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diff --git a/old/14454-8.txt b/old/14454-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f31141f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14454-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,17408 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Doctor's Dilemma, by Hesba Stretton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Doctor's Dilemma + +Author: Hesba Stretton + +Release Date: December 24, 2004 [EBook #14454] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA *** + + + + +Produced by Steven Gibbs and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + +THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA. + +_A NOVEL_. + +BY HESBA STRETTON + + + NEW YORK: + D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, + 549 & 551 BROADWAY. + 1872. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + _PART THE FIRST_. + + I.--AN OPEN DOOR + II.--TO SOUTHAMPTON + III.--A ROUGH NIGHT AT SEA + IV.--A SAFE HAVEN + V.--WILL IT DO? + VI.--TOO MUCH ALONE + VII.--A FALSE STEP + VIII.--AN ISLAND WITHOUT A DOCTOR + + + _PART THE SECOND_. + + I.--DR. MARTIN DOBRÉE + II.--A PATIENT IN SARK + III.--WITHOUT RESOURCES + IV.--A RIVAL PRACTITIONER + V.--LOCKS OF HAIR + VI.--WHO IS SHE? + VII.--WHO ARE HER FRIENDS? + VIII.--THE SIXTIES OF GUERNSEY + IX.--A CLEW TO THE SECRET + X.--JULIA'S WEDDING-DRESS + XI.--TRUE TO BOTH + XII.--STOLEN WATERS ARE SWEET + XIII.--ONE IN A THOUSAND. + XIV.--OVERHEAD IN LOVE + XV.--IN A FIX + XVI.--A MIDNIGHT RIDE + XVII.--A LONG HALF-HOUR + XVIII.--BROKEN OFF + XIX.--THE DOBRÉES' GOOD NAME + XX.--TWO LETTERS + XXI.--ALL WRONG + XXII.--DEAD TO HONOR + XXIII.--IN EXILE + XXIV.--OVERMATCHED. + XXV.--HOME AGAIN + XXVI.--A NEW PATIENT + XXVII.--SET FREE + XXVIII.--A BRIGHT BEGINNING + XXIX.--THE GOULIOT CAVES + XXX.--A GLOOMY ENDING + XXXI.--A STORY IN DETAIL + XXXII.--OLIVIA GONE + XXXIII.--THE EBB OF LIFE + XXXIV.--A DISCONSOLATE WIDOWER + XXXV.--THE WIDOWER COMFORTED + XXXVI.--FINAL ARRANGEMENTS + XXXVII.--THE TABLES TURNED + XXXVIII.--OLIVIA'S HUSBAND + XXXIX.--SAD NEWS + XL.--A TORMENTING DOUBT + XLI.--MARTIN DOBRÉE'S PLEDGE + XLII.--NOIREAU + XLIII.--A SECOND PURSUER + XLIV.--THE LAW OF MARRIAGE + XXV.--FULFILLING THE PLEDGE + XLVI.--A DEED OF SEPARATION + XLVII.--A FRIENDLY CABMAN + XLVIII.--JULIA'S WEDDING + XLIX.--A TELEGRAM IN PATOIS + + + _PART THE THIRD_. + + I.--OLIVIA'S JUSTIFICATION + II.--ON THE WING AGAIN + III.--IN LONDON LODGINGS + IV.--RIDLEY'S AGENCY-OFFICE + V.--BELLRINGER STREET + VI.--LEAVING ENGLAND + VII.--A LONG JOURNEY + VIII.--AT SCHOOL IN FRANCE + IX.--A FRENCH AVOCAT + X.--A MISFORTUNE WITHOUT PARALLEL + XI.--LOST AT NIGHTFALL + XII.--THE CURÉ OF VILLE-EN-BOIS + XIII.--A FEVER-HOSPITAL + XIV.--OUTCAST PARISHIONERS + XV.--A TACITURN FRENCHWOMAN + XVI.--SENT BY GOD + XVII.--A MOMENT OF TRIUMPH + XVIII.--PIERRE'S SECRET + XIX.--SUSPENSE + XX.--A MALIGNANT CASE + XXI.--THE LAST DEATH + XXII.--FREE + XXIII.--A YEAR'S NEWS + XXIV.--FAREWELL TO VILLE-EN-BOIS + XXV.--TOO HIGHLY CIVILIZED + XXVI.--SEEING SOCIETY + XXVII.--BREAKING THE ICE + XXVIII.--PALMY DAYS + XXIX.--A POSTSCRIPT BY MARTIN DOBRÉE + + + + + +PART THE FIRST. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIRST. + +AN OPEN DOOR. + + +I think I was as nearly mad as I could be; nearer madness, I believe, +than I shall ever be again, thank God! Three weeks of it had driven me +to the very verge of desperation. I cannot say here what had brought me +to this pass, for I do not know into whose hands these pages may fall; +but I had made up my mind to persist in a certain line of conduct which +I firmly believed to be right, while those who had authority over me, +and were stronger than I was, were resolutely bent upon making me submit +to their will. The conflict had been going on, more or less violently, +for months; now I had come very near the end of it. I felt that I must +either yield or go mad. There was no chance of my dying; I was too +strong for that. There was no other alternative than subjection or +insanity. + +It had been raining all the day long, in a ceaseless, driving torrent, +which had kept the streets clear of passengers. I could see nothing but +wet flag-stones, with little pools of water lodging in every hollow, in +which the rain-drops splashed heavily whenever the storm grew more in +earnest. Now and then a tradesman's cart, or a cab, with their drivers +wrapped in mackintoshes, dashed past; and I watched them till they were +out of my sight. It had been the dreariest of days. My eyes had followed +the course of solitary drops rolling down the window-panes, until my +head ached. Toward nightfall I could distinguish a low, wailing tone, +moaning through the air; a quiet prelude to a coming change in the +weather, which was foretold also by little rents in the thick mantle of +cloud, which had shrouded the sky all day. The storm of rain was about +to be succeeded by a storm of wind. Any change would be acceptable to +me. + +There was nothing within my room less dreary than without. I was in +London, but in what part of London I did not know. The house was one of +those desirable family residences, advertised in the _Times_ as to be +let furnished, and promising all the comforts and refinements of a home. +It was situated in a highly-respectable, though not altogether +fashionable quarter; as I judged by the gloomy, monotonous rows of +buildings which I could see from my windows: none of which were shops, +but all private dwellings. The people who passed up and down the streets +on line days were all of one stamp, well-to-do persons, who could afford +to wear good and handsome clothes; but who were infinitely less +interesting than the dear, picturesque beggars of Italian towns, or the +sprightly, well-dressed peasantry of French cities. The rooms on the +third floor--my rooms, which I had not been allowed to leave since we +entered the house, three weeks before--were very badly furnished, +indeed, with comfortless, high horse-hair-seated chairs, and a sofa of +the same uncomfortable material, cold and slippery, on which it was +impossible to rest. The carpet was nearly threadbare, and the curtains +of dark-red moreen were very dingy; the mirror over the chimney-piece +seemed to have been made purposely to distort my features, and produce +in me a feeling of depression. My bedroom, which communicated with this +agreeable sitting-room by folding-doors, was still smaller and gloomier; +and opened upon a dismal back-yard, where a dog in a kennel howled +dejectedly from time to time, and rattled his chain, as if to remind me +that I was a prisoner like himself. I had no books, no work, no music. +It was a dreary place to pass a dreary time in; and my only resource was +to pace to and fro--to and fro from one end to another of those wretched +rooms. + +I watched the day grow dusk, and then dark. The rifts in the driving +clouds were growing larger, and the edges were torn. I left off roaming +up and down my room, like some entrapped creature, and sank down on the +floor by the window, looking out for the pale, sad blue of the sky which +gleamed now and then through the clouds, till the night had quite set +in. I did not cry, for I am not given to overmuch weeping, and my heart +was too sore to be healed by tears; neither did I tremble, for I held +out my hand and arm to make sure they were steady; but still I felt as +if I were sinking down--down into an awful, profound despondency, from +which I should never rally; it was all over with me. I had nothing +before me but to give up, and own myself overmatched and conquered. I +have a half-remembrance that as I crouched there in the darkness I +sobbed once, and cried under my breath, "God help me!" + +A very slight sound grated on my ear, and a fresh thrill of strong, +resentful feeling quivered all through me; it was the hateful click of +the key turning in the lock. It gave me force enough to carry out my +defiance a little longer. Before the door could be opened I sprang to my +feet, and stood erect, and outwardly very calm, gazing through the +window, with my face turned away from the persons who were coming in; I +was so placed that I could see them reflected in the mirror over the +fireplace. A servant came first, carrying in a tray, upon which were a +lamp and my tea--such a meal as might be prepared for a school-girl in +disgrace. + +She came up to me, as if to draw down the blinds and close the shutters. + +"Leave them," I said; "I will do it myself by-and-by." + +"He's not coming home to-night," said a woman's voice behind me, in a +scoffing tone. + +I could see her too without turning round. A handsome woman, with bold +black eyes, and a rouged face, which showed coarsely in the ugly +looking-glass. She was extravagantly dressed, and wore a profusion of +ornaments--tawdry ones, mostly, but one or two I recognized as my own. +She was not many years older than myself. I took no notice whatever of +her, or her words, or her presence; but continued to gaze out steadily +at the lamp-lit streets and stormy sky. Her voice grew hoarse with +passion, and I knew well how her face would burn and flush under the +rouge. + +"It will be no better for you when he is at home," she said, fiercely. +"He hates you; he swears so a hundred times a day, and he is determined +to break your proud spirit for you. We shall force you to knock under +sooner or later; and I warn you it will be best for you to be sooner +rather than later. What friends have you got anywhere to take your side? +If you'd made friends with me, my fine lady, you'd have found it good +for yourself; but you've chosen to make me your enemy, and I'll make him +your enemy. You know, as well as I do, he can't hear the sight of your +long, puling face." + +Still I did not answer by word or sign. I set my teeth together, and +gave no indication that I had heard one of her taunting speeches. My +silence only served to fan her fury. + +"Upon my soul, madam," she almost shrieked, "you are enough to drive me +to murder! I could beat you, standing there so dumb, as if I was not +worthy to speak a word to. Ay! and I would, but for him. So, then, three +weeks of this hasn't broken you down yet! but you are only making it the +worse for yourself; we shall try other means to-morrow." + +She had no idea how nearly my spirit was broken, for I gave her no +reply. She came up to where I stood, and shook her clinched hand in my +face--a large, well-shaped hand, with bejewelled fingers, that could +have given me a heavy blow. Her face was dark with passion; yet she was +maintaining some control over herself, though with great difficulty. She +had never struck me yet, but I trembled and shrank from her, and was +thankful when she flung herself out of the room, pulling the door +violently after her, and locking it noisily, as if the harsh, jarring +sounds would be more terrifying than the tones of her own voice. + +Left to myself I turned round to the light, catching a fresh glimpse of +my face in the mirror--a pale and sadder and more forlorn face than +before. I almost hated myself in that glass. But I was hungry, for I was +young, and my health and appetite were very good; and I sat down to my +plain fare, and ate it heartily. I felt stronger and in better spirits +by the time I had finished the meal; I resolved to brave it out a little +longer. The house was very quiet; for at present there was no one in it +except the woman and the servant who had been up to my room. The servant +was a poor London drudge, who was left in charge by the owners of the +house, and who had been forbidden to speak to me. After a while I heard +her heavy, shambling footsteps coming slowly up the staircase, and +passing my door on her way to the attics above; they sounded louder than +usual, and I turned my head round involuntarily. A thin, fine streak of +light, no thicker than a thread, shone for an instant in the dark corner +of the wall close by the door-post, but it died away almost before I saw +it. My heart stood still for a moment, and then beat like a hammer. I +stole very softly to the door, and discovered that the bolt had slipped +beyond the hoop of the lock; probably in the sharp bang with which it +had been closed. The door was open for me! + + + + +CHAPTER THE SECOND. + +TO SOUTHAMPTON. + + +There was not a moment to be lost. When the servant came downstairs +again from her room in the attics, she would be sure to call for the +tea-tray, in order to save herself another journey; how long she would +be up-stairs was quite uncertain. If she was gone to "clean" herself, as +she called it, the process might be a very long one, and a good hour +might be at my disposal; but I could not count upon that. In the +drawing-room below sat my jailer and enemy, who might take a whim into +her head, and come up to see her prisoner at any instant. It was +necessary to be very quick, very decisive, and very silent. + +I had been on the alert for such a chance ever since my imprisonment +began. My seal-skin hat and jacket lay ready to my hand in a drawer; but +I could find no gloves; I could not wait for gloves. Already there were +ominous sounds overhead, as if the servant had dispatched her brief +business there, and was about to come down. I had not time to put on +thicker boots; and it was perhaps essential to the success of my flight +to steal down the stairs in the soft, velvet slippers I was wearing. I +stepped as lightly as I could--lightly but very swiftly, for the servant +was at the top of the upper flight, while I had two to descend. I crept +past the drawing-room door. The heavy house-door opened with a grating +of the hinges; but I stood outside it, in the shelter of the portico; +free, but with the rain and wind of a stormy night in October beating +against me, and with no light save the glimmer of the feeble +street-lamps flickering across the wet pavement. + +I knew very well that my escape was almost hopeless, for the success of +it depended very much upon which road of the three lying before me I +should happen to take. I had no idea of the direction of any one of +them, for I had never been out of the house since the night I was +brought to it. The strong, quick running of the servant, and the +passionate fury of the woman, would overtake me if we were to have a +long race; and if they overtook me they would force me back. I had no +right to seek freedom in this wild way, yet it was the only way. Even +while I hesitated in the portico of the house that ought to have been my +home, I heard the shrill scream of the girl within when she found my +door open, and my room empty. If I did not decide instantaneously, and +decide aright, it would have been better for me never to have tried this +chance of escape. + +But I did not linger another moment. I could almost believe an angel +took me by the hand, and led me. I darted straight across the muddy +road, getting my thin slippers wet through at once, ran for a few yards, +and then turned sharply round a corner into a street at the end of which +I saw the cheery light of shop-windows, all in a glow in spite of the +rain. On I fled breathlessly, unhindered by any passer-by, for the rain +was still falling, though more lightly. As I drew nearer to the +shop-windows, an omnibus-driver, seeing me run toward him, pulled up his +horses in expectation of a passenger. The conductor shouted some name +which I did not hear, but I sprang in, caring very little where it might +carry me, so that I could get quickly enough and far enough out of the +reach of my pursuers. There had been no time to lose, and none was lost. +The omnibus drove on again quickly, and no trace was left of me. + +I sat quite still in the farthest corner of the omnibus, hardly able to +recover my breath after my rapid running. I was a little frightened at +the notice the two or three other passengers appeared to take of me, and +I did my best to seem calm and collected. My ungloved hands gave me some +trouble, and I hid them as well as I could in the folds of my dress; for +there was something remarkable about the want of gloves in any one as +well dressed as I was. But nobody spoke to me, and one after another +they left the omnibus, and fresh persons took their places, who did not +know where I had got in. I did not stir, for I determined to go as far +as I could in this conveyance. But all the while I was wondering what I +should do with myself, and where I could go, when it readied its +destination. + +There was one trifling difficulty immediately ahead of me. When the +omnibus stopped I should have no small change for paying my fare. There +was an Australian sovereign fastened to my watch-chain which I could +take off, but it would be difficult to detach it while we were jolting +on. Besides, I dreaded to attract attention to myself. Yet what else +could I do? + +Before I had settled this question, which occupied me so fully that I +forgot other and more serious difficulties, the omnibus drove into a +station-yard, and every passenger, inside and out, prepared to alight. I +lingered till the last, and sat still till I had unfastened my +gold-piece. The wind drove across the open space in a strong gust as I +stepped down upon the pavement. A man had just descended from the roof, +and was paying the conductor: a tall, burly man, wearing a thick +water-proof coat, and a seaman's hat of oil-skin, with a long flap lying +over the back of his neck. His face was brown and weather-beaten, but he +had kindly-looking eyes, which glanced at me as I stood waiting to pay +my fare. + +"Going down to Southampton?" said the conductor to him. + +"Ay, and beyond Southampton," he answered. + +"You'll have a rough night of it," said the conductor.--"Sixpence, if +you please, miss." + +I offered him my Australian sovereign, which he turned over curiously, +asking me if I had no smaller change. He grumbled when I answered no, +and the stranger, who had not passed on, but was listening to what was +said, turned pleasantly to me. + +"You have no change, mam'zelle?" he asked, speaking rather slowly, as if +English was not his ordinary speech. "Very well! are you going to +Southampton?" + +"Yes, by the next train," I answered, deciding upon that course without +hesitation. + +"So am I, mam'zelle," he said, raising his hand to his oil-skin cap; "I +will pay this sixpence, and you can give it me again, when you buy your +ticket in the office." + +I smiled quickly, gladly; and he smiled back upon me, but gravely, as if +his face was not used to a smile. I passed on into the station, where a +train was standing, and people hurrying about the platform, choosing +their carriages. At the ticket-office they changed my Australian +gold-piece without a word; and I sought out my seaman friend to return +the sixpence he had paid to me. He had done me a greater kindness than +he could ever know, and I thanked him heartily. His honest, deep-set, +blue eyes glistened under their shaggy eyebrows as they looked down upon +me. + +"Can I do nothing more for you, mam'zelle?" he asked. "Shall I see after +your luggage?" + +"Oh! that will be all right, thank you," I replied, "but is this the +train for Southampton, and how soon will it start?" + +I was watching anxiously the stream of people going to and fro, lest I +should see some person who knew me. Yet who was there in London who +could know me? + +"It will be off in five minutes," answered the seaman. "Shall I look out +a carriage for you?" + +He was somewhat careful in making his selection; finally he put me into +a compartment where there were only two ladies, and he stood in front of +the door, but with his back turned toward it, until the train was about +to start. Then he touched his hat again with a gesture of farewell, and +ran away to a second-class carriage. + +I sighed with satisfaction as the train rushed swiftly through the +dimly-lighted suburbs of London, and entered upon the open country. A +wan, watery line of light lay under the brooding clouds in the west, +tinged with a lurid hue; and all the great field of sky stretching above +the level landscape was overcast with storm-wrack, fleeing swiftly +before the wind. At times the train seemed to shake with the Wast, when +it was passing oyer any embankment more than ordinarily exposed; but it +sped across the country almost as rapidly as the clouds across the sky. +No one in the carriage spoke. Then came over me that weird feeling +familiar to all travellers, that one has been doomed to travel thus +through many years, and has not half accomplished the time. I felt as if +I had been fleeing from my home, and those who should have been my +friends, for a long and weary while; yet it was scarcely an hour since I +had made my escape. + +In about two hours or more--but exactly what time I did not know, for my +watch had stopped--my fellow-passengers, who had scarcely condescended +to glance at me, alighted at a large, half-deserted station, where only +a few lamps were burning. Through the window I could see that very few +other persons were leaving the train, and I concluded we had not yet +reached the terminus. A porter came up to me as I leaned my head through +the window. + +"Going on, miss?" he asked. + +"Oh, yes!" I answered, shrinking back into my corner-seat. He remained +upon the step, with his arm over the window-frame, while the train moved +on at a slackened pace for a few minutes, and then pulled up, but at no +station. Before me lay a dim, dark, indistinct scene, with little specks +of light twinkling here and there in the night, but whether on sea or +shore I could not tell. Immediately opposite the train stood the black +hulls and masts and funnels of two steamers, with a glimmer of lanterns +on their decks, and up and down their shrouds. The porter opened the +door for me. + +"You've only to go on board, miss," he said, "your luggage will be seen +to all right." And he hurried away to open the doors of the other +carriages. + +I stood still, utterly bewildered, for a minute or two, with the wind +tossing my hair about, and the rain beating in sharp, stinging drops +like hailstones upon my face and hands. It must have been close upon +midnight, and there was no light but the dim, glow-worm glimmer of the +lanterns on deck. Every one was hurrying past me. I began almost to +repent of the desperate step I had taken; but I had learned already that +there is no possibility of retracing one's steps. At the gangways of the +two vessels there were men shouting hoarsely. "This way for the Channel +Islands!" "This way for Havre and Paris!" To which boat should I trust +myself and my fate? There was nothing to guide me. Yet once more that +night the moment had come when I was compelled to make a prompt, +decisive, urgent choice. It was almost a question of life and death to +me: a leap in the dark that must be taken. My great terror was lest my +place of refuge should be discovered, and I be forced back again. Where +was I to go? To Paris, or to the Channel Islands? + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRD. + +A ROUGH NIGHT AT SEA. + + +A mere accident decided it. Near the fore-part of the train I saw the +broad, tall figure of my new friend, the seaman, making his way across +to the boat for the Channel Islands; and almost involuntarily I made up +my mind to go on board the same steamer, for I had an instinctive +feeling that he would prove a real friend, if I had need of one. He did +not see me following; no doubt he supposed I had left the train at +Southampton, having only taken my ticket so far; though how I had missed +Southampton I could not tell. The deck was wet and slippery, and the +confusion upon it was very great. I was too much at home upon a steamer +to need any directions; and I went down immediately into the ladies' +cabin, which was almost empty, and chose a berth for myself in the +darkest corner. It was not far from the door, and presently two other +ladies came down, with a gentleman and the captain, and held an anxious +parley close to me. I listened absently and mechanically, as indifferent +to the subject as if it could be of no consequence to me. + +"Is there any danger?" asked one of the ladies. + +"Well, I cannot say positively there will be no danger," answered the +captain; "there's not danger enough to keep me and the crew in port; but +it will be a very dirty night in the Channel. If there's no actual +necessity for crossing to-night I should advise you to wait, and see how +it will be to-morrow. Of course we shall use extra caution, and all that +sort of thing. No; I cannot say I expect any great danger." + +"But it will be awfully rough?" said the gentleman. + +The captain answered only by a sound between a groan and a whistle, as +if he could not trust himself to think of words that would describe the +roughness. There could be no doubt of his meaning. The ladies hastily +determined to drive back to their hotel, and gathered up their small +packages and wrappings quickly. I fancied they were regarding me +somewhat curiously, but I kept my face away from them carefully. They +could only see my seal-skin jacket and hat, and my rough hair; and they +did not speak to me. + +"You are going to venture, miss?" said the captain, stepping into the +cabin as the ladies retreated up the steps. + +"Oh, yes," I answered. "I am obliged to go, and I am not in the least +afraid." + +"You needn't be," he replied, in a hearty voice. "We shall do our best, +for our own sakes, and you would be our first care if there was any +mishap. Women and children first always. I will send the stewardess to +you; she goes, of course." + +I sat down on one of the couches, listening for a few minutes to the +noises about me. The masts were groaning, and the planks creaking under +the heavy tramp of the sailors, as they got ready to start, with shrill +cries to one another. Then the steam-engine began to throb like a pulse +through all the vessel from stem to stern. Presently the stewardess came +down, and recommended me to lie down in my berth at once, which I did +very obediently, but silently, for I did not wish to enter into +conversation with the woman, who seemed inclined to be talkative. She +covered me up well with several blankets, and there I lay with my face +turned from the light of the swinging lamp, and scarcely moved hand or +foot throughout the dismal and stormy night. + +For it was very stormy and dismal as soon as we were out of Southampton +waters, and in the rush and swirl of the Channel. I did not fall asleep +for an instant. I do not suppose I should have slept had the Channel +been, as it is sometimes, smooth as a mill-pond, and there had been no +clamorous hissing and booming of waves against the frail planks, which I +could touch with my hand. I could see nothing of the storm, but I could +hear it: and the boat seemed tossed, like a mere cockle-shell, to and +fro upon the rough sea. It did not alarm me so much as it distracted my +thoughts, and kept them from dwelling upon possibilities far more +perilous to me than the danger of death by shipwreck. A short suffering +such a death would be. + +My escape and flight had been so unexpected, so unhoped for, that it had +bewildered me, and it was almost a pleasure to lie still and listen to +the din and uproar of the sea and the swoop of the wind rushing down +upon it. Was I myself or no? Was this nothing more than a very coherent, +very vivid dream, from which I should awake by-and-by to find myself a +prisoner still, a creature as wretched and friendless as any that the +streets of London contained? My flight had been too extraordinary a +success, so far, for my mind to be able to dwell upon it calmly. + +I watched the dawn break through a little port-hole opening upon my +berth, which had been washed and beaten by the water all the night long. +The level light shone across the troubled and leaden-colored surface of +the sea, which seemed to grow a little quieter under its touch. I had +fancied during the night that the waves were running mountains high; but +now I could see them, they only rolled to and fro in round, swelling +hillocks, dull green against the eastern sky, with deep, sullen troughs +of a livid purple between them. But the fury of the storm had spent +itself, that was evident, and the steamer was making way steadily now. + +The stewardess had gone away early in the night, being frightened to +death, she said, to seek more genial companionship than mine. So I was +alone, with the blending light of the early dawn and that of the lamp +burning feebly from the ceiling. I sat up in my berth and cautiously +unstitched the lining in the breast of my jacket. Here, months ago, when +I first began to foresee this emergency, and while I was still allowed +the use of my money, I had concealed one by one a few five-pound notes +of the Bank of England. I counted them over, eight of them; forty pounds +in all, my sole fortune, my only means of living. True, I had besides +these a diamond ring, presented to me under circumstances which made it +of no value to me, except for its worth in money, and a watch and chain +given to me years ago by my father. A jeweller had told me that the ring +was worth sixty pounds, and the watch and chain forty; but how difficult +and dangerous it would be for me to sell either of them! Practically my +means were limited to the eight bank-notes of five pounds each. I kept +out one for the payment of my passage, and then replaced the rest, and +carefully pinned them into the unstitched lining. + +Then I began to wonder what my destination was. I knew nothing whatever +of the Channel Islands, except the names which I had learned at +school--Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, and Sark. I repeated these over and +over again to myself; but which of them we were bound for, or if we were +about to call at each one of them, I did not know. I should have been +more at home had I gone to Paris. + +As the light grew I became restless, and at last I left my berth and +ventured to climb the cabin-steps. The fresh air smote upon me almost +painfully. There was no rain falling, and the wind had been lulling +since the dawn. The sea itself was growing brighter, and glittered here +and there in spots where the sunlight fell upon it. All the sailors +looked beaten and worn out with the night's toil, and the few passengers +who had braved the passage, and were now well enough to come on deck, +were weary and sallow-looking. There was still no land in sight, for the +clouds hung low on the horizon, and overhead the sky was often overcast +and gloomy. It was so cold that, in spite of my warm mantle, I shivered +from head to foot. + +But I could not bear to go back to the close, ill-smelling cabin, which +had been shut up all night. I stayed on deck in the biting wind, leaning +over the wet bulwarks and gazing across the desolate sea till my spirits +sank like lead. The reaction upon the violent strain on my nerves was +coming, and I had no power to resist its influence. I could feel the +tears rolling down my cheeks and falling on my hands without caring to +wipe them away; the more so as there was no one to see them. What did my +tears signify to any one? I was cold, and hungry, and miserable. How +lonely I was! how poor! with neither a home nor a friend in the +world!