better be getting home." And 
 rather sharply, so Natalie thought, the Doctor hustled 
 Freddie down and into the phaeton which was waiting at 
 the door. After he had seated Freddie he vaulted lightly 
 back again up the flights of steps, and returned for a 
 moment to the room where Natalie was still standing 
 meditating. 
 
 " Isn't he a terror— that boy!" laughed the Doctor. 
 
 "The most amusing fellow," responded Natalie, her 
 dark eyes dancing with mirth. "Where have you 
 hidden him away all this time? He is the funniest child !" 
 
 "Well, good-bye for the present, darling. Til see 
 
ii8 Dr Bruno* s Wife. 
 
 you to-morrow — or — no — next day." And, folding his 
 arms about her yielding" form, he kissed her twice, and 
 was about to go when when she held him, while he 
 looked at her in mute inquiry. 
 
 "Edward! — you love me?" she whispered, her eyes 
 troubled and full of imploring prayer. 
 
 "Natalie! child! my wife! what do you mean?" he 
 cried, looking at her in sudden alarm. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing, love! Only I think if I were to 
 lose you, I would surely die." 
 
 " You will never lose me, dear, while life and reason 
 remain. What on earth made such a notion as that 
 enter your head?" 
 
 '* I don't know ; it is silly and foolish, I know; but the 
 moment you entered the room with Freddie, a something 
 — I know not what — a dread of some evil impending 
 came over me. I have felt that once before, before I 
 knew you at all. But there — it's over now — say you love 
 me once more — there— I am better now." 
 
 And of her own accord she kissed him again, and he 
 departed. As he drove away out at the gate with 
 Freddie, he turned and looked up, and saw her standing 
 at the window, and he waved his hand and drove off. 
 
 Freddie was safely deposited at The Larches, but it 
 was in vain that Mrs Tranent smiled her sweetest, and 
 coaxed the Doctor to come in and have dinner with them. 
 He must be home — he had engagements — he — in short, 
 he could not possibly come in then. Mrs Tranent's 
 delicate bloom deepened visibly, and an unpleasant light 
 came into her eyes as he drove off. 
 
 " Oh, ma! Sam Tuck's dead," said Freddie, walking 
 in on his crutch. 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. "9 
 
 *' And who on earth is Sam Tuck, pray?" 
 " That nice fellow that carried the papers, you know 
 —that used to whistle for me and make you mad. He's 
 gone to heaven, ma?" 
 
 ♦• Well, I'm thankful I'.e won't whistle for you any 
 more. You must learn to keep decent company." 
 
 Freddie's countenance fell. He had asked for bread, 
 and received a stone. 
 
 Suddenly he remembered his book— he had left it on 
 the hall table, and he hobbled out and brought it in. 
 ** See my nice book, ma?" 
 
 "Oh, don't bother me with your books and things, 
 I have something else to think of." 
 
 Freddie silently laid down the be ok, and settled him- 
 self on a chair, with a sigh. He looked round the great 
 sumptuously furnished apartment, and sighed again. 
 His heart was heavy, and he was weary, 'h, so w^ary! 
 And he would never see Sam Tuck no more, and nobody 
 cared to speak to him— nobody but Doc' 'Buckle ; he was 
 a brick! His busy mind flashed thence to Natalie and 
 the discovery he had made, and again he spoke out. 
 •* I know something, ma." 
 
 His mother made no answer. She was crocheting a 
 bit of fancy work — fiercely. 
 
 '• She gave me that book," he said again. 
 " Who ? What are you speaking of? Who's she?" 
 ♦« Doc' 'Buckle's gal. She's going to be Mrs 'Buckle 
 one of them days. He tole me hisself." 
 
 The hands that were crocheting so fiercely fell limp in 
 
 her lap, and Mrs Tranent sat staring dumbly at the boy, 
 
 who, encouraged by her attention, went on innocently— 
 
 •♦ He took me up to the hospital, and she gave me 
 
I20 Dr Bnino's Wife. 
 
 that nice book and writ my name in it, and when she's 
 married to Doc' 'Buckle I'm going- to see her every day." 
 Mrs Tranent rose, and gliding silently up to the book, 
 opened it and read — 
 
 "To Freddie, 
 
 " With Natalie Wyngate's love." 
 
 For a long time she stood staring at the innocent in- 
 scription, and with a white unnatural calm she came and 
 sat down beside Freddie, and to his surprise put her arm 
 on his shoulder. It was a rare manifestation of motherly 
 attention for Freddie to receive. 
 
 "Freddie, tell me all about it. Who told you the 
 Doctor was to be married to Miss Wyngate?" she de- 
 manded in a quick voice. 
 
 ' ' He tole me hisself, ma. I asked him if Miss Wyngate 
 was his gal, and he up and laughed and said yes, and 
 said we was to come and see them when she was Mrs 
 'Buckle. Won't it be just bully, ma?" asked Freddie, 
 delighted to think he w^as entertaining his mother with 
 the news; it felt so nice when she let him taii . to her. 
 
 But Mrs Tranent rose and went upstairs without an- 
 other word. 
 
 For fully an hour she paced up and down her room like 
 a caged lioness, every now and then uttering a short ugly 
 laugh. 
 
 ** So this is the meaning of his coldness to me — to me 
 who have borne and spared him and waited. To be 
 thwarted by this dark insignificant-looking lunatic! That 
 she— she should come between me and him — she his 
 wife! Never! No, madam! I have a word to say to 
 that. I knew there was something — I felt it — always 
 
Dr Bntno's Wife. lai 
 
 polite— always so courteous. Oh, yes ! Natalie Wyngate, 
 forsooth! Never, not while I live! I must manage her 
 as well as him. Let me think! Oh, let me think!" and 
 she sat down with her elbows on her elegant bureau 
 and gazed at her own distorted face in the glass, taking 
 counsel of her own wicked heart. 
 
122 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MRS TRANENT CALLS ON MISS WYNGATE. 
 
 A WEEK, a full week, had elapsed since that Thursday 
 on which Freddie had visited her, and which was 
 Natalie's weekly day off. Dr Arbuckle had not been 
 able to see her, as he had promised, so occupied had his 
 time been with business of importance, but now he had 
 ret'-rned from his unexpected trip to New \ork, as sig- 
 nified by the note she had just received, notifying- her of 
 his intention to call on the morrow evening. He had 
 written immediately on his arrival home last evening, 
 and it had come to her by the morning mail. She 
 kirsed the note and put it in her pocket, and went in to 
 her duty in the wards with a glow in her eyes and a happy 
 light on her face. 
 
 '* Good news this morning, I see," said Miss Stobie, 
 with a quizzical smile, as she gave her the usual orders. 
 *' When is he coming back from New York?" 
 
 **He is back," replied the happy girl. '* He will be 
 here to-morrow evening." 
 
 "Ah, that's well," responded Miss Stobie, from whom 
 Natalie kept no secrets. 
 
 But Dr Arbuckle had also mailed another note on the 
 evening of his return. It was addressed to The Larches, 
 and ran thus: — 
 
 *' Dear Mrs Tranent, — I found on my arrival home 
 your note intimating that you wished to see me, in order 
 to communicate some facts concerning the death of my 
 
Dr Bruno* s Wife. 123 
 
 friend Ramsay. As this is a subject in which I naturally 
 take the deepest interest, I will call at The Larches at 
 half-past three to-morrow afternoon.— Yours cordially, 
 
 Edward Arbuckle, M.D." 
 "Wednesday Eve." 
 
 The fever of impatience and suspense with which Mrs 
 Tranent awaited this answer to her note, despatched 
 two days previously, had thinned her cheeks and hollowed 
 her eyes. At a church meeting she had heard casually 
 of his having gone to New York to attend the Medical 
 Convention there, but scarce even the knowledge that he 
 was out of town, and could not therefore answer her mis- 
 sive, could allay her impatience. She had laid her plans, 
 but needed his answer in order to put them into execu- 
 tion. A sudden flash of triumph lit up her face as she 
 read the note, and thrusting it into her pocket, she 
 muttered, •' Now for it," and ran upstairs to dress. 
 
 In the hospital Natalie had finished up her work in 
 the ward she had charge of, and had now a few minutes 
 leisure before further attending to the patients. 
 
 "A lady wishes to see you, nurse," said one of the 
 
 hospital servants. 
 
 .i But— this is not my receiving hour yet— I cannot 
 see any one till afternoon. Did the lady give you her 
 
 card?" 
 
 *' No — nurse." 
 
 "Well— please tell the lady that I will be off duty in 
 the afternoon, when I will be glad to see her." 
 
 After a few minutes the girl again returned. 
 
 " She says will you please see her tor a few moments; 
 it is urgent business." 
 
124 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 ••Well — dear me! Then I suppose I must," said 
 Natalie, and walked swiftly aiong the corridors and down 
 to the reception room. 
 
 It was Mrs Tranent. 
 
 •• I am so sorry, so very sorry to interrupt you in your 
 duties. Miss Wyngfate, but duty to you compels me to 
 delay no longer. " 
 
 Natalie bowed with natural grace, a slight surprise 
 tinging her pale face. 
 
 ••Allow me," said Mrs Tranent, rising and closing the 
 door, ••What I have to say this morning, Miss Wyngate, 
 had better be said with closed doors." 
 
 The familiarity with Mrs Tranent spoke sounded offen- 
 sive. In her haste, she had not even introduced herself, 
 and Natalie waited with silent dignity for her to do so. 
 The expectant repose of her manner irritated the visitor. 
 Mrs Tranent had studied well and imitated closely, but 
 this calm naturalness she had never been able to attain. 
 Sne could bear down upon people like a ship in a full sail 
 carrying everything before her with her suave speech and 
 fine appearance, and she could also be very sweet and 
 womanly when she chose to exert herself for the rloe. 
 But this was something beyond her; the superiority of 
 the rea: over the sham lady. 
 
 •• And now, Miss Wyngate," she said hurriedly, ••! am 
 about to ask you a question." 
 
 •• Excuse me, madam," Natalie said, quietly. •'To 
 whom am I indebted? I did not get your card." 
 
 •♦ Oh! of course — so stupid of me — certainly, but I am 
 so nervous over this business — indeed, I thought of you 
 so much, I forgot myself. Mrs Tranent of The Larches. " 
 
 Natalie bowed and smiled. This, then, was Freddie's 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 12 
 
 D 
 
 moiher! Immediately she extended her hand with frank 
 apoloyfy. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Mrs Tranent — I know you now. 
 Master Freddie was up to see me last week." 
 
 *' And now for my question, Miss Wyng"ate." 
 
 ' ' Certainly, M rs Tranent, " responded Natalie, brightly. 
 
 •'Are you engaged? Do you expect to marry Dr 
 Edward Arbuckle?" 
 
 A bombshell dropped at her feet could scarce have 
 shocked Natalie more, and the ugly expression in Mrs 
 Tranent's eyes repelled her. 
 
 "Madam!" she exclaimed, and involuntarily drew 
 herself up with dignified hatctir. 
 
 ** You need not get angry. Miss Wyngate ; I am very 
 sorry for you, but I must do my duty. Dr Arbuckle has 
 been playing a double game, and it's time you knew 
 it." 
 
 With a contemptuous smile of incredulity Natalie rose 
 and walked over to the door, scorning to reply, but Mrs 
 Tranent interposed herself ere she could reach it. 
 
 ** No, don't think of going. I know how you feel— I 
 am sorry — but if you are honourably engaged to him, 
 why are you ashamed of it?" she sneered, standing with 
 her back to the door. 
 
 '* I am not ashamed, Mrs Tranent; I am very proud 
 to be affianced to such a man as Dr Arbuckle," retorted 
 Natalie, stung by the sneer of this parvenu. 
 
 •'And you really expect to marry him?" 
 
 " I do — most certainly," was the firm answer. 
 
 " You never will! never while I live!" 
 
 Natalie had paled a little before, but it was with re- 
 sentment; now, however, her lips grew white with a 
 
126 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 nameless fear, for there was no mistaking the earnestness 
 with which the woman before her now spoke. 
 
 ** You are pale, Miss Wyngate — you will fall. Do sit 
 down and let us talk the thing over calmly," said Mrs 
 Tranent, offering to support Natalie, who, however, 
 rallied, and mutely pointed to a chair. 
 
 '• Yes, that's right ; we'll both sit down and come to an 
 understanding, "said the full-blooded, determined woman; 
 and Natalie, with the sense of impending evil strong 
 upon her, also sat down. 
 
 "Tell me, madam, what is the meaning of all this? 
 What are my private affairs to you?" she asked, quickly. 
 
 ** It means this. Miss Wyngate, that you cannot marry 
 Dr Arbuckle. He and I have been intimate these last 
 twelve years — see — there is the ring he gave me twelve 
 years ago." 
 
 *' That is nothing," said Natalie, bravely. " What are 
 his relations to you now?" 
 
 Mrs Tranent smiled. 
 
 " The same as eVer , with ♦^his difference, that while he 
 has been fooling you — " 
 
 '* Mrs Tranent!" protested Natalie. 
 
 '* I repeat it; fooling and making love to you, he has 
 at the same time been visiting me — and — well, I think 
 mine is the prior claim." 
 
 Here Mrs Tranent smiled such a knowing smile that 
 Natalie turned away in disgust. 
 
 '* Why, ask my boy, he will tell you the truth ; he will 
 tell you of the intimacy between Dr Arbuckle and myself; 
 further, of course, the child don't guess." 
 
 With a sinking heart Natalie remembered Freddie's 
 innocent prattle about the frequency of Dr Arbuckle'g 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 127 
 
 visits ; but then, remembering himself — all he had said, 
 all he had done — remembering his look last Thursday 
 when he had held her and said nothing should separate 
 them, she suddenly exclaimed : — 
 
 " It is not true, Mrs Tranent! Dr Arbuckie is incap- 
 able of deceit, he is coming here to-morrow evening 
 and—" 
 
 "After spending this afternoon and evening in my 
 company! Oh, Edward, you always were a sad fiirt!" 
 laughed the lady sarcastically. 
 
 ** Excuse me, madam, I do not believe you," said 
 Natalie, rising; "any person could make such a state- 
 ment." 
 
 *' Yes, but every one cannot prove it as I can. Come 
 down to The Larches this afternoon at a quarter to four 
 and I will show you your immaculate Doctor, the man 
 who is amusing himself at your expense, sitting at his 
 ease in my parlour, and enjoying himself very much in- 
 deed." 
 
 *' I do not believe it," Natalie persisted, with only a 
 deeper light in her eye to indicate inward feeling; " but 
 I will come. I may believe it when I see it." 
 
 Mrs Tranent drew a long breath, imperceptibly. She 
 had gained what she had come for, and could now afford 
 to be urbane. 
 
 "Don't be too shocked when you come, Miss Wyngate. 
 Men laiil do these sort of things, you know, and you can 
 see for yourself already, that after his return from New 
 York, he comes to spend the first evening with his future 
 wife — your humble servant. At a quarter past four, 
 then. Au rcvotrT' 
 
 Natalie opened the door, and stood aside in silence, 
 
128 Dr Bruno's Wife, 
 
 while her visitor swept grandly out. That last shot hr'd 
 told. This afternoon would show whether he, the man 
 she loved, would really spend the first leisure hours of his 
 return with this loud, vulgar woman. For loud and 
 vulgar Mrs Tranent certainly had been during this inter- 
 view. But no — never! Edward Arbuckle was no such 
 man — she could not — and would not believe it. 
 
 *' A penny for your thoughts. Miss Wyngate? Have 
 you been getting an invitation to the wedding?" asked 
 Nurse Watson, a bright little woman with whom she 
 was associated in the wards, and who had observed Mrs 
 Tranent, sailing down the corridor. 
 
 ** What wedding?" asked Natalie, listlessly, not dream- 
 ing to whom she referred. 
 
 "Why, Dr Arbuckle's of course. Didn't you know 
 he's been after the widow this long time? Oh, why — 
 yes! its to come off soon, I believe." 
 
 ** I did not know," Natalie murmured. "Is it really 
 so? Does he go there much?" She asked the questions 
 more to conceal her own ?.gitation than anything else, 
 but the answer came ready enough. 
 
 ** I should rather think he did. At least he went there 
 often enough when Carrie, my sister, lived opposite some 
 months ago. These are your towels, I think." 
 
 The chatty little nurse handed her the towels and 
 passed on, little dreaming the effect her gossiping words 
 had caused. For none of the nurses had heard as yet of 
 Natalie's engagement, and she had passed on the news 
 as a matter of course, all being interested in the genial 
 Dr Arbuckle. 
 
 It seemed as if the forenoon would never pass^ but at 
 last it was two o'clock and Natalie was at liberty to 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 129 
 
 dress and gfo out. She was pale and heavy with the 
 overhanging evil, but she resokitely thrust behind her all 
 doubts ; she would not allow herself to distrust him; no, 
 not for one moment. She would go to Mrs Tranent's 
 simply because she knew he would not be there, and 
 when he came to-morrow evening she would tell him all 
 that had been said and done. She did not go to play 
 the spy, but to be able to throw back that woman's ac- 
 cusations, to prove how little her assertions were worth. 
 In spite of all this reasoning, however, this persistent 
 faith in the faithfulness of her lover, it was with troubled 
 eyes and a sorrowful face that she came out at the 
 hospital gate and hailed a car that went down in the 
 direction of The Larches. 
 