--a mere castaway upon the waves of this troublous life! + +"Mam'zelle is a brave sailor," said a voice behind me, which I +recognized as my seaman of the night before, whom I had wellnigh +forgotten; "but the storm is over now, and we shall be in port only an +hour or two behind time." + +"What port shall we reach?" I asked, not caring to turn round lest he +should see my wet eyes and cheeks. + +"St. Peter-Port," he answered. "Mam'zelle, then, does not know our +islands?" + +"No," I said. "Where is St. Peter-Port?" + +"In Guernsey," he replied. "Is mam'zelle going to Guernsey or Jersey? +Jersey is about two hours' sail from Guernsey. If you were going to land +at St. Peter-Port, I might be of some service to you." + +I turned round then, and looked at him steadily. His voice was a very +pleasant one, full of tones that went straight to my heart and filled me +with confidence. His face did not give the lie to it, or cause me any +disappointment. He was no gentleman, that was plain; his face was +bronzed and weather-beaten, as if he often encountered rough weather. +But his deep-set eyes had a steadfast, quiet power in them, and his +mouth, although it was almost hidden by hair, had a pleasant curve about +it. I could not guess how old he was; he looked a middle-aged man to me. +His great, rough hands, which had never worn gloves, were stained and +hard with labor; and he had evidently been taking a share in the toil of +the night, for his close-fitting, woven blue jacket was wet through, and +his hair was damp and rough with the wind and rain. He raised his cap as +my eyes looked straight into his, and a faint smile flitted across his +grave face. + +"I want," I said, suddenly, "to find a place where I can live very +cheaply. I have not much money, and I must make it last a long time. I +do not mind how quiet the place, or how poor; the quieter the better for +me. Can you tell me of such a place?" + +"You would want a place fit for a lady?" he said, in a half-questioning +tone, and with a glance at my silk dress. + +"No," I answered, eagerly. "I mean such a cottage as you would live in. +I would do all my own work, for I am very poor, and I do not know yet +how I can get my living. I must be very careful of my money till I find +out what I can do. What sort of a place do you and your wife live in?" + +His face was clouded a little, I thought; and he did not answer me till +after a short silence. + +"My poor little wife is dead," he answered, "and I do not live in +Guernsey or Jersey. We live in Sark, my mother and I. I am a fisherman, +but I have also a little farm, for with us the land goes from the father +to the eldest son, and I was the eldest. It is true we have one room to +spare, which might do for mam'zelle; but the island is far away, and +very _triste_. Jersey is gay, and so is Guernsey, but in the winter Sark +is too mournful." + +"It will be just the place I want," I said, eagerly; "it would suit me +exactly. Can you let me go there at once? Will you take me with you?" + +"Mam'zelle," he replied, smiling, "the room must be made ready for you, +and I must speak to my mother. Besides, Sark is six miles from Guernsey, +and to-day the passage would be too rough for you. If God sends us fair +weather I will come back to St. Peter-Port for you in three days. My +name is Tardif. You can ask the people in Peter-Port what sort of a man +Tardif of the Havre Gosselin is." + +"I do not want any one to tell me what sort of a man you are," I said, +holding out my hand, red and cold with the keen air. He took it into his +large, rough palm, looking down upon me with an air of friendly +protection. + +"What is your name, mam'zelle?" he inquired. + +"Oh! my name is Olivia," I said; then I stopped abruptly, for there +flashed across me the necessity for concealing it. Tardif did not seem +to notice my embarrassment. + +"There are some Olliviers in St. Peter-Port," he said. "Is mam'zelle of +the same family? But no, that is not probable." + +"I have no relations," I answered, "not even in England. I have very few +friends, and they are all far away in Australia. I was born there, and +lived there till I was seventeen."' + +The tears sprang to my eyes again, and my new friend saw them, but said +nothing. He moved off at once to the far end of the dock, to help one of +the crew in some heavy piece of work. He did not come hack until the +rain began to return--a fine, drizzling rain, which came in scuds across +the sea. + +"Mam'zelle," he said, "you ought to go below; and I will tell you when +we are in sight of Guernsey." + +I went below, inexpressibly more satisfied and comforted. What it was in +this man that won my complete, unquestioning confidence, I did not know; +but his very presence, and the sight of his good, trustworthy face, gave +me a sense of security such as I have never felt before or since. Surely +God had sent him to me in my great extremity. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTH. + +A SAFE HAVEN. + + +We were two hours after time at St. Peter-Port; and then all was hurry +and confusion, for goods and passengers had to be landed and embarked +for Jersey. Tardif, who was afraid of losing the cutter which would +convey him to Sark, had only time to give me the address of a person +with whom I could lodge until he came to fetch me to his island, and +then he hastened away to a distant part of the quay. I was not sorry +that he should miss finding out that I had no luggage of any kind with +me. + +I was busy enough during the next three days, for I had every thing to +buy. The widow with whom I was lodging came to the conclusion that I had +lost all my luggage, and I did not try to remove the false impression. +Through her assistance I was able to procure all I required, without +exciting more notice and curiosity. My purchases, though they were as +simple and cheap as I could make them, drew largely upon my small store +of money, and as I saw it dwindling away, while I grudged every shilling +I was obliged to part with, my spirits sank lower and lower. I had never +known the dread of being short of money, and the new experience was, +perhaps, the more terrible to me. There was no chance of disposing of +the costly dress in which I had journeyed, without arousing too much +attention and running too great a risk. I stayed in-doors as much as +possible, and, as the weather continued cold and gloomy, I did not meet +many persons when I ventured out into the narrow, foreign-looking +streets of the town. + +But on the third day, when I looked out from my window, I saw that the +sky had cleared, and the sun was shining joyously. It was one of those +lovely days which come as a lull sometimes in the midst of the +equinoctial gales, as if they were weary of the havoc they had made, and +were resting with folded wings. For the first time I saw the little +island of Sark lying against the eastern sky. The whole length of it was +visible, from north to south, with the waves beating against its +headlands, and a fringe of silvery foam girdling it. The sky was of a +pale blue, as though the rains had washed it as well as the earth, and a +few filmy clouds were still lingering about it. The sea beneath was a +deeper blue, with streaks almost like a hoar frost upon it, with here +and there tints of green, like that of the sky at sunset. A boat with +three white sails, which were reflected in the water, was tacking about +to enter the harbor, and a second, with amber sails, was a little way +behind, but following quickly in its wake. I watched them for a long +time. Was either of them Tardif's boat? + +That question was answered in about two hours' time by Tardif's +appearance at the house. He lifted my little box on to his broad +shoulders, and marched away with it, trying vainly to reduce his long +strides into steps that would suit me, as I walked beside him. I felt +overjoyed that he was come. So long as I was in Guernsey, when every +morning I could see the arrival of the packet that had brought me, I +could not shake off the fear that it was bringing some one in pursuit of +me; but in Sark that would be all different. Besides, I felt +instinctively that this man would protect me, and take my part to the +very utmost, should any circumstances arise that compelled me to appeal +to him and trust him with my secret. I knew nothing of him, but his face +was stamped with God's seal of trustworthiness, if ever a human face +was. + +A second man was in the boat when we reached it, and it looked well +laden. Tardif made a comfortable seat for me amid the packages, and then +the sails were unfurled, and we were off quickly out of the harbor and +on the open sea. + +A low, westerly wind was blowing, and fell upon the sails with a strong +and equal pressure. We rode before it rapidly, skimming over the low, +crested waves almost without a motion. Never before had I felt so +perfectly secure upon the water. Now I could breathe freely, with the +sense of assured safety growing stronger every moment as the coast of +Guernsey receded on the horizon, and the rocky little island grew +nearer. As we approached it no landing-place was to be seen, no beach or +strand. An iron-bound coast of sharp and rugged crags confronted us, +which it seemed impossible to scale. At last we cast anchor at the foot +of a great cliff, rising sheer out of the sea, where a ladder hung down +the face of the rock for a few feet. A wilder or lonelier place I had +never seen. Nobody could pursue and surprise me here. + +The boatman who was with us climbed up the ladder, and, kneeling down, +stretched out his hand to help me, while Tardif stood waiting to hold me +steadily on the damp and slippery rungs. For a moment I hesitated, and +looked round at the crags, and the tossing, restless sea. + +"I could carry you through the water, mam'zelle," said Tardif, pointing +to a hand's breadth of shingle lying between the rocks, "but you will +get wet. It will be better for you to mount up here." + +I fastened both of my hands tightly round one of the upper rungs, before +lifting my feet from the unsteady prow of the boat. But the ladder once +climbed, the rest of the ascent was easy. I walked on up a zigzag path, +cut in the face of the cliff, until I gained the summit, and sat down to +wait for Tardif and his comrade. I could not have fled to a securer +hiding-place. So long as my money held out, I might live as peacefully +and safely as any fugitive had ever lived. + +For a little while I sat looking out at the wild and beautiful scene +before me, which no words can tell and no fancy picture to those who +have never seen it. The white foam of the waves was so near, that I +could see the rainbow colors playing through the bubbles as the sun +shone on them. Below the clear water lay a girdle of sunken rocks, +pointed as needles, and with edges as sharp as swords, about which the +waves fretted ceaselessly, drawing silvery lines about their notched and +dented ridges. The cliffs ran up precipitously from the sea, carved +grotesquely over their whole surface into strange and fantastic shapes; +while the golden and gray lichens embroidered them richly, and bright +sea-flowers, and stray tufts of grass, lent them the most vivid and +gorgeous hues. Beyond the channel, against the clear western sky, lay +the island of Guernsey, rising like a purple mountain out of the opal +sea, which lay like a lake between us, sparkling and changing every +minute under the light of the afternoon sun. + +But there was scarcely time for the exquisite beauty of this scene to +sink deeply into my heart just then. Before long I heard the tramp of +Tardif and his comrade following me; their heavy tread sent down the +loose stones on the path plunging into the sea. They were both laden +with part of the boat's cargo. They stopped to rest for a minute or two +at the spot where I had sat down, and the other boatman began talking +earnestly to Tardif in his _patois_, of which I did not understand a +word. Tardif's face was very grave and sad, indescribably so; and, +before he turned to me and spoke, I knew it was some sorrowful +catastrophe he had to tell. + +"You see how smooth it is, mam'zelle," he said--"how clear and +beautiful--down below us, where the waves are at play like little white +children? I love them, but they are cruel and treacherous. While I was +away there was an accident down yonder, just beyond these rocks. Our +doctor, and two gentlemen, and a sailor went out from our little bay +below, and shortly after there came on a thick darkness, with heavy +rain, and they were all lost, every one of them! Poor Renouf! he was a +good friend of mine. And our doctor, too! If I had been here, maybe I +might have persuaded them not to brave it." + +It was a sad story to hear, yet just then I did not pay much attention +to it. I was too much engrossed in my own difficulties and trouble. So +far as my experience goes, I believe the heart is more open to other +people's sorrows when it is free from burdens of its own. I was glad +when Tardif took up his load again and turned his back upon the sea. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTH. + +WILL IT DO? + + +Tardif walked on before me to a low, thatched cottage, standing at the +back of a small farm-yard. There was no other dwelling in sight, and +even the sea was not visible from it. It was sheltered by the steep +slope of a hill rising behind it, and looked upon another slope covered +with gorse-bushes; a very deep and narrow ravine ran down from it to the +hand-breadth of shingle which I had seen from the boat. A more solitary +place I could not have imagined; no sign of human life, or its +neighborhood, betrayed itself; overhead was a vast dome of sky, with a +few white-winged sea-gulls flitting across it, and uttering their low, +wailing cry. The roof of sky and the two round outlines of the little +hills, and the deep, dark ravine, the end of which was unseen, formed +the whole of the view before me. + +I felt chilled a little as I followed Tardif down into the dell. He +glanced back, with grave, searching eyes, scanning my face carefully. I +tried to smile, with a very faint, wan smile, I suppose, for the +lightness had fled from my spirits, and my heart was heavy enough, God +knows. + +"Will it not do, mam'zelle?" he asked, anxiously, and with his slow, +solemn utterance; "it is not a place that will do for a young lady like +you, is it? I should have counselled you to go on to Jersey, where there +is more life and gayety; it is my home, but for you it will be nothing +but a dull prison." + +"No, no!" I answered, as the recollection of the prison I had fled from +flashed across me; "it is a very pretty place and very safe; by-and-by I +shall like it as much as you do, Tardif." + +The house was a low, picturesque building, with thick walls of stone and +a thatched roof, which had two little dormer-windows in it; but at the +most sheltered end, farthest from the ravine that led down to the sea, +there had been built a small, square room of brick-work. As we entered +the fold-yard, Tardif pointed this room out to me as mine. + +"I built it," he said, softly, "for my poor little wife; I brought the +bricks over from Guernsey in my own boat, and laid nearly every one of +them with my own hands; she died in it, mam'zelle. Please God, you will +be both happy and safe there!" + +We stepped directly from the stone causeway of the yard into the +farm-house kitchen--the only sitting-room in the house except my own. It +was exquisitely clean, with that spotless and scrupulous cleanliness +which appears impossible in houses where there are carpets and curtains, +and papered walls. An old woman, very little and bent, and dressed in an +odd and ugly costume, met us at the door, dropping a courtesy to me, and +looking at me with dim, watery eyes. I was about to speak to her, when +Tardif bent down his head, and put his mouth to her ear, shouting to her +with a loud voice, but in their peculiar jargon, of which I could not +make out a single word. + +"My poor mother is deaf," he said to me, "very deaf; neither can she +speak English. Most of the young people in Sark can talk in English a +little, but she is old and too deaf to learn. She has only once been +off the island." + +I looked at her, wondering for a moment what she could have to think of, +but, with an intelligible gesture of welcome, she beckoned me into my +own room. The aspect of it was somewhat dreary; the walls were of bare +plaster, but dazzlingly white, with one little black _silhouette_ of a +woman's head hanging in a common black frame over the low, open hearth, +on which a fire of seaweed was smouldering, with a quantity of gray +ashes round the small centre of smoking embers. There was a little round +table, uncovered, but as white as snow, and two chairs, one of them an +arm-chair, and furnished with cushions. A four-post bedstead, with +curtains of blue and white check, occupied the larger portion of the +floor. + +It was not a luxurious apartment; and for an instant I could hardly +realize the fact that it was to be my home for an indefinite period. +Some efforts had evidently been made to give it a look of welcome, +homely as it was. A pretty china tea cup and saucer, with a plate or two +to match, were set out on the deal table, and the cushioned arm-chair +had been drawn forward to the hearth. I sat down in it, and buried my +face in my hands, thinking, till Tardif knocked at the door, and carried +in my trunk. + +"Will it do, mam'zelle?" he asked, "will it do?" + +"It will do very nicely, Tardif," I answered; "but how ever am I to talk +to your mother if she does not know English?" + +"Mam'zelle," he said, as he uncorded my trunk, "you must order me as you +would a servant. Through the winter I shall always be at hand; and you +will soon be used to us and our ways, and we shall be used to you and +your ways. I will do my best for you, mam'zelle; trust me, I will study +to do my best, and make you very happy here. I will be ready to take you +away whenever you desire to go. Look upon me as your hired servant." + +He waited upon me all the evening, but with a quick attention to my +wants, which I had never met with in any hired servant. It was not +unfamiliar to me, for in my own country I had often been served only by +men; and especially during my girlhood, when I had lived far away in the +country, upon my father's sheep-walk. I knew it was Tardif who fried the +fish which came in with my tea; and, when the night closed in, it was he +who trimmed the oil-lamp and brought it in, and drew the check curtains +across the low casement, as if there were prying eyes to see me on the +opposite bank. Then a deep, deep stillness crept over the solitary +place--a stillness strangely deeper than that even of the daytime. The +wail of the sea-gulls died away, and the few busy cries of the farm-yard +ceased; the only sound that broke the silence was a muffled, hollow boom +which came up the ravine from the sea. + +Before nine o'clock Tardif and his mother had gone up-stairs to their +rooms in the thatch; and I lay wearied but sleepless in my bed, +listening to these dull, faint, ceaseless murmurs, as a child listens to +the sound of the sea in a shell. Was it possible that it was I, myself, +the Olivia who had been so loved and cherished in her girlhood, and so +hated and tortured in later years, who was come to live under a +fisherman's roof, in an island, the name of which I barely knew four +days ago? + +I fell asleep at last, yet I awoke early; but not so early that the +other inmates of the cottage were not up, and about their day's work. It +was my wish to wait upon myself, and so diminish the cost of living with +these secluded people; but I found it was not to be so; Tardif waited +upon me assiduously, as well as his deaf mother. The old woman would not +suffer me to do any work in my own room, but put me quietly upon one +side when I began to make my bed. Fortunately I had plenty of sewing to +employ myself in; for I had taken care not to waste my money by buying +ready-made clothes. The equinoctial gales came on again fiercely the day +after I had reached Sark; and I stitched away from morning till night, +trying to fix my thoughts upon my mechanical work. + +When the first week was over, Tardif's mother came to me at a time when +her son was away out-of-doors, with a purse in her fingers, and by very +plain signs made me understand that it was time I paid the first +instalment of my debt to her for board and lodgings. I was anxious about +my money. No agreement had been made between us as to what I was to pay. +I laid a sovereign down upon the table, and the old woman looked at it +carefully, and with a pleased expression; but she put it in her purse, +and walked away with it, giving me no change. Not that I altogether +expected any change; they provided me with every thing I needed, and +waited upon me with very careful service; yet now I could calculate +exactly how long I should be safe in this refuge, and the calculation +gave me great uneasiness. In a few months I should find myself still in +need of refuge, but without the means of paying for it. What would +become of me then? + +Very slowly the winter wore on. How shall I describe the peaceful +monotony, the dull, lonely safety of those dark days and long nights? I +had been violently tossed from a life of extreme trouble and peril into +a profound, unbroken, sleepy security. At first the sudden change +stupefied me; but after a while there came over me an uneasy +restlessness, a longing to get away from the silence and solitude, even +if it were into insecurity and danger. I began to wonder how the world +beyond the little island was going on. No news reached us from without. +Sometimes for weeks together it was impossible for an open boat to cross +over to Guernsey; even when a cutter accomplished its voyage out and in, +no letters could arrive for me. The season was so far advanced when I +went to Sark, that those visitors who had been spending a portion of the +summer there had already taken their departure, leaving the islanders to +themselves. They were sufficient for themselves; they and their own +affairs formed the world. Tardif would bring home almost daily little +scraps of news about the other families scattered about Sark; but of the +greater affairs of life in other countries he could tell me nothing. + +Yet why should I call these greater affairs? Each to himself is the +centre of the world. It was a more important thing to me that I was +safe, than that the freedom of England itself should be secure. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTH. + +TOO MUCH ALONE. + + +Yet looking back upon that time, now it is past, and has "rounded itself +into that perfect star I saw not when I dwelt therein," it would be +untrue to represent myself as in any way unhappy. At times I wished +earnestly that I had been born among these people, and could live +forever among them. + +By degrees I discovered that Tardif led a somewhat solitary life +himself, even in this solitary island, with its scanty population. There +was an ugly church standing in as central and prominent a situation as +possible, but Tardif and his mother did not frequent it. They belonged +to a little knot of dissenters, who met for worship in a small room, +when Tardif generally took the lead. For this reason a sort of coldness +existed between him and the larger portion of his fellow-islanders. But +there was a second and more important cause for a slight estrangement. +He had married an Englishwoman many years ago, much to the astonishment +and disappointment of his neighbors; and since her death he had held +himself aloof from all the good women who would have been glad enough to +undertake the task of consoling him for her loss. Tardif, therefore, was +left very much to himself in his isolated cottage, and his mother's +deafness caused her also to be no very great favorite with any of the +gossips of the island. It was so difficult to make her understand any +thing that could not be expressed by signs, that no one except her son +attempted to tell her the small topics of the day. + +All this told upon me, and my standing among them. At first I met a few +curious glances as I roamed about the island; but my dress was as poor +and plain as any of theirs, and I suppose there was nothing in my +appearance, setting aside my dress, which could attract them. I learned +afterward that Tardif had told those who asked him that my name was +Ollivier, and they jumped to the conclusion that I belonged to a family +of that name in Guernsey; this shielded me from the curiosity that might +otherwise have been troublesome and dangerous. I was nobody but a poor +young woman from Guernsey, who was lodging in the spare room of Tardif's +cottage. + +I set myself to grow used to their mode of life, and if possible to +become so useful to them that, when my money was all spent, they might +be willing to keep me with them; for I shrank from the thought of the +time when I must be thrust out of this nest, lonely and silent as it +was. As the long, dismal nights of winter set in, with the wind sweeping +across the island for several days together with a dreary, monotonous +moan which never ceased, I generally sat by their fire, for I had nobody +but Tardif to talk to; and now and then there arose an urgent need +within me to listen to some friendly voice, and to hear my own speaking +in reply. There were only two books in the house, the Bible and the +"Pilgrim's Progress," both of them in French; and I had not learned +French beyond the few phrases necessary for travelling. But Tardif began +to teach me that, and also to mend fishing-nets, which I persevered in, +though the twine cut my fingers. Could I by any means make myself useful +to them? + +As the spring came on, half my dullness vanished. Sark was more +beautiful in its cliff scenery than any thing I had ever seen, or could +have imagined. Why cannot I describe it to you? I have but to close my +eyes, and my memory paints it for me in my brain, with its innumerable +islets engirdling it, as if to ward off its busy, indefatigable enemy, +the sea. The long, sunken reefs, lying below the water at high tide, but +at the ebb stretching like fortifications about it, as if to make of it +a sure stronghold in the sea. The strange architecture and carving of +the rocks, with faces and crowned heads but half obliterated upon them; +the lofty arches, with columns of fretwork bearing them; the pinnacles, +and sharp spires; the fallen masses heaped against the base of the +cliffs, covered with seaweed, and worn out of all form, yet looking like +the fragments of some great temple, with its treasures of sculpture; and +about them all the clear, lucid water swelling and tossing, throwing +over them sparkling sheets of foam. And the brilliant tone of the golden +and saffron lichens, and the delicate tint of the gray and silvery ones, +stealing about the bosses and angles and curves of the rocks, as if the +rain and the wind and the frost had spent their whole power there to +produce artistic effects. I say my memory paints it again for me; but it +is only a memory, a shadow that my mind sees; and how can I describe to +you a shadow? When words are but phantoms themselves, how can I use them +to set forth a phantom? + +Whenever the grandeur of the cliffs had wearied me, as one grows weary +sometimes of too long and too close a study of what is great, there was +a little, enclosed, quiet graveyard that lay in the very lap of the +island, where I could go for rest. It was a small patch of ground, a +God's acre, shut in on every side by high hedge-rows, which hid every +view from sight except that of the heavens brooding over it. Nothing was +to be seen but the long mossy mounds above the dead, and the great, +warm, sunny dome rising above them. Even the church was not there, for +it was built in another spot, and had a few graves of its own scattered +about it. + +I was sitting there one evening in the early spring, after the sun had +dipped below the line of the high hedge-row, though it was still shining +in level rays through it. No sound had disturbed the deep silence for a +long time, except the twittering of birds among the branches; for up +here even the sea could not be heard when it was calm. I suppose my face +was sad, as most human faces are apt to be when the spirit is busy in +its citadel, and has left the outworks of the eyes and mouth to +themselves. So I was sitting quiet, with my hands clasped about my +knees, and my face bent down, when a grave, low voice at my side +startled me back to consciousness. Tardif was standing beside me, and +looking down upon me with a world of watchful anxiety in his deep eyes. + +"You are sad, mam'zelle," he said; "too sad for one so young as you +are." + +"Oh! everybody is sad, Tardif," I answered; "there is a great deal of +trouble for every one in this world. You are often very sad indeed." + +"Ah! but I have a cause," he said. "Mam'zelle does not know that she is +sitting on the grave of my little wife." + +He knelt down beside it as he spoke, and laid his hand gently on the +green turf. I would have risen, but he would not let me. + +"No," he said, "sit still, mam'zelle. Yes, you would have loved her, +poor little soul! She was an Englishwoman, like you, only not a lady; a +pretty little English girl, so little I could carry her like a baby. +None of my people took to her, and she was very lonely, like you again; +and she pined and faded away, just quietly, never saying one word +against them. No, no, mam'zelle, I like to see you here. This is a +favorite place with you, and it gives me pleasure. I ask myself a +hundred times a day, 'Is there any thing I can do to make my young lady +happy? Tell me what I can do more than I have done." + +"There is nothing, Tardif," I answered, "nothing whatever. If you see me +sad sometimes, take no notice of it, for you can do no more for me than +you are doing. As it is, you are almost the only friend, perhaps the +only true friend, I have in the world." + +"May God be true to me only as I am true to you!" he said, solemnly, +while his dark skin flushed and his eyes kindled. I looked at him +closely. A more honest face one could never see, and his keen blue eyes +met my gaze steadfastly. Heavy-hearted as I was just then, I could not +help but smile, and all his face brightened, as the sea at its dullest +brightens suddenly tinder a stray gleam of sunshine. Without another +word we both rose to our feet, and stood side by side for a minute, +looking down on the little grave beneath us. I would have gladly changed +places then with the lonely English girl, who had pined away in this +remote island. + +After that short, silent pause, we went slowly homeward along the quiet, +almost solitary lanes. Twice we met a fisherman, with his creel and nets +across his shoulders, who bade us good-night; but no one else crossed +our path. + +It was a profound monotony, a seclusion I should not have had courage to +face wittingly. But I had been led into it, and I dared not quit it. How +long was it to last? + + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. + +A FALSE STEP. + + +A day came after the winter storms, early, in March, with all the +strength and sweetness of spring in it; though there was sharpness +enough in the air to make my veins tingle. The sun was shining with so +much heat in it, that I might be out-of-doors all day under the shelter +of the rocks, in the warm, southern nooks where the daisies were +growing. The birds sang more blithely than they had ever done before; a +lark overhead, flinging down his triumphant notes; a thrush whistling +clearly in a hawthorn-bush hanging over the cliff; and the cry of the +gulls flitting about the rocks; I could hear them all at the same +moment, with the deep, quiet tone of the sea sounding below their gay +music. Tardif was going out to fish, and I had helped him to pack his +basket. From my niche in the rocks I could see him getting out of the +harbor, and he had caught a glimpse of me, and stood up in his boat, +bareheaded, bidding me good-by. I began to sing before he was quite out +of hearing, for he paused upon his oars listening, and had given me a +joyous shout, and waved his hat round his head, when he was sure it was +I who was singing. Nothing could be plainer than that he had gone away +more glad at heart than he had been all the winter, simply because he +believed that I was growing lighter-hearted. I could not help laughing, +yet being touched and softened at the thought of his pleasure. What a +good fellow he was! I had proved him by this time, and knew him to be +one of the truest, bravest, most unselfish men on God's earth. How good +a thing it was that I had met with him that wild night last October, +when I had fled like one fleeing from a bitter slavery! For a few +minutes my thoughts hovered about that old, miserable, evil time; but I +did not care to ponder over past troubles. It was easy to forget them +to-day, and I would forget them. I plucked the daisies, and listened +almost drowsily to the birds and the sea, and felt all through me the +delicious light and heat of the sun. Now and then I lifted up my eyes, +to watch Tardif tacking about on the water. There were several boats +out, but I kept his in sight, by the help of a queer-shaped patch upon +one of the sails. I wished lazily for a book, but I should not have read +it if I had had one. I was taking into my heart the loveliness of the +spring day. + +By twelve o'clock I knew my dinner would be ready, and I had been out in +the fresh air long enough to be quite ready for it. Old Mrs. Tardif +would be looking out for me impatiently, that she might get the meal +over, and the things cleared away, and order restored in her dwelling. +So I quitted my warm nook with a feeling of regret, though I knew I +could return to it in an hour. + +But one can never return to any thing that is once left. When we look +for it again, even though the place may remain, something has vanished +from it which can never come back. I never returned to my spring-day +upon the cliffs of Sark. + +A little crumbling path led round the rock and along the edge of the +ravine. I chose it because from it I could see all the fantastic shore, +bending in a semicircle toward the isle of Breckhou, with tiny, +untrodden bays, covered at this hour with only glittering ripples, and +with all the soft and tender shadows of the headlands falling across +them. I had but to look straight below me, and I could see long tresses +of glossy seaweed floating under the surface of the sea. Both my head +and my footing were steady, for I had grown accustomed to giddy heights +and venturesome climbing. I walked on slowly, casting many a reluctant +glance behind me at the calm waters, with the boats gliding to and fro +among the islets. I was just giving my last look to them when the loose +stones on the crumbling path gave way under my tread, and before I could +recover my foothold I found myself slipping down the almost +perpendicular face of the cliff, and vainly clutching at every bramble +and tuft of grass growing in its clefts. + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. + +AN ISLAND WITHOUT A DOCTOR. + + +I had not time to feel any fear, for, almost before I could realize the +fact that I was falling, I touched the ground. The point from which I +had slipped was above the reach of the water, but I fell upon the +shingly beach so heavily that I was hardly conscious for a few minutes. +When I came to my senses again, I lay still for a little while, trying +to make out where I was, and how I came there. I was stunned and +bewildered. Underneath me were the smooth, round pebbles, which lie +above the line of the tide on a shore covered with shingles. Above me +rose a dark, frowning rock, the chilly shadow of which lay across me. +Without lifting my head I could see the water on a level with me, but it +did not look on a level; its bright crested waves seemed swelling upward +to the sky, ready to pour over me and bury me beneath them. I was very +faint, and sick, and giddy. The ground felt as if it were about to sink +under me. My eyelids closed languidly when I did not keep them open by +an effort; and my head ached, and my brain swam with confused fancies. + +After some time, and with some difficulty, I comprehended what had +happened to me, and recollected that it was already past mid-day, and +Mrs. Tardif would be waiting for me. I attempted to stand up, but an +acute pain in my foot compelled me to desist. I tried to turn myself +upon the pebbles, and my left arm refused to help me. I could not check +a sharp cry of suffering as my left hand fell back upon the stones on +which I was lying. My fall had cost me something more than a few +minutes' insensibility and an aching head. I had no more power to move +than one who is bound hand and foot. + +After a few vain efforts I lay quite still again, trying to deliberate +as well as I could for the pain which racked me. I reckoned up, after +many attempts in which first my memory failed me, and then my faculty of +calculation, what the time of the high tide would be, and how soon +Tardif would come home. As nearly as I could make out, it would be high +water in about two hours. Tardif had set off at low water, as his boat +had been anchored at the foot of the rock, where the ladder hung; but +before starting he had said something about returning at high tide, and +running up his boat on the beach of our little bay. If he did that, he +must pass close by me. It was Saturday morning, and he was not in the +habit of staying out late on Saturdays, that he might prepare for the +services of the next day. I might count, then, upon the prospect of him +running the boat into the bay, and finding me there in about two hours' +time. + +It took me a very long time to make out all this, for every now and then +my brain seemed to lose its power for a while, and every thing whirled +about me. Especially there was that awful sensation of sinking down, +down through the pebbles into some chasm that was bottomless. I had +never either felt pain or fainted before, and all this alarmed me. + +Presently I began to listen to the rustle of the pebbles, as the rising +tide flowed over them and fell back again, leaving them all ajar and +grating against one another--strange, gurgling, jangling sound that +seemed to have some meaning. It was very cold, and a creeping moisture +was oozing up from the water. A vague wonder took hold of me as to +whether I was really above the line of the tide, for, now the March +tides were come, I did not know how high their flood was. But I thought +of it without any active feeling of terror or pain. I was numbed in body +and mind. The ceaseless chime of the waves, and the regularity of the +rustling play of the pebbles, seemed to lull and soothe me, almost in +spite of myself. Cold I was, and in sharp pain, but my mind had not +energy enough either for fear or effort. What appeared to me most +terrible was the sensation, coming back time after time, of sinking, +sinking into the fancied chasm beneath me. + +I remember also watching a spray of ivy, far above my head, swaying and +waving about in the wind; and a little bird, darting here and there with +a brisk flutter of its tiny wings, and a chirping note of satisfaction; +and the cloud drifting in soft, small cloudlets across the sky. These +things I saw, not as if they were real, but rather as if they were +memories of things that had passed before my eyes many years before. + +At last--- whether years or hours only had gone by, I could not then +have told you--I heard the regular and careful beat of oars upon the +water, and presently the grating of a boat's keel upon the shingle, with +the rattle of a chain cast out with the grapnel. I could not turn round +or raise my head, but I was sure it was Tardif, and that he did not yet +see me, for he was whistling softly to himself. I had never heard him +whistle before. + +"Tardif!" I cried, attempting to shout, but my voice sounded very weak +in my own ears, and the other sounds about me seemed very loud. He went +on with his unlading, half whistling and half humming his tune, as he +landed the nets and creel on the beach. + +"Tardif!" I called again, summoning all my strength, and raising my head +an inch or two from the hard pebbles which had been its resting-place. + +He paused then, and stood quite still, listening. I knew it, though I +could not see him. I ran the fingers of my right hand through the loose +pebbles about me, and his ear caught the slight noise. In a moment I +heard his strong feet coming across them toward me. + +"Mon Dieu! mam'zelle," he exclaimed, "what has happened to you?" + +I tried to smile as his honest, brown face bent over me, full of alarm. +It was so great a relief to see a face like his after that long, weary +agony, for it had been agony to me, who did not know what bodily pain +was like. But in trying to smile I felt my lips drawn, and my eyes +blinded with tears. + +"I've fallen down the cliff," I said, feebly, "and I am hurt." + +"Mon Dieu!" he cried again. The strong man shook, and his hand trembled +as he stooped down and laid it under my head to lift it up a little. His +agitation touched me to the heart, even then, and I did my best to speak +more calmly. + +"Tardif," I whispered, "it is not very much, and I might have been +killed. I think my foot is hurt, and I am quite sure my arm is broken." + +Speaking made me feel giddy and faint again, so I said no more. He +lifted me in his arms as easily and tenderly as a mother lifts up her +child, and carried me gently, taking slow and measured strides up the +steep slope which led homeward. I closed my eyes, glad to leave myself +wholly in his charge, and to have nothing further to dread; yet moaning +a little, involuntarily, whenever a fresh pang of pain shot through me. +Then he would cry again, "Mon Dieu!" in a beseeching tone, and pause for +an instant as if to give me rest. It seemed a long time before we +reached the farm-yard gate, and he shouted, with a tremendous voice, to +his mother to come and open it. Fortunately she was in sight, and came +toward us quickly. + +He carried me into the house, and laid me down on the _lit de +fouaille_--a wooden frame forming a sort of couch, and filled with dried +fern, which forms the principal piece of furniture in every farm-house +kitchen in the Channel Islands. Then he cut away the boot from my +swollen ankle, with a steady but careful touch, speaking now and then a +word of encouragement, as if I were a child whom he was tending. His +mother stood by, looking on helplessly and in bewilderment, for he had +not had time to explain my accident to her. + +But for my arm, which hung helplessly at my side, and gave me +excruciating pain when he touched it, it was quite evident he could do +nothing. + +"Is there nobody who could set it?" I asked, striving very hard to keep +calm. + +"We have no doctor in Sark now," he answered. "There is no one but +Mother Renouf. I will fetch her." + +But when she came she declared herself unable to set a broken limb. They +all three held a consultation over it in their own dialect; but I saw by +the solemn shaking of their heads, and Tardif's troubled expression, +that it was entirely beyond her skill to set it right. She would +undertake my sprained ankle, for she was famous for the cure of sprains +and bruises, but my arm was past her? The pain I was enduring bathed my +face with perspiration, but very little could be done to alleviate it. +Tardif's expression grew more and more distressed. + +"Mam'zelle knows," he said, stooping down to speak the more softly to +me, "there is no doctor nearer than Guernsey, and the night is not far +off. What are we to do?" + +"Never mind, Tardif," I answered, resolving to be brave; "let the women +help me into bed, and perhaps I shall be able to sleep. We must wait +till morning." + +It was more easily said than done. The two old women did their best, but +their touch was clumsy and their help slight, compared to Tardif's. I +was thoroughly worn out before I was in bed. But it was a great deal to +find myself there, safe and warm, instead of on the cold, hard pebbles +on the beach. Mother Renouf put my arm to rest upon a pillow, and bathed +and fomented my ankle till it felt much easier. + +Never, never shall I forget that night. I could not sleep; but I suppose +my mind wandered a little. Hundreds of times I felt myself down on the +shore, lying helplessly, while great green waves curled themselves over, +and fell just within reach of me, ready to swallow me up, yet always +missing me. Then I was back again in my own home in Adelaide, on my +father's sheep-farm, and he was still alive, and with no thought but how +to make every thing bright and gladsome for me; and hundreds of times I +saw the woman who was afterward to be my step-mother, stealing up to the +door and trying to get in to him and me. Sometimes I caught myself +sobbing aloud, and then Tardif's voice, whispering at the door to ask +how mam'zelle was, brought me back to consciousness. Now and then I +looked round, fancying I heard my mother's voice speaking to me, and I +saw only the wrinkled, yellow face of his mother, nodding drowsily in +her seat by the fire. Twice Tardif brought me a cup of tea, freshly +made. I could not distinctly made out who he was, or where I was, but I +tried to speak loudly enough for him to hear me thank him. + +I was very thankful when the first gleam of daylight shone into my room. +It seemed to bring clearness to my brain. + +"Mam'zelle," said Tardif, coming to my side very early in his +fisherman's dress, "I am going to fetch a doctor." + +"But it is Sunday," I answered faintly. I knew that no boatman put out +to sea willingly on a Sunday from Sark; and the last fatal accident, +being on a Sunday, had deepened their reluctance. + +"It will be right, mam'zelle," he answered, with glowing eyes. "I have +no fear." + +"Do not be long away, Tardif," I said, sobbing. + +"Not one moment longer than I can help," he replied. + + + + +PART THE SECOND. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIRST. + +DR. MARTIN DOBRÉE. + + +My name is Martin Dobrée. Martin or Doctor Martin I was called +throughout Guernsey. It will be necessary to state a few particulars +about my family and position, before I proceed with my part of this +narrative. + +My father was Dr. Dobrée. He belonged to one of the oldest families in +the island--a family of distinguished _pur sang_; but our branch of it +had been growing poorer instead of richer during the last three or four +generations. We had been gravitating steadily downward. + +My father lived ostensibly by his profession, but actually upon the +income of my cousin, Julia Dobrée, who had been his ward from her +childhood. The house we dwelt in, a pleasant one in the Grange, belonged +to Julia; and fully half of the year's household expenses were defrayed +by her. Our practice, which he and I shared between us, was not a large +one, though for its extent it was lucrative enough. But there always is +an immense number of medical men in Guernsey in proportion to its +population, and the island is healthy. There was small chance for any of +us to make a fortune. + +Then how was it that I, a young man, still under thirty, was wasting my +time, and skill, and professional training, by remaining there, a sort +of half pensioner on my cousin's bounty? The thickest rope that holds a +vessel, weighing scores of tons, safely to the pier-head is made up of +strands so slight that almost a breath will break them. + +First, then--and the strength of two-thirds of the strands lay +there--was my mother. I could never remember the time when she had not +been delicate and ailing, even when I was a rough school-boy at +Elizabeth College. It was that infirmity of the body which occasionally +betrays the wounds of a soul. I did not comprehend it while I was a boy; +then it was headache only. As I grew older I discovered that it was +heartache. The gnawing of a perpetual disappointment, worse than a +sudden and violent calamity, had slowly eaten away the very foundation +of healthy life. No hand could administer any medicine for this disease +except mine, and, as soon as I was sure of that, I felt what my first +duty was. + +I knew where the blame of this lay, if any blame there were. I had found +it out years ago by my mother's silence, her white cheeks, and her +feeble tone of health. My father was never openly unkind or careless, +but there was always visible in his manner a weariness of her, an utter +disregard for her feelings. He continued to like young and pretty women, +just as he had liked her because she was young and pretty. He remained +at the very point he was at when they began their married life. There +was nothing patently criminal in it, God forbid!