130 Df Bnino's Wife. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 NATALIE SEES FOR HERSELF. 
 
 NICOL opened the door when Miss Wyng^atc rang", 
 •and as it closed she heard a laugh she well knew. 
 It turned her rigid, and saying to the maid - 
 
 "Thank you -that will do; I will announce myself," 
 she turned and waited until Nicol — wondering with- 
 drew, and then she stepped up to the parlour door. Her 
 intention was to enter, when it suddenly struck her what 
 should she say- how account for her presence there. 
 Setting her foot on the mat, she paused irresolutely ; but 
 soft as was her footfall, it did not escape the quick ear 
 of the woman who was waiting for her. She had been 
 nervously waiting for her ring; she had detected her low 
 tones to Nicol — she knew she was about to come in ; 
 she knew she was standing irresolutely in the doorway, 
 ind she cleverly improvised a scene for the special bene- 
 fit of the onlookers. 
 
 Dr Arbuckle was resting in an elegant low backed 
 easy-chair, with his back to the door, and one leg thrown 
 easily over the other. Close beside him stood Mrs 
 Tranent, attired in a magnificent tea-gown, slowly fan- 
 ning herself. 
 
 Evidently the Doctor had just come in, for he took out 
 his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, as though he 
 had been perspiring. 
 
 "Let us see," said Mrs Tranent, slowly taking a ring 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 131 
 
 from her finger, '* how long is it now since you gave me 
 that ring, the ring I have always kept for your sake," 
 she added, with one of her smiles. 
 
 The Doctor, somewhat surprised and not a little 
 annoyed, took the ring held out to him, and looked at it 
 carelessly. 
 
 '* I'm sure I couldn't say, Hetty; ten or twelve years, 
 I suppose," he said, the old name coming involuntarily 
 to his lips with the memories the ring called up, as he 
 handed it back again. 
 
 Instead of an outstretched palm, Mrs Tranent held out 
 her little finger to receive it, and Dr Arbuckle, still more 
 annoyed, quietly put it on. This sudden and familiar 
 way of resurrecting a long-buried youthful folly was ex- 
 tremely distasteful to him, but his gentlemanly instincts 
 prevailed, and he assumed a courtesy he was far from 
 feeling. He began to wonder if this was the preamble 
 of what she had to communicate. 
 
 Natalie, however, had seen enough. He was there. 
 She had heard him with his own lips corroborate the 
 statement that he had given this woman a ring; she 
 had seen him take her hand in his, and put it back on her 
 finger ; she had heard him call her Hetty ! And all this, 
 too, without either Mrs Tranent or himself knowing of 
 her presence there — so she thought. Upright and single- 
 minded herself, she was utterly incapable of suspecting 
 the wiles of a scheming woman. Indeed, she no longer 
 thought hardly of, no longer blamed Mrs Tranent. He 
 had been wronging them both. She must believe the 
 evidence of her own senses ; and nothing could alter what 
 she had seen and heard. With a keen pain at her heart, 
 and a singing noise in her ears, she turned and walked 
 
132 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 back over the velvety carpets, yielding and soft as moss 
 to the tread, and quietly let herself out by the hall door. 
 
 On the steps outside she stood for a moment, and 
 raised her hand impotently to her brow, trying to realise 
 it all, trying to understand that it was he — ^Edward — the 
 man she loved, and who had sworn to love her and her 
 only, whom she had seen and heard talking to that 
 woman in there. Was it all over, the brief dream of 
 happiness which had followed that dark eclipse, born of 
 desperation and despair? Was there no truth or honour 
 in man? What did he mean, how dared he importune 
 her as he had done to marry him while bound, as he 
 evidently was, to this woman? And yet, in spite of her 
 anger, her outraged love, when she recalled his frank 
 and manly face, his clear eyes alight with happy love, his 
 fervent words, she was staggered. Could it be possible? 
 was it not all a cruel dream from which she would yet 
 awake to find him all she had ever believed him? But 
 no — no! — nothing could explain what she had seen — she 
 was quite awake, cruelly awake. 
 
 '* Natalie, child! what ails you? You look like death 
 itself," exclairr.ed Miss Stobie when she met her coming 
 up the hospital stairs. 
 
 "Do I? I don't feel particularly bright," answered 
 Natalie, with a short, hard laugh, and passed up. 
 
 Miss Stobie looked after her in silent wonder. Pre- 
 sently she stopped and looked back, swiftly evading the 
 searching look of her superior. 
 
 "Will I be required for another hour or so, Miss 
 Stobie?" she asked. 
 
 " You know you are at liberty for the rest of the day. 
 It is your turn," answered Miss Stobie, coldly; feeling 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 133 
 
 hurt at being so abruptly shut out from the confidence of 
 her favourite. 
 
 Natalie turned the key in her room door when she had 
 entered, and sinking- passively upon the edge of her bed 
 tried to think what it all meant to her. 
 
 She mentally reviewed the whole of their love's history 
 from the beginning, and the more she thought the more 
 incredible did it seem that a man of such fair seeming 
 could be such an adept at deceit. As she thought 
 of all he had been to her, her anguish, like a mighty 
 wave, rose up and swept over her, and she was fain to 
 drop upon her knees and wrestle with it until it passed. 
 The love which had been life and light and hope had, 
 after all, been but a make-believe, a mockery of all 
 that was highest and best in life. Now it was over — all 
 over — she repeated, crushing down mercilessly the ten- 
 derness that would well up in spite of herself. She could 
 not gei I er mind out of the groove into which it had lain 
 so happily; could not face the bleakness and isolation 
 of a future so different from the immediate past, the past 
 in which she had made for herself such a fool's paradise. 
 In her pain, her weakness, her inability to conquer her- 
 self, a strong instinct prompted her to pray, to call on 
 God for the strength she needed so much ; but with a 
 new-born cynicism she smothered the natural cry of her 
 soul. 
 
 " No," she cried, starting to her feet with resolution. 
 " Dr Bruno prays publicly and privately. He prays— 
 he confessed to me that he felt the need of prayer. Oh, 
 my God!" she exclaimed, refusing to class herself with 
 hypocrites, and yet unconsciously appealing to the High- 
 est in the agony of the moment. 
 
134 ^^ Bmnos Wife. 
 
 After a little i>he sat up, pale and resolved. 
 
 '* There is one thing to be done, and it must be done at 
 once — now — while he is there." 
 
 Opening a drawer, she took therefrom a photograph 
 which she looked at long and earnestly, v.ith sadness and 
 wonder, and then she laid it face downward on the table. 
 On top of it she laid the ring, the engagement ring he had 
 given her, remembering bitterly that another woman also 
 wore a ring, placed on her finger by his own hand. She 
 gathered together the many books he had given her — 
 •'The Professor at the Breakfast table," "Browning's 
 Poems," and others of a like calibre, and with dry eyes 
 and firm lips wrapped them all up with the neatness 
 which had become so characteristic of her lately, and tied 
 the parcel with a string. Then tying a veil across her 
 face she unlocked the door and walked down the stairs 
 and out of the grounds with an unfaltering step. 
 
 "Will you please give this parcel to the Doctor when 
 he comes in, "she said quietly, when the housekeeper had 
 answered her ringat the door. "Just say that MissWyn. 
 gate called and delivered them." 
 
 Mrs Watson took the parcel, and with a smiling remark 
 about the weather Miss Wyngate bowed and left. 
 
 She could not go back to the hospital just yet; she 
 wanted to be away somewhere alone, to think, to fortify 
 herself, and become strong to take up the broken threads 
 and go on weaving the warp and woof of her life me- 
 chanically, without pattern and without colour. She 
 wandered aimlessly away down to the bay, and stood 
 looking out over the calm expanse of Lake Ontario, a 
 vast mirror, reflecting the soft warmth of the blue over- 
 head, and veiled in a far, mystical haze where it met and 
 
Dr Bntno's Wife. 135 
 
 kissed the horizon. But it was busy life upon the wharf, 
 and excursion boats went tooting out, and came scream- 
 ing- in, and there was hurrying and hiughing and talking, 
 and the good-natured jostling of a well-to-do populace 
 bent for an afternoon's outing upon the water. Natalie 
 turned away; the happiness of the people, of paterfamilias 
 with his boys, of the radiant mother among her girls, 
 but made her feel her own desolation. Up the street she 
 hailed a car, and rode to one of the beautiful flowery 
 suburbs along the edge of the lake, and here she found 
 the solitude she sought for. The day was soft, dreamy, 
 beautiful. The trees were gorgeous in their October 
 tints of russet, crimson, and gold; in the woods the 
 spaces between the trees were filled with a dim, impalable 
 blue, and there was an indescribable pathos in the still- 
 ness that hung in the air. 
 
 Natalie felt the brooding of Nature ; it fell on her bruised 
 and wounded spirit with soothing, heavenly calm. She 
 wandered along the clean and pebbly beach where the 
 waters, with soft rythmic cadence, lapped the shore ; 
 and sat down on a sun-bleached log, which some bygone 
 storm had drifted hither, and cast upon the sands. Oh, 
 the unspeakable beauty of the day ! the gorgeous splen- 
 dour of the woods near and far! the vast and boundless 
 blue above, the vast and boundless blue below —the 
 breathless rapture of the far, dim solitudes ! 
 ■ As she sat and gazed, the temporary hardness of her 
 spirit melted, the bitterness so foreign to her nature 
 passed away, and warm tears welled up and dropped into 
 her lap — she was so lonely — ah, so lonely! She could 
 not live alone; it was terrible this awful loneliness of the 
 soul ; she must lay hold of some support; and with sudden 
 
136 Dt Bruno's IVi/e. 
 
 repentance for the rebellion she had felt, she lifted her 
 face to the sky and murmured -*' Forgive me, oh God! 
 — and forsake me — oh, forsake me not!" 
 
 The great calm of the day grew slowly upon her. She 
 grew stronger, the past was past, she had dreamed her 
 dream, and was now awake. Dr Arbuckle must be 
 nothing more to her; he was unworthy of a woman's 
 thought; but the ideal she had cherished and loved -ah! 
 that was her own— her own forever! She would go 
 back and take up her life where it had broken off; more 
 than ever would she become a useful, helpful woman ; 
 more than ever would she be faithful to the high standard 
 she had set up. Like St Augustine, she would make a 
 stepping-stone of her dead self to higher things. Her 
 mothers's death and her own affliction, of these she had 
 already made one step ; this should be another and higher. 
 
 The sun had dropped into the lake, flushing all the 
 Western hemisphere with ruddy gold, when Natalie rose 
 from her long, solitary communion with herself, and set 
 her face homeward. She had walked up through the 
 suburbs, and was waiting for a car, when she heard a 
 shrill young voice call out — " Miss Wyngate — say! Miss 
 Wyngate!" — and turning she beheld Freddie Tranent 
 hurrying towards her. Despite her resolutions, her 
 heroic determination, the sight of that boy — that woman's 
 boy — gave her a sharp pang. 
 
 It was more than she could bear, and she turned away. 
 By and by the car came up, and when she stepped in 
 Freddie also entered. They were the only two occupants 
 as yet. It was not in Natalie not to notice the boy, now 
 she was alone in the car with him. 
 
 *' Are you going home, Freddie?" she asked 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 137 
 
 There was no answer, save a close pressure of the lips 
 and a quick shake of the head. 
 
 Natalie glanced at the profile half-turned away from 
 her, and saw the wounded expression. 
 
 "Freddie, dear, I didn't mean to hurt you when I 
 didn't answer you when you called. I — was thinking" of 
 something else." 
 
 '* I thought ye didn't want me. Nobody wants me. I 
 dunno what I done to everybody ; they want me to keep 
 away all the time." 
 
 "But — your mamma — Freddie. Your mamma doesn't 
 want you away, my boy." 
 
 "Oh yes, she does. She gave me car fare and sent 
 me away all afternoon. Guess Doc' 'Buckle must be 
 coming. I like him, but ma won't let me be round when 
 he's in." 
 
 This was another stab to the listener; but Freddie, 
 wrapped up in his own woes, went on — 
 
 " I don't care. When I grow up I'm goin' away 
 somewhere and never come back any more. I hain't 
 anybody that wants me round, and Sam Tuck's dead, 
 and— I think I'll go to the devil. Ma'll be sorry, then." 
 
 " F'reddie! oh, Freddie!" cried Natalie, snatching the 
 despairing child remorsefully to her bosom, and smother- 
 ing his surprise with a shower of kisses. " Freddie, 
 boy! — don't, oh, don't! you break my heart. I love you, 
 God up in heaven loves you — and — your mother loves 
 you I she must love you, only she is busy sometimes. But 
 you mustn't talk like that. You will grow up a good 
 man some day, and — " 
 
 She could go no further, but she held the astonished 
 boy close to her, and wept. 
 
138 » Dr Bmnos Wife 
 
 The x\w^ of the car bell announced a pa.s.senj,'er comin^^ 
 and ^lancin^ out of the window they saw some one at a 
 distance running up 10 catch it. 
 
 Natalie released Freddie, and wiped her eyes hastily. 
 
 "Say," whispered Freddie, " Sam Tuck's }^one, and I 
 hain't no chum ; will you be my chum?" 
 
 " I will be your chum always, always; only be good, 
 Freddie." 
 
 '• Never you fear! 1 can be good v/hen Fve a mind to 
 —you bet!" 
 
 The stranger now set foot on the step, and ere long 
 the car was well filled ; but all through, till they reached 
 the terminus, Freddie sat with his hand locked in that of 
 Natalie, and both were comforted. Only once he with- 
 drew his hand, and then it was to slip it into his pocket 
 and fish up therefrom three candies, which he mutely 
 presented to his new chum as a token of his regard. 
 
Dr IS ni no's U'l'fc. 139 
 
 chaptp:r XVII. 
 
 AN AWFUL REVELATION. 
 
 MRS Tranent drew a lon^ breath of relief when she 
 heard the hall door shut softly ; she divined exactly 
 how it had been; her plan had succeeded beyond her ex- 
 pectations. Her original intention had been to denounce 
 Dr Arbuckle in such a way before Natalie that a separa- 
 tion must inevitably have been the consequence, but the 
 prospect of how the Doctcr might take it shook her re- 
 solution until it had dwindled down to the simple idea of 
 allowing- Natalie to call, and, meeting him there, judge 
 for herself. But even that might have involved unplea- 
 santness, and now she had accomplished her end without 
 a single jar. Miss Wyngate had seen for herself, and 
 had turned away convinced. 
 
 •* Excuse me one moment, Doctor," said Mrs Tranent, 
 hastily, as she left the room for a little. She mi^/i/ hiwc 
 been wrong, it mt'^/il only have been Nicol moving about, 
 whom she had heard ; it mig^/U have been that tease of a 
 boy returned, after she had sent him safely away for the 
 afternoon. To assure herself she slipped to the hall 
 door, opened it slightly ajar and peeped out. She was 
 right. Miss Wyngate was just leaving the foot of the 
 steps and turning to walk away from The Larches. 
 Closing the door noiselessly, she returned to the parlour 
 and said, with becoming gravity — 
 
 '* If you don't mind. Doctor, I think we would be better 
 in the study, considering what has to be said." 
 
140 Dr Bnino's IVi/e. 
 
 Nicol was a very good servant, but her movements 
 were too noiseless at times for family privacy. 
 
 Dr Arbuckle rose and followed Mrs Tranent to the 
 study overlooking" the ravine. 
 
 "About poor Ramsay," said he, when they were com- 
 fortably seated. "You have gathered some new facts, 
 I understand." 
 
 Mrs Tranent was a trifle paler when she answered, for 
 the Doctor had taken her at a disadvantage. She had 
 proposed to bring on the subject very differently, but 
 there was nothing for it now but to make the best of the 
 situation, and this she did with her usual native tact, 
 
 "No, no new facts — there can be no new facts. I 
 knew all that could be known from i;he first, but — I did 
 not care to speak of them to you before." 
 
 " Oh! I suppose you did not feel quite equal to recall- 
 ing them when you spoke of him before." 
 
 "Yes, just so. Doctor." Here she paused and looked 
 at him for a moment. He was handsome, and the gravity 
 of his countenance which the vears had brouyfht bat en- 
 hanced the charm of his appearance. She must win 
 him, she must be wary in this narration, she must show 
 him how much she had loved him, in withholding what 
 she knew until now. 
 
 " N Vy at last — I have resolved to tell you all." 
 
 "Why, dear me — certainly! Mrs Tranent," exclaimed 
 the Doctor, slightly out of patience. " Why not?" 
 
 " W^ell, I will begin at the beginning now," said Mrs 
 Tranent, plicking up a fan and beginning to open it. 
 "Of course you remember the hotel, and how short of 
 accommodation we were in the height of the season? It 
 was so when you were there. " 
 
Dr Bruno's IVifc. 141 
 
 " Well, there came to the hotel a friend ot Ramsay's 
 who was willing to share his bed, seeing we had no more 
 room. You also know how quite the correct thing it was 
 to flirt with the barmaid ; she, being pretty, was quite 
 legitimate game — you remember?" 
 
 Her sarcasm provoked a curt nod from the Doctor. 
 
 "Well, ^/i/!9 arrival, this friend of Ramsay's, he of course 
 followed suit, but unfortunately the barmaid took to him 
 and liked him." 
 
 Dr Arbuckle had hard work to repress the grim smile 
 which parted his lips at this avowal. 
 
 "Just as you took to me," he felt tempted to say, but 
 this was not a barmaid, this was Mrs Tranent of The 
 Larches, so he was politely silent. 
 
 '• I liked him, indeed I may as well speak the truth, I 
 loved him better than any mart I have ever met since. 
 One night, when I knew he was going away, I 
 slipped down when all the house was quiet, intending to 
 leave a little gift on the table for him when he got up in 
 the morning. The window blind was drawn up, and the 
 moon was shining bright— Ramsay and he lay sound 
 asleep. I put my little gift on the table, and was slipping 
 out again when I was startled by a sudden movement, 
 and fled for dear life, leaving the door open. I was so 
 afraid I had been discovered. By and by I slipped back 
 to shut the door as I had found it, when peeping in 
 through the crack, I saw — " 
 
 Here Mrs Tranent leant back, and held up the fan be- 
 fore her face. The Doctor wondered what was coming 
 next, but kept silence. 
 
 *' Isaw," she continued, laying down the fan and looking 
 at him tensely, ** I saw that man murdenng Ramsay. " 
 
142 Dr Bnino's Wife. 
 
 " What?" shouted the Doctor, startled out of his expec- 
 tant quiet. 
 
 " Hush! Dr Arbuckle ; my serv^ants must not hear this," 
 said ihe lady calmly. " Be patient, and I will tell you 
 all. I saw the man with his knees upon his breast and 
 his fingers on his throat, strangling him, choking him 
 just as you choked yon mad dog." 
 
 "Good Heavens! You roused the house, of course?" 
 asked the Doctor. 
 
 " No; I could do nothing — I was so paralysed, so be- 
 numbed — I did not know what I was doing. I could not 
 understand what he was doing to Ramsay. I remember 
 I crav;led to my own room, but I couldn't stay there, I 
 felt sick with fear ; and yet I half thought they were only 
 playing, fooling with each other. I dressed myself, and 
 came down stairs again, this time determined to find out 
 the meaning of such a horrible pantomime ; but when I 
 came to the door all was still, save for a heavy snoring. 
 I went right into the room, and there were the two, fast 
 asleep, Ramsay at the back of the bed in the shade, and 
 the man, my lover, with his face to the moon, sleeping 
 calmly, as soundly as a child. I did not know what to 
 make of it. I stood for a full quarter of an hour wonder- 
 ing what I had better do, watching the calm face of the 
 man I loved. Then it occured to me what an ass I 
 should make myself, and what siiould I waken him for? 
 They had only been fooling, they had not been asleep 
 when I had entered the room, and I began to suspect 
 had got up this scene for my benefit. So I slipped out, 
 shutting the door softly behind me, and lay down on the 
 bed, dressed as I was, thinking what a silly fool I had been. 
 In the morning I was wakened about six o'clock by a 
 
Dr Bfiinos Wife. 143 
 
 fearful hubbub, voices of men, screams of women, and 
 some one calling^ ' Send for a policeman.' Instantly I 
 jumped up, and you imai^ine my feeling-s when I was 
 told that Ramsay had been found dead, strangled to 
 death in bed, and his bedfellow gone! I was horrified 
 beyond measure, but I kept my own counsel. I never 
 until this moment told what I saw." 
 
 " Excuse me, Mrs Tranent, but I must say your con- 
 duct was very reprehensible. You ought at once to have 
 told what you saw." 
 
 ** And ruined my character for ever? No, thank you ! 
 Besides—" 
 
 *' Besides what, Mrs Tranent?" 
 
 "I loved the man who did it," she breathed, with 
 downcast eyes. 
 
 '* Humbug!" cried the Doctor, forgetting himself. "I 
 tell you your duty was to have laid information at once 
 against that man." 
 
 *' He did it in his sleep. It was the act of a somnam- 
 bulist," sad Mrs Tranent, firmly, but pale to the very 
 lips. 
 
 *• Ah, how do you know that?" demanded the Doctor, 
 in great excitement. 
 
 "That was the opinion of a celebrated physician who 
 gave evidence to that effect before the Procurator-Fis- 
 cal." 
 
 ** But then, why did the murderer go away? Was 
 there no attempt made to arrest him?" 
 
 *' No one could tell where he had gone, no trace of him 
 could be found." 
 
 "And on what grounds could any physician presume 
 to say that it was the act of a somnambulist." 
 
144 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 *' I suggested that it must have been so. I gave evi- 
 dence how friendly they had always been — that they had 
 retired the best of friends, and there was no robbery or 
 other motive." 
 
 '* You ought to have told the truth." 
 
 " You forget, Doctor, "said Mrs Tranent, appealingly, 
 "you forget one thing." 
 
 "What is that?" asked Dr Arbucklc, looking at her 
 sternly, 
 
 " I loved the somnambulist," she answered, dropping 
 her eyes again. 
 
 The Doctor turned towards the ravine with an inward 
 expression of disgust. It was awful the thought of Ram- 
 say having been done to death in this manner, and no 
 attempt made to arrest the perpetrator of the deed, all 
 for the sake of a piece of sentiment on the part of this 
 woman. He took an intense dislike to her as he stood 
 gazing, without seeing anything, down into the glooms 
 of the ravine. That she should have known of this all 
 these years, and never once hinted of it! — that such a 
 thing should be possible!— although, of course, cases of 
 the kind were well enough known to have occurred. 
 The psychological aspect of the deed began to interest 
 him now. 
 
 " What data had the physician to reason from in his 
 adoption of your suggestion — your theory of somnam- 
 bulism?" he demanded, turning suddenly round to Mrs 
 Tranent. 
 
 " He held that it was the brain reproducing the action 
 of the preceding day." 
 
 " How? — in what way? how was this lover of yours 
 engaged the day previous?" 
 
Dr Bruno's Wijc. 145 
 
 "He strangled a mad Newfoundland dog- with his 
 own hands, and in the same way," said Mrs Tranent, 
 looking at him steadily and sig-nificantly. 
 
 For a moment the Doctor returned her steady gaze ; 
 then a sudden greyness overspread- his face, his eyes 
 distended with horror, he swayed as if about to fall. 
 Mrs Tranent, in alarm, started from her chair and sprang 
 to him in affright. 
 
 "Edward, oh, Edward! don't look so, it is so long 
 ago, and no one knows but me," she pleaded; but her 
 voice recalled him to himself and suddenly clutching hold 
 of her arm, he demanded sternly — 
 
 " Woman! what do you mean by all this masquerad- 
 ing? Do you dare to say that I was the person you saw 
 strangling my friend?" 
 
 " It \\?iS,you, Edward Arbuckle, who killed Ramsay," 
 she replied solemnly. "It is as true as I have to meet 
 God in judgment." 
 
 He dropped her arm and stood looking at her dumbly. 
 The knowledge was too great, too sudden to comprehend. 
 He who had made the study of the brain his life-work, 
 whose favourite theory was that such acts could be done 
 without the cognizance of the doer, who v.ould have 
 taken it all as a matter of course, another instance merely, 
 had it come under his observation, was felled as with a mur- 
 derous blow, with the knowledge that he himself had, irre- 
 sponsibly, done such a deed. Moreover, he irresistibly 
 felt that the accusation must be true. He saw the truth 
 in the face of the woman before him; he understood now 
 that indefinable familiarity which had annoyed him so 
 often, that sense of power which Mrs Tranent uncon- 
 sciously manifested when in his presence, and which he 
 
146 Dr Bruno's IVifc. 
 
 had ascribed to her abihty and undoubted cleverness. It 
 was the knowledge of this undivulged horror which gave 
 her this spurious superiority, this assumption of equality, 
 which he instinctly repudiated in spite of her wealth and 
 acquired manners. God! that his should have been the 
 fingers which stopped the breath of life in the friend of 
 his youth! His, and no other— he felt it was true— too 
 true. But the truth must be faced, and, not to be over- 
 come, must be borne as becomes a man to bear. 
 
 "Mrs Tranent," he said, after a space, and speaking 
 with a voice unlike his own, "of course you can under- 
 stand what a fearful — what a terrible revelation this is to 
 me, to be told that my friend died by my hand. I must 
 leave you now — I must get home and think over the 
 whole thing. I — " 
 
 " Edward ! promise me you will do no harm to yourself. 
 It was all a dream, an evil dream ; you were not aware 
 of it. Promise me you will not seek to harm yourself on 
 that account — I will keep the secret." 
 
 "What do you mean by harming myself?" he asked 
 bluntly. 
 
 " That you will not attempt your own life," she faltered; 
 thoroughly frightened at the expression of his face ; 
 thoroughly afraid of what she had done. 
 
 The Doctor smiled grimly. 
 
 " Keep jour mind at ease on the subject. Cowardice 
 is not one of my peculiarities, and I have always held the 
 suicide to be a coward. I propose to live and bear all 
 life has in store for me. It has been pleasant hitherto — 
 now — I must grapple the ills. To-morrow I will come 
 back at this same hour, and get all the other particulars. 
 Now, I must go." 
 
Dr Bnmo's Wife. 147 
 
 As he spoke he strode to the door, leaving Mrs Tranent 
 repentant and distressed at her own work. He did not 
 even turn to say j,^ood-bye ; and thouj^h she hurriedly 
 touched the bell for Nicol to attend the door, it had shut 
 with a bang upon his retreating figure before she could 
 reach it. 
 
148 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 "her words had other issue than she willed." 
 
 DR Arbuckle had said that he would call the folU»v\ hig 
 day on Mrs Tranent in order to hear further parti- 
 culars concerning this awful knowledge which had come 
 to him, but he could not wait till then. He had driven 
 straight to visit a patient after he left ; but he felt he 
 could not conscientiously visit another in his present state 
 of mind. So-, turning his horse's head, he drove to the 
 house of a fellow-physician and requested him to visit 
 his patients for him that day, assigning absence on 
 urgent business as a reason for this brotherly request. 
 Then he went straight home. 
 
 " A young lady brought this parcel for you, Doctor," 
 were the first words which greeted him when he had 
 hung up his coat and entered the parlour. 
 
 " All right," was his reply, uttered from sheer force of 
 habit as he sank into his chair, while Mrs Watson closed 
 the door on him. He did not once glance in the direction 
 of the parcel, which lay in front of the bookcase. In 
 fact, he had not heard what it was his housekeeper really 
 did say. She had uttered some commonplace words 
 about a parcel, and he had answered "all right," not 
 thinking of it at all. His mind was too full of this trouble 
 which had suddenly encompassed him as with a cloud, to 
 pay any attention to everyday matters such as these. 
 For like another — asecond blow — he remembered Natalie, 
 and that he must give her up. He could not ask any 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 149 
 
 woman to share a life clouded by such a deed. 
 What a helpless creature was man, despite his boasted 
 learning-! the bondslave of heredity, the sport of cir- 
 cumstance. Less than a year ago how puffed up he had 
 been that he had been able to minister to a mind dis- 
 eased, to subdue madness, to call back a wandering" 
 soul to life and reason. And all the while this — this 
 had been true of himself! He could not rest; he must 
 know more of it ; every detail and circumstance connected 
 with the horror. 
 
 Mrs Tranent was both startled and relieved when 
 some two hours later she again saw the Doctor coming 
 through the grounds of The Larches up towards the 
 door. She had been in an agony of fear and apprehension 
 ever since he had gone off in such a hurry. She was 
 totally incapable of understanding Dr Arbuckle. She 
 thought that he would be in mortal dread of the affair 
 becoming public, that his first thought would be his 
 reputation, and that to preserve it intact he would be 
 only too glad to renew their friendship on the old basis. 
 That he should be so "cut up," as she expressed it, 
 about the deed itself, irrespective of consequences, that 
 he should actually abhor himself because of it, she could 
 not, it was not in her, to believe. What was there to be 
 so wretched about? Of course it was terrible, but he 
 couldn't help it — and then no one knew about it — no one 
 need ever know. Was she not ready to console him, to 
 comfort him, to marry him, and so bury it for ever? 
 She got out of patience with him as she thought how 
 desperately he had taken it to heart. 
 
 '* You must pardon me for intruding again, Mrs 
 Tranent, but I must know about this horrible business. 
 
150 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 Who was the physician who gave evidence at the Fiscal 
 inquiry?" 
 
 *' It was Dr Macintosh, of Edinburgh. He happened 
 to be staying with a friend in the village at the time !" 
 
 " Dr Macintosh! Dr Macintosh!" exclaimed the as- 
 tounded man, raising his hand to his forehead as he sat 
 lost in new wonder. Dr Macintosh and himself had 
 been exchanging friendly letters for some time past, that 
 gentleman having opened the correspondence by writing 
 to compliment him on some papers he had written to the 
 Lancet "On the Functions of the Brain." Here was a 
 strange concidence ! a new revelation ! A revelation, 
 however, which carried no little comfort to him, and 
 which helped him to the formation of a resolution which 
 in his present chaotic state of mind, was nebulous as 
 yet. 
 
 " But how was it that I was not pursued ?" 
 
 "Because you sailed from Glasgow to Australia on the 
 same day, and I was the only one who knew that. 
 Ramsay and I and he could not tell." 
 
 "You were no doubt kind you meant kindly, Mrs 
 Tranent, but it was very cruel." 
 
 " I fail to see it in that light," said Mrs Tranent. 
 "On the contrary, you show an ingratitude I am cer- 
 tainly surprised at. Besides we all thought you were 
 dead." 
 
 "Dead!— how?" 
 
 " A week after Ramsay was buried, the body of a man, 
 whose face was battered by dashing against the rocks, 
 was washed ashore by the great storm, and it was iden- 
 tified as Edward Arbuckle." 
 
 " How? In what way did it resemble me?" 
 
Dr Bruno s Wife, 
 
 Ui 
 
 3' 
 
 " It had a full suit of your clothes on, and in the pocket 
 was found a letter from Ramsay to you?" 
 
 "Great Heavens!" cried Dr Arbuckle, "that must 
 have been that poor man who raved me for some cloth- 
 ing, and I g-ave him my light suit. I never liked it ; it 
 didn't tit, and I gave it to him. The letter must have 
 been in the pocket." 
 
 *' Very likely. I myself never doubted that it was you 
 and it was no little sorrow to me, I assure you. I was 
 thunderstruck when I saw Edward Arbuckle, M.D., on 
 a door plate in Toronto here one day in passing. Still, I 
 never dreamed it could be you — till — till I saw you. 
 Then I knew you at once." 
 
 The Doctor was sitting with his elbow on the table, 
 his hands clasped across his forehead, listening while 
 Mrs Tranent spoke. 
 
 ' * Terrible I terrible!" he muttered after long silence, then 
 starting up he said quietly — " Well — I shall go now. I 
 shall get Fairchild to attend to my patients till I return, 
 if I ever do return." 
 
 " Why ! — where are you going, Doctor? -what are you 
 going to do?" cried Mrs Tranent, in no small alarm, and 
 wishing she had never spoken. 
 
 " To Scotland, to report myself to the Fiscal, of course. 
 I owe it to myself to do this ; and I owe it also to Miss 
 Wyngate." 
 
 •'To Miss Wyngate! And what, pray, do you not 
 owe to me? — to me, who have spared you — the gallows, 
 perhaps?" 
 
 The Doctor looked at her silently ; well nigh distraught 
 between one thing and another. 
 
 "Speak man!" she burst out in a fury of passion. 
 
152 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 "What is Miss Wyng-ate compared to me? Has she 
 loved you as I have done? Has she humbled and made 
 so little of herself as to tell you so, as I have done? Has 
 she helped you into a payinj^ practice, introduced you to 
 society, knowing your dark secret all the time? You 
 dare mention Miss Wyngate in my presence? Oh, 
 Edward!" and here she suddenly dropped at his feet and 
 and clasped her arms about his knees, sobbing violently. 
 "Edward! have pity on me as I have had on you! I 
 cannot live and see you marry another woman ; you be- 
 long to me — you are mine! mine! mine!" 
 
 Oppressed as he was with his own trouble; annoyed, 
 humiliated, ashamed, by the abandon of the miserable 
 woman at his feet, he nevertheless stooped, and gently 
 raising her, placed her in a chair, and said with profes- 
 sional firmness — 
 
 " Look here, Mrs Tranent- you have been kind, very 
 kind, acting I believe up to your best light. But love 
 cannot be bought or compelled even by the strongest 
 obligations of gratitude For any kindness you may 
 have felt towards me, for what you may have done in 
 your own way to further my interests, believe me I can 
 be grateful. But this is another matter. There is 
 but one woman in the world for me, and that woman 
 is not you. It is not likely that I can ever hope to 
 marry her now, but that fact cannot in any way alter 
 my feelings to her. As for that regretted flirtation 
 with you when I had scarce attained manhood — for- 
 get it — and remember that you have since been married 
 to a different party altogether. Forgive me if I hurt; 
 if I wound it is to cure. This must be a final under- 
 standing." 
 