--nothing to create an +open and a grave scandal on our little island. But it told upon my +mother; it was the one drop of water falling day by day. "A continual +dropping in a very rainy day and a contentious woman are alike," says +the book of Proverbs. My father's small infidelities were much the same +to my mother. She was thrown altogether upon me for sympathy, and +support, and love. + +When I first fathomed this mystery, my heart rose in very undutiful +bitterness against Dr. Dobrée; but by-and-by I found that it resulted +less from a want of fidelity to her than from a radical infirmity in his +temperament. It was almost as impossible for him to avoid or conceal his +preference for younger and more attractive women, as for my mother to +conquer the fretting vexation this preference caused to her. + +Next to my mother, came Julia, my cousin, five years older than I, who +had coldly looked down upon me, and snubbed me like a sister, as a boy; +watched my progress through Elizabeth College, and through Guy's +Hospital; and perceived at last that I was a young man whom it was no +disgrace to call cousin. To crown all, she fell in love with me; so at +least my mother told me, taking me into her confidence, and speaking +with a depth of pleading in her sunken eyes, which were worn with much +weeping. Poor mother! I knew very well what unspoken wish was in her +heart. Julia had grown up under her care as I had done, and she stood +second to me in her affection. + +It is not difficult to love any woman who has a moderate share of +attractions--at least I did not find it so then. I was really fond of +Julia, too--very fond. I knew her as intimately as any brother knows his +sister. She had kept up a correspondence with me all the time I was at +Guy's, and her letters had been more interesting and amusing than her +conversation generally was. Some women, most cultivated women, can write +charming letters; and Julia was a highly-cultivated woman. I came back +from Guy's with a very greatly-increased regard and admiration for my +cousin Julia. + +So, when my mother, with her pleading, wistful eyes, spoke day after day +of Julia, of her dutiful love toward her, and her growing love for me, I +drifted, almost without an effort of my own volition, into an engagement +with her. You see there was no counter-balance. I was acquainted with +every girl on the island of my own class; pretty girls were many of +them, but there was after all not one that I preferred to my cousin. My +old dreams and romances about love, common to every young fellow, had +all faded into a very commonplace, everyday vision of having a +comfortable house of my own, and a wife as good as most other men's +wives. Just in the same way, my ambitious plans of rising to the very +top of the tree in my profession had dwindled down to satisfaction with +the very limited practice of one of our island doctors. I found myself +chained to this rock in the sea; all my future life would probably be +spent there; and Fate offered me Julia as the companion fittest for me. +I was contented with my fate, and laughed off my boyish fancy that I +ought to be ready to barter the world for love. + +Added to these two strong ties keeping me in Guernsey, there were the +hundred, the thousand small associations which made that island, and my +people living upon it, dearer than any other place, or any other people, +in the world. Taking the strength of the rope which held me to the +pier-head as represented by one hundred, then my love for my mother +would stand at sixty-six and a half, my engagement to Julia at about +twenty and the remainder may go toward my old associations. That is +pretty nearly the sum of it. + +My engagement to Julia came about so easily and naturally that, as I +said, I was perfectly contented with it. We had been engaged since the +previous Christmas, and were to be married in the early summer, as soon +as a trip through Switzerland would be agreeable. We were to set up +housekeeping for ourselves; that was a point Julia was bent upon. A +suitable house had fallen vacant in one of the higher streets of St. +Peter-Port, which commanded a noble view of the sea and the surrounding +islands. We had taken it, though it was farther from the Grange and my +mother than I should have chosen my home to be. She and Julia were busy, +pleasantly busy, about the furnishing of it. Never had I seen my mother +look so happy, or so young. Even my father paid her a compliment or two, +which had the effect of bringing a pretty pink flush to her white +cheeks, and of making her sunken eyes shine. As to myself, I was quietly +happy, without a doubt. Julia was a good girl, everybody said that, and +Julia loved me devotedly. I was on the point of becoming master of a +house and owner of a considerable income; for Julia would not hear of +there being any marriage settlements which would secure to her the +property she was bringing to me. I found that making love, even to my +cousin, who was like a sister to me, was upon the whole a pleasurable +occupation. Every thing was going on smoothly. + +That was till about the middle of March. I had been to church one Sunday +morning with these two women, both devoted to me, and centring all their +love and hopes in me, when, as we entered the house on our return, I +heard my father calling "Martin! Martin!" as loudly as he could from his +consulting-room. I answered the call instantly, and whom should I see +but a very old friend of mine, Tardif of the Havre Gosselin. He was +standing near the door, as if in too great a hurry to sit down. His +handsome but weather-beaten face betrayed great anxiety, and his shaggy +mustache rose and fell, as if the mouth below it was tremulously at +work. My father looked chagrined and irresolute. + +"Here's a pretty piece of work, Martin," he said; "Tardif wants one of +us to go back with him to Sark, to see a woman who has fallen from the +cliffs and broken her arm, confound it!" + +"For the sake of the good God, Dr. Martin," cried Tardif, excitedly, and +of course speaking in the Sark dialect, "I beg of you to come this +instant even. She has been lying in anguish since mid-day +yesterday--twenty-four hours now, sir. I started at dawn this morning, +but both wind and tide were against me, and I have been waiting here +some time. Be quick, doctor. Mon Dieu! if she should be dead!" + +The poor fellow's voice faltered, and his eyes met mine imploringly. He +and I had been fast friends in my boyhood, when all my holidays were +spent in Sark, though he was some years older than I; and our friendship +was still firm and true, though it had slackened a little from absence. +I shook his hand heartily, giving it a good hard grip in token of my +unaltered friendship--a grip which he returned with his fingers of iron +till my own tingled again. + +"I knew you'd come," he gasped. + +"Ah, I'll go, Tardif," I said; "only I must get a snatch of something to +eat while Dr. Dobrée puts up what I shall have need of. I'll be ready in +half an hour. Go into the kitchen, and get some dinner yourself." + +"Thank you, Dr. Martin," he answered, his voice still unsteady, and his +mustache quivering; "but I can eat nothing. I'll go down and have the +boat ready. You'll waste no time?" + +"Not a moment," I promised. + +I left my father to put up the things I should require, supposing he had +heard all the particulars of the accident from Tardif. He was inclined +to grumble a little at me for going; but I asked him what else I could +have done. As he had no answer ready to that question, I walked away to +the dining-room, where my mother and Julia were waiting; for dinner was +ready, as we dined early on Sundays on account of the servants. Julia +was suffering from the beginning of a bilious attack, to which she was +subject, and her eyes were heavy and dull. I told them hastily where I +was going, and what a hurry I was in. + +"You are never going across to Sark to-day!" Julia exclaimed. + +"Why not?" I asked, taking my seat and helping myself quickly. + +"Because I am sure bad weather is coming," she answered, looking +anxiously through a window facing the west. "I could see the coast of +France this morning as plainly as Sark, and the gulls are keeping close +to the shore, and the sunset last night was threatening. I will go and +look at the storm-glass." + +She went away, but came back again very soon, with an increase of +anxiety in her face. "Don't go, dear Martin," she said, with her hand +upon my shoulder; "the storm-glass is as troubled as it can be, and the +wind is veering round to the west. You know what that foretells at this +time of the year. There is a storm at hand; take my word for it, and do +not venture across to Sark to-day." + +"And what is to become of the poor woman?" I remonstrated. "Tardif says +she has been suffering the pain of a broken limb these twenty-four +hours. It would be my duty to go even if the storm were here, unless the +risk was exceedingly great. Come, Julia, remember you are to be a +doctor's wife, and don't be a coward." + +"Don't go!" she reiterated, "for my sake and your mother's. I am certain +some trouble will come of it. We shall be frightened to death; and this +woman is only a stranger to you. Oh, I cannot bear to let you go!" + +I did not attempt to reason with her, for I knew of old that when Julia +was bilious and nervous she was quite deaf to reason. I only stroked the +hand that lay on my shoulder, and went on with my dinner as if my life +depended upon the speed with which I dispatched it. + +"Uncle," she said, as my father came in with a small portmanteau in his +hand, "tell Martin he must not go. There is sure to be a storm +to-night." + +"Pooh! pooh!" he answered. "I should be glad enough for Martin to stay +at home, but there's no help for it, I suppose. There will be no storm +at present, and they'll run across quickly. It will be the coming back +that will be difficult. You'll scarcely get home again to-night, +Martin." + +"No," I said. "I'll stop at Gavey's, and come back in the Sark cutter if +it has begun to ply. If not, Tardif must bring me over in the morning." + +"Don't go," persisted Julia, as I thrust myself into my rough +pilot-coat, and then bent down to kiss her cheek. Julia always presented +me her cheek, and my lips had never met hers yet. My mother was standing +by and looking tearful, but she did not say a word; she knew there was +no question about what I ought to do. Julia followed me to the door and +held me fast with both hands round my arm, sobbing out hysterically, +"Don't go!" Even when I had released myself and was running down the +drive, I could hear her still calling, "O Martin, don't go!" + +I was glad to get out of hearing. I felt sorry for her, yet there was a +considerable amount of pleasure in being the object of so much tender +solicitude. I thought of her for a minute or two as I hurried along the +steep streets leading down to the quay. But the prospect before me +caught my eye. Opposite lay Sark, bathed in sunlight, and the sea +between was calm enough at present. A ride across, with a westerly +breeze filling the sails, and the boat dancing lightly over the waves, +would not be a bad exchange for a dull Sunday afternoon, with Julia at +the Sunday-school and my mother asleep. Besides, it was the path of duty +which was leading me across the quiet gray sea before me. + +Tardif was waiting, with his sails set and oars in the rowlocks, ready +for clearing the harbor. I took one of them, and bent myself willingly +to the light task. There was less wind than I had expected, but what +there was blew in our favor. We were very quickly beyond the pier-head, +where a group of idlers was always gathered, who sent after us a few +warning shouts. Nothing could be more exhilarating than our onward +progress. I felt as if I had been a prisoner, with, chains which had +pressed heavily yet insensibly upon me, and that now I was free. I drew +into my lungs the fresh, bracing, salt air of the sea, with a deep sigh +of delight. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SECOND. + +A PATIENT IN SARK. + + +It struck me after a while that my friend Tardif was unusually silent. +The shifting of the sails appeared to give him plenty to do; and to my +surprise, instead of keeping to the ordinary course, he ran recklessly +as it seemed across the _grunes_, which lie all about the bed of the +channel between Guernsey and Sark. These _grunes_ are reefs, rising a +little above low water, but, as the tide was about half-flood, they were +a few feet below it; yet at times there was scarcely enough depth to +float us over them, while the brown seaweed torn from their edges lay in +our wake, something like the swaths of grass in a meadow after the +scythe has swept through it. Now and then came a bump and a scrape of +the keel against their sharp ridges. The sweat stood in beads upon +Tardif's face, and his thick hair fell forward over his forehead, where +the great veins in the temples were purple and swollen. I spoke to him +after a heavier bump over the _grunes_ than any we had yet come to. + +"Tardif," I said, "we are shaving the weeds a little too close, aren't +we?" + +"Look behind you, Dr. Martin," he answered, shifting the sails a +little. + +I did not look behind us. We were more than half-way over the channel, +and Guernsey lay four miles or so west of us; but instead of the clear +outline of the island standing out against the sky, I could see nothing +but a bank of white fog. The afternoon sun was shining brightly over it, +but before long it would dip into its dense folds. The fogs about our +islands are peculiar. You may see them form apparently thick blocks of +blanched vapor, with a distinct line between the atmosphere where the +haze is and where it is not. To be overtaken by a fog like this, which +would almost hide Tardif at one end of the boat from me at the other, +would be no laughing matter in a sea lined with sunken reefs. The wind +had almost gone, but a little breeze still caught us from the north of +the fog-bank. Without a word I took the oars again, while Tardif devoted +himself to the sails and the helm. + +"A mile nearer home," he said, "and I could row my boat as easily in the +dark as you could ride your horse along a lane." + +My face was westward now, and I kept my eye upon the fog-bank creeping +stealthily after us. I thought of my mother and Julia, and the fright +they would be in. Moreover a fog like this was pretty often succeeded by +a squall, especially at this season; and when a westerly gale blew up +from the Atlantic in the month of March, no one could foretell when it +would cease. I had been weather-bound in Sark, when I was a boy, for +three weeks at one time, when our provisions ran short, and it was +almost impossible to buy a loaf of bread. I could not help laughing at +the recollection, but I kept an anxious lookout toward the west. Three +weeks' imprisonment in Sark now would be a bore. + +But the fog remained almost stationary in the front of Guernsey, and the +round red eyeball of the sun glared after us as we ran nearer and nearer +to Sark. The tide was with us, and carried us on it buoyantly. We +anchored at the fisherman's landing-place below the cliff of the Havre +Gosselin, and I climbed readily up the rough ladder which leads to the +path. Tardif made his boat secure, and followed me; he passed me, and +strode on up the steep track to the summit of the cliff, as if impatient +to reach his home. It was then that I gave my first serious thought to +the woman who had met with the accident. + +"Tardif, who is this person that is hurt?" I asked, "and whereabout did +she fall?" + +"She fell down yonder," he answered, with an odd quaver in his voice, as +he pointed to a rough and rather high portion of the cliff running +inland; "the stones rolled from under her feet, so," he added, crushing +down a quantity of the loose gravel with his foot, "and she slipped. She +lay on the shingle underneath for two hours before I found her; two +hours, Dr. Martin!" + +"That was bad," I said, for the good fellow's voice failed him--"very +bad. A fall like that might have killed her." + +We went on, he carrying his oars, and I my little portmanteau. I heard +Tardif muttering. "Killed her!" in a tone of terror; but his face +brightened a little when we reached the gate of the farm-yard. He laid +down the oars noiselessly upon the narrow stone causeway before the +door, and lifted the latch as cautiously as if he were afraid to disturb +some sleeping baby. + +He had given me no information with regard to my patient; and the sole +idea I had formed of her was of a strong, sturdy Sark woman, whose +constitution would be tough, and her temperament of a stolid, phlegmatic +tone. There was not ordinarily much sickness among them, and this case +was evidently one of pure accident. I expected to find a nut-brown, +sunburnt woman, with a rustic face, who would very probably be impatient +and unreasonable under the pain I should be compelled to inflict upon +her. + +It had been my theory that a medical man, being admitted to the highest +degree of intimacy with his patients, was bound to be as insensible as +an anchorite to any beauty or homeliness in those whom he was attending +professionally; he should have eyes only for the malady he came to +consider and relieve. Dr. Dobrée had often sneered and made merry at my +high-flown notions of honor and duty; but in our practice at home he had +given me no opportunities of trying them. He had attended all our +younger and more attractive patients himself, and had handed over to my +care all the old people and children--on Julia's account, he had said, +laughing. + +Tardif's mother came to us as we entered the house. She was a little, +ugly woman, stone deaf, as I knew of old. Yet in some mysterious way she +could make out her son's deep voice, when he shouted into her ear. He +did not speak now, however, but made dumb signs as if to ask how all was +going on. She answered by a silent nod, and beckoned me to follow her +into an inner room, which opened out of the kitchen. + +It was a small, crowded room, with a ceiling so low, it seemed to rest +upon the four posts of the bedstead. There were of course none of the +little dainty luxuries about it with which I was familiar in my mother's +bedroom. A long, low window opposite the head of the bed threw a strong +light upon it. There were check curtains drawn round it, and a +patchwork-quilt, and rough, homespun linen. Every thing was clean, but +coarse and frugal--such as I expected to find about my Sark patient, in +the home of a fisherman. + +But when my eye fell upon the face resting on the rough pillow I paused +involuntarily, only just controlling an explanation of surprise. There +was absolutely nothing in the surroundings to mark her as a lady, yet I +felt in a moment that she was one. There lay a delicate, refined face, +white as the linen, with beautiful lips almost as white; and a mass of +light, shining, silky hair tossed about the pillow; and large dark-gray +eyes gazing at me beseechingly, with an expression that made my heart +leap as it had never leaped before. + +That was what I saw, and could not forbear seeing. I tried to recall my +theory, and to close my eyes to the pathetic beauty of the face before +me; but it was altogether in vain. If I had seen her before, or if I had +been prepared to see any one like her, I might have succeeded; but I was +completely thrown off my guard. There the charming face lay: the eyes +gleaming, the white forehead tinted, and the delicate mouth contracting +with pain: the bright, silky curls tossed about in confusion. I see it +now just as I saw it then. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRD. + +WITHOUT RESOURCES. + + +I suppose I did not stand still more than five seconds, yet during that +pause a host of questions had flashed through my brain. Who was this +beautiful creature? Where had she come from? How did it happen that she +was in Tardif's house? and so on. But I recalled myself sharply to my +senses; I was here as her physician, and common-sense and duty demanded +of me to keep my head clear. I advanced to her side, and took the small, +blue-veined hand in mine, and felt her pulse with my fingers. It beat +under them a low but fast measure; too fast by a great deal. I could see +that the general condition of her health was perfect, a great charm in +itself to me; but she had been bearing acute pain for over twenty-eight +hours, and she was becoming exhausted. A shudder ran through me at the +thought of that long spell of suffering. + +"You are in very great pain, I fear," I said, lowering my voice. + +"Yes," her white lips answered, and she tried to smile a patient though +a dreary smile, as she looked up into my face, "my arm is broken. Are +you a doctor?" + +"I am Dr. Martin Dobrée," I said, passing my hand softly down her arm. +The fracture was above the elbow, and was of a kind to make the setting +of it give her considerable pain. I could see she was scarce fit to bear +any further suffering just then; but what was to be done? She was not +likely to get much rest till the bone was set. + +"Have you had much sleep since your fall?" I asked, looking at the +weariness visible in her eyes. + +"Not any," she replied; "not one moment's sleep." + +"Did you have no sleep all night?" I inquired again. + +"No." she said, "I could not fall asleep." + +There were two things I could do--give her an opiate, and strengthen her +a little with sleep beforehand, or administer chloroform to her before +the operation. I hesitated between the two. A natural sleep would have +done her a world of good, but there was a gleam in her eyes, and a +feverish throb in her pulse, which gave me no hope of that. Perhaps the +chloroform, if she had no objection to it, would be the best. + +"Did you ever take chloroform?" I asked. + +"No: I never needed it," she answered. + +"Should you object to taking it?" + +"Any thing." she replied, passively. "I will do any thing you wish." + +I went back into the kitchen and opened the portmanteau my father had +put up for me. Splints and bandages were there in abundance, enough to +set half the arms in the island, but neither chloroform nor any thing in +the shape of an opiate could I find. I might almost as well have come to +Sark altogether unprepared for my case. + +What could I do? There are no shops in Sark, and drugs of any kind were +out of the question. There was not a chance of getting what I needed to +calm and soothe a highly-nervous and finely-strung temperament like my +patient's. A few minutes ago I had hesitated about using chloroform. Now +I would have given half of every thing I possessed in the world for an +ounce of it. + +I said nothing to Tardif, who was watching me with his deep-set eyes, as +closely as if I were meddling with some precious possession of his own. +I laid the bundle of splints and rolls of linen down on the table with a +professional air, while I was inwardly execrating my father's +negligence. I emptied the portmanteau in the hope of finding some small +phial or box. Any opiate would have been welcome to me, that would have +dulled the overwrought nerves of the girl in the room within. But the +practice of using any thing of the kind was not in favor with us +generally in the Channel Islands, and my father had probably concluded +that a Sark woman would not consent to use them. At any rate, there they +were not. + +I stood for a few minutes, deep in thought. The daylight was going, and +it was useless to waste time; yet I found myself shrinking oddly from +the duty before me. Tardif could not help but see my chagrin and +hesitation. + +"Doctor," he cried, "she is not going to die?" + +"No, no," I answered, calling back my wandering thoughts and energies; +"there is not the smallest danger of that. I must go and set her arm at +once, and then she will sleep." + +I returned to the room, and raised her as gently and painlessly as I +could, motioning to the old woman to sit beside her on the bed and hold +her steadily. I thought once of calling in Tardif to support her with +his strong frame, but I did not. She moaned, though very softly, when I +moved her, and she tried to smile again as her eyes met mine looking +anxiously at her. That smile made me feel like a child. If she did it +again, I knew my hands would be unsteady, and her pain would be tenfold +greater. + +"I would rather you cried out or shouted," I said. "Don't try to control +yourself when I hurt you. You need not be afraid of seeming impatient, +and a loud scream or two would do you good." + +But I knew quite well as I spoke that she would never scream aloud. +There was the self-control of culture about her. A woman of the lower +class might shriek and cry, but this girl would try to smile at the +moment when the pain was keenest. The white, round arm under my hands +was cold, and the muscles were soft and unstrung. I felt the ends of the +broken bone grating together as I drew the fragments into their right +places, and the sensation went through and through me. I had set scores +of broken limbs before with no feeling like this, which was so near +unnerving me. But I kept my hands steady, and my attention fixed upon my +work. I felt like two persons--a surgeon who had a simple, scientific +operation to perform, and a mother who feels in her own person every +pang her child has to suffer. + +All the time the girl's white face and firmly-set lips lay under my +gaze, with the wide-open, unflinching eyes looking straight at me: a +mournful, silent, appealing face, which betrayed the pain I made her +suffer ten times more than any cries or shrieks could have done. I +thanked God in my heart when it was over, and I could lay her down +again. I smoothed the coarse pillows for her to lie more comfortably +upon them, and I spread my cambric handkerchief in a double fold between +her cheek and the rough linen--too rough for a soft cheek like hers. + +"Lie quite still," I said. "Do not stir, but go to sleep as fast as you +can." + +She was not smiling now, and she did not speak; but the gleam in her +eyes was growing wilder, and she looked at me with a wandering +expression. If sleep did not come very soon, there would be mischief. I +drew the curtains across the window to shut out the twilight, and +motioned to the old woman to sit quietly by the side of our patient. + +Then I went out to Tardif. + +He had not stirred from the place and position in which I had left him. +I am sure no sound could have reached him from the inner room, for we +had been so still that during the whole time I could hear the beat of +the sea dashing up between the high cliffs of the Havre Gosselin. Up and +down went Tardif's shaggy mustache, the surest indication of emotion +with him, and he fetched his breath almost with a sob. + +"Well, Dr. Martin?" was all he said. + +"The arm is set," I answered, "and now she must get some sleep. There is +not the least danger, Tardif; only we will keep the house as quiet as +possible." + +"I must go and bring in the boat," he replied, bestirring himself as if +some spell was at an end. "There will be a storm to-night, and I should +sleep the sounder if she was safe ashore." + +"I'll come with you," I said, glad to get away from the seaweed fire. + +It was not quite dark, and the cliffs stood out against the sky in odder +and more grotesque shapes than by daylight. A host of seamews were +fluttering about and uttering the most unearthly hootings, but the sea +was as yet quite calm, save where it broke in wavering, serpentine lines +over the submerged reefs which encircle the island. The tidal current +was pouring rapidly through the very narrow channel between Sark and the +little isle of Breckhou, and its eddies stretching to us made it rather +an arduous task to get Tardif's boat on shore safely. But the work was +pleasant just then. It kept our minds away from useless anxieties about +the girl. An hour passed quickly, and up the ravine, in the deep gloom +of the overhanging rocks, we made our way homeward. + +"You will not quit the island to-morrow," said Tardif, standing at his +door, and scanning the sky with his keen, weather-wise eyes. + +"I must," I answered; "I must indeed, old fellow. You are no +land-lubber, and you will run me over in the morning." + +"No boat will leave Sark to-morrow," said Tardif, shaking his head. + +We went in, and he threw off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, +preparatory to frying some fish for supper. I was beginning to feel +ravenously hungry, for I had eaten nothing since dinner, and as far as I +knew Tardif had had nothing since his early breakfast, but as a +fisherman he was used to long spells of fasting. While he was busy +cooking I stole quietly into the inner room to look after my patient. + +The feeble light entering by the door, which I left open, showed me the +old woman comfortably asleep in her chair, but not so the girl. I had +told her when I laid her down that she must lie quite still, and she was +obeying me implicitly. Her cheek still rested upon my handkerchief, and +the broken arm remained undisturbed upon the pillow which I had placed +under it. But her eyes were wide open and shining in the dimness, and I +fancied I could see her lips moving incessantly, though soundlessly. I +laid my hand across her eyes, and felt the long lashes brush against the +palm, but the eyelids did not remain closed. + +"You must go to sleep," I said, speaking distinctly and authoritatively; +wondering at the time how much power my will would have over her. Did I +possess any of that magnetic, tranquillizing influence about which Jack +Senior and I had so often laughed incredulously at Guy's? Her lips +moved fast; for now my eyes had grown used to the dim light I could see +her face plainly, but I could not catch a syllable of what she was +whispering so busily to herself. + +Never had I felt so helpless and disconcerted in the presence of a +patient. I could positively do nothing for her. The case was not beyond +my skill, but all medicinal resources were beyond my reach. Sleep she +must have, yet how was I to administer it to her? + +I returned, troubled and irritable, to search once more my empty +portmanteau. Empty it was, except of the current number of _Punch_, +which my father had considerately packed among the splints for my +Sunday-evening reading. I flung it and the bag across the kitchen, with +an ejaculation not at all flattering to Dr. Dobrée, nor in accordance +with the fifth commandment. + +"What is the matter, doctor?" inquired Tardif. + +I told him in a few sharp words what I wanted to soothe my patient. In +an instant he left his cooking and thrust his arms into his blue jacket +again. + +"You can finish it yourself, Dr. Martin," he said, hurriedly; "I'll run +over to old Mother Renouf; she'll have some herbs or something to send +mam'zelle to sleep." + +"Bring her back with you," I shouted after him as he sped across the +yard. Mother Renouf was no stranger to me. While I was a boy she had +charmed my warts away, and healed the bruises which were the inevitable +consequences of cliff-climbing. I scarcely liked her coming in to fill +up my deficiencies, and I knew our application to her for help would be +inexpressibly gratifying. But I had no other resource than to call her +in as a fellow-practitioner, and I knew she would make a first-rate +nurse, for which Suzanne Tardif was unfitted by her deafness. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTH. + +A RIVAL PRACTITIONER. + + +Mother Renouf arrived from the other end of the island in an incredibly +short time, borne along by Tardif as if he were a whirlwind and she a +leaf caught in its current. She was a short, squat old woman, with a +skin tanned like leather, and kindly little blue eyes, twinkling with +delight and pride. Yes, there they are, photographed somewhere in my +brain, the wrinkled, yellow, withered faces of the two old women, their +watery eyes and toothless mouths, with figures as shapeless as the +bowlders on the beach, watching beside the bed where lay the white but +tenderly beautiful face of the young girl, with her curls of glossy hair +tossed about the pillow, and her long, tremulous eyelashes making a +shadow on her rounded cheek. + +Mother Renouf gave me a hearty tap on the shoulder, and chuckled as +merrily as the shortness of her breath after her rapid course would +permit. The few English phrases she knew fell far short of expressing +her triumph and exultation; but I was resolved to confer with her +affably. My patient's case was too serious for me to stand upon my +dignity. + +"Mother," I said, "have you any simples to send this poor girl to sleep? +Tardif told me you had taken her sprained ankle under your charge. I +find I have nothing with me to induce sleep, and you can help us if any +one can." + +"Leave her to me, my dear little doctor," she answered, a laugh gurgling +in her thick throat; "leave her to me. You have done your part with the +bones. I have no touch at all for broken limbs, though my father, good +man, could handle them with any doctor in all the islands. But I'll send +her to sleep for you, never fear." + +"You will stay with us all night?" I said, coaxingly. "Suzanne is deaf, +and ears are of use in a sick-room, you know. I intended to go to +Gavey's, but I shall throw myself down here on the fern bed, and you can +call me at any moment, if there is need." + +"There will be no need," she replied, in a tone of confidence. "My +little mam'zelle will be sound asleep in ten minutes after she has taken +my draught." + +I went into the room with her to have a look at our patient. She had not +stirred yet, but was precisely in the position in which I placed her +after the operation was ended. There was something peculiar about this +which distressed me. I asked Mother Renouf to move her gently and bring +her face more toward me. The burning eyes opened widely as soon as she +felt the old woman's arm under her, and she looked up, with a flash of +intelligence, into my face. I stooped down to catch the whisper with +which her lips were moving. + +"You told me not to stir," she murmured. + +"Yes," I said; "but you are not to lie still till you are cramped and +stiff. Are you in much pain now?" + +"He told me not to stir," muttered the parched lips again, "not to stir. +I must lie quite still, quite still, quite still!" + +The feeble voice died away as she whispered the last words, but her lips +went on moving, as if she was repeating them to herself still. Certainly +there was mischief here. My last order, given just before her mind began +to wander, had taken possession of her brain, and retained authority +over her will. There was a pathetic obedience in her perfect immobility, +united with the shifting, restless glance of her eyes, and the ceaseless +ripple of movement about her mouth, which made me trebly anxious and +uneasy. A dominant idea had taken hold upon her which might prove +dangerous. I was glad when Mother Renouf had finished stewing her +decoction of poppy-heads, and brought the nauseous draught for the girl +to drink. + +But whether the poppy-heads had lost their virtue, or our patient's +nervous condition had become too critical, too full of excitement and +disturbance, I cannot tell. It is certain that she was not sleeping in +ten minutes' or in an hour's time. Old Dame Tardif went off to her +bedroom, and Mother Renouf took her place by the girl's side. Tardif +could not be persuaded to leave the kitchen, though he appeared to be +falling asleep heavily, waking up at intervals, and starting with terror +at the least sound. For myself I scarcely slept at all, though I found +the fern bed a tolerably comfortable resting-place. + +The gale that Tardif had foretold came with great violence about the +middle of the night. The wind howled up the long, narrow ravine like a +pack of wolves; mighty storms of hail and rain beat in torrents against +the windows, and the sea lifted up its voice with unmistakable energy. +Now and again a stronger gust than the others appeared to threaten to +carry off the thatched roof bodily, and leave us exposed to the tempest +with only the thick stone walls about us; and the latch of the outer +door rattled as if some one outside was striving to enter. I am not +fanciful, but just then the notion came across me that if that door +opened we should see the grim skeleton, Death, on the threshold, with +his bleached, unclad bones dripping with the storm. I laughed at the +ghastly fancy, and told it to Tardif in one of his waking intervals, but +he was so terrified and troubled by it that it grew to have some little +importance in my own eyes. So the night wore slowly away, the tall clock +in the corner ticking out the seconds and striking the hours with a +fidelity to its duty, which helped to keep me awake. Twice or thrice I +crept, with quite unnecessary caution, into the room of my patient. + +No, there was no symptom of sleep there. The pulse grew more rapid, the +temples throbbed, and the fever gained ground. Mother Renouf was ready +to weep with vexation. The girl herself sobbed and shuddered at the loud +sounds of the tempest without; but yet, by a firm, supreme effort of her +will, which was exhausting her strength dangerously, she kept herself +quite still. I would have given up a year or two of my life to be able +to set her free from the bondage of my own command. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTH. + +LOCKS OF HAIR. + + +The westerly gale, rising every few hours into a squall, gave me no +chance of leaving Sark the next day, nor for some days afterward; but I +was not at all put out by my captivity. All my interest--my whole +being, in fact--was absorbed in the care of this girl, stranger as she +was. I thought and moved, lived and breathed, only to fight step by step +against delirium and death, and to fight without my accustomed weapons. +Sometimes I could do nothing but watch the onset and inroads of the +fever most helplessly. There was no possibility of aid. The stormy +waters which beat against that little rock in the sea came swelling and +rolling in from the vast plain of the Atlantic, and broke in tempestuous +surf against the island. The wind howled, and the rain and hail beat +across us almost incessantly for two days, and Tardif himself was kept a +prisoner in the house, except when he went to look after his live-stock. +No doubt it would have been practicable for me to get as far as the +hotel, but to what good? It would be quite deserted, for there were no +visitors to Sark at this season, and I did not give it a second thought. +I was entirely engrossed in my patient, and I learned for the first time +what their task is who hour after hour watch the progress of disease in +the person, of one dear to them. + +Tardif occupied himself with mending his nets, pausing frequently with +his solemn eyes fixed upon the door of the girl's room, very much as a +patient mastiff watches the spot where he knows his master is near to +him, though out of sight. His mother went about her household work +ploddingly, and Mother Renouf kept manfully to her post, in turn with +me, as sentinel over the sickbed. There the young girl lay whispering +from morning till night, and from night till morning again--always +whispering. The fever gained ground from hour to hour. I had no data by +which to calculate her chances of getting through it; but my hopes were +very low at times. + +On the Tuesday afternoon, in a temporary lull of the hail and wind, I +started off on a walk across the island. The wind was still blowing from +the southwest, and filling all the narrow sea between us and Guernsey +with boiling surge. Very angry looked the masses of foam whirling about +the sunken reefs, and very ominous the low-lying, hard blocks of clouds +all along the horizon. I strolled as far as the Coupée, that giddy +pathway between Great and Little Sark, where one can see the seething of +the waves at the feet of the cliffs on both sides, three hundred feet +below one. Something like a panic seized me. My nerves were too far +unstrung for me to venture across the long, narrow isthmus. I turned +abruptly again, and hurried as fast as my legs would carry me back to +Tardif's cottage. + +I had been away less than an hour, but an advantage had been taken of my +absence. I found Tardif seated at the table, with a tangle of silky, +shining hair lying before him. A tear or two had fallen upon it from his +eyes. I understood at a glance what it meant. Mother Renouf had cut off +my patient's pretty curls as soon as I was out of the house. I could not +be angry with her, though I did not suppose it would do much good, and I +felt a sort of resentment, such as a mother would feel, at this +sacrifice of a natural beauty. They were all disordered and ravelled. +Tardif's great hand caressed them tenderly, and I drew out one long, +glossy tress and wound it about my fingers, with a heavy heart. + +"It is like the pretty feathers of a bird that has been wounded," said +Tardif, sorrowfully. + +Just then there came a knock at the door and a sharp click of the latch, +loud enough to penetrate Dame Tardif's deaf ears, or to arouse our +patient, if she had been sleeping. Before either of us could move, the +door was thrust open, and two young ladies appeared upon the door-sill. + +They were--it flashed across me in an instant--old school-fellows and +friends of Julia's. I declare to you honestly, I had scarcely had one +thought of Julia till now. My mother I had wished for, to take her place +by this poor girl's side, but Julia had hardly crossed my mind. Why, in +Heaven's name, should the appearance of these friends of hers be so +distasteful to me just now? I had known them all my life, and liked them +as well as any girls I knew; but at this moment the very sight of them +was annoying. They stood in the doorway, as much astonished and +thunderstricken as I was, glaring at me, so it seemed to me, with that +soft, bright-brown lock of hair curling and clinging round my finger. +Never had I felt so foolish or guilty. + +"Martin Dobrée!" ejaculated both in one breath. + +"Yes, mesdemoiselles," I said, uncoiling the tress of hair as if it had +been a serpent, and going forward to greet them; "are you surprised to +see me?" + +"Surprised!" echoed the elder. "No; we are amazed--petrified! However +did you get here? When did you come?" + +"Quite easily," I replied. "I came on Sunday, and Tardif fetched me in +his own boat. If the weather had permitted, I should have paid you a +call; but you know what it has been." + +"To be sure," answered Emma; "and how is dear Julia? She will be very +anxious about you." + +"She was on the verge of a bilious attack when I left her," I said; +"that will tend to increase her anxiety." + +"Poor, dear girl," she replied, sympathetically. "But, Martin, is this +young woman here so very ill? We have heard from the Renoufs she had had +a dangerous fall. To think of your being in Sark ever since Sunday, and +we never heard a word of it!" + +No, thanks to Tardif's quiet tongue, and Mother Renouf's assiduous +attendance upon mam'zelle, my sojourn in the island had been kept a +secret; now that was at an end. + +"Is that the young woman's hair?" asked Emma, as Tardif gathered +together the scattered tresses and tied them up quickly in a little +white handkerchief, out of their sight and mine. I saw them again +afterward. The handkerchief had been his wife's--white, with a border of +pink roses. + +"Yes," I replied to her question, "it was necessary to cut it off. She +is dangerously ill with fever." + +Both of them shrank a little toward the door. A sudden temptation +assailed me, and took me so much by surprise that I had yielded before I +knew I was attacked. It was their shrinking movement that did it. My +answer was almost as automatic and involuntary as their retreat. + +"You see it would not be wise for any of us to go about," I said. "A +fever breaking out in the island, especially now you have no resident +doctor, would be very serious. I think it will be best to isolate this +case till we see the nature of the fever. You will do me a favor by +warning the people away from us at present. The storm has saved us so +far, but now we must take other precautions." + +This I said with a grave tone and face, knowing all the while that there +was no fear whatever for the people of Sark. Was there a propensity in +me, not hitherto developed, to make the worst of a case? + +"Good-by, Martin, good-by," cried Emma, backing out through the open +door. "Come away, Maria. We have run no risk yet, Martin, have we? Do +not come any nearer to us. We have touched nothing, except shaking hands +with you. Are we quite safe?" + +"Is the young woman so very ill?" inquired Maria from a safe distance +outside the house. + +I shook my head in silence, and pointed to the door of the inner room, +intimating to them that she was no farther away than there. An +expression of horror came over both their faces. Scarcely waiting to +bestow upon me a gesture of farewell, they fled, and I saw them hurrying +with unusual rapidity across the fold. + +I had at least secured isolation for myself and my patient. But why had +I been eager to do so? I could not answer that question to myself, and I +did not ponder over it many minutes. I was impatient, yet strangely +reluctant, to look at the sick girl again, after the loss of her +beautiful hair. It was still daylight. The change in her appearance +struck me as singular. Her face before had a look of suffering and +trouble, making it almost old, charming as it was; now she had the +aspect of quite a young girl, scarcely touching upon womanhood. Her hair +had not been shorn off closely--the woman could not manage that--and +short, wavy tresses, like those of a young child, were curling about her +exquisitely-shaped head. The white temples, with their blue, throbbing +veins, were more visible, with the small, delicately-shaped ears. I +should have guessed her age now as barely fifteen--almost that of a +child. Thus changed, I felt more myself in her presence, more as I +should have been in attendance upon any child. I scanned her face +narrowly, and it struck me that there was a perceptible alteration; an +expression of exhaustion or repose was creeping over it. The crisis of +the fever was at hand. The repose of death or the wholesome sleep of +returning health was not far off. Mother Renouf saw it as well as +myself. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTH. + +WHO IS SHE? + + +We sat up again together that night, Tardif and I. He would not smoke, +lest the scent of the tobacco should get in through the crevices of the +door, and lessen the girl's chance of sleep; but he held his pipe +between his teeth, taking an imaginary puff now and then, that he might +keep himself wide awake. We talked to one another in whispers. + +"Tell me all you know about mam'zelle," I said. He had been chary of his +knowledge before, but his heart seemed open at this moment. Most hearts +are more open at midnight than at any other hour. + +"There's not much to tell, doctor," he answered. "Her name is Ollivier, +as I said to you; but she does not think she is any kin to the Olliviers +of Guernsey. She is poor, though she does not look as if she had been +born poor, does she?" + +"Not in the least degree," I said. "If she is not a lady of birth, she +is one of the first specimens of Nature's gentlefolks I have ever come +across." + +"Ah, there is a difference!" he said, sighing. "I feel it, doctor, in +every word I speak to her, and every step I walk with her eyes upon me. +Why cannot I be like her, or like you? You'll be on a level with her, +and I am down far below her." + +I looked at him curiously. The slouching figure--well shaped as it +was--the rough, knotted hands, the unkempt mass of hair about his head +and face, marked him for what he was--a toiler on the sea as well as on +the land. He understood my scrutiny, and colored under it like a girl. + +"You are a better fellow than I am, Tardif," I said; "but that has +nothing to do with our talk. I think we ought to communicate with the +young lady's friends, whoever they may be, as soon as there are any +means of communicating with the rest of the world. We should be in a fix +if any thing should happen to her. Have you no clew to her friends?" + +"She is not going to die!" he cried. "No, no, doctor. God must hear my +prayers for her. I have never ceased to lift up my voice to Him in my +heart since I found her on the shingle. She will not die!" + +"I am not so sure," I said; "but in any case we should write to her +friends. Has she written to any one since she came here?" + +"Not to a soul," he answered, eagerly. "She told me she has no friends +nearer than Australia. That is a great way off." + +"And has she had no letters?" I asked. + +"Not one," he replied. "She has neither written nor received a single +letter." + +"But how did you come across her?" I inquired. "She did not fall from +the skies, I suppose. How was it she came to live in this +out-of-the-world place with you?" + +Tardif smoked his imaginary pipe with great perseverance for some +minutes, his face overcast with thought. But presently it cleared, and +he turned to me with a frank smile. + +"I'll tell you all about it, Dr. Martin," he said. "You know the +Seigneur was in London last autumn, and there was a little difficulty in +the Court of Chefs Plaids here, about an ordonnance we could not agree +over, and I went across to London to see the Seigneur for myself. It was +in coming back I met with Mam'zelle Ollivier. I was paying my fare at +Waterloo station--the omnibus-fare, I mean--and I was turning away, when +I heard the man speak grumblingly. I thought it was at me, and I looked +back, and there she stood before him, looking scared and frightened at +his rough words. Doctor, I never could bear to see any soft, tender, +young thing in trouble. If it's nothing but a little bird that has +fallen out of its warm nest, or a lamb slipped down among the cliffs, I +feel as if I could risk my life to put them back again in some safe +place. Yes, and I have done it scores of times, when I dared not let my +poor mother know. Well, there stood mam'zelle, pale and trembling, with +the tears ready to fall in her eyes; just such a soft, poor, tender soul +as my little wife used to be. You remember my little wife, Dr. Martin?" + +I only nodded as he looked at me. + +"Just such another," he went on; "only this one was a lady, and less +able to take care of herself. Her trouble was nothing but the +omnibus-fare, and she had no change, nothing but an Australian +sovereign; so I paid it for her. I kept pretty near her about the +station while she was buying her ticket, for I overheard two young men, +who were roaming up and down, say as they looked at her, 'Pas de gants, +et des souliers de velours!' That was true; she had no gloves on her +hands, and her little feet had nothing on but some velvet slippers, all +wet and muddy with the dirty streets. So I walked up to her, as if I +had been her servant, you understand, and put her into a carriage, and +stood at the door of it, keeping off any young men who wished to get +in--for she was such a pretty young thing--till the train was ready to +start, and then I got into the nearest second-class carriage there was +to her." + +"Well, Tardif?" I said, impatiently, as he paused, looking absently into +the dull embers of the seaweed fire. + +"I turned it over in my own mind then," he continued, "and I've turned +it over in my own mind since, and I can make no sort of an account of +it--a young lady travelling without any friends in a dress like that, as +if she had not had a minute to spare in getting ready for her journey. +It was a bad night for a journey too. Could she be going to see some +friend who was dying? At every station I looked out to see if my young +lady left the train; but no, not even at Southampton. Was she going on +to France? 'I must look out for her at the pier-head,' I said to myself. +But when we stopped at the pier I did not want her to think I was +watching her, only I stood well in the light, that she might see me when +she looked round. I saw her stand as if she was considering, and I moved +away very slowly to our boat, to give her the chance of speaking to me, +if she wished. But she only followed me very quietly, as if she did not +want me to see her, and she went down into the ladies' cabin in a +moment, out of sight. Then I thought, 'She is running away from some +one, or from something.' She had no shawls, or umbrellas, or baskets, +such as ladies are always cumbered with, and that looked strange." + +"How was she dressed?" I asked. + +"She wore a soft, bright-brown jacket," he answered--"a seal-skin they +call it, though I never saw a seal with a skin like that--and a hat like +it, and a blue-silk gown, and her little muddy velvet slippers. It was a +strange dress for travelling, wasn't it, doctor?" + +"Very strange indeed," I repeated. An idea was buzzing about my brain +that I had heard a description exactly similar before, but I could not +for the life of me recall where. I could not wait to hunt it out then, +for Tardif was in a full flow of confidence. + +"But my heart yearned to her," he said, "more than ever it did over any +bird fallen from its nest, or any lamb that had slipped down the cliffs. +All the softness and all the helplessness of every poor little creature +I had ever seen in my life seemed about her; all the hunted creatures +and all the trapped creatures came to my mind. I can hardly tell you +about it, doctor. I could have risked my life a hundred times over for +her. It was a rough night, and I kept seeing her pale, hunted-looking +face before me, though there was not half the danger I've often been in +round our islands. I couldn't keep myself from fancying we were all +going down to the bottom of the sea, and that poor young thing, running +away from one trouble, was going to meet a worse--if it is worse to die +than to live in great trouble. Dr. Martin, they tell me all the bed of +the sea out yonder under the Atlantic is a smooth, smooth floor, with no +currents, or tides, or streams, but a great calm; and there is no life +down there of any kind. Well, that night I seemed to see the dead who +have perished by sea lying there calm and quiet with their hands folded +across their breasts. A great company it was, and a great graveyard, +strewed over with sleeping shapes, all at rest and quiet, waiting till +they hear the trumpet of the archangel sounding so that even the dead +will hear and live again. It was a solemn sight to see, doctor. Somehow +I came to think it would not be altogether a bad thing for the poor +young troubled creature to go down there among them and be at rest. +There are some people who seem too tender and delicate for this world. +Yet if there had come a chance I'd have laid down my life for hers, even +then, when I knew nothing much about her." + +"Tardif," I said, "I did not know what a good fellow you are, though I +ought to have known it by this time." + +"No," he answered, "it is not in me; it's something in her. You feel +something of it yourself, doctor, or how could you stay in a poor little +house like this, thinking of nothing but her, and not caring about the +weather keeping you away from home? But let me go on. In the morning +she came on deck, and talked to me about the islands, and where she +could live cheaply, and it ended in her coming home here to lodge in our +little spare room. There was another curious thing--she had not any +luggage with her, not a box nor a bag of any kind. She never knew that I +knew, for that would have troubled her. It is my belief that she has run +away." + +"But who can she have run away from, Tardif?" I asked. + +"God knows," he answered, "but the girl has suffered; you can see that +by her face. Whoever or whatever she has run away from, her cheeks are +white from it, and her heart sorrowful. I know nothing of her secret; +but this I do know: she is as good, and true, and sweet a little soul as +my poor little wife was. She has been here all winter, doctor, living +under my eye, and I've waited on her as her servant, though a rough +servant I am for one like her. She has tried to make herself cheerful +and contented with our poor ways. See, she mended me that bit of net; +those are her meshes, though her pretty white fingers were made sore by +the twine. She would mend it, sitting where you are now in the +chimney-corner. No; if mam'zelle should die, it will be a great grief of +heart to me. If I could offer my life to God in place of hers, I'd do it +willingly." + +"No, she will not die. Look there, Tardif!" I said, pointing to the +door-sill of the inner room. A white card had been slipped under the +door noiselessly--a signal agreed upon between Mother Renouf and me, to +inform me that my patient had at last fallen into a profound slumber, +which seemed likely to continue some hours. She had slept perhaps a few +minutes at a time before, but not a refreshing, wholesome sleep. Tardif +understood the silent signal as well as I did, and a more solemn +expression settled on his face. After a while he put away his pipe, and, +stepping barefoot across the floor without a sound, he stopped the +clock, and brought back to the table, where an oil-lamp was burning, a +large old Bible. Throughout the long