Df Bruno's Wife. 153 
 
 The handkerchief wa-- still at Mrs Tranent's eyes, but 
 she said very distinctly from underneath it — 
 
 •* You shall never marry Miss Wyn^ate — never — I 
 shall take good care of that." 
 
 The Doctor made no answer — he merely took up his 
 hat and gloves and prepared to go. 
 
 " Stay!" cried Mrs Tranent, starting up and confront- 
 ing him with blazing eyes, " don't you dare to tell her 
 that I sued you and was refused — that I knelt to you and 
 was rejected — rejected after all I had done. You shall 
 never marry her or any other woxxvaw -never. The day 
 in which you give yourself up to the Fiscal I shall report 
 myself too. I, who saw it all — I shall tell .a very differ- 
 ent story from yours — I shall tell th.c F'iscal — I shall 
 swear you murdered him murdered him with malice 
 aforethought, and for jealousy of wt'. " 
 
 " Good God !" cried the Doctor, appalled at the savage 
 fury of the woman, '* you arc going mad surely." 
 
 "Mad am I? Yes, but you'll find a method in my 
 madness. Oh, yes! you'll sail over to the old country 
 and clear yourself of this crime, and come back to marry 
 her? Not if I know it. When you go I go too. There, 
 there is the door — go -never enter it again; but beware! 
 you will find me a determined woman when I like. Go!" 
 
 As the Doctor passed out of the grounds with grave 
 and troubled countenance he met Dr Bruno, whose wife 
 had died some two months back, coming in. Dr Bruno 
 raised his hat blandly, but Dr Arbuckle frowned and 
 strode on. Mrs Tranent at the window caught a glimpse 
 of Bruno's heavy figure among the trees, flew up- 
 stairs to her dressing-room, and rang imperatively for 
 Nicol. 
 
154 Dr Bruno s Wife. 
 
 " Tell Dr Bruno when he comes to the door that I am 
 engaged, but if he will wait ten minutes or so I will 
 be glad to see him," she said in quiet tones through the 
 door which she had locked, and the door bell ringing just 
 then, Nicol politely delivered her message. 
 
 Dr Bruno would wait — there was no hurry -and when 
 some twenty minutes later the lady descended to the 
 drawing-room, the good Doctor could not disguise the 
 admiration he felt, for Mrs Tranent to-night excelled 
 herself in womanly sweetness and urbanity of manner, 
 and looked positively radiant. 
 
Df Bruno's Wife. i 
 
 33 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Ffiitli gone — trust dead, 
 
 I loved oh still the sawie." — Bkowmnc;. 
 
 MISS Wyngate had brought Freddie home to her 
 room, had laden him with fruit, candies, and an 
 illustrated " Robinson Crusoe," which she bought on her 
 way back, and then she went half-way home with him, 
 inv iting him to come and see her some other day. It was 
 a relief to herself to be able to make the child happy, for 
 she had come to have a secret misgiving that Freddie 
 did not find The Larches the home it ought to have been 
 to him. 
 
 On her way back to the hospital she was followed and 
 overtaken by a quick heavy footstep, and glancing up at 
 the figure brushing hastily past her, she recognised Dr 
 Arbuckle, returning home. The blood rushed to her 
 face, and a singing noise began in her ears ; but she con- 
 quered the feeling, and something like resentment again 
 strengthened her as she thought how lengthened had 
 been his stay. That he had hurriedly passed her by 
 without recognition was but another proof of all she had 
 heard and seen, also an indication that he was not quite 
 lost to all sense of manly feeling. 
 
 Miss Stobie was in her room when she got back. 
 
 " Miss Wyngate, I am just waiting for you. What is 
 it, dear? What is troubling you? It is something, 1 
 know." 
 
156 Dr Brttno's IVife. 
 
 "Nothing; oh, nothing, I am quite well really. I 
 ha\ c been half-way to The Larches with Freddie Tranent." 
 
 " I don't like that boy's mother — I never did. I can't 
 account for it; but I don't like her," burst out Miss 
 Miss Stobie, with unusual fervour. 
 
 " She is a very stylish-looking woman," observed 
 Natalie, quietly laying oflf her hat. 
 
 But there was an air of studied reticence which did not 
 escape the quick observation of Miss Stobie. She also 
 noticed in her face the expression of one who has been 
 stunned by some sudden shock— a passive endurance of 
 hidden pain. 
 
 A lover's quarrel was her first guess, but Dr Arbuckle 
 was not that style of man, nor was Natalie the kind of 
 woman, to quarrel. 
 
 "Well, I suppose I shall have to let you alone then, 
 but I think you may have trusted me with anything that 
 may be troubling you," she said preparing to leave the 
 room. 
 
 Suddenly Natalie caught her about the neck and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 "Don't be angry, Miss Stobie," she managed to say 
 to the astonished nurse. " You are the only friend I 
 have in the world. Some day I will tell you all — but 
 not now; I couldn't now. Only this, it's all over." 
 
 "All over! Natalie! Dr Arbuckle?" 
 
 * ' I have sent everything back — everything ! See, " she 
 said piteously, holding out the finger which had held the 
 engagement ring. 
 
 "Then you have done a wrong and cruel thing," ex- 
 claimed Miss Stobie, almost snappishly; "he does not 
 deserve to be treated so." 
 
Dy Bruno's Wife. 157 
 
 The head nurse's affection for the Doctor was ahnost 
 motherly; but Natalie was silent. 
 
 " Why have you done such a thing-? How could you 
 jilt him so?" 
 
 " Don't think too hardly of me, Miss Stobic," pleaded 
 Natalie. 
 
 " I think it is a shame of you, a downright shame, to 
 treat any man in such a manner. What was your reason 
 for it?" 
 
 ** Excuse me, Miss Stobie, if I do not answer you," 
 was the low sad reply; but Miss Stobie, indignant that 
 her favourite should have been so unceremoniously jilted, 
 without apparent cause, curtly said "good-night," and 
 left her. 
 
 Natalie was willing to bear all the blame ; not one word 
 should escape her lips against him; faith was shaken, 
 trust destroyed, but she loved— she could not help it — 
 she loved him still. Alas! she must love him to the end 
 of her life, the life he had made so blessed, so desolate. 
 
 Next morning the mail brought her a letter addressed 
 in his handwriting. She hesitated to open it. It was 
 no doubt an answer to the return of his gifts ; but why 
 need she prolong the pain — she would send it back un- 
 opened. And yet — yes -she would have one last word 
 from him, one last word before the long silence that must 
 follow, and with trembling fingers she opened the letter 
 and read- — 
 
 " My dear Miss Wyngate, — An obstacle, the nature of 
 which I cannot bring myself to explain to you now, has 
 suddenly arisen to prevent our union— the union which I 
 had promised myself so much happiness in. I cannot 
 trust myself to see you, lest I might break through the 
 
158 Dr Bruno's M'ifc. 
 
 resolution I have formed; but I think if you knew all, 
 you would pity me and forg^ive me. Of one thing, how- 
 ever, be assured, that come what may you are the first and 
 only woman I have ever loved or can love. Neverthe- 
 less, I set you free from your engagement, this being the 
 only course open to me at present as an honourable man. 
 
 — Faithfully to death, 
 
 '•EDWARD ARBUCKLE." 
 
 The colour flushed and paled again on the face of the 
 girl as she read this strange letter. And a thrill of joy 
 ran through her as she read his solemn declaration that 
 he loved her yet. Still, what could it mean? Either he 
 was thoroughly false or hopelessly entangled with this 
 woman; and she — what did she herself know of the wiles 
 of the world that she should judge him. He loved her 
 — ah, yes! in spite of all — she felt he loved her, and she 
 would not deceive him. She would never speak with 
 him again, but she would write one line or two to say that 
 she knew all— and forgave. 
 
 And this was the little note which Dr Arbuckle found 
 lying on the parcel in front of the bookcase, the parcel he 
 had not once noticed till now. 
 
 " I know all, having seen Mrs Tranent and heard an 
 account of the past from her lips. As an honourable 
 man you could not have done otherwise ; and it is better 
 for us not to meet again. You will have received the 
 parcel containing the ring and other gifts, which I re- 
 turn. 
 
 Farewell. " N. W." 
 
 This was the unkindest cut Fate had given him yet. 
 That Mrs Tranent should have gone and told Natalie of 
 the terrible thing which had happened him so long ago , 
 
Di- Bruno's Wife, 159 
 
 that she should on that account have thrown him over so 
 readily, sank into his heart like lead. How cold and 
 cruel women were! He could expect nothing" else from 
 Hetty Tranent, but from Natalie! To think she should 
 have at once stripped his ring from her finger, returned 
 his photograph and books immediately, without a word 
 of sympathy or regret for the awful misfortune of which 
 he had been the victim, was so hard, so cruel, so unlike 
 her, that a feeling of despair seized on him— a feeling of 
 hatred and fury towards the woman who had for her own 
 ends divulged now what she had kept so long. He 
 could forgive her for informing himself; it was right he 
 should know all that pertained to himself; but that she 
 should have gone and revealed the horrible fact to the 
 woman he loved the last woman in the world he would 
 have hurt with such a knowledge, was so brutal — he felt 
 like cursing her. 
 
 But there — what could not be cured must be endured 
 — he would not shame his manhood, but he could not 
 stay here. He must sell out his practice at once, and 
 deliver himself up to whatever the proper parties chose to 
 do with him ; he would not lie a moment longer than he 
 could help under the imputation of having fled the scene 
 of his misfortune that awful morning. 
 
 Meanwhile Natalie, pale and quiet, went day after day 
 about her usual duties. Everything was done as punctu- 
 ally and perfectly as though her heart were not bleeding 
 daily, and only saved from breaking altogether by the 
 continual inward iteration of these three words — "He 
 loved me." 
 
 Dr Arbuckle visited no more at the hospital, but a 
 young practioner, who came in his place, told Miss 
 
i6o Dr Bruno s Wife. 
 
 Stobie, that Dr Arbuckle was going over to the old 
 country on private business, and that he was about to 
 buy out his practice. 
 
 Natalie heard nothing of all this. An increasing cool- 
 ness had sprung" up between Miss Stobie and herself ever 
 since that evening, and the little intercourse they had 
 nov.' waspurely official. Itwasanaddedburdento Natalie, 
 the io'-s of Miss Stobie's friendship; but still she kept 
 silence. She could not justify herself without vilifying 
 him — and she loved him still. 
 
 Miss. Stobie noticed her growing thinner and paler 
 day by day; the patient sweetness of her manner touched 
 her, but her resentment was too great to allow a word of 
 regret or sympathy to escape her lips. She had jilted 
 a good man, she had brought suffering on both — let her 
 suffer, she deserved it. 
 
 But there came an evening when Miss Stobie opened 
 the door of Natalie's room, crept up softly to where she 
 sat reading, and folding the sad-faced young nurse in a 
 motherly embrace, murmured penitently — ■' 
 
 *' Oh, my poor, poor girl! my dear Natalie! Will you 
 ever be able to forgive me?" 
 
 For it had come to Miss Stobie's ears that the Devonia 
 had sailed from New York the previous day, having 
 among the saloon passengers Dr Arbuckle and Mrs 
 Tranent, bound for Glasgow. 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. i6i 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Hetty's trump card fails to win. 
 
 THE trip to Scotland which Dr Arbuckle and Mrs 
 Tranent were supposed to have taken together 
 caused a little ripple of talk in society circles. Certain it 
 was that the lady had t;one off in a hurry, leaving Freddie 
 in the care of Nicol until her return. Certain it was that 
 she had sailed in the same ship with Dr Arbuckle, and, 
 coupling this fact with the well-known friendship of the 
 two, matrimony was the only supposable reason for this 
 social phenomenon. That they would return man and 
 wife no one doubted ; the only question in the minds of 
 society people was whether the Doctor would live at The 
 Larches on his return, or whether his wife would remove 
 to his more central residence. 
 
 On board the Devonia, however, Dr Arbuckle had not 
 the slightest idea that the lady passenger who was an 
 invalid, and kept her state-room, and tipped the stewardess 
 so handsomely, was none other than Mrs Tranent of 
 Toronto. 
 
 Not once did she make her appearance during the 
 voyage, and when it ended the Doctor was in too great a 
 hurry to get to his destination in Edinburgh to observe 
 who landed after himself. But while he sped on through 
 the night to Edinburgh, the lady took another train, 
 which landed her within a short distance of a sunny town 
 on the banks of the Clyde, 
 
 When Dr Arbuckle introduced himself to Dr Macin- 
 
1 62 Df Bntno's Wif 
 
 tosh, a venerable white-haired gentleman, one of the 
 fathers in the profession, he was overwhelmed with the 
 genuine cordiality of his welcome. Dr Macintosh was 
 delighted to meet the man whose professional corres- 
 ponence had gived him so much pleasure and who had so 
 often voiced his own ideas and deductions, but he was 
 not a little surprised to find him so young a man. Judg- 
 ing him from his writings, he had supposed him to be a 
 man of long experience and research, and was surprised 
 to find him not yet thirty-f ve. It was an added pleasure, 
 and the Doctor was soon deep in an elaborate demon- 
 stration of certain new scientific ideas concerning which 
 he had intended writing to his visitor. 
 
 '* What I wanted chiefly to see you about. Doctor, was 
 a case of somnambulism which happened in Clydeshore 
 some twelve years ago," broke in Arbuckle ; suddenly 
 feeling he must get at the subject at once. 
 
 " Clydeshore— ah, yes! I remember perfectly well. 
 Now, th'^rc was an illustration— a case in point — proving 
 clearly what I have just been demonstrating." And here 
 the Doctor sat upright, and placing his finger on his 
 palm, proceeded to get fairly into harness. 
 
 " Now, in this case, the young man, who must have 
 been a fellow of nerve and courage, had been abnormally 
 excited throughout the day by an encounter with a mad 
 dog, which he overcame and strangled. ' During the 
 hours of sleep the brain — " 
 
 "Pardon me. Doctor; but can you not recollect the 
 name of the unfortunate who was so — " 
 
 Dr Arbuckle could not finish the sentence. . 
 
 *'His name? Ah, let me see," replied the elderly phy- 
 sician, pondering, with his forefinger on his temple ; "it 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 163 
 
 was — ah — why — I believe^ — yes, I am certain — it was the 
 same as your own. Yes ; Arbuckle was the name. 
 Bless my heart!" he continued, noticing a strange, wan 
 expression on the face of his visitor, "no relation of yours, 
 I hope? It was a sad, a mysterious case." 
 
 " No relation. Doctor," answered Dr Arbuckle. Then 
 he paused a moment before he added — "It was I myself !" 
 
 In spite of long professional habit, his all but perfect 
 control of facial expression, Dr Macintosh started and 
 looked aghast at the grave, sad face of his visitor. Al- 
 most immediately, however, he recovered himself, ex- 
 tended his hand towards him kindly, and said — 
 
 " Forgive me; it was the sudden surprise." 
 
 Dr Arbuckle accepted the offered clasp, but to the 
 elder physician it was like the grip of a dead hand, it felt 
 so cold and chill. 
 
 "You must have some refreshment at once. I am 
 forgetting to be hospitable in my joy at seeing you," Dr 
 Macintosh exclaimed hastily, but his visitor held up a 
 hand in protest. 
 
 "Thank you, but I could neither eat nor drink just 
 now ; I will be quieter by and by. The knowledge that 
 I had done such an awful deed was only communicated 
 to me about a month ago; and had it been possible 
 for me to get here sooner I should have come and 
 reported myself to the P^iscal at Clydeshore. But I 
 wanted to see vou first and get your opinion on the matter. 
 I was told you were summoned there when — when — poor 
 Ramsay was discovered. 
 
 " I was. It so happened that I was down on a visit to 
 my brother who is the Fiscal for the County, and who 
 resides in the town. But who told you? Is it possible 
 
164 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 you had no idea of what you had — what had happened 
 all these years?" 
 
 '* Not the remotest idea. I rose early that morning in 
 order to catch the early train from Glasgow. I had 
 bidden him good-bye before we went to sleep, and We 
 promised to write to each other. When I had dressed I 
 felt as if I would like to say good-bye again before going, 
 and I actually stepped to the bedside with that intention. 
 But he was lying so still, in such a profound sleep, as I 
 supposed, I thought I had better not ; besides I was late 
 enough. Then I sailed for Australia, but went ashore at 
 Ceylon where I stayed a few weeks, writing to him from 
 thence. As soon as I got to Melbourne I called at the 
 Post Office, but there were no letters from Ramsay, 
 and though I called every day for months, none ever 
 came. Then I went overland via San Francisco to 
 Canada, where I have been ever since." 
 
 "Then how did you come to know at last?" queried 
 the physician, much interested. 
 
 Dr Arbuckle hesitated, but finding he must, he told the 
 Doctor the whole circumstance of his acquaintance with 
 the barmaid from the beginning until the finale at The 
 Larches. 
 
 Dr Macintosh was profoundly moved. He prided him- 
 self on his ability to judge of character ; and the face of 
 Dr Arbuckle showed no line which warned him to dis- 
 trust. Truth and sincerity were in every lineament, 
 there was no mistaking the profound regret which sad- 
 dened his expression. 
 
 " I am glad, very glad, you have come to me. I am 
 gratified that you should have shown such confidence in 
 me, but I must deprecate this idea of going to the Pro- 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 165 
 
 curator-Eiscal, and raking up what had better be buried 
 in oblivion. As I told you he happens to be my brother. 
 What good end do you expect to serve by this action?" 
 ** I will feel better when legally acquitted; besides, al- 
 though Mrs Tranent will not, I think, attempt to carry 
 out her threat of denouncing me as a wilful murderer, 
 still, it is nevertheless possible. 1 wish my name cleared 
 as far as it can be, not only for my own sake, but for the 
 sake of another." 
 «'And that other?" 
 
 '•The woman I love and have lost," was the answer. 
 "Well, it seems hard, it is hard to suffer for what one 
 is not responsible for ; but if you must go, then you 
 will allow me to go with you and introduce you to my 
 brother. I have no doubt he will remember the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 On the following day Dr Macintosh and Dr Arbuckle 
 entered the office of the Procurator-Fiscal in Clydeshore. 
 The Fiscal himself was a sedate, elderly man, with iron- 
 grey hair and whiskers, and a keen, dark eye. He 
 listened without the smallest wonder or surprise to his 
 brother's narration of the whole circumstances, but not 
 once did he remove his searching look from the grave, 
 firm countenance of Dr Arbuckle. 
 
 " And that is all, John," concluded Dr Macintosh. 
 " One of the clearest cases of the brain acting in sleep I 
 have ever known." 
 
 *' Yes, Andrew, I agree with you now as I did then, 
 but when another party, an eye-witness, comes forward 
 and cha^ge^i this gentleman with wilful and premeditated 
 murder — what then. 
 
 "Mrs Tranent!" exclaimed Dr Arbuckle, growing 
 
i66 Dr Bruno s Wife, 
 
 ashy white. " Is it possible she can have followed me? 
 Has she really carried out her threat?" 
 
 "You know the lady, then?" asked the Fiscal, eyeing- 
 him keenly. 
 
 •*Of course he does!" broke in Dr Macintosh. 
 " You see, John, there is a woman at the bottom of this, 
 as of all other devilment. Not one woman, but two! 
 Stay, let me be your lawyer in this matter," he added, as 
 Dr Arbuckle was about to speak. 
 
 '* I have given you all the facts with the exception of 
 the feminine interest in the business, and this I withheld 
 only under pressure from Arbuckle here, who has a lin- 
 gering', old-world chivalry about him where women are 
 concerned. Now, since one of these women has taken 
 the initiative, I must reveal all in his defence." 
 
 The Fiscal 's face was a study to see, as his brother 
 explained how th<; lady who had impressed him so much 
 by her beauty, stylish appearance and fine address, was 
 none other than Hetty, the erstwhile barmaid of the 
 hotel. As the explanation proceeded a light broke over 
 his countenance, the look with which he regarded Dr 
 Arbuckle was no longer one of stern inquiry, but of sym- 
 pathy and respect. 
 
 '* Well," said he, "this Mrs Tranent is at the hotel 
 staying. Supposing I send for her and ask her to repeat 
 her statements in your presence?" 
 
 " Capital!" exclaimed Dr Macintosh, "I should like 
 to see Hetty again. I remember her very well. In fact, 
 it was she who first suggested the idea of a dream- 
 crime." 
 
 The Fiscal stepped outside his office for a moment, 
 and returned, and but a few minutes elapsed before 
 
Di- Bruno's Wife. 167 
 
 Mrs Tranent, transcendenlally impressive, sailed up to 
 the Fiscal's desk, which stood in the middle of the room. 
 •'Good-afternoon," she said, smiling her sweetest, 
 when, catchinjj the Fiscal's eye looking significantly be- 
 hind her, she turned slightly. 
 
 " How do you do, Hetty?" said Dr Macintosh, stepping 
 forth from the side of Dr Arbuckle. "Dear me! dear 
 me! why I would never have known you, you arc quite 
 the lady. But you should be careful, Hetty, extremely 
 careful; those cosmetics and ha'r-bleaching acids are 
 dangerous, extremely dangerous. Deaths have been 
 known to happen through the use of them." 
 
 Mrs Tranent tried to draw herself up with her usual 
 impressive style, but she could not. Choking with anger 
 she turned to the Fiscal — 
 
 " Did you bring me here to be insulted, sir?" she de- 
 manded, throwing up her head. 
 
 " I brought you here, Mrs Tranent, to ask you to re- 
 peat the statement you made and swore to yesterday ; the 
 statement which I have here in writing, and which you 
 will please repeat in presence of the accused." 
 
 "The accused," she gasped, with pale lips, and eyes 
 wandering about the office. "He is there, directly be- 
 hind you, madam," observed the Fiscal, and turning she 
 stood face to face with Dr Arbuckle. 
 "Edward!" 
 
 "Dr Arbuckle, if you please," rang out the Doctor, 
 sternly. "My Christian name I reserve for my friends 
 
 only." 
 
 " I think, sir, you are taking me at a very unfair ad- 
 vantage," said the lady to the Fiscal. 
 
 "How?" 
 
\68 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 '* You ought tc have told me that I was to meet this 
 
 man." 
 
 "Just take this chair, Doctor, if you please," said the 
 Fiscal, ignoring her complaint. "And you, Mrs Tran- 
 ent, I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to stand while you 
 make your statement." So saying, he handed her the 
 book to kiss. With a slight tremor she took it in her 
 hand ; but as she raised it to her lips her eyes met those 
 of Dr Arbuckle, and she slowly laid it down again. 
 
 "Can I not repeat my statement without this form?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " You may," said the Fiscal, with a grim smile, " it is 
 already sworn to." 
 
 She began her narration, but she could not avoid the 
 stern challenge in the eyes of Dr Arbuckle, who, with set 
 lips and determined visage, sat looking at her. 
 
 Ere long she faltered and stopped. 
 
 "Go on," said the Fiscal, referring to her written 
 statement of the day before. " You say here that they 
 were deadly enemies these two?" 
 
 " No, that is a mistake — a mistake — let me tell it in 
 my own way," she went on, hurriedly, her eyes unable 
 to remove iheir gaze from Dr Arbuckle's, who sat sud- 
 denly conscious of the same power and fixed determina- 
 tion he had exerted that night while playing to Natalie. 
 His indignation, the concentrated righteous wrath of his 
 whole nature, was blazing in the gaze with which he 
 challenged her to dare tell aught but the truth, to dare 
 lie his life aw.iy. "He was his friend; he did it in his 
 sleep; he could not help it; I swear it. What I said 
 yesterday is false, this is the truth. Oh! oh!" she cried, 
 breaking into a wild hysterical shriek, and darting to the 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 169 
 
 door. But the door was locked, and with his back to- 
 wards it stood Dr Macintosh with a big", musty looking 
 volume under his arm. 
 
 "Gentiy, gently, Hetty! I have just found the book 
 I was looking for, and which contains the evidence you 
 gave under oath in this same matter twelve years ago." 
 
 ** I don't want to see you or your book; let me go. I 
 want to have nothing more to do with his affair. I pro- 
 mise never to speak of it again — let him marry whom he 
 will, " cried the trembling woman. But the Fiscal quietly 
 said — 
 
 •*You cannot go yet. People who come and make 
 charges of wilful murder with malice prepense must be 
 prepared to undergo a little of the inconvenience they 
 put others to." 
 
 Utterly collapsed, Mrs Tranent sat down upon the 
 nearest chair, and looked with apprehen«'on at the brown 
 tome Dr Macintosh was turning over at the desk, Dr 
 Arbuckle also looking on, white and determined. 
 
 "Ah, here we are — Re-D^Hxth of Ramsay, &"€. Yes, 
 here it \s— Hetty Monro, barmaid, testified, and so forth, 
 and so forth — a very different story indeed, from what 
 you told yesterday." 
 
 *' But I have told you that was false. I have promised 
 never to mention the thing again. What more do you 
 want?" She was coming to herself again and regaining 
 courage. She had failer'., Ignominiously failed, but she 
 would brave it out to the end in spite of those terrible eyes 
 of his. 
 
 •'ill tell you what more we want, Hetty," said Dr 
 Macintosh, with impertubable good-humour. '* We just 
 want to protect ourselves against a probable repetition 
 
170 Dr Bruno's Wife 
 
 of this accusation, which you yourself have dechired to 
 be a lie. Now, you will please observe that I place this 
 sworn statement of yours here — " 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" interrupted Mrs Tranent; "destroy 
 that; oh, please destroy it!" 
 
 "Sorry not to be able to oblige you, Hetty, but you 
 see you have committed perjury, and are amenable to the 
 law." 
 
 Mrs Tranent turned pale and clasped her hands to- 
 gether with a groan. 
 
 " Now, you see, by placing these your two different 
 statements together we will be able to prosecute and 
 condemn you at once, should you ever open your lips 
 either here or in Canada on this subject again." 
 
 "I never will, be sure of that!" exclaimed the humbled 
 woman. 
 
 " Of course you won't; a term in jail with hard labour 
 is no joke, I assure you; though, by heaven! 1 think 
 you deserve it. The woman who could take advantage 
 of such a sad misfortune to foist an accusation of abhorred 
 Clime on the individual afflicted in such a manner, de- 
 serves all the law can mete out. Unlock the door, 
 John." 
 
 The Fiscal turned the key in the door, and opening it 
 wide, Mri' Tranent passed out. In another hour she had 
 taken ^h-c train for Glasgow, and before the et.d of the 
 week, had sailed for Montreal. 
 
Dr Bruno' s Wife, 171 
 
 CHAPTER XXI, 
 
 THE CUP OF COLD WATER WHICH BROUGHT ITS REWARD. 
 
 ON her way home Hetly Tranent had ample time and 
 opportunity to reflect. She was not at all a woman 
 incapable of reflection, although she had, by her desper- 
 ate infatuation fo«* Dr Arbuckle, been hurried on to the 
 very verge of crime. When, as a young wor \n, this 
 fortune had come to her, her first thought, her one am- 
 bition had been to become ** a lady." The education she 
 had was not bought with the idea of developing her mind, 
 or enabling her to stand on a higher intellectual plane, 
 but in order to be able to talk luently and pass muster 
 in society. She had never once risen to the idea that a 
 lady is a " bread-giver," that she must not only appear 
 to be, but be. Instead of giving, she had set out to take 
 all that life could give or money afford. What of her 
 money she had parted with was only a price paid for praise 
 and popularity; all she did was from some ulterior 
 motive, her benevolence was a sham. What now availed 
 her beauty, her accomplishments, her position in sooiety,her 
 wealth, since they could not afford her the one thing she 
 wanted above all else, the man she had set her heart on? 
 Not only had she failed to win his love — she had actually 
 brought herself into uttermost humiliation and contempt 
 by her efforts to separate him effectually from the woman 
 he iov'jd.. She felt now tha* nad she hv. risen to the 
 height of true, unselfish womanhood, she might at least 
 
172 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 have earned his respect, and retained his friendship. 
 Now in her mad selfishness, she had lost all, even her 
 own self-respect, such as it had been ; she had sunk to the 
 level of a perjurer. 
 
 Yet it was from this low level that Hetty Tranent, for 
 the first time in her life, began to rise. High she could 
 never soar, she was not so constructed, but she had got 
 such a thorough humbling as had brought her at last to the 
 safe plane of common sense. Physical ease and comfort 
 her money could buy her, but she now saw that was all. 
 With a penitent memory she began to think of Freddie, her 
 boy whom she had always put aside with impatient words 
 and gestures; whom she had proposed to send away 
 from her altogether, rather than have the bother of caring 
 for him. Her aching heart remembered his childish, 
 wistful appeals to her, and now what would she not have 
 given for the sound of his frank, merry laugh. Ah, 
 well! from henceforth she would devote herself to the 
 task of being an exemplary mother. Freddie would not 
 need to complain any more that he was lonely. 
 / When she arrived at Montreal she telegraphed to Nicol 
 that she would be home on the half-past seven express ; 
 and when the train arrived. Brown was at tht depot with 
 the phaeton. 
 
 She could not understand the peculiar look with which 
 her coachman regarded her — surely he could know noth- 
 ing of her errand to Scotland. Why did the fellow stare 
 at her with a kind of pity in his looks? She had been 
 about to ask him, courteously, hew all had gone on in 
 her absence, but now she only said, curtly — 
 
 " Drive home as quick as you can." . , 
 
 She was anxious to get home to the only thing she 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 173 
 
 could call her own — the only thing that loved her, her 
 neglected boy. 
 
 ** Where's PVeddie, Nicol?" she asked, the moment 
 she entered the house. "Tell him I want him here at 
 once." 
 
 Nicol, who, Mrs Tranent observed, wore a black print 
 gown, and had a black ribbon in her cap, only drew back 
 a step, and, as if afraid, stammered — 
 
 "Please 'um — Master Freddie — oh, ma'am! Didn't 
 you get the letter?" 
 
 " No. What letter? Who wrote to me?" 
 
 "Please 'um. Miss Wyngate. Which she do be a 
 haingel, ma'am." 
 
 " That's all right, Nicol," returned the mistress, coldly. 
 " But that's not what I want to know; I want Freddie. 
 Go and find him at once." 
 
 Nicol clasped her hands, and looked up into her face 
 beseechingly. 
 
 " Please 'um, Master Freddie is buried these two weeks 
 now." 
 
 A loud ringing shriek rang through the house, and 
 brought the cook up in affright to the parlour, where 
 Mrs Tranent had sunk upon one of the couches, utter- 
 ing shriek after shriek as the truth pressed itself 
 home. Surely, surely, God had punished her, was the 
 conviction that came sharply home to her ; and forgetting 
 all but the child she had cared so little for till now, she 
 gave way to an abandon of grief and remorse. Her re- 
 pentance, her awakening affection, had come too late. 
 
 Only one week had elapsed after Miss Stobie had made 
 the amende honorable to Natalie, when Dr Dewar, the 
 young practitioner who had succeeded to Dr Arbuckle's 
 
174 ■^'' i^^'^f'o's IVije. 
 
 practice, called on Miss Stobie, and requested to see 
 Nurse Wyngate. 
 
 ** It's a little boy who is down with scarlet fever, and 
 keeps calling* for Miss Wyngate incessantly," explained 
 the Doctor. *' I was wondering if you, Miss Stobie, 
 could arrange to allow Nurse Wyngate to go down and 
 see him. Of course the malady is infectious, a bad type 
 indeed, but the child's mother, Mrs Tranent, is away 
 from home — and — " 
 
 '* Is it Freddie?" asked Natalie, who hrd entered, 
 noiselessly. 
 
 " Yes, my dear," answered Miss Stobie. 
 
 Natalie returned her look with one of mute appeal. 
 
 '• You have never had scarlet fever, have you?" asked 
 Miss Stobie. 
 
 **No;but I wouldn't mind that. I would so much 
 like to go and nurse Freddie. Who is attending to him 
 now?" 
 
 **Only the housemaid who was left in charge of him ; 
 but she knows nothing. She is very ignorant," said Dr 
 Dewar. 
 
 •'Miss Stobie, can it be done? Can I be spared?" 
 pleaded Natalie. With quick wit her superior turned to 
 Dr Dewar — 
 
 "I'll tell you, Doctor, we will consult about it, and if 
 Nurse Wyngate can be spared and wishes to go, of course 
 she will come." 
 
 The Doctor bowed and left, and Miss Stobie, laying 
 her hand on Natalie's shoulder, looked into her face 
 searchingly. 
 
 '* My poor child! Would you really really care to go 
 to that woman^s house and nurse her boy?" 
 
Dr Bnino's Wife. 175 
 
 ** Poor F'reddie! poor, poor Freddie;" was the sad 
 reply. " Oh, Miss Stobie, try to let me g-o. I oujjht, I 
 must, I will feel the better for it." 
 
 Miss Stobie looked at the earnest, sad face of the 
 youngs nurse, which had been, if possible, more thin and 
 wan during the last week, and sighed. •' It's too bad, 
 too bad!" 
 
 ** I think the new probationer could, with Nurse Wat- 
 son's help, do my work," suggested Natalie. 
 
 " Why, do you propose staying with him altogether?" 
 
 " I will stay till he is well," answered the nurse, 
 quietly; " if you consent." 
 
 "Then, go, and take all sensible precautions against 
 infection," said Miss Stobie, vmderstanding, and bending 
 she kissed her on the forehead with a whispered — 
 
 "God bless you, my girl!" 
 
 There was a great bond between these two. 
 
 " I knovved you'd come," said Freddie, looking' up 
 with heavy eyes at flie touch of Natalie's cool hand; " I 
 knowed it. Say, you wont go away and leaveme, will you?" 
 
 " No, F'reddie, dear, I'll stay with you all the time," 
 answered Natalie, with a tender tremolo in her voice 
 which she could not help. She had seen at a glance that 
 he was v^ry, very ill. 
 