night, whenever I awoke, for I +threw myself on the fern bed and slept fitfully, I saw his handsome +face, with its rough, unkempt hair falling across his forehead as it was +bent over the book, while his mouth moved silently as he read to himself +chapter after chapter, and turned softly the pages before him. + +I fell into a heavy slumber just before daybreak, and when I awoke two +or three hours after I found that the house had been put in order, just +as usual, though no sound had disturbed me. I glanced anxiously at the +closed door. That it was closed, and the white card still on the sill, +proved to me that our charge had no more been disturbed than myself. The +thought struck me that the morning light would shine full upon the weak +and weary eyelids of the sleeper; but upon going out into the fold to +look at her casement, I discovered that Tardif had been before me and +covered it with an old sail. The room within was sufficiently darkened. + +The morning was more than half gone before Mother Renouf opened the door +and came out to us, her old face looking more haggard than ever, but her +little eyes twinkling with satisfaction. She gave me a patronizing nod, +but she went up to Tardif, laid a hand on each of his broad shoulders, +and looked him keenly in the face. + +"All goes well, my friend," she said, significantly. "Your little +mam'zelle does not think of going to the good God yet." + +I did not stay to watch how Tardif received this news, for I was +impatient myself to see how she was going on. Thank Heaven, the fever +was gone, the delirium at an end. The dark-gray eyes, opening languidly +as my fingers touched her wrist, were calm and intelligent. She was as +weak as a kitten, but that did not trouble me much. I was sure her +natural health was good, and she would soon recover her lost strength. I +had to stoop down to hear what she was saying. + +"Have I kept quite still, doctor?" she asked, faintly. + +I must own that my eyes smarted, and my voice was not to be trusted. I +had never felt so overjoyed in my life as at that moment. But what a +singular wish to be obedient possessed this girl! What a wonderful +power of submissive self-control! she had cast aside authority and +broken away from it, as she had done apparently, there must have been +some great provocation before a nature like hers could venture to assert +its own independence. + +I had ample time for turning over this reflection, for Mother Renouf was +worn out and needed rest, and Suzanne Tardif was of little use in the +sick-room. I scarcely left my patient all that day, for the rumor I had +set afloat the day before was sufficient to make it a difficult task to +procure another nurse. The almost childish face grew visibly better +before my eyes, and when night came I had to acknowledge somewhat +reluctantly that as soon as a boat could leave the island it would be my +bounden duty to return to Guernsey. + +"I should like to see Tardif," murmured the girl to me that night, after +she had awakened from a second long and peaceful sleep. + +I called him, and he came in barefoot, his broad, burly frame seeming to +fill up all the little room. She could not lift up her head, but her +face was turned toward us, and she held out her small, wasted hand to +him, smiling faintly. He fell on his knees before he took it into his +great, horny palm, and looked down upon it as he held it very carefully +with, tears standing in his eyes. + +"Why, it is like an egg-shell," he said. "God bless you, mam'zelle, God +bless you for getting well again!" + +She laughed at his words--a feeble though merry laugh, like a +child's--and she seemed delighted with the sight of his hearty face, +glowing as it was with happiness. It was a strange chance that had +thrown these two together. I could not allow Tardif to remain long; but +after that she kept devising little messages to send to him through me +whenever I was about to leave her. Her intercourse with Mother Renouf +was extremely limited, as the old woman's knowledge of English was +slight; and with Suzanne she could hold no conversation at all. It +happened, in consequence, that I was the only person who could talk or +listen to her through the long and dreary hours. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. + +WHO ARE HER FRIENDS? + + +At another time I might have recognized the danger of my post; but my +patient had become so childish-looking, and her mind, enfeebled by +delirium, was in so childish a condition, that it seemed to me I little +more than tending some young girl whose age was far below my own. I did +not trouble myself, moreover, with any exact introspection. There was an +under-current of satisfaction and happiness running through the hours +which I was not inclined to fathom. The winds continued against me, and +I had nothing to do but to devote myself to mam'zelle, as I called her +in common with the people about me. She was still so far in a precarious +state that, if she had been living in Guernsey, it would have been my +duty to pay to her unflagging attention. + +But upon Friday afternoon Tardif, who had been down to the Creux Harbor, +brought back the information that one of the Sark cutters was about to +venture to make the passage across the Channel the next morning, to +attend the Saturday market, if the wind did not rise again in the night. +It was clear as day what I must do. I must bid farewell to my patient, +however reluctant I might be, with a very uncertain prospect of seeing +her again. A patient in Sark could not have many visits from a doctor in +Guernsey. + +She was recovering with the wonderful elasticity of a thoroughly sound +constitution; but I had not considered it advisable for her even to sit +up yet, with her broken arm and sprained ankle. I took my seat beside +her for the last time, her fair, sweet face lying upon the pillow as it +had done when I first saw it, only the look of suffering was gone. I had +made up my mind to learn something of the mystery that surrounded her; +and the child, as I called her to myself, was so submissive to me that +she would answer my questions readily. + +"Mam'zelle," I said, "I am going away to-night. You will be sorry to +lose me?" + +"Very, very sorry," she answered, in her low, touching voice. "Are you +obliged to go?" + +If I had not been obliged to go, I should then and there have made a +solemn vow to remain with her till she was well again. + +"I must go," I said, shaking off the ridiculous and troublesome idea. "I +have been away nearly six days. Six days is a long holiday for a +doctor." + +"It has not been a holiday for you," she whispered, her eyes fastened +upon mine, and shining like clear stars. + +"Well," I repeated, "I must go. Before I go I wish to write to your +friends for you. You will not be strong enough to write yourself for +some days, and it is quite time they knew what danger you have been in. +I have brought a pen and paper, and I will post the letter as soon as I +reach Guernsey." + +A faint flush colored her face, and she turned her eyes away from me. + +"Why do you think I ought to write?" she asked at length. + +"Because you have been very near death." I answered. "If you had died, +not one of us would have known whom to communicate with, unless you had +left some direction in that box of yours, which is not very likely." + +"No," she said, "you would find nothing there. I suppose if I had died +nobody would ever have known who I am. How curious that would have +been!" + +Was she amused, or was she saddened by the thought? I could not tell. + +"It would have been very painful to Tardif and to me," I said. "It must +be very painful to your friends, whoever they are, not to know what has +become of you. Give me permission to write to them. There can scarcely +be reasons sufficient for you to separate yourself from them like this. +Besides, you cannot go on living in a fisherman's cottage; you were not +born to it--" + +"How do you know?" she asked, quickly, with a sharp tone in her voice. + +It was somewhat difficult to answer that question. There was nothing to +indicate what position she had been used to. I had seen no token of +wealth about her room, which was as homely as any other cottage chamber. +Her conversation had been the simple, childish talk of an invalid +recovering from a serious illness, and had scarcely proved her to be an +educated person. Yet there was something in her face and tones and +manner which, as plainly to Tardif as to me, stamped this runaway girl +as a lady. + +"Let me write to your friends," I urged, waiving the question. "It is +not fit for you to remain here. I beg of you to allow me to communicate +with them." + +Her face quivered like a child's when it is partly frightened and partly +grieved. + +"I have no friends," she said; "not one real friend in the world." + +An almost irresistible inclination assailed me to fall on my knees +beside her, as I had seen Tardif do, and take a solemn oath to be her +faithful servant and friend as long as my life should last. This, of +course, I did not do; but the sound of the words so plaintively spoken, +and the sight of her quivering face, rendered her a hundredfold more +interesting to me. + +"Mam'zelle," I said, taking her hand in mine, "if ever you should need a +friend, you may count upon Martin Dobrée as one as true as any you could +wish to have. Tardif is another. Never say again you have no friends." + +"Thank you," she answered, simply. "I will count you and Tardif as my +friends. But I have no others, so you need not write to anybody." + +"But what if you had died?" I persisted. + +"You would have buried me quietly up there," she answered, "in the +pleasant graveyard, where the birds sing all day long, and I should have +been forgotten soon. Am I likely to die, Dr. Martin?" + +"Certainly not," I replied, hastily; "nothing of the kind. You are going +to get well and strong again. But I must bid you good-by, now, since you +have no friends to write to. Can I do any thing for you in Guernsey? I +can send you any thing you fancy." + +"I do not want any thing," she said. + +"You want a great number of things," I said; "medicines, of course--what +is the good of a doctor who sends no medicine?--and books. You will have +to keep yourself quiet a long time. You would like some books?" + +"Oh, I have longed for books," she said, sighing; "but don't buy any; +lend me some of your own." + +"Mine would be very unsuitable for a young lady," I answered, laughing +at the thought of my private library. "May I ask why I am not to buy +any?" + +"Because I have no money to spend in books," she said. + +"Well," I replied, "I will borrow some for you from the ladies I know. +We will not waste our money, neither you nor I." + +I stood looking at her, finding it harder to go away than I had +supposed. So closely had I watched the changes upon her face, that every +line of it was deeply engraved upon my memory. Other and more familiar +faces seemed to have faded in proportion to that distinctness of +impression. Julia's features, for instance, had become blurred and +obscure, like a painting which has lost its original clearness of tone. + +"How soon will you come back again?" asked the faint, plaintive voice. + +Clearly it did not occur to her that I could not pay her a visit without +great difficulty. I knew how it was next to an impossibility to get over +to Sark, for some time at least; but I felt ready to combat even +impossibilities. + +"I will come back," I said--"yes, I promise to come back in a week's +time. Make haste and get well before then, mam'zelle. Good-by, now; +good-by." + +I was going to sleep at Vaudin's Inn, near to Creux Harbor, from which +the cutter would sail almost before the dawn. At five o'clock we started +on oar passage--a boat-load of fishermen bound for the market. The cold +was sharp, for it was still early in March, and the easterly wind +pierced the skin like a myriad of fine needles. A waning moon was +hanging in the sky over Guernsey, and the east was growing gray with the +coming morning. By the time the sun was fairly up out of its bed of +low-lying clouds, we had rounded the southern point of Sark, and were in +sight of the Havre Gosselin. But Tardif's cottage was screened by the +cliffs, and I could catch no glimpse of it, though, as we rowed onward, +I saw a fine, thin column of white smoke blown toward us. It was from +his hearth, I knew, and, at this moment, he was preparing an early +breakfast for my invalid. I watched it till all the coast became an +indistinct outline against the sky. + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. + +THE SIXTIES OF GUERNSEY. + + +I was more than half-numb with cold by the time we landed at the quay, +opposite the Sark office. The place was all alive, seeming the more busy +and animated to me for the solitary six days I had been spending since +last Sunday. The arrival of our boat, and especially my appearance in +it, created quite a stir among the loungers who are always hanging about +the pier. By this time every individual in St. Peter-Port knew that Dr. +Martin Dobrée had been missing for several days, having gone out in a +fisherman's boat to Sark the Sunday before. I had seen myself in the +glass before leaving my chamber at Vaudin's, and to some extent I +presented the haggard appearance of a shipwrecked man. A score of voices +greeted me; some welcoming, some chaffing. "Glad to see you again, old +fellow!" "What news from Sark?" "Been in quod for a week?" "His hair is +not cut short!" "No; he has tarried in Sark till his beard be grown!" +There was a circling laugh at this last jest at my appearance, which had +been uttered by a good-tempered, jovial clergyman, who was passing by on +his way to the town church. I did my best to laugh and banter in return, +but it was like a bear dancing with a sore head. I felt gloomy and +uncomfortable. A change had come over me since I left home, for my +return was by no means an unmixed pleasure. + +As I was proceeding along the quay, with a train of sympathizing +attendants, a man, who was driving a large cart piled with packages in +cases, as if they had come in from England by the steamer, touched his +hat to me, and stopped the horse. It was in order to inform me that he +was conveying furniture which we--that is, Julia and I--had ordered, up +to our new house, the windows of which I could see glistening in the +morning sun. My spirits did not rise, even at this cheerful information. +I looked coldly at the cases, bade the man go on, and shook off my train +by taking an abrupt turn up a flight of steps, leading directly into the +Haute Rue. + +I had chosen instinctively the nearest by-way homeward, but, once in the +Haute Rue, I did not pursue it. I turned again upon a sudden thought +toward the Market Square, to see if I could pick up any dainties to +tempt the delicate appetite of my Sark patient. Every step I took +brought me into contact with some friend or acquaintance, whom I would +have avoided gladly. The market was sure to be full of them, for the +ladies of Guernsey, like Frenchwomen, would be there in shoals, with +their maidservants behind them to carry their purchases. Yet I turned +toward it, as I said, braving both congratulations and curiosity, to +see what I could buy for Tardif's "mam'zelle." + +The square had all the peculiar animation of an early market where +ladies do their own bargaining. As I had known beforehand, most of my +acquaintances were there; for in Guernsey the feminine element +predominates terribly, and most of my acquaintances were ladies. The +peasant-women behind the stalls also knew me. Most of them nodded to me +as I strolled slowly through the crowd, but they were much too busy to +suspend their purchases in order to catechise me just then, being sure +of me at a future time. I had not done badly in choosing the busiest +street for my way home. + +But as I left the Market Square I came suddenly upon Julia, face to +face. It had all the effect of a shock upon me. Like many other women, +she seldom looked well out-of-doors. The prevailing fashion never suited +her, however the bonnets were worn, whether hanging down the neck or +slouched over the forehead, rising spoon-shaped toward the sky, or lying +like a flat plate on the crown. Julia's bonnet always looked as if it +had been made for somebody else. She was fond of wearing a shawl, which +hung ungracefully about her, and made her figure look squarer and her +shoulders higher than they really were. Her face struck sharply upon my +brain, as if I had never seen it distinctly before; not a bad face, but +unmistakably plain, and just now with a frown upon it, and her heavy +eyebrows knitted forbiddingly. A pretty little basket was in her hand, +and her mind was full of the bargains she was bent upon. She was even +more surprised and startled by our encounter than I was, and her manner, +when taken by surprise, was apt to be abrupt. + +"Why, Martin!" she ejaculated. + +"Well, Julia!" I said. + +We stood looking at one another much in the same way as we used to do +years before, when she had detected me in some boyish prank, and assumed +the mentor while I felt a culprit. How really I felt a culprit at that +moment she could not guess. + +"I told you just how it would be," she said, in her mentor voice. "I +knew there was a storm coming, and I begged and entreated of you not to +go. Your mother has been ill all the week, and your father has been as +cross as--as--" + +"As two sticks," I suggested, precisely as I might have done when I was +thirteen. + +"It is nothing to laugh at," said Julia, severely. "I shall say nothing +about myself and my own feelings, though they have been most acute, the +wind blowing a hurricane for twenty-four hours together, and we not sure +that you had even reached Sark in safety. Your mother and I wanted to +charter the Rescue, and send her over to fetch you home as soon as the +worst of the storm was over, but my uncle pooh-poohed it." + +"I am very glad he did," I replied, involuntarily. + +"He said you would be more than ready to come back in the first cutter +that sailed," she went on. "I suppose you have just come in?" + +"Yes," I said, "and I'm half numbed with cold, and nearly famished with +hunger. You don't give me as good a welcome as the Prodigal Son got, +Julia." + +"No," she answered, softening a little; "but I'm not sorry to see you +safe again. I would turn back with you, but I like to do the marketing +myself, for the servants will buy any thing. Martin, a whole cartload of +our furniture is come in. You will find the invoice inside my davenport. +We must go down this afternoon and superintend the unpacking." + +"Very well," I said; "but I cannot stay longer now." + +I did not go on with any lighter heart than before this meeting with +Julia. I had scrutinized her face, voice, and manner, with unwonted +criticism. As a rule, a face that has been before us all our days is as +seldom an object of criticism as any family portrait which has hung +against the same place on the wall all our lifetime. The latter fills up +a space which would otherwise be blank; the former does very little +else. It never strikes you; it is almost invisible to you. There would +be a blank space left if it disappeared, and you could not fill it up +from memory. A phantom has been living, breathing, moving beside you, +with vanishing features and no very real presence. + +I had, therefore, for the first time criticised my future wife. It was a +good, honest, plain, sensible face, with some fine, insidious lines +about the corners of the eyes and lips, and across the forehead. They +could hardly be called wrinkles yet, but they were the first faint +sketch of them, and it is impossible to obliterate the slightest touch +etched by Time. She was five years older than I--thirty-three last +birthday. There was no more chance for our Guernsey girls to conceal +their age than for the unhappy daughters of peers, whose dates are +faithfully kept, and recorded in the Peerage. The upper classes of the +island, who were linked together by endless and intricate ramifications +of relationship, formed a kind of large family, with some of its +advantages and many of its drawbacks. In one sense we had many things in +common; our family histories were public property, as also our private +characters and circumstances. For instance, my own engagement to Julia, +and our approaching marriage, gave almost as much interest to the island +as though we were members of each household. + +I have looked out a passage in the standard work upon the Channel +Islands. They are the words of an Englishman who was studying us more +philosophically than we imagined. Unknown to ourselves we had been under +his microscope. "At a period not very distant, society in Guernsey +grouped itself into two divisions--one, including those families who +prided themselves on ancient descent and landed estates, and who +regarded themselves as the _pur sang_; and the other, those whose +fortunes had chiefly been made during the late war or in trade. The +former were called _Sixties_, the latter were the _Forties_." + +Now Julia and I belonged emphatically to the Sixties. We had never been +debased by trade, and a _mésalliance_ was not known in our family. To be +sure, my father had lost a fortune instead of making one in any way; but +that did not alter his position or mine. We belonged to the aristocracy +of Guernsey, and _noblesse oblige_. As for my marriage with Julia, it +was so much the more interesting as the number of marriageable men was +extremely limited; and she was considered favored indeed by Fate, which +had provided for her a cousin willing to settle down for life in the +island. + +Still more greetings, more inquiries, more jokes, as I wended my way +homeward. I had become very weary of them before I turned into our own +drive. My father was just starting off on horseback. He looked +exceedingly well on horseback, being a very handsome man, and in +excellent preservation. His hair, as white as snow, was thick and well +curled, and his face almost without a wrinkle. He had married young, and +was not more than twenty-five years older than myself. He stopped, and +extended two fingers to me. + +"So you are back, Martin?" he said. "It has been a confounded nuisance, +you being out of the way; and such weather for a man of my years! I had +to ride out three miles to lance a baby's gums, confound it! in all that +storm on Tuesday. Mrs. Durande has been very ill too; all your patients +have been troublesome. But it must have been awfully dull work for you +out yonder. What did you do with yourself, eh? Make love to some of the +pretty Sark girls behind Julia's back, eh?" + +My father kept himself young, as he was very fond of stating; his style +of conversation was eminently so. It jarred upon my ears more than ever +after Tardif's grave and solemn words, and often deep thoughts. I was on +the point of answering sharply, but I checked myself. + +"The weather has been awful," I said. "How did my mother bear it?" + +"She has been like an old hen clucking after her duckling in the water," +he replied. "She has been fretting and fuming after you all the week. If +it had been me out in Sark, she would have slept soundly and ate +heartily; as it was you, she has neither slept nor ate. You are quite an +old woman's pet, Martin. As for me, there is no love lost between old +women and me." + +"Good-morning, sir," I said, turning away, and hurrying on to the house. +I heard him laugh lightly, and hum an opera-air as he rode off, sitting +his horse with the easy seat of a thorough horseman. He would never set +up a carriage as long as he could ride like that. I watched him out of +sight, and then went in to seek my poor mother. + + + + +CHAPTER THE NINTH. + +A CLEW TO THE SECRET. + + +She was lying on the sofa in the breakfast-room, with the Venetian +blinds down to darken the morning sunshine. Her eyes wore closed, though +she held in her hands the prayer-hook, from which she had been reading +as usual the Psalms for the day. I had time to take note of the extreme +fragility of her appearance, which, doubtless I noticed the more plainly +for my short absence. Her hands were very thin, and her cheeks hollow. A +few silver threads were growing among her brown hair, and a line or two +between her eyebrows were becoming deeper. But while I was looking at +her, though I made no sort of sound or movement, she seemed to feel that +I was there; and after looking up she started from her sofa, and flung +her arms about me, pressing closer and closer to me. + +"O Martin, my boy! my darling!" she sobbed, "thank God you are come back +safe! Oh, I have been very rebellious, very unbelieving. I ought to have +known that you would be safe. Oh, I am thankful!" + +"So am I, mother," I said, kissing her, "and very hungry into the +bargain." + +I knew that would check her hysterical excitement. She looked up at me +with smiles and tears on her face; but the smiles won the day. + +"That is so like you, Martin," she said; "I believe your ghost would say +those very words. You are always hungry when you come home. Well, my +boy shall have the best breakfast in Guernsey. Sit down, then, and let +me wait upon you." + +That was just what pleased her most whenever I came in from some ride +into the country. She was a woman with fondling, caressing little ways, +such as Julia could no more perform gracefully than an elephant could +waltz. My mother enjoyed fetching my slippers, and warming them herself +by the fire, and carrying away my boots when I took them off. No servant +was permitted to do any of these little offices for me--that is, when my +father was out of the way. If he was there, my mother sat still, and +left me to wait on myself, or ring for a servant, Never in my +recollection had she done any thing of the kind for my father. Had she +watched and waited upon him thus in the early days of their married +life, until some neglect or unfaithfulness of his had cooled her love +for him? I sat down as she bade me, and had my slippers brought, and +felt her fingers passed fondly through my hair. + +"You have come back like a barbarian," she said, "rougher than Tardif +himself. How have you managed, my boy? You must tell me all about it as +soon as your hunger is satisfied." + +"As soon as I have had my breakfast, mother, I must put up a few things +in a hamper to go back by the Sark cutter," I answered. + +"What sort of things?" she asked. "Tell me, and I will be getting them +ready for you." + +"Well, there will be some physic, of course," I said; "you cannot help +me in that. But you can find things suitable for a delicate appetite; +jelly, you know, and jams, and marmalade; any thing nice that comes to +hand. And some good port-wine, and a few amusing books." + +"Books!" echoed my mother. + +I recollected at once that the books she might select, as being suited +to a Sark peasant, would hardly prove interesting to my patient. I could +not do better than go down to Barbet's circulating library, and look out +some good works there. + +"Well, no," I said; "never mind the books. If you will look out the +other things, those can wait." + +"Whom are they for?" asked my mother. + +"For my patient," I replied, devoting myself to the breakfast before me. + +"What sort of a patient, Martin?" she inquired again. + +"Her name is Ollivier," I said. "A common name. Our postmaster's name +is Ollivier." + +"Oh, yes," she answered; "I know several families of Olliviers. I dare +say I should know this person