 For fuv. /.ights and days she nursed him, never leaving 
 the room, and lying down only ^t iiltervals when he was 
 asleep. In his delirium the childish voice rattled on fit- 
 fully about all his boyish affairs, and now it was Sam 
 Tuck, and novv' Dr Arbuckle, to whom he was talking, 
 and now he was telling some one how he was going 
 away, away somewhere, never to come back again, be- 
 cause ma nor nobody wanted to have him round here. 
 
176 Dr Bruno's Wife, 
 
 He was very weak now, and when he opened his eyes, 
 he saw Natalie sitting by his beside holding his small 
 hand in hers. 
 
 ^* Have I got to go. Miss Wyngate?" he asked. 
 
 " Go where, Freddie dear?" 
 
 " I dunno — where Sam Tuck went." 
 
 "Take this beef tea, dear," said Natalie, evading the 
 question. Freddie took a little, a very little, but as usual, 
 he was not to be put off. 
 
 ** Maybe nobody won't want me round up there no 
 more than here. It'll be terr'ble lonesome," he sighed, 
 looking wistfully out of the window, through which he 
 could see blue glimpses of sky through the trees. 
 
 Natalie could scarce control herself. It was terrible 
 to hear this hungry young soul dreading to enter the 
 other world lest it should find as little love there as it 
 had found here. What could she say to comfort him, to 
 assure him? 
 
 Presently, with a strong effort, she said, in a low, 
 tender voice — 
 
 '* Freddie, dear, when little boys and girls die, there 
 are beautiful beings, spirits whom we cannot see, just as 
 we cannot see the air though it is all about us, and they 
 carry children's souls to a happy country, where the Lord 
 Jesus is." 
 
 "But will He want to have me, though?" queried 
 Freddie, with all his old eagerness. 
 
 *' Yes, oh, yes!" answered Natalie, with the convic- 
 tion which she felt. She had now firm ground to stand 
 on. 
 
 '• Licten, dear. When Jesus lived in this world He 
 had a great deal to think about, you kno^\ , and always 
 
Dr Bmuo's IVi/e. 177 
 
 when He felt lonely He prayed. That is, He went away 
 by Himself to a solitary place and spoke right up to his 
 Father, who He knew was there, though He couldn't 
 see Him no more than you could." 
 
 *' Why! Did Jesus feel lonesome like I did?" exclaimed 
 the child, in wonder. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Freddie. The story of His life is full 
 of the loneliness He felt. And to show you how little 
 He was understood, one day, when He was sitting talk- 
 ing to some men, one or two mothers who thought a 
 great deal of Jesus, so much so that they thought His 
 very touch would do their children good, came with their 
 little boys and girls to Him." 
 
 '• And what did He say? Did He tell 'em to go away 
 and not bother Him?" asked Freddie, unconsciously 
 quoting from his own experience. 
 
 " No, indeed! The men He was talking to called to 
 them to go away and not bother such a man as He with 
 children; but Jesus turned and called the little boys and 
 girls and lifted them up, one on each knee, and said — 
 ' No, I love the children ; don't send them away. Heaven 
 is made up of children and people who are as little 
 children in spirit; as simple and trustful and loving.' 
 And then He kissed them and blessed them, and told the 
 people for all time to let the children always come to 
 
 Him." 
 
 The boy smiled, and uttered a sigh of perfect content. 
 
 " Well, I'll tell Him you tole me so." 
 
 These were Freddie's last words. He closed his eyes, 
 still holding Natalie's hand, and his breathing became 
 laboured for an hour or so. Then for a time he rested 
 more easily, but not once was the small hand withdrawn, 
 
,-g Dr Brimo's Wife. 
 
 and as the hour of midnight tolled from the Cathedral 
 tower the unseen messengers bore him hence. The nurse's 
 task was over, and her reward was with her. In striv- 
 ing to comfort the child she had assuaged her own gnef, 
 her own loneliness, and as with brimming eyes she laid 
 her thin hand on the sunken eyelids, like a heavenly 
 strain of music there floated through her mind the assur- 
 ance of the children's Eternal Friend— 
 
 -For I say unto you, the angels do always behold 
 the face of my Father in Heaven." 
 
Dr Bruno's IVifc. 179 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 FOR many weeks Natalie had lain at death's door, 
 and now, though convalescent, she made but slow 
 progress toward recovery. For grief, overwork, and 
 want of sleep. Nature had revenged herself, but youth 
 again triumphed, although the lassitude of spirit still re- 
 tarded strength. 
 
 Every day for the last week, Mrs Tranent, draped in 
 crape from head to foot, had called at the hospital to in- 
 quire for Miss Wyngate. The nurse's devotion to the 
 boy in his mother's absence was talked of everywhere, 
 and the visits of condolence that mother had received 
 were many. People were angry with themselves for 
 thinking that Mrs Tranent had gone off with Dr Arbuckle; 
 why! it was only a common coincidence their sailing in 
 the same ship. There was not the first idea of matri- 
 mony in connection with the trip, of that they were now 
 convinced. It was merely a bit of gossip. Indeed, Mrs 
 Tranent protested honestly that she knew nothing of Dr 
 Arbuckle's movements, did not know when, if ever, he 
 would return to Toronto. It was a matter of wonder to 
 them now how such an absurd rumour could have origi- 
 nated. 
 
 *' I think you may be able to see Miss Wyngate to- 
 day," said Miss Stobie to her the fifth time she cdled. 
 " I told her you wanted to see her, to thank her for her 
 care of the boy, and she thinks she will be strong enough 
 now. Just come this way. And with a coldness, an 
 
i8o Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 aversion to Mrs Tranent which she could not, and never 
 tried to overcome, she led the way to the room where 
 Natalie sat bolstered up with pillows. 
 
 The sij^ht of the woman who had caused all her trouble 
 could not move Natalie now as before ; but still there was 
 a certain soreness, a faint vibration of the old pain wl. i 
 she first looked at her. 
 
 Mrs Tranent sat down and instantly burst into tears — 
 genuine tears. She was really touched by the sight of 
 the girl she had so cruelly deceived, and who had made 
 such an unlocked for return. She also wept for Freddie 
 and for herself — ^for pity for herself and the failure she 
 had been. When she looked up from her black bordered 
 handkerchief they were alone, Miss Stobie and the nurse 
 having retired. 
 
 '* Miss Wyngate, you are an angel, and I — I have been 
 a devil," she said, with a vehement outburst; "but I'm 
 not all bad. I have come to make amends. How could 
 you — oh, hovi^ could you have nursed my boy as you did, 
 after the way I deceived you?" 
 
 "You did not deceive, Mrs Tranent; it was best for 
 me to know the truth, and about Freddie — indeed, I 
 loved P'reddie ; he was a dear, lovable boy," was the meek 
 answer. 
 
 Something like a groan escaped Mrs Tranent's lips; 
 and after a pause she said, slowly, as though compelling 
 herself to the task 
 
 " I did deceive you. Miss Wyngate. Dr Arbuckle 
 cares nothing for me, and never did, nor ever will. 
 You are the woman he loves the only woman he ever 
 cared for." 
 
 There was little blood in Natalie's system, but what 
 
Di' Bruno's Wife. i8i 
 
 there was made a faint show in her cheeic when sh«^ heard 
 this. 
 
 " But I saw — I came to the Larches that day, and — " 
 "Yes, yes, I know. I knew you were there, and I 
 pretended all that. He did give me the Utile ring, but 
 that was when he was a boy, a little flirtation before I 
 married my husband. He never meant anything ; but I 
 was wild to marry him, and did all I could to win him ; 
 but it was you he loved. He told me so." 
 
 Natalie panted for breath a minute, and then said — 
 " But he wrote to me, giving me up. He wrote with 
 his own hand. You must be mistaken, Mrs Tranent. 
 He said there was an obstacle. If that obstacle was not 
 — you — then what is it?" 
 
 "It was something he had done when I knew him 
 long ago something he had no idea of until I told him." 
 " But — how could he do a thing and not know until 
 you told him. Excuse me — I do not understand you." 
 
 " He — you will not be hurt if I tell vou the truth, Miss 
 Wyngate?" asked Mrs Tranent, humbly. 
 
 " N — no, I think not — not now. You say he told you 
 he loved me— is that the truth?" 
 "God's truth, Miss Wyngate." 
 
 "Then nothing can hurt me— nothing, so long as this 
 is true. He is the man I believed him to be. Say on. 
 Nothing can make any difference now." 
 
 A heavy sigh of regret escaped Mrs Tranent. 
 " It would have made no difference to me; although 
 some people would think it a very serious matter indeed. 
 I may as well tell you at once." 
 
 Thereupon Mrs Tranent, in clear and concise language, 
 told the whole episode of Ramsay's death, her discovery 
 
iS2 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 of Arbuckle in Toronto, the services she had rendered 
 him, all up to the day when she sent him to her door. 
 Whatever she felt, whatever was her motive, she cer- 
 tainly did not spare herself. 
 
 ** But still, since he would not marry me, I was deter- 
 mined he should not return and marry you — or any other 
 woman. I found out when he was going and I followed 
 him, and denounced him as a wilful and premeditated 
 murderer." 
 
 Natalie, who was sitting staring at her in horror and 
 aversion, uttered a cry at this avowed wickedness. 
 
 '* Yes, I did it. I knew it was wrong, but I had still 
 the hope that, to save himself, he would come to me and 
 marry me, if it was only to shut my mouth from testify- 
 ing against him. A wife cannot testify against her hus- 
 band. It was my last desperate hope, and I risked it. 
 Then, when they insisted I should repeat my statement 
 before him, I tried, but couldn't. He fixed these terrible 
 eyes of his upon me, and dared me to do it. I couldn't 
 —I told the truth, told them he was asleep and knev*^ 
 nothing— told them I had perjured myself. All this I did 
 to gain that man, and failed — failed — and became a 
 criminal — all because he would not be turned away from 
 you. Don't interrupt me," she said, holding up her ex- 
 quisitely black-gloved hand. "I am going to be honest 
 and true for once ; I am going to make you respect me, 
 at least, for you will know all and see that I am what I 
 am, but doing all a woman can to make amends. 
 Don't think it hasn't cost me more than you will ever 
 guess to come and confess this to you. You see the con- 
 fidence I have in you — I have placed my reputation in 
 your hands — do with it as you will." ' " " 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 183 
 
 " Your conPdence will never be abused, Mrs Tranent. 
 I can und'^rstand how easy it was for you to love him so 
 — even to madness." 
 
 *• But I don't think I could have brougfht myself to it 
 if you hadn t done as you did to Freddie, and suflFered 
 for it so. I have lost the only thing in the world 
 that cared for me, and I find that money is but 
 a small factor in the sum of human happiness, after all. 
 But I am determined to be honest for once, to cast off all 
 society sham for once, and for once do what is right. 
 Say one word of kindness, of forgiveness to me. Miss 
 Wyngate— say that I am not quite beyond the pale of 
 woman's respect." 
 
 Natalie had softened considerably as Mrs Tranent 
 went on. She could not like her, but she tried to under- 
 stand ; the woman's allusion to Freddie as the only thing 
 in the world she cared for touched her. She knew too 
 well how it felt to be alone in the world. 
 
 Mrs Tranent had been sitting on a chair opposite her, 
 with the little round table between them, and Natalie, 
 not to be out-done in magnanimity, said — 
 *' Will you please lift back that table for me?" 
 Mrs Tranent lifted back the table humbly, and Natalie 
 caught her hand as she came back. 
 
 «' Come here," she whispered, drawing her down to- 
 wards her. and kissing her cheek; "let it be a secret 
 between us two. You will go back to society and the 
 world; I will resume my work here. It has been awful 
 —awful— poor fellow! It has been hard upon all three 
 of us; but it will now be buried for ever." 
 
 Mrs Tranent tried to be brave, but could not. The 
 tears would come. She had risen to this plane only after 
 
184 Dr Bninos Wife. 
 
 a long and bitter struggle with herself, unaided and un- 
 advised by any one. But it was hard, and hurt sore, and 
 she felt desolate. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "it will be buried for evir. I will 
 return and take up my life as usual, but I cannot live 
 alone— I shall marry again. I was beginning to tire of 
 my life when I found my old lover, And thought I 
 was in great luck. Now I am more lonely than ever. 
 I have gone in for this sort of life, and will carry it 
 through ; but I can't live alone. I am going to accept 
 the offer I have had." 
 
 "And I'm sure I will wish you every happiness," ^a'd 
 Natalie; scarce able to comprehend this strange, un- 
 disciplined nature, this woman who could thus contem- 
 plate marrying one man just after her mad, her reck- 
 less infatuation for another. 
 
 ♦• Well, good-bye. Miss Wyngate. There," said she, 
 handing her the address of Dr Macintosh, in Edinburgh, 
 "that address will find him. I suppose, now^ you will 
 want to write?" 
 
 " No, I shall not write," answered Natalie. 
 " May I ask you to come and call on me?" asked Mrs 
 Tranent, with some anxiety. " For appearance sake 
 you know, when you are able." 
 
 " The first day I am able to go out I will come straight 
 to The Larches — for Freddie's sake, and for your own 
 sake, Mrs Tranent." ... ;,.,..- - 
 
 When she was left alone Natalie covered her face with 
 two thin hands and wailed — :. . ; i-i;;) i^ "i " " 
 
 " And that I — should have renounced j'ow in the day 
 of your calamity. " ji.u -"(o ••(>? <■ 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 185 
 
 , CHAPTHR XXIII. 
 
 i-'\'. ■ " Lo now, whi ; hearts h»'\e men ! they never mount 
 As hij^h as wOik^an in her selfless mood." 
 
 THE winter had passed and spring had come, and still 
 Dr Arbuckle stayed ^n with Dr Macintosh. In 
 fact the latter would not hear of his visitor going away 
 for some time yet. Under one pretext or another he 
 managed to keep him. Now it was his help ne wanted 
 with the work he was shortly to publish '* On Brain Dis- 
 eases," and now it was impossible to go until the next 
 conference was over — and so on ; and his guest, passively 
 pliable, assented ; all the time aware of the shallow pre- 
 tences wherewith his friend sought to veil his kindness. 
 Dr Arbuckle had no more resistance left. He was a man 
 of broken will and purpose, and at present was fain to 
 drift with the tide, or wherever the winds of circumstance 
 might blow him. The only remnant of his former strength 
 remaining was his honesty and conscientiousness in his 
 work; of that he could not be divested by any power or 
 circumstance ; the habit of faithful work had become part 
 of himself. So with his old earnestness he worked in 
 conjunction with Dr Macintosh, and their mutual research 
 had been productive of considerable insight, valuable to 
 the profession and to the race. But he worked like a 
 man for whom personal human interest is over and done 
 with ; his bright vigorous, alert manner had given way 
 to a still gentleness, which at times nigh broke the kind 
 heard of the old Doctor. - ■ 
 
 " I don't see, Arbuckle, why you need go away at all. 
 
i86 Dr Bruno's JVife. 
 
 I am getting old now, and at the time you came over I 
 was just thinking" where I would be likely to get a partner 
 who could assist me and succeed to my practice. Can't 
 you make up your mind to stay in the Modern Athens? 
 Look at her! isn't she beautiful? the joy of Scotland, and 
 Scotland's sons everywhere! Come, Arbuckle make 
 up your mind ; make your home for life in dear old Edin- 
 burgh." 
 
 So urged his kindly and energetic host, whose interest, 
 first enlisted by his ability, had now, by knowledge of his 
 personal character and misfortune, developed into sym- 
 pathy and affection. The Doctor had never been blessed 
 with children, and to him the young man embodied his 
 ideal of a son. 
 
 *' Make your home here," he repeated, as the two stood 
 looking down upon the city, whose romantic beauty was 
 heightened by the green freshness of the spring. 
 
 '* Home! — what is home?" he inquired, sadly. 
 
 "Oh, well — let me see — home is— well — ah — pretty 
 much what one makes it ; or more properly speaking, 
 what a woman makes it. Get some good woman, Ar- 
 buckle — a woman with the makings of a home in her, not 
 a — a — fashionable fiddle-de-dee. One who will take care 
 of you, and make you forget all the bits that ought to be 
 forgotten. Let me introduce you to one or two most 
 lovable young ladies whom I have in my mind's eye just 
 
 now." :•• , I :- , , , ,:.. , -. :V ■... , 
 
 "Better not. Doctor. Thank you, all the same. I 
 had made my choice, and was as happy as man can be 
 for a time — the sort of thing that cannot be repeated in 
 this world. But she threw me up, " explained the younger 
 man quietly. •• ■ • r: • . ; i .\ • • 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 187 
 
 " What for?— may I ask, without offence?" 
 
 *' Hetty Tranent told her of my misfortune, and she 
 thought we had better make anendof it,"said Arbuckle. 
 
 "Then, believe me," burst out the Doctor, **that if 
 that woman told her that, she told her plenty more be- 
 sides which was not true. Or— if not- the lady of your 
 choice was not worthy of your regard." 
 
 '* Oh, yes, she was. It has made no difference tome. 
 I cannot blame her." 
 
 " Humph!" was the dissatisfied response. 
 