if you could tell me her Christian name. +Is it Jane, or Martha, or Rachel?" + +"I don't know," I said; "I did not ask." + +Should I tell my mother about my mysterious patient? I hesitated for a +minute or two. But to what good? It was not my habit to talk about my +patients and their ailments. I left them all behind me when I crossed +the threshold of home. My mother's brief curiosity had been satisfied +with the name of Ollivier, and she made no further inquiries about her. +But to expedite me in my purpose, she rang, and gave orders for old +Pellet, our only man-servant, to find a strong hamper, and told the cook +to look out some jars of preserve. + +The packing of that hamper interested me wonderfully; and my mother, +rather amazed at my taking the superintendence of it in person, stood by +me in her store-closet, letting me help myself liberally. There was a +good space left after I had taken sufficient to supply Miss Ollivier +with good things for some weeks to come. If my mother had not been by, I +should have filled it up with books. + +"Give me a loaf or two of white bread," I said; "the bread at Tardif's +is coarse and hard, as I know after eating it for a week. A loaf, if you +please, dear mother." + +"Whatever are you doing here, Martin?" exclaimed Julia's unwelcome voice +behind me. Her bilious attack had not quite passed away, and her tones +were somewhat sharp and raspy. + +"He has been living on Tardif's coarse fare for a week," answered my +mother; "so now he has compassion enough for his Sark patient to pack up +some dainties for her. If you could only give him one or two of your bad +headaches, he would have more sympathy for you." + +"Have you had one of your headaches, Julia?" I inquired. + +"The worst I ever had," she answered. "It was partly your going off in +that rash way, and the storm that came on after, and the fright we were +in. You must not think of going again, Martin. I shall take care you +don't go after we are married." + +Julia had been used to speak out as calmly about our marriage as if it +was no more than going to a picnic. It grated upon me just then; though +it had been much the same with myself. There was no delightful agitation +about the future that lay before us. We were going to set up +housekeeping by ourselves, and that was all. There was no mystery in it; +no problem to be solved; no discovery to be made on either side. There +would be no Blue Beard's chamber in our dwelling. We had grown up +together; now we had agreed to grow old together. That was the sum total +of marriage to Julia and me. + +I finished packing the hamper, and sent Pellet with it to the Sark +office, having addressed it to Tardif, who had engaged to be down at the +Creux Harbor to receive it when the cutter returned. Then I made a short +and hurried toilet, which by this time had become essential to my +reappearance in civilized society. But I was in haste to secure a parcel +of books before the cutter should start home again, with its courageous +little knot of market-people. I ran down to Barbet's, scarcely heeding +the greetings which were flung after mo by every passer-by. I looked +through the library-shelves with growing dissatisfaction, until I hit +upon two of Mrs. Gaskell's novels, "Pride and Prejudice," by Jane +Austin, and "David Copperfield." Besides these, I chose a book for +Sunday reading, as my observations upon my mother and Julia had taught +me that my patient could not read a novel on a Sunday with a quiet +conscience. + +Barbet brought half a sheet of an old _Times_ to form the first cover of +my parcel. The shop was crowded with market-people, and, as he was busy, +I undertook to pack them myself, the more willingly as I had no wish for +him to know what direction I wrote upon them. I was about to fold the +newspaper round them, when my eye was caught by an advertisement at the +top of one of the columns, the first line of which was printed in +capitals. I recollected in an instant that I had seen it and read it +before. This was what I had tried in vain to recall while Tardif was +describing Miss Ollivier to me. "Strayed from her home in London, on the +20th inst., a young lady with bright-brown hair, gray eyes, and delicate +features; age twenty one. She is believed to have been alone. Was +dressed in a blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat. Fifty pounds +reward is offered to any person giving such information as will lead to +her restoration to her friends. Apply to Messrs. Scott and Brown, Gray's +Inn Road, E.C." + +I stood perfectly still for some seconds, staring blankly at the very +simple, direct advertisement under my eyes. There was not the slightest +doubt in my mind that it had a direct reference to my pretty patient in +Sark. I had a reason for recollecting the date of Tardif's return from +London, the very day after the mournful disaster off the Havre Gosselin, +when four gentlemen and a boatman had been lost during a squall. But I +had no time for deliberation then, and I tore off a large corner of the +_Times_ containing that and other advertisements, and thrust it unseen +into my pocket. After that I went on with my work, and succeeded in +turning out a creditable-looking parcel, which I carried down to the +Sark cutter. + +Before I returned home I made two or three half-professional calls upon +patients whom my father had visited during my absence. Everywhere I had +to submit to numerous questions as to my adventures and pursuits during +my week's exile. At each place curiosity seemed to be quite satisfied +with the information that the young woman who had been hurt by a fall +from the cliffs was an Ollivier. With that freedom and familiarity which +exists among us, I was rallied for my evident absence and preoccupation +of mind, which were pleasantly ascribed to the well-known fact that a +large quantity of furniture for our new house had arrived from England +while I was away. These friends of mine could tell me the colors of the +curtains, and the patterns of the carpets, and the style of my chairs +and tables; so engrossingly interesting to all our circle was our +approaching marriage. + +In the mean time, I had no leisure to study and ponder over the +advertisement, which by so odd a chance had come into my hands. That +must be reserved till I was alone at night. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TENTH. + +JULIA'S WEDDING-DRESS. + + +Yet I found my attention wandering, and my wits wool-gathering, even in +the afternoon, when I had gone down with Julia and my mother to the new +house, to see after the unpacking of that load of furniture. I can +imagine circumstances in which nothing could be more delightful than the +care with which a man prepares a home for his future wife. The very tint +of the walls, and the way the light falls in through the windows, would +become matters of grave importance. In what pleasant spot shall her +favorite chair be placed? And what picture shall hang opposite it to +catch her eye the oftenest? Where is her piano to stand? What china, and +glass, and silver, is she to use? Where are the softest carpets to be +found for her feet to tread? In short, where is the very best and +daintiest of every thing to be had, for the best and daintiest little +bride the sun ever shone on? + +There was not the slightest flavor of this sentiment in our furnishing +of our new house. It was really more Julia's business than mine. We had +had dozens of furnishing lists to peruse from the principal houses in +London and Paris, as if even there it was a well-understood thing that +Julia and I were going to be married. We had toiled through these +catalogues, making pencil-marks in them, as though they were catalogues +of an art exhibition. We had prudently settled the precise sum (of +Julia's money) which we were to lay out. Julia's taste did not often +agree with mine, as she had no eye for the harmonies of color--a +singular deficiency among us, as most of the Guernsey women are born +artists. We were constantly compelled to come to a compromise, each +yielding some point; not without a secret misgiving on my part that the +new house would have many an eyesore about it for me. But then it was +Julia's money that was doing it, and after all she was more anxious to +please me than I deserved. + +That afternoon Pellet and I, like two assistants in a furnishing-house, +unrolled carpets and stretched them along the floors before the critical +gaze of my mother and Julia. We unpacked chairs and tables, scanning +anxiously for damages on the polished wood, and setting them one after +another in a row against the walls. I went about as in some dream. The +house commanded a splendid view of the whole group of the Channel +Islands, and the rocky islets innumerable strewed about the sea. The +afternoon sun was shining full upon Sark, and whenever I looked through +the window I could see the cliffs of the Havre Gosselin, purple in the +distance, with a silver thread of foam at their foot. No wonder that my +thoughts wandered, and the words my mother and Julia were speaking went +in at one ear and out at the other. Certainly I was dreaming; but which +part was the dream? + +"I don't believe he cares a straw about the carpets!" exclaimed Julia, +in a disappointed tone. + +"I do indeed, dear Julia," I said, bringing myself back to the carpets. +Here I had been obliged to give in to Julia's taste. She had set her +mind upon having flowers in her drawing-room carpet, and there they +were, large garlands of bright-colored blossoms, very gay, and, as I +ventured to remark to myself, very gaudy. + +"You like it better than you did in the pattern?" she asked, anxiously. + +I did not like it one whit better, but I should have been a brute if I +had said so. She was gazing at it and me with so troubled an expression, +that I felt it necessary to set her mind at ease. + +"It is certainly handsomer than the pattern?" I said, regarding it +attentively; "very much handsomer." + +"You like it better than the plain thing you chose at first?" pursued +Julia. + +I was about to be hunted into a corner, and forced into denying my own +taste--a process almost more painful than denying one's faith--when my +mother came to my rescue. She could read us both as an open book, and +knew the precise moment to come between us. + +"Julia, my love," she said, "remember that we wish to show Martin those +patterns while it is daylight. To-morrow is Sunday, you know." + +A little tinge of color crept over Julia's tintless face as she told +Pellet he might go. I almost wished that I might be dismissed too; but +it was only a vague, wordless wish. We then drew near to the window, +from which we could see Sark so clearly, and Julia drew out of her +pocket a very large envelope, which was bursting with its contents. + +They were small scraps of white silk and white satin. I took them +mechanically into my hand, and could not help admiring the pure, +lustrous, glossy beauty of them. I passed my fingers over them softly. +There was something in the sight of them that moved me, as if they were +fragments of the shining garments of some vision, which in times gone +by, when I was much younger, had now and then floated before my fancy. I +did not know any one lovely enough to wear raiment of glistening white +like these, unless--unless--. A passing glimpse of the pure white face, +and glossy hair, and deep gray eyes of my Sark patient flashed across +me. + +"They are patterns for Julia's wedding-dress," said my mother, in a low, +tender voice. + + + + +CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. + +TRUE TO BOTH. + + +"For Julia!" I repeated, the treacherous vision fading away +instantaneously. "Oh, yes! I understand. They are very beautiful--very +beautiful indeed." + +"Which do you like most?" asked Julia, in a whisper, as she leaned +against my shoulder. + +"I like them all," I said. "There is scarcely any difference among them +that I can see." + +"No difference!" she exclaimed. "That is so like a man! Why, they are as +different as can be. Look here, this one is only five shillings a yard, +and that is twelve. Isn't that a difference?" + +"A very great one," I replied. "But do you think you will look well in +white, my dear Julia? You never do wear white." + +"A bride cannot wear any thing but white," she said, angrily. "I +declare, Martin, you would not mind if I looked a perfect fright." + +"But I should mind very much," I urged, putting my arm around her; "for +you will be my wife then, Julia." + +She smiled almost for the first time that afternoon, for her mind had +been full of the furniture, and too burdened for happiness. But now she +looked happy. + +"You can be as nice and good as any one, when you like," she said, +gently. + +"I shall always be nice and good when we are married," I answered, with +a laugh. "You are not afraid of venturing, are you, Julia?" + +"Not the least in the world," she said. "I know you, Martin, and I can +trust you implicitly." + +My heart ached at the words, so softly and warmly spoken. But I laughed +again--at myself this time, not at her. Why should she not trust me? I +would be as true as steel to her. I loved no one better, and I would +take care not to love any one. My word, my honor, my troth, were all +plighted to her. Only a scoundrel and a fool would be unfaithful to an +engagement like ours. + +We walked home together, we three, all contented and all happy. We had a +good deal to talk of during the evening, and sat up late. Sundry small +events had happened in Guernsey during my six-days' absence, and these +were discussed with that charming minuteness with which women canvass +family matters. It was midnight before I found myself alone in my own +room. + +I had half forgotten the crumpled paper in my waistcoat-pocket, but now +I smoothed it out before me and pondered over every word. No, there +could not be a doubt that it referred to Miss Ollivier. "Bright-brown +hair, gray eyes, and delicate features." That exactly corresponded with +her appearance. "Blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat." It was +precisely the dress which Tardif had described. "Fifty pounds reward." +That was a large sum to offer, and the inference was that her friends +were persons of good means, and anxious for her recovery. + +Why should she have strayed from home? That was the question. What +possible reason could there have been, strong enough to impel a young +and delicately-nurtured girl to run all the risks and dangers of a +flight alone and unprotected? Her friends evidently believed that she +had not been run away with; there was not the ordinary element of an +elopement in this case. + +But Miss Ollivier had assured me she had no friends. What did she mean +by the word? Here were persons evidently anxious to discover her place +of concealment. Were they friends? or could they by any chance be +enemies? This is not an age when enmity is very rampant. For my own +part, I had not an enemy in the world. Why should this pretty, +habitually-obedient, self-controlled girl have any? Most probably it was +one of those instances of bitter misunderstanding which sometimes arise +in families, and which had driven her to the desperate step of seeking +peace and quietness by flight. + +Then what ought I to do with this advertisement, thrust, as it would +seem, purposely under my notice? If I had not wrapped up the parcel +myself at Barbet's, I should have missed seeing it; or if Barbet had +picked up any other piece of paper, it would not have come under my eye. +A curious concatenation of very trivial circumstances had ended in +putting into my hands a clew by which I could unravel all the mystery +about my Sark patient. What was I to do with the clew? + +I might communicate at once with Messrs. Scott and Brown, giving them +the information they had advertised for six months before, and receive a +reply, stating that it was no longer valuable to them, or containing an +acknowledgment of my claim to the fifty pounds reward. I might sell my +knowledge of Miss Ollivier for fifty pounds. In doing so I might render +her a great service, by restoring her to her proper sphere in society. +But the recollection of Tardif's description of her as looking terrified +and hunted recurred vividly to me. The advertisement put her age as +twenty-one. I should not have judged her so old myself, especially since +her hair had been cut short. But if she was twenty-one, she was old +enough to form plans and purposes for herself, and to choose, as far as +she could, her own mode of living. I was not prepared to deliver her up, +until I knew something more of both sides of the question. + +Settled--that if I could see Messrs. Scot and Brown, and learn something +about Miss Ollivier's friends, I might be then able to decide whether I +would betray her to them but I would not write. Also, that I must see +her again first, and once more urge her to have confidence in me. If she +would trust me with her secret, I would be as true to her as a friend as +I meant to be true to Julia. + +Having come to these conclusions, I cut the advertisement carefully out +of the crumpled paper, and placed it in my pocket-book with portraits of +my mother and Julia, Here were mementos of the three women I cared most +for in the world: my mother first, Julia second, and my mysterious +patient third. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. + +STOLEN WATERS ARE SWEET. + + +I was neither in good spirits nor in good temper during the next few +days. My mother and Julia appeared astonished at this, for I was not +ordinarily as touchy and fractious as I showed myself immediately after +my sojourn in Sark. + +I was ashamed of it myself. The new house, which occupied their time and +thoughts so agreeably, worried me as it had not done before. I made +every possible excuse not to be sent to it, or taken to it, several +times a day. + +The discussions over Julia's wedding-dress also, which had by no means +been decided upon on Saturday afternoon, began to bore me beyond words. +Whenever I could, I made my patients a pretext for getting away from +them. + +One of them, a cousin of my mother--as I have said, we were all cousins +of one degree or another--Captain Carey, met me on the quay, a day or +two after my return. He had been a commander in the Royal Navy, and, +after cruising about in all manner of unhealthy latitudes, had returned +to his native island for the recovery of his health. He and his sister +lived together in a very pleasant house of their own, in the Vale, about +two miles from St. Peter-Port. + +He looked yellow enough to be on the verge of an attack of jaundice when +he came across me. + +"Hallo, Martin!" he cried, "I am delighted to see you, my boy. I've been +a little out of sorts lately; but I would not let Johanna send for your +father. He does very well to go dawdling after women, and playing with +their pulses, but I don't want him dawdling after me. Tell me what you +have to say about me, my lad." + +He went on to tell me his symptoms, while a sudden idea struck me almost +like a flash of genius. + +I am nothing of a genius; but at that time new thoughts came into my +mind with wonderful rapidity. It was positively necessary that I should +run over to Sark this week--I had given my word to Miss Ollivier that I +would do so--but I dared not mention such a project at home. My mother +and Julia would be up in arms at the first syllable I uttered. + +What if I could do two patients good at one stroke, kill two birds with +one stone? Captain Carey had a pretty little yacht lying idle in St. +Sampson's Harbor, and a day's cruising would do him all the good in the +world. Why should he not carry me over to Sark, when I could visit my +other patient, and nobody be made miserable by the trip? + +"I will make you up some of your old medicine," I said, "but I strongly +recommend you to have a day out on the water; seven or eight hours at +any rate. If the weather keeps as fine as it is now, it will do you a +world of good." + +"It is so dreary alone," he objected, "and Johanna would not care to go +out at this season, I know." + +"If I could manage it," I said, deliberating, "I should be glad to have +a day with you." + +"Ah! if you could do that!" he replied, eagerly. + +"I'll see about it," I said. "Should you mind where you sailed to?" + +"Not at all, not at all, my boy," he answered, "so that I get your +company. You shall be skipper, or helmsman, or both, if you like." + +"Well, then," I replied, "you might take me over to the Havre Gosselin, +to see how my patient's broken arm is going on. It's a bore there being +no resident medical man there at this moment. The accident last autumn +was a great loss to the island." + +"Ah! poor fellow!" said Captain Carey, "he was a sad loss to them. But +I'll take you over with pleasure, Martin; any day you fix upon." + +"Get the yacht ship-shape, then," I said; "I think I can manage it on +Thursday." + +I did not say at home whither I was bound on Thursday. I informed them +merely that Captain Carey and I were going out in his yacht for a few +hours. This was simply to prevent them from worrying themselves. + +It was as delicious a spring morning as ever I remember. As I rode along +the flat shore between St. Peter-Port and St. Sampson's, the fresh air +from the sea played about my face, as if to drive dull care away, and +make me as buoyant and debonair as itself. The little waves were +glittering and dancing in the sunshine, and chiming with the merry +carols of the larks, outsinging one another in the blue sky overhead. +The numerous wind-mills, like children's toys, which were pumping water +out of the stone-quarries, whirled and spun busily in the brisk breeze. +Every person I met saluted me with a blithe and cheery greeting. My dull +spirits had been blown far away before I set foot on the deck of Captain +Carey's little yacht. + +The run over was all that we could wish. The cockle-shell of a boat, +belonging to the yacht, bore me to the foot of the ladder hanging down +the rock at Havre Gosselin. A very few minutes took me to the top of the +cliff, and there lay the little thatched, nest-like home of my patient. +I hastened forward eagerly. + +The place seemed very solitary and deserted; and a sudden fear came +across me. Was it possible that she should be dead? It was possible. I +had left her six days ago only just over a terrible crisis. There might +have been a relapse, a failure of vital force. I might be come to find +those shining eyes hid beneath their lids forever, and the pale, +suffering face motionless in death. + +Certainly the rhythmic motion of my heart was disturbed. I felt it +contract painfully, and its beating suspended for a moment or two. The +farmstead was intensely quiet, with the ominous stillness of death. All +the windows were shrouded with their check curtains. There was no +clatter of Suzanne's wooden clogs about the fold or the kitchen. If it +had been Sunday, this supernatural silence would have been easily +accounted for; but it was Thursday. I scarcely dared go on and learn the +cause of it. + +All silent still as I crossed the stony causeway of the yard. Not a face +looked out from door or window. Mam'zelle's casement stood a little way +open, and the breeze played with the curtains, fluttering them like +banners in a procession. I dared not try to look in. The house-door was +ajar, and I approached it cautiously. "Thank God!" I cried within myself +as I gazed eagerly into the cottage. + +She was lying there upon the fern-bed, half asleep, her head fallen back +upon the pillow, and the book she had been reading dropped from her +hand. Her dress was of some coarse, dark-green stuff, which made a +charming contrast to her delicate face and bright hair. The whole +interior of the cottage formed a picture. The old furniture of oak, +almost black with age, the neutral tints of the wall and ceiling, and +the deep tone of her green dress, threw out into strong relief the +graceful, shining head, and pale face. + +I suppose she became subtly conscious, as women always are, that +somebody's eyes were fixed upon her, for she awoke fully, and looked up +as I lingered on the door-sill. + +"O Dr. Martin!" she cried, "I am so glad!" + +She looked pleased enough to be upon the point of trying to raise +herself up in order to welcome me, but I interposed quickly. It was more +difficult than I had expected to assume a grave, professional tone, but +by an effort I did so. I bade her lie still, and took a chair at some +little distance. + +"Tardif is gone out fishing," she said, "and his mother is gone away +too, to a christening-feast somewhere; but Mrs. Renouf is to be here in +an hour or two. I told them I could manage very well as long as that." + +"They ought not to have left you alone," I replied. + +"And I shall not be left alone," she said, smiling, "for you are come, +you see. I am rather glad they are away; for I wanted to tell you how +much I felt your goodness to me all through that dreadful week. You are +the first doctor I ever had about me, the very first. Perhaps you +thought I did not know what care you were taking of me; but, somehow or +other, I knew every thing. My mind did not quite go. You were very, very +good to me." + +"Never mind that," I said; "I am come to see how my work is going on. +How is the arm, first of all?" + +I almost wished that Mother Renouf or Suzanne Tardif had been at hand. +But Miss Ollivier seemed perfectly composed, as much so as a child. She +looked like one with her cropped head of hair, and frank, open face. My +own momentary embarrassment passed away. The arm was going on all right, +and so was Mother Renouf's charge, the sprained ankle. + +"We must take care you are not lame," I said, while I was feeling +carefully the complicated joint of her ankle. + +"Lame!" she repeated, in an alarmed voice, "is there any fear of that?" + +"Not much," I answered, "but we must be careful, mam'zelle. You must +promise me not to set your foot on the ground, or in any way rest your +weight upon it, till I give you leave." + +"That means that you will have to come to see me again," she said; "is +it not very difficult to come over from Guernsey?" + +"Not at all," I answered, "it is quite a treat to me." + +Her face grew very grave, as if she was thinking of some unpleasant +topic. She looked at me earnestly and questioningly. + +"May I speak to you with great plainness, Dr. Martin?" she asked. + +"Speak precisely what is in your mind at this moment," I replied. + +"You are very, very good to me," she said, holding out her hand to me, +"but I do not want you to come more often than is quite necessary, +because I am very poor. If I were rich," she went on hurriedly, "I +should like you to come every day--it is so pleasant--but I can never +pay you sufficiently for that long week you were here. So please do not +visit me oftener than is quite necessary." + +My face felt hot, but I scarcely knew what to say. I bungled out an +answer: + +"I would not take any money from you, and I shall come to see you as +often as I can." + +I bound up her little foot again without another word, and then sat +down, pushing my chair farther from her. + +"You are not offended with me, Dr. Martin?" she asked, in a pleading +tone. + +"No," I answered; "but you are mistaken in supposing that a medical man +has no love for his profession apart from its profits. To see that your +arm gets properly well is part of my duty, and I shall fulfil it without +any thought of whether I shall get paid for it or