 "So I am willing to stay here or go, whichever you 
 like, Doctor. I am aimless, bound for nowhere. If you 
 like to anchor me here, we)i and good. I shall at least 
 do my duty every time." 
 
 "God be praised! I must go at once ^"^.d tell Mrs 
 Macintosh. I'll be allowed to go and sleep in peace to- 
 nie-ht, for the curtain-lectures I've had to listen to all this 
 spring, urging me to get you to consent to :>tay with us, 
 have been— well — . However, now she'll be delighted. 
 There's the surgery bell, shall you go, or shall I? Stay!" 
 glancing at Arbuckle's listless face, "perhaps I had 
 better go myself. Then that's all settled?" 
 
 "As you please. Doctor," was the reply, and the de- 
 lighted gentleman, rubbing his palms together as was his 
 wont when pleased, left the apartment. 
 
 The sun was setting slowly in the west when the 
 Doctor came back, after an absence of a full hour and a 
 half. Dr Arbuckle was still sitting in the chair by the 
 window where he had left him, and at sight of him he 
 began again to rub his palms together with sui impression 
 of enjoyment, his benevolent face beaming. 
 
 "Well, Arbuckle, I've had it out with my wife, and 
 
i88 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 whether she kissed me or no is none of your business. 
 Suffice it, that the curtain-lectures, on this point at least, 
 arc ended happily. Eh— by the way, I may say — in fact, 
 I know you will quite agree with me, that Mrs Macintosh 
 is a lady whose opinion on most points is of considerable 
 value." 
 
 Dr Arbuckle bowed a sincere assent. 
 
 •' Well, I have been talking this thing — this affaire tie 
 Cicur of yours over with her, and she avows, is perfectly 
 certain indeed, that Hetty Tranent must have lied to — to 
 — ah — the lady you were engaged to." 
 
 "Unfortunately, she told her the truth," responded 
 Arbuckle. 
 
 "No, she didn't!" returned the Doctor, emphatically. 
 " Eh, that is, Mrs Macintosh is perfectly sure she didn't; 
 but thinks she has told her some outrageous story of 
 your being in love with her, and — eh -you were in the 
 habit of going to visit Hetty occasionally, weren't you?" 
 
 " Oh, of course I did ; she was quite a society woman, 
 you know, and I also went professionally," Arbuckle ad- 
 mitted, wearily. 
 
 ' * Yes, exactly. Well, don't you see how easy it was for 
 an unscrupulous woman who was crazy to get you her- 
 self to put two and two together, and so deceive an unsop- 
 histicated young lady.'' 
 
 " No, nc. Doctor, she knew better than that. She 
 knew that was impossible, impossible." 
 
 " Oh, yes, from your point of view," persisted the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " Then this Hetty had a boy— Freddie." 
 
 Dr Arbuckle suddenly started, and with some of his 
 old alertness flashed a look into the Doctor's face. 
 
Dr Bninos Wife. 189 
 
 '« How do you know that?" he demanded. 
 
 «« Why ahem—" coujjhed the Doctor, in some con- 
 fusion. " I suppose you must have told me yourself —of 
 course, you must have." 
 
 "Well, about Freddie, poor lad?" inquired Arbuckle, 
 with a pensive smile of reminiscence. 
 
 The Doctor put his hand to his forehead for a moment 
 and tried to recollect. 
 
 ♦'Upon my soul, Arbuckle, this boy— I really forget 
 what I was going to suggest about him. However, here 
 is what I want to get at. I want you to disabuse your 
 mind of the idea of the young lady Miss Wyngate— " 
 
 «'Dr Macmtosh!" exclaimed the younger man, rising 
 to his feet, '* how have you got that name? Have you 
 written? Have you been in communication with—" 
 
 «' No, no! Write? No! but let me see," pursued the 
 Doctor, in fresh confusion. ''Why, you look as if I had 
 turned an electric battery upon you. Eh— well— sit down 
 till I deliver Mrs Macintosh's message She says— you 
 aren't to believe the young lady threw you up on account 
 of that old misfortune. It must have been some of 
 Hetty's lies about being tied to or entangled with herself 
 somehow that has caused the separation. You were 
 thrown into the fire of suspicion and slander, like two 
 nuts at Hallowe'en, and instead of taking time and draw- 
 ing closer, and glowing together to the end, it was puff! 
 pop! and apart you flew without any more questions 
 asked. Wasn't it, now?" interrogated the Doctor, veil- 
 his eagerness with a show of humour. 
 
 I . Arbuckle made no reply. He was standing looking 
 out to where the reflection of the sunset was flushing the 
 purple bank of clouds away down beyond Holyrood, and 
 
iQO Df Bruno's Wife. 
 
 he did not notice the anxious look with which his friend 
 stood nervously reg^arding him. 
 
 "If such a thing^ could be possible — if — " was the 
 thought formulating in his mind, and beginning to stir 
 with awakening" regret. 
 
 "Promise me one thing," urged the Doctor, kindly, 
 with an inner glow in his dark eye. 
 
 "Say thai you will take this view of the matter into 
 your consideration — take it for granted, as it were, and 
 put yourself in the young lady's place — eh — ahem!" 
 
 Arbuckle turned slowly from the window- and smiled 
 at the Doctor's eagerness. 
 
 " I will. Doctor, thank you, you are very kind. But 
 such a supposition is too good to be true." 
 
 "Not at all — while there's life there's hope; and, by 
 the way, it's nigh on the dinner hour." 
 
 When Dr Arbuckle met Mrs Macintosh in the dining- 
 • jom, she seized his hand in her gentle old palm, and, 
 bestowing on him a bright, sympathetic smile — 
 whispered — 
 
 " I'm so glad you will stay. Cheer up! there's a good 
 time coming." 
 
 But for all this kind sympathy and cheer he ate but 
 little. A new idea had begun to revolve in his mind ; the 
 old pain and the new hope which had been suggested by 
 the Doctor's words had both awakened ; he dreaded to 
 admit, to encourage the hope ; the olcl hopeless pain had 
 become unendurable. ... . - . , — .- 
 
 Immediately after dinner he rose and returned to the 
 little room he had left, and again in the dim twilight took 
 his seat by the window. For a long time he sat motion- 
 less, watching the golden fingertips of the moon clinging 
 
Dr Tinmo s Wiji\ 191 
 
 to u grey wall of cloud as she pulled herself slowly up 
 out of the sea. But as thoughts and memories crowded 
 upon him he began to get restive. The possibility, the 
 probability as it seemed now, that he might have wronged 
 her in thought, that she might after all have been de- 
 ceived, appeared more and more likely. The woman 
 who had been capable of swearing his life away in a wild 
 and desperate impulse, was certainly as capable of de- 
 stroying him in the eyes of the innocent and unsuspect- 
 ing woman he loved. The thought of it stirred up all the 
 smouldering fire within him. The lethargy which he could 
 not, had never tried to shake off, was consumed by it ; 
 his slumbering force and energy stirred and woke and 
 prompted as of old to action. 
 
 •Just go in, my dear, don't be afraid," he heard the 
 the kindly voice of Mrs Macintosh s<iy outside the door 
 which stood ajar, evidently speaking to some one hesita- 
 ting to enter the surgery opposite. But he remembered 
 the old Doctor was in the surgery, so he sat still and 
 thought on — 
 
 *' If it could be possible; if it could be — that life could 
 be life once more ; a blessed reality, not a mere memory 
 —ah !— " 
 
 Unable to sit any longer, he rose, and in the turmoil of 
 his thoughts turned to pac^ the floor, when he suddenly 
 started and stepped back a pace. For there, in the middle 
 of the room stood a shadowy figure, with pale sweet face 
 and lambent eyes showing mystically in the faint hght of 
 the rising moon 
 
 "Natalie!" fell from his lips unconsciously, and 
 opening his arms she glided into them, and life was life 
 once more. 
 
Dr Bnino's Wtfc. 
 
 ■ „•. , :-. - ,•: ' ■.. •. , , > . .■ ^ ..;' •:;.- u:-v V' 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. "'• '' '"• 
 
 AND LOVE IS LIBERAL AS THE SUMMER AIR. 
 
 DR Macintosh, as we have seen, was no diplomat. As 
 a manoeuvrist he was a failure, and in trying to 
 break the news of Natalie's arrival at the house by sug- 
 jfesting and insisting" on the possibility of mistake or mis- 
 understanding", he had almost let the cat out of the bag. 
 It was Natalie who was waiting when he had answered 
 the surgery bell that afternoon, and no sooner did she 
 introduce herself and explain that she was from Canada, 
 and that her errand was to see Dr Arbuckle, than he at 
 once took her into Mrs Macintosh's little private parlour. 
 
 "A lady," was the mutual comment each mentally 
 took of the other as they shook hands. Touched by the 
 kindness, the almost parental tenderness, with which the 
 Doctor and his wife spoke of Edward Arbuckle, Natalie 
 soon thawed out of her natural reserve, and in order to 
 justify him still more in their eyes, told them all the his. 
 tory of their acquaintance from the first. When she ex- 
 plained how Dr Bruno's speculative mania had brought 
 about the catastrophe of her mother's death and her own 
 subsequent illness, tears more than once filled the eyes 
 of Mrs Macintosh. But when she described how Hetty 
 Tranent had lied to her and deceived her, the Doctor 
 could not keep still, but went pacing up and down the 
 room, snorting like an angry lion. 
 
 " That woman was a fiend, a perfect fiend. I'm sorry 
 I advised my brother to let her go — she ought to have 
 been jailed," he protested; but Natalie said — 
 
Dr Bruno's Wije. 193 
 
 "No, oh, no. Doctor! Indeed, she was not all bad. 
 When she learned how I nursed poor Freddie and caught 
 the infection from him, she called at the hospital every 
 day, and as soon as I was better came and confessed all 
 to me. It must havi been very hard on her, for she gave 
 her entire reputation into my hands without any condi- 
 tion ; and, being a society woman, that argued some 
 latent nobility in her, I think." 
 
 Mrs Macintosh quite agreed with Natalie, but the 
 Doctor only responded with asIightlymodified*'Humph!" 
 Then she explained how, after she knevN how cruelly 
 she had been deceived ; when she realised that he 
 must have believed that it was on account of his dread- 
 ful misfortune she had forsaken him ; how, under- 
 standing now that broken-hearted farewell which she had 
 so misconstrued, a long relapse of her illness followed, 
 and again she hovered between life and death, only saved 
 by superior skill, and the perfect nursing of Miss Stobie. 
 She told them how the days were ages until she was 
 sufficiently recovered to travel and come hither to beg his 
 forgiveness and his love ; and when, no longer able to keep 
 back the tears, she at last gave way, she found herself 
 in the embrace of soft, motherly arms, and Mrs Macin- 
 tosh's voice consoling her with words of hope and cheer, 
 fc " For he is one of the family now, my dear; it was all 
 settled this very day. He will be a son to us — we have 
 none of our own ; he will be a partner now, and ultimately 
 succeed to my husband's practice. You musn't coax 
 him away; you must stay too. But, my dear," she con- 
 tinued, turning to the Doctor, who, with his back to 
 them, stood fumbling his watch seals as he stared out in- 
 to the garden, '• this will have to be broken to the young 
 
194 D*" Bruno's Wife. 
 
 man gently. Think of all th :, poor fellow has had to 
 bear. Do your best to manage it gently, Andreu ." 
 
 " Ahem! yes, we must be careful," assented the Doc- 
 tor. " Supposing I say we got a letter — " 
 
 •* No, that won't do, besides, it isn't true; there's no 
 use telling a lie about it." 
 
 "Well, then, I will tell him that the lady is undei our 
 roof." 
 
 ** Andrew, do you want to kill the poor man?" ' 
 
 " Or that she will be here shortly." 
 
 "Nonsense! Don't you see he will at once suspect 
 something. How are you supposed to know anything 
 of Miss Wyngate's movements?" 
 
 "True — very true." 
 
 " What you must do is to prepare his mind for this." 
 
 " But Mrs Macintosh — how? Just y*>u state how^ my 
 dear, and I will endeavour, to the best of mv ability, to 
 follow your instructions." 
 
 " What I mean is — to suggest that it may have been 
 all a cruel misunderstanding, as it really was — that — oh, 
 dear me, Andrew! — surely you have gumption enough to 
 manage a little business like that." And with a playful 
 pat on the shoulder she dismissed the Doctor, and sent 
 him on his diplomatic errand. And on the whole, the 
 performance was not without its merits, or, as we have 
 seen, without result. 
 
 It needed little persuasion to induce Natalie to become 
 a daughter to the elderly couple. "Thy people shall 
 be my people," she said to him a couple of days after- 
 wards as together they sat on Arthur's Seat looking down 
 on the beautiful city. 
 
. Df Bruno's M^ife. 195 
 
 ** Are you not afraid to marry a man with such an aw- 
 ful secret in his past?" he asked her. 
 
 ** Misfortune is no sin, Edward. We are all of us, 
 more or less, the creatures of circumstance and environ- 
 ment." 
 
 ** Yes — and this is what appals me. It is part of the 
 infinite mystery and burden of life." 
 
 *' Do not speak of it, dear ; do not think of it. Surely 
 we have had enough of it. Let us be happy a while 
 now." 
 
 '* No, I will not refer to it after this. But all the same, 
 there are times when my whole nature rises up in re- 
 bellion against this cross which I am compelled to bear. 
 There are times when I teel that in my blindness I could 
 rise like Samson and shake the pillars of the world down 
 upon myself, and the Fates which forever mock me with 
 a deed which my whole nature revolts from." 
 
 **Oh, beloved! can I not comfort you?" pleaded the 
 true woman, with appealing eyes. 
 
 *' Yes, my darling; 1 thankfully accept the comj>ensa- 
 tion God has given me. Alone, I feel I must have sunk 
 under it. Now — " 
 
 They were sitting on the brow of the hill, with the 
 warm spring sunshine gladdening all about them, in full 
 view of the fair city spread out beneath, in view also of 
 other men and women strolling over the hill, but Edward 
 Arbuckle cared not who saw him ; he was too full, too 
 thankful for the new life and hope she had brought him, 
 to consider anything else, and he fin. i his sentence by 
 drawing her head down upon his breast, his lips touching 
 her brow. 
 
 '* I confess, my dear," said Mrs Macintosh to Natalie 
 
iq5 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 later on ; -I confess I have a liking frr the old-fashioned 
 weddings, with flowers and bridesmaids and all the smil- 
 ing, happy paraphernalia; but since you both prefer a 
 quiet bridal, with only my husband and myself as wit- 
 nesses, why," she laughed, " I can only say, ' Barkis is 
 wiUin'.' Only, my dear, I really must have a reception 
 afterward, a wedding reception, in order to introduce 
 you properly to all our friends, you know." 
 
 Mrs Macintosh took good care that this reception was 
 made as magnificent as any wedding. 
 
 Natalie felt she could not interfere, for Mrs Macintosh 
 was determined that the daughter of Colonel Wyngate 
 should be introduced to Edinburgh society as Mrs Ar- 
 buckle in a manner which would at once establish her 
 
 position. 
 
 The young couple smiled and consented. What was 
 
 society to them? or the world for that matter? Were 
 
 they not a world to themselves? Nevertheless, while in 
 
 Rome, be as the Romans. 
 
 • Mrs Mackintosh was a woman wise in her generation 
 
 — let be! * . . ,, .>' 
 
 •),-;/ ■ .■ 
 
 , . . , . : .ru- ■■■A'- 
 , : • i ... :; ■.. : /I? isffJ: i'li" 
 
 ., I'll j .; I' -ii-.r wt 'Xt ' ■ ■ ■' 
 
 / ,M. ' .1;, '> ^ — »; ■'.■■' j^r'^ >i^>'l. )'' 
 
 :(. ..' 'i<' < 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 197 
 
 !„ ■(•••t-VH; r" ;'• 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 DELIVERANCE. 
 
 a 
 
 0"; 
 
 mamma, come quick, here's a tab at our door," 
 cried little George Arbuckle, as he stood at the 
 parlour window, looking down into the street. 
 
 " Some of papa's patient's, dear," replied his mother. 
 
 '* But it's a lady, mamma, and she has a big, big trunk 
 like a house. Look." 
 
 Mrs Arbuckle, to please the child, did come over and 
 look down, but she was too late to see the lady, who had 
 ascended the front steps, and was now waiting the open- 
 ing of the door in answer to the bell. 
 
 " Dear me ! who can be coming here, my boy? Per- 
 haps some one to see Gran'ma Macintosh ;" and in some 
 wonder she watched the man bearing upon his back the 
 trunks into the house. With still greater wonder she 
 saw her husband run down the steps and pay the cabman 
 — in his pleasurable excitement turning and bounding 
 back up the steps, two at a time. 
 
 "Joy never kills — does it, dear?" he cried, bursting into 
 the apartment suddenly, with his strong face aglow, a 
 much younger looking man than when we saw him last 
 on the eve of his wedding-day. 
 
 " Why, Edward, what is it? Who is the lady?" asked 
 Natalie, in some surprise. 
 
 ** Can't you guess?" asked the Doctor. 
 
 A cloud dimmed the sweetness of his wi%'s face, as she 
 answered — • 
 
198 Df Bnmo's Wife. 
 
 "Not— not her, Edward?" ' 
 
 A sudden frown, a shake of the head in impatient pro- 
 test, and then the Doctor laughed and turned to the door 
 and called — 
 
 "Come in, Miss Stobie!" — and after the manner of 
 women the two friends fell upon each other's neck, and 
 kissed repeatedly. 
 
 ** What a delightful surprise! Why didn't you let us 
 know you were coming?" 
 
 " I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to get away as 
 quickly as possible, and now I am going to quarter my- 
 self on you for six weeks. My first holiday in as many 
 years." 
 
 Natalie looked at her friend, and the tears filled her soft 
 eyes. In these years of arduous work Miss Stobie had 
 aged considerably. Her hair was almost white, and she 
 looked worn and in need of rest. 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad to see you again; it is so good to 
 see your dear, kind face after all these long years," mur- 
 mured the Doctor's wife. 
 
 " Happy years, surely, Natalie," said her husband. 
 
 " Happy! oh, yes! — look," she said, lifting the flaxen 
 curled four-year-old off the chair, from which he had 
 been silently contemplating this scene. "Here is our 
 boy ; isn't he a darling?" , . , 
 
 Miss Stobie took the child upon her knee, and looked 
 at him, critically. " ' 
 
 " He is like you, Natalie, although he is so fair. He 
 has your brow and eyes." 
 
 "Thank God for that!" exclaimed his father, gravely. 
 
 "Why, Doctor? wouldn't you like him to be like 
 yourself just as well?" asked Miss Stobie gaily; her old, 
 
Dr Brtmo's Wife, 199 
 
 bright hopefulness reminding the couple strongly of those 
 bygones days of endeavour in Toronto Hospital. 
 
 " No," he said sadly, *' what is is best — in this case." 
 And so saying he excused himself and returned to the 
 patients awaiting him in the surgery. 
 
 Natalie also grew a trifle graver, but an introspective 
 smile lingered on Miss Stobie's lips as she looked at the 
 child. 
 
 "My husband is afraid, you know. He thinks so 
 much of heredity — too much, I think," Natalie explained, 
 but Miss Stobie laughed almost gleefully as she hugged 
 and kissed the wondering child. 
 
 " No danger, Georgie boy; you are all right. If you 
 be as good a man as your father you'll do — won't you?" 
 
 Georgie nodded his curly head in assent, but his father 
 did not smile. 
 
 It was as Natalie had indicated, Dr Arbuckle's joy over 
 the birth of his son had been clouded by a certain appre- 
 hension, a reflex of the gloom which had darkened his 
 own life. 
 
 In the evening, after they had bidden Dr and Mrs 
 Macintosh good-night, and the three were sitting around 
 the parlour fire talking of old times and Toronto, Miss 
 Stobie, with most unaccountable flippancy, began to rally 
 the Doctor on this, what she called, "ridiculous and 
 groundless dread." 
 
 "You are certainly a strong and absolute believer in 
 heredity I must say," she said, looking at him with eyes 
 that shone strangely. 
 
 "I am," was the short and decisive answer. 
 "Well, my friend, I am very glad to know that you 
 are so— very glad indeed. Allow me to congratulate you 
 
acxD Dr Bntno's JVi/e. 
 
 on your opinions, which are so entirely my own. I 
 think If this doctrine of heredity were sufficiently preached 
 to people who are about to marry they would order their 
 thoughts, feelings, walk, and conversation in such a way 
 as to benefit the coming generation instead of blasting it 
 with every form of self-indulgence as they too often do. 
 Their motto would be that of the great German—' Come, 
 let us live for our children.' " 
 
 The serio-comic air with wl. ch this was said, the 
 strange, quizzical mirth which danced in the eyes of the 
 speaker, utterly bewildered her host and hostess. It 
 slightly surprised and irritated Dr Arbuckle — Miss Stobie 
 was becoming a disappointment to him ; he had been 
 mistaken in her — he had always considered her a woman 
 of great delicacy of feeling ; now she was actually trench- 
 ing upon good manners by sarcastically alluding to his 
 misfortune. As for Natalie, though slightly hurt, she 
 excused her friend by supposing that it was a well-meant 
 effort to rally her husband out of an idea which was be- 
 coming settled in his mind ; but she wished Miss Stobie 
 had spoken to herself in private rather than thus to him. 
 She could not bear that these two, her husband and her 
 old friend, should suffer in each other's estimation ; so, 
 uncertain what to reply to this unexpected deliverance, 
 she sat without response. Dr Arbuckle stared hard P,t 
 the fire. Miss Stobie laughed again. 
 
 " Gloomy subject, eh? Oh, well, forgive me this time; 
 I suppose it'i your belief in heredity which makes me so 
 hilarious this evening. Do you, too, believe in heredity, 
 Natalie?" 
 
 " O, well — of course to a certain extent I do. But I 
 can't believe that children are always an exact reproduc- 
 
Df Bruno's Wife 201 
 
 tion of their parents," replied Natalie, vexed that her 
 friend vA'ould harp on this painful subject. 
 
 "Well, I hope that little George Macintosh Arbuckle 
 will turn out to be a faithful counterpart of my friend, 
 your husband here — in everything." 
 
 Natalie suddenly paled as she glanced at her husband, 
 who, with compressed lips and temples across which the 
 veins stood out like whip-cords, lay back mutely in his 
 chair. 
 
 ♦'Let us change the subject. Miss Stobie, dear. Tell us 
 some of your experiences since I left," she said, gently. 
 
 *'The very thing I was about to suggest," returned the 
 lady cheerfully, and with no sign of compunction for hurt 
 feelings. '* Here is the confession of a patient, a woman 
 who died of consumption the week before I left. I took 
 it down in writing, with an eye to you two. If I don't 
 enlighten you on this dark subject of heredity on which 
 you brood — " 
 
 *♦ Miss Stobie!" cried Natalie, in pain, "pray don't 
 speak of it any more." 
 
 Dr Arbuckle's brows were closely knit, and he sat 
 mute and stern. She was his guest and their old friend; 
 she must be tolerated — but— heavens ! how had he ever 
 come to think so highly of such a woman? 
 
 "This woman," continued Miss Stobie— heedless of 
 either exclamation or expression — " had been in the 
 hospital for some time ; we knew it could not be for long, 
 it was not worth while shifting her to the Incurables. 
 A few days befoi ■; she died, feeling her end drawing nigh, 
 she sent for me and made this confession — 
 
 "I, Hester Reid, widow of the late Alexander Reid, 
 knowing that I must shortly appear before God, do 
 
202 Dr Bruno's Wife. 
 
 hereby confess what I know, but have hidden hitherto, 
 regardingf the murder of one -Ramsay, who was found 
 dead in his bed, in the Royal Arms Hotel, Clydeshore, 
 Scotland, supposed to have been done to death by a 
 somnambulist." ■. .•■ - 
 
 A cry burst from the lips of the Doctor's wife — she 
 sprang" into her husband's lap, and with a wailing" sob, 
 wound her arms about him. The Doctor grimly suffered 
 her for one moment, then freeing himself, he set her in 
 the chair, and sternly facing Miss Stobie with ashy 
 countenance, said hoarsely — " • , m/ ^'i 
 
 "Madam, if this is what you have come for, if you 
 have come to add a new horror to my unfortunate past — " 
 
 His speech was suddenly stopped, and his mouth closed 
 by the elderly nurse starting up and throwing her arms 
 about him, hugging him like a bear. ■ • ' ; ... 
 
 "For Heaven's sake!" he began; but she laid her 
 white, shapely hand upon his mouth and would not suffer 
 him to speak. . .■ • • •• :. ,.i:;,- 
 
 "Oh, my dears, my dears! Have I not crossed the 
 Atlantic to have the bliss of bearing the good news to 
 you? It was all a mistake! All the monster of Mrs 
 Tranent's imagination! It was not you at all — it was 
 Alexander Reid who murdered your poor friend." 
 
 The Doctor staggered back out of her arms like a man 
 striken dumb. ., .r| ,, i,.. ,,■ ; f h^ 'Vrifrf 
 
 T "Is this really true?" he gasped, " are you sure there 
 is no mistake this time?" - «,.; j.-'^: - j.^ .?}, -(• 
 , " No mistake," wiping her own eyes which had over- 
 flown with sympathy. " You have been labouring under 
 a delusion, it was a dream — you had been led to believe, 
 a dreadful dream — come — let me convince you." 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 203 
 
 They all sat down again, Natalie holding her husband's 
 hand fast in both of hers, and Miss Stobie resumed read- 
 ing the confession. 
 
 ♦' My husband, who was not a bad man when I married 
 him, only weak, being unable to refrain from drink, had 
 lost his situation some six months before this event, and 
 had been unable to get another for want of a good char- 
 acter to recon.mend him. We were in great poverty, 
 and I was under the necessity of doing laundry work in 
 order to make a living for us and for our one little girl. 
 Mr Arbuckle's laundrying was sent to me with others. 
 When he called to pay me one day he got int oconversa- 
 tion with my husband, and hearing of his misfortunes, 
 offered him a suit of clothes which he thought would fit 
 him, they being both about one size. He got the clothes, 
 and trying them on, laid them aside until, as he said, he 
 could get away. He had a notion that if he could get 
 away he could yet do well, away where nobody knew 
 him, One morning he got up early, and sauntering 
 about he saw young Arbuckle get out of the French 
 window of the hotel, taking his valise with him. He 
 passed and said good-morning to him, when suddenly 
 Arbuckle turned and said—" ' I say, Reid, I wish you 
 would slip up and shut that French window. I forgot 
 to close it behind me.' • 
 
 «< My husband did so, but as he looked into the open 
 window a horrible temptation laid hold of him. In the 
 middle of the apartment he saw Ramsay's trousers lying 
 across a chair, and his pocket-book on the coat above 
 them. He thought if he could but get that pocket-book 
 he might get enough in it to take him away where he 
 could get work and comfort once more, and he stepped 
 
204 Dr Hrnno's Wife. 
 
 in, and with his baci< to the bed, was in the act of ab- 
 stracting^ the pocket-book when his arm was ckitched 
 from behind, and Ramsay's voice called pleasantly — 
 
 '• *I say, Arbuckle what are you after?' 
 
 •' My husband, in a sudden fit of terror, turned, and 
 throwing himself upon Ramsay, who was a delicate fel- 
 low, seized him by the throat to prev^ ^t his y^iving- the 
 alarm. He was a man of immense streng^th, and was 
 not aware, he said, of the awful force he was exerting 
 until the unfortunate man suddenly lay quite still — dead. 
 Then, overcome with horror, but hoping he might yet 
 come to, he placed the pocket book as he had found it, 
 and quietly stepping out of the window he closed It 
 softly, and crept home and went to bed. I never knew 
 he had been out until the day after Ramsay was buried 
 — supposed to have been killed by young Arbuckle in his 
 sleep. Arbuckle had done a most heroic deed just the 
 day previous, having destroyed a mad dog, and a doctor 
 who was then residing in the town said it must have 
 been the brain repeating the strong nervous action of the 
 proceeding day. This theory was borne out by the bar- 
 maid, who swore that the I two young men were the best 
 of friends, and that Arbuckle had made no secret of his 
 departure. Detectives were nevertheless put upon his 
 track, but all further search was abandoned when a body 
 was found — the face quite unrecognisable — but the body 
 clothed in young Arbuckle's garments and a couple of 
 letters, receipts for purchases made by him, found in the 
 pockets. That completely established the identity of the 
 body in the opinion of the authorities, but I knew it was 
 the body of my husband. He had never known sleep 
 since that morning, and when young Ramsay was buried 
 
Dr Bnino's Wife. 205 
 
 he confessed to mc what he had done, and went away. 
 Whether it was an accident or suicide I never knew. I 
 only know he repented bitterly of his unpremeditated 
 crime. I trust he may have found mercy. The neiy^h- 
 bours never missed him, for he had told them he was 
 going' away to look for work, and when they saw my 
 trouble they laid it to my anxiety, knowing his unsteady 
 habits. But I could not stay in the place, and I managed 
 to get away too, and by the sale of my furniture and 
 some help, came over to Canada with my little girl, who 
 died shortly after my arrival. It hai; been a great burden 
 on my mind the knowledge of this secret, and had any 
 one been blamed for it I should certainly have come for- 
 ward at once and told the truth ; but, as no one has, I 
 have k'pt silence. I could not bear to be considered the 
 wife of a murderer unless compelled to. Having con- 
 fessed all now, I can die easier; and on my deathbed, 
 with eternity in view, I swear this to be the truth about 
 the death of young Ramsay. 
 
 ,. , (Signed) "Hester Reid. 
 
 /•' Helena Alice Stobie, H.N., 
 Witnessed by J " Katherlne Watson, Nurse, 
 
 [ General Hospital. Toronto." 
 
 "Dear, dear, old friend faithful and true!" sobbed 
 Natalie, sinking at the nurse's feet, and burying her face 
 in her lap as of old. 
 
 Dr Arbuckle, when Miss Stobie ceased reading, rose 
 and walked out of the room. The two women had re- 
 mained in silence a while, and then Natalie looking up 
 missed her husband, and started up — 
 
 •• I must go to him, dear. Oh! you don't know; you 
 
2o6 
 
 Dr Bruno's Wife, 
 
 caniot conceive what this means to us. He has got so 
 afraid of late — for — for the boy. " 
 
 She found her husband had lain down upon the bed in 
 their room, and had taken the child into his arms, hold- 
 ing him fast. 
 
 She laid her hand on his shoulder, gently. 
 
 " Edward— dear— oh, my husband— thank God! oh, 
 thank God!" and she bent her cheek down close to his, 
 and kissed him and the child. , . , 
 
 '* Yes, my wife, * The Lord has turned again the cap- 
 tivity of Job.'" .; ., 
 
 , i. ■ -' 
 
 t 
 
Dr Bruno's Wife. 207 
 
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 CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 ' ■>-- .*' . >■>■>•'■ , 
 
 
 AFTERGLOV/. 
 
 .''*•' 
 
 BUT who shall describe the joy, the dismay of old Dr 
 Macintosh ! Joy that his favourite adopted son had 
 at last been freed from such a life-long nightmare ; dis- 
 may that his theory had after all been entirely wrong. 
 It was humbling; it made him quarrelsome, and he 
 pounced upon Hetty Tranent as the sole cause of the 
 mistake. She must have invented the whole scene as 
 she described it to Dr Arbuckle, he maintained. But 
 Arbuckle strenuously defended Hetty. She had seen 
 and heard enough to excite suspicion ; probably, he might 
 in his sleep, have thrown himself across Ramsay, and he 
 have shaken him off. That was all she could have seen. 
 The rest her imagination had conjured up, inspired by 
 the horror of the morning's discovery. But that she was 
 entirely sincere in her belief there could be no manner of 
 doubt. Dr Macintosh had no patience with him. 
 
 *' As sincere as she was when she came and denounced 
 you as a wilful — " - 
 
 •'George, my dear!" expostulated his wife, whose in- 
 terest in the matter was as great as his own, only she 
 had iio theories upset, therefore could be calm. 
 
 •* By the way. Miss Stobie, did you ever see or hear 
 anything of Dr Bruno after I left?" inquired Mrs Ar- 
 buckle, dexterously changing the subject. 
 
 "Oh, yes, frequently. The Doctor, you know, sold 
 out his interest and agency in the Eureka Mina at a fair 
 
2o8 Dt Bruno's Wife. 
 
 profit ; realised indeed quite a nice sum by the transac- 
 tion. He also sold the purchaser of the agency, the mine 
 having given out. " 
 
 "The purchaser might have known that when rats 
 abandon a ship it is all over," growled the old Doctor. 
 
 *' He sued Dr Bruno," continued the nurse, "but it 
 was proven to be a genuine and proper transfer, with the 
 consent of both parties, so the purchaser could only grin 
 and bear it, and pay costs of prosecution in addition. 
 However, he was at liberty to form his own opinions, 
 which to a large extent were those of the initiated public. 
 Dr Bruno thereafter sold out the academy to a lady in 
 whose hands it is prospering finely; and the Doctor 
 opened another of the same in San Francisco with quite 
 a number of young lady pupiL " 
 
 *' But, dear me! Miss Stobie, I understood th's person 
 Bruno was a widower when Natalie left. Has he any 
 sister who acts as matron?" asked Mrs Macintosh, with 
 some anxiety. 
 
 " Oh! he took a wife with him," explained the nurse. 
 
 " Dr Bruno married again!" exclaimed Natalie. 
 
 " Yes, married again!" echoed Miss Stobie, dryly. 
 
 "And poor Mrs Tranent ?" continued Mrs Arbuckle. 
 " I always feel sorry for her." 
 
 " Well, you needn't. There is no longer any such 
 person." • - 
 
 "Oh, Miss Stobie! not dead, surely!" cried Mrs Ar- 
 buckle, and her husband, smitten with compunction, also 
 uttered a regretful exclamatfon. Miss Stobie laughed. 
 
 " Dead? not she! She is ' Dr Bruno's Wife.'" 
 
 TIIK END. 
 
 D