no." + +"Now," she said, "I must let you know how poor I am. Will you please to +fetch me my box out of my room?" + +I was only too glad to obey her. This seemed to be an opening to a +complete confidence between us. Now I came to think of it, Fortune had +favored me in thus throwing us together alone. + +I lifted the small, light box very easily--there could not be many +treasures in it--and carried it back to her. She took a key out of her +pocket and unlocked it with some difficulty, but she could not raise the +lid without my help. I took care not to offer any assistance until she +asked it. + +Yes, there were very few possessions in that light trunk, but the first +glance showed me a blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat. I +lifted them out for her, and after them a pair of velvet slippers, +soiled, as if they had been through muddy roads. I did not utter a +remark. Beneath these lay a handsome watch and chain, a fine diamond +ring, and five sovereigns lying loose in the box. + +"That is all the money I have in the world," she said, sadly. + +I laid the five sovereigns in her small, white hand, and she turned them +over, one after another, with a pitiful look on her face. I felt foolish +enough to cry over them myself. + +"Dr. Martin," was her unexpected question after a long pause, "do you +know what became of my hair?" + +"Why?" I asked, looking at her fingers running through the short curls +we had left her. + +"Because that ought to be sold for something," she said. "I am almost +glad you had it cut off. My hair-dresser told me once he would give five +guineas for a head of hair like mine, it was so long and the color was +uncommon. Five guineas would not be half enough to pay you though, I +know." + +She spoke so simply and quietly, that I did not attempt to remonstrate +with her about her anxiety to pay me. + +"Tardif has it," I said; "but of course he will give it you back again. +Shall I sell it for you, mam'zelle?" + +"Oh, that is just what I could not ask you!" she exclaimed. "You see +there is no one to buy it here, and I hope it may be a long time before +I go away. I don't know, though; that depends upon whether I can dispose +of my things. There is my seal-skin, it cost twenty-five guineas last +year, and it ought to be worth something. And my watch--see what a nice +one it is. I should like to sell them all, every one. Then I could stay +here as long as the money lasted." + +"How much do you pay here?" I inquired, for she had taken me so far into +counsel that I felt justified in asking that question. + +"A pound a week," she answered. + +"A pound a week!" I repeated, in amazement. "Does Tardif know that?" + +"I don't think he does," she said. "When I had been here a week I gave +Mrs. Tardif a sovereign, thinking perhaps she would give me a little out +of it. I am not used to being poor, and I did not know how much I ought +to pay. But she kept it all, and came to me every week for more. Was it +too much to pay?" + +"Too much!" I said. "You should have spoken to Tardif about it, my poor +child." + +"I could not talk to Tardif about his mother," she answered. "Besides, +it would not have been too much if I had only had plenty. But it has +made me so anxious. I did not know whatever I should do when it was all +gone. I do not know now." + +Here was a capital opening for a question about her friends. + +"You will be compelled to communicate with your family," I said. "You +have told me how poor you are; cannot you trust me about your friends?" + +"I have no friends," she answered, sorrowfully. "If I had any, do you +suppose I should be here?" + +"I am one," I said, "and Tardif is another." + +"Ah, new friends," she replied; "but I mean real old friends who have +known you all your life, like your mother, Dr. Martin, or your cousin +Julia. I want somebody to go to who knows all about me, and say to them, +after telling them every thing, keeping nothing back at all, 'Have I +done right? What else ought I to have done?' No new friend could answer +questions like those." + +Was there any reason I could bring forward to increase her confidence in +me? I thought there was, and her friendlessness and helplessness touched +me to the core of my heart. Yet it was with an indefinable reluctance +that I brought forward my argument. + +"Miss Ollivier," I said, "I have no claim of old acquaintance or +friendship, yet it is possible I might answer those questions, if you +could prevail upon yourself to tell me the circumstances of your former +life. In a few weeks I shall be in a position to show you more +friendship than I can do now. I shall have a home of my own, and a wife +who will be your friend more fittingly, perhaps, than myself." + +"I knew it," she answered, half shyly. "Tardif told me you were going to +marry your cousin Julia." + +Just then we heard the fold-yard gate swing to behind some one who was +coming to the house. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. + +ONE IN A THOUSAND. + + +I had altogether forgotten that Captain Carey's yacht was waiting for me +off the little bay below; and I sprang quickly to the door in the dread +that he had followed me. + +It was an immense relief to see only Tardif's tall figure bending under +his creel and nets, and crossing the yard slowly. I hailed him and he +quickened his pace, his honest features lighting up at the sight of me. + +"How do you find mam'zelle, doctor?" were his first eager words. + +"All right," I said; "going on famously. Sark is enough to cure any one +and any thing of itself, Tardif. There is no air like it. I should not +mind being a little ill here myself." + +"Captain Carey is impatient to be gone," he continued. "He sent word by +me that you might be visiting every house in the island, you had been +away so long." + +"Not so very long," I said, testily; "but I will just run in and say +good-by, and then I want you to walk with me to the cliff." + +I turned back for a last look and a last word. No chance of learning +her secret now. The picture was as perfect as when I had had the first +glimpse of it, only her face had grown, if possible, more charming after +my renewed scrutiny of it. + +There are faces that grow upon you the longer and the oftener you look +upon them; faces that seem to have a veil over them, which melts away +like the thin, fine mist of the morning upon the cliffs, until they +flash out in their full color and beauty. The last glance was eminently +satisfactory, and so was the last word. + +"Shall I send you the hair?" asked Miss Ollivier, returning practically +to a matter of business. + +"To be sure," I answered. "I shall dispose of it to advantage, but I +have not time to wait for it now." + +"And may I write a letter to you?" + +"Yes," was my reply: I was too pleased to express myself more +eloquently. + +"Good-by," she said; "you are a very good doctor to me." + +"And friend?" I added. + +"And friend," she repeated. + +That was the last word, for I was compelled to hurry away. Tardif +accompanied me to the cliff, and I took the opportunity to tell him as +pleasantly as I could the extravagant charge his mother had made upon +her lodger, and the girl's anxiety about the future. A more grieved look +never came across a man's face. + +"Dr. Martin," he said, "I would have cut off my hand rather than it had +been so. Poor little mam'zelle! Poor old mother! She is growing old, +sir, and old people are greedy. The fall of the year is dark and cold, +and gives nothing, but takes away all it can, and hoards it for the +young new spring that is to follow. It seems almost the nature of old +age. Poor old mother! I am very grieved for her. And I am troubled, +troubled about mam'zelle. To think she has been fretting all the winter +about this, when I was trying to find out how to cheer her! Only five +pounds left, poor little soul! Why! all I have is at her service. It is +enough to have her only in the house, with her pretty ways and sweet +voice. I'll put it all right with mam'zelle, sir, and with my poor old +mother too. I am very sorry for _her_." + +"Miss Ollivier has been asking me to sell her hair," I said. + +"No, no," he answered hastily, "not a single hair! I cannot say yes to +that. The pretty bright curls! If anybody is to buy them, I will. Yes, +doctor! that is famous. She wishes you to sell her hair? Very good; I +will buy it; it must be mine. I have more money than you think, perhaps. +I will buy mam'zelle's pretty curls; and she shall have the money, and +then there will be more than five pounds in her little purse. Tell me +how much they will be. Ten pounds? Fifteen? Twenty?" + +"Nonsense, Tardif!" I answered; "keep one of them, if you like; but I +must have the rest. We will settle it between us." + +"No, doctor," he said; "your cousin will not like that. You are going to +be married soon; it would not do for you to keep mam'zelle's curls." + +It was said with so much simplicity and good-heartedness that I felt +ashamed of a rising feeling of resentment, and parted with him +cordially. In a few minutes afterward I was on board the yacht, and +laughing at Captain Carey's reproaches. Tardif was still visible on the +edge of the cliff, watching our departure. + +"That is as good a fellow as ever breathed," said Captain Carey, waving +his cap to him. + +"I know it better than you do," I replied. + +"And how is the young woman?" he asked. + +"Going on as well as a broken arm and a sprained ankle can do," I +answered. + +"You will want to come again, Martin," he said; "when are we to have +another day?" + +"Well, I shall hear how she is every now and then," I answered; "it +takes too long a time to come more often than is necessary. But you will +bring me if it is necessary?" + +"With all my heart," said Captain Carey. + +For the next few days I waited with some impatience for Miss Ollivier's +promised letter. It came at last, and I put it into my pocket to read +when I was alone--why, I could scarcely have explained to myself. + + + "Dear Dr. Martin," it began, "I have no little commission to + trouble you with. Tardif tells me it was quite a mistake, his + mother taking a sovereign from me each week. She does not + understand English money; and he says I have paid quite + sufficient to stay with them a whole year longer without + paying any more. I am quite content about that now. Tardif + says, too, that he has a friend in Southampton who will buy my + hair, and give more than anybody in Guernsey. So I need not + trouble you about it, though I am sure you would have done it + for me. + + "I have not put my foot to the ground yet; but yesterday + Tardif carried me all the way down to his boat, and took me + out for a little sail under the beautiful cliffs, where we + could look up and see all those strange carvings upon the + rocks. I thought that perhaps there were real things written + there that we should like to read. Sometimes in the sky there + are fine faint lines across the blue which look like written + sentences, if one could only make them out. Here they are on + the rocks, but every tide washes them away, leaving fresh + ones. Perhaps they are messages to me, answers to those + questions that I cannot answer myself. + + "Good-by, my good doctor. I am trying to do every thing you + told me exactly; and I am getting well again fast. I do not + believe I shall be lame; you are too clever for that. Your + patient, + + "OLIVIA." + +Olivia! I looked at the word again to make sure of it. Then it was not +her surname that was Ollivier, and I was still ignorant of that. I saw +in a moment how the mistake had arisen, and how innocent she was of any +deception in the matter. She would tell Tardif that her name was Olivia, +and he thought only of the Olliviers he knew. It was a mistake that had +been of use in checking curiosity, and I did not feel bound to put it +right. My mother and Julia appeared to have forgotten my patient in Sark +altogether. + +Olivia! I thought it a very pretty name, and repeated it to myself with +its abbreviations, Olive, Livy. It was difficult to abbreviate Julia; Ju +I had called her in my rudest school-boy days. I wondered how high +Olivia would stand beside me; for I had never seen her on her feet. +Julia was not two inches shorter than myself; a tall, stiff figure, +neither slender enough to be lissome, nor well-proportioned enough to be +majestic. But she was very good, and her price was far above rubies. + +According to the wise man, it was a difficult task to find a virtuous +woman. + +It was a quiet time in the afternoon, and in order to verify my +recollection of the wise man's saying, which was a little cloudy in my +memory, I searched through Julia's Bible for it. I came across a passage +which made me pause and consider. "Behold, this have I found, saith the +preacher, counting one by one, to find out the account: which yet my +soul seeketh, but I find not; one man among a thousand have I found; but +a woman among all those have I not found." + +"Tardif is the man," I said to myself, "but is Julia the woman? Have I +had better luck than Solomon?" + +"What are you reading, Martin?" asked my father, who had just come in, +and was painfully fitting on a pair of new and very tight kid gloves. I +read the passage aloud, without comment. + +"Very good," he remarked, chuckling, "upon my word! I did not know there +was any thing as rich as that in the old book! Who says it, Martin? A +very wise preacher he was, and knew what he was talking about. Had seen +life, eh? It's as true as--as--as the gospel." + +I could not help laughing at the comparison he was forced to; yet I felt +angry with him and myself. + +"What do you say about my mother and Julia, sir?" I asked. + +He chuckled again cynically, examining with care a spot on the palm of +one of his gloves. "Ha! ha! my son"--I hated to hear him say "my +son"--"I will answer you in the words of another wise man: 'Most +virtuous women, like hidden treasures, are secure because nobody seeks +after them.'" + +So saying, he turned out of the room, swinging his gold-headed cane +jauntily between his fingers. + +I visited Sark again in about ten days, to set Olivia free from my +embargo upon her walking. I allowed her to walk a little way along a +smooth meadow-path, leaning on my arm; and I found that she was a head +lower than myself--a beautiful height for a woman. That time Captain +Carey had set me down at the Havre Gosselin, appointing me to meet him +at the Creux Harbor, which was exactly on the opposite side of the +island. In crossing over to it--a distance of rather more than a mile--I +encountered Julia's friends, Emma and Maria Brouard. + +"You here again, Martin!" exclaimed Emma. + +"Yes," I answered; "Captain Carey set me down at the Havre Gosselin, and +is gone round to meet me at the Creux." + +"You have been to see that young person?" asked Maria. + +"Yes," I replied. + +"She is a very singular young woman," she continued; "we think her +stupid. We cannot make anything of her. But there is no doubt poor +Tardif means to marry her." + +"Nonsense!" I ejaculated, hotly; "I beg your pardon, Maria, but I give +Tardif credit for sense enough to know his own position." + +"So did we," said Emma, "but it looks odd. He married an Englishwoman +before. It's old Mère Renouf who says he worships the ground she treads +upon. You know he holds a very good position in the island, and he is a +great favorite with the seigneur. There are dozens of girls of his own +class in Guernsey and Alderney, to say nothing of Sark, who would be +only too glad to have him. He is a very handsome man, Martin." + +"Tardif is a fine fellow," I admitted. + +"I shall be very sorry for him to be taken in again," continued Emma; +"nobody knows who that young person may be; it looks odd on the face of +it. Are you in a hurry? Well, good-by. Give our best love to dear Julia. +We are busy at work on a wedding-present for her; but you must not tell +her that, you know." + +I went on in a hot rage, shapeless and wordless, but smouldering like a +fire within me. The cool, green lane, deep between hedge-rows, the banks +of which were gemmed with primroses, had no effect upon me just then. +Tardif marry Olivia! That was an absurd, preposterous notion indeed. It +required all my knowledge of the influence of dress on the average human +mind, to convince myself that Olivia, in her coarse green serge dress, +had impressed the people of Sark with the notion that she would be no +unsuitable mate for their rough, though good and handsome fisherman. + +Was it possible that they thought her stupid? Reserved and silent she +might be, as she wished to remain unmolested and concealed; but not +stupid! That any one should dream so wildly as to think of Olivia +marrying Tardif, was the utmost folly I could imagine. + +I had half an hour to wait in the little harbor, its great cliffs rising +all about me, with only a tunnel bored through them to form an entrance +to the green island within. My rage had partly fumed itself away before +the yacht came in sight. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. + +OVERHEAD IN LOVE. + + +Awfully fast the time sped away. It was the second week in March I +passed in Sark; the second week in May came upon me as if borne by a +whirlwind. It was only a month to the day so long fixed upon for our +marriage. My mother began to fidget about my going over to London to pay +my farewell bachelor visit to Jack Senior, and to fit myself out with +wedding toggery. Julia's was going on fast to completion. Our trip to +Switzerland was distinctly planned out, almost from day to day. Go I +must to London; order my wedding-suit I must. + +But first there could be no harm in running over to Sark to see Olivia +once more. As soon as I was married I would tell Julia all about her. +But if either arm or ankle went wrong for want of attention, I should +never forgive myself. + +"When shall we have another run together, Captain Carey?" I asked. + +"Any day you like, my boy," he answered; "your days of liberty are +growing few and short now, eh? I've never had a chance of trying it +myself, Martin, but they are nervous times, I should think. Cruising in +doubtful channels, eh? with uncertain breezes? How does Julia keep up?" + +"I can spare to-morrow," I replied, ignoring his remarks; "on Saturday I +shall cross over to England to see Jack Senior." + +"And bid him adieu?" he said, laughing, "or give him an invitation to +your own house? I shall be glad to see you in a house of your own. Your +father is too young a man for you." + +"Can you take me to Sark to-morrow?" I asked. + +"To be sure I can," he answered. + +It was the last time I could see Olivia before my marriage. Afterward I +should see much of her; for Julia would invite her to our house, and be +a friend to her. I spent a wretchedly sleepless night; and whenever I +dozed by fits and starts, I saw Olivia before me, weeping bitterly, and +refusing to be comforted. + +From St. Sampson's we set sail straight for the Havre Gosselin, without +a word upon my part; and the wind being in our favor, we were not long +in crossing the channel. To my extreme surprise and chagrin, Captain +Carey announced his intention of landing with me, and leaving the yacht +in charge of his men to await our return. + +"The ladder is excessively awkward," I objected, "and some of the rungs +are loose. You don't mind running the risk of a plunge into the water?" + +"Not in the least," he answered, cheerily; "for the matter of that, I +plunge into it every morning at L'Ancresse. I want to see Tardif. He is +one in a thousand, as you say; and one cannot see such a man every day +of one's life." + +There was no help for it, and I gave in, hoping some good luck awaited +me. I led the way up the zigzag path, and just as we reached the top I +saw the slight, erect figure of Olivia seated upon the brow of a little +grassy knoll at a short distance from us. Her back was toward us, so she +was not aware of our vicinity; and I pointed toward her with an assumed +air of indifference. + +"I believe that is my patient yonder," I said; "I will just run across +and speak to her, and then follow you to the farm." + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, "there is a lovely view from that spot. I recollect +it well. I will go with you, Martin. There will be time enough to see +Tardif." + +Did Captain Carey suspect any thing? Or what reason could he have for +wishing to see Olivia? Could it be merely that he wanted to see the view +from that particular spot? I could not forbid him accompanying me, but I +wished him at Jericho. + +What is more stupid than to have an elderly man dogging one's footsteps? + +I trusted devoutly that we should see or hear Tardif before reaching the +knoll; but no such good fortune befell me. Olivia did not hear our +footsteps upon the soft turf, though we approached her very nearly. The +sun shone upon her glossy hair, every thread of which seemed to shine +back again. She was reading aloud, apparently to herself, and the sounds +of her sweet voice were wafted by the air toward us. Captain Carey's +face became very thoughtful. + +A few steps nearer brought us in view of Tardif, who had spread his nets +on the grass, and was examining them narrowly for rents. Just at this +moment he was down on his knees, not far from Olivia, gathering some +broken meshes together, but listening to her, with an expression of huge +contentment upon his handsome face. A bitter pang shot through me. Could +it be true by any possibility--that lie I had heard the last time I was +in Sark? + +"Good-day, Tardif," shouted Captain Carey; and both Tardif and Olivia +started. But both of their faces grew brighter at seeing us, and both +sprang up to give us welcome. Olivia's color had come back to her +cheeks, and a sweeter face no man ever looked upon. + +"I am very glad you are come once more," she said, putting her hand in +mine; "you told me in your last letter you were going to England, and +might not come over to Sark before next autumn. How glad I am to see you +again!" + +I glanced from the corner of my eye at Captain Carey. He looked very +grave, but his eyes could not rest upon Olivia without admiring her, as +she stood before us, bright-faced, slender, erect, with the heavy folds +of her coarse dress falling about her as gracefully as if they were of +the richest material. + +"This is my friend, Captain Carey, Miss Olivia," I said, "in whose yacht +I have come over to visit you." + +"I am very glad to see any friend of Dr. Martin's," she answered, as she +hold out her hand to him with a smile; "my doctor and I are great +friends, Captain Carey." + +"So I suppose," he said, significantly--or at least his tone and look +seemed fraught with significance to me. + +"We were talking of you only a few minutes ago, Dr. Martin," she +continued; "I was telling Tardif how you sang the 'Three Fishers' to me +the last time you were here, and how it rings in my ears still, +especially when he is away fishing. I repeated the three last lines to +him: + + 'For men must work, and women must weep; + And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep. + So good-by to the bar, with its moaning.'" + +"I do not like it, doctor," said Tardif: "there's no hope in it. Yet to +sleep out yonder at last, on the great plain under the sea, would be no +bad thing." + +"You must sing it for Tardif," added Olivia, with a pretty +imperiousness, "and then he will like it." + +My throat felt dry, and my tongue parched. I could not utter a word in +reply. + +"This would be the very place for such a song," said Captain Carey. +"Come, Martin, let us have it." + +"No; I can sing nothing to-day," I answered, harshly. + +The very sight of her made me feel miserable beyond words; the sound of +her voice maddened me. I felt as if I was angry with her almost to +hatred for her grace and sweetness; yet I could have knelt down at her +feet, and been happy only to lay my hand on a fold of her dress. No +feeling had ever stirred me so before, and it made me irritable. +Olivia's clear gray eyes looked at me wonderingly. + +"Is there anything the matter with you, Dr. Martin?" she inquired. + +"No," I replied, turning away from her abruptly. Every one of them felt +my rudeness; and there was a dead silence among us for half a minute, +which seemed an age to me. Then I heard Captain Carey speaking in his +suavest tones. + +"Are you quite well again, Miss Ollivier?" he asked. + +"Yes, quite well, I think," she said, in a very subdued voice. "I cannot +walk far yet, and my arm is still weak: but I think I am quite well. I +have given Dr. Martin a great deal of trouble and anxiety." + +She spoke in the low, quiet tones of a child who has been chidden +unreasonably. I was asking myself what Captain Carey meant by not +leaving me alone with my patient. When a medical man makes a call, the +intrusion of any unprofessional, indifferent person is unpardonable. If +it had been Suzanne, Tardif, or Mother Renouf, who was keeping so close +beside us, I could have made no reasonable objection. But Captain Carey! + +"Tardif," I said, "Captain Carey came ashore on purpose to visit you and +your farm." + +I knew he was excessively proud of his farm, which consisted of about +four or five acres. He caught at the words with alacrity, and led the +way toward his house with tremendous strides. There was no means of +evading a tour of inspection, though Captain Carey appeared to follow +him reluctantly. Olivia and I were left alone, but she was moving after +them slowly, when I ran to her, and offered her my arm on the plea that +her ankle was still too weak to bear her weight unsupported. + +"Olivia!" I exclaimed, after we had gone a few yards, bringing her and +myself to a sudden halt. Then I was struck dumb. I had nothing special +to say to her. How was it I had called her so familiarly Olivia? + +"Well, Dr. Martin?" she said, looking into my face again with eager, +inquiring eyes, as if she was wishful to understand my varying moods if +she could. + +"What a lovely place this is!" I ejaculated. + +More lovely than any words I ever heard could describe. It was a perfect +day, and a perfect view. The sea was like an opal, changing every minute +with the passing shadows of snow-white clouds which floated lazily +across the bright blue of the sky. The cliffs, Sark Cliffs, which have +not their equal in the world, stretched below us, with every hue of gold +and bronze, and hoary white, and soft gray; and here and there a black +rock, with livid shades of purple, and a bloom upon it like a raven's +wing. Rocky islets, never trodden by human foot, over which the foam +poured ceaselessly, were dotted all about the changeful surface of the +water. And just beneath the level of my eyes was Olivia's face--the +loveliest thing there, though there was so much beauty lying around us. + +"Yes, it is a lovely place," she assented, a mischievous smile playing +about her lips. + +"Olivia," I said, taking my courage by both hands, "it is only a month +now till my wedding-day." + +Was I deceiving myself, or did she really grow paler? It was but for a +moment if it were so. But how cold the air felt all in an instant! The +shock was like that of a first plunge into chilly waters, and I was +shivering through every fibre. + +"I hope you will be happy," said Olivia, "very happy. It is a great risk +to run. Marriage will make you either very happy or very wretched." + +"Not at all," I answered, trying to speak gayly; "I do not look forward +to any vast amount of rapture. Julia and I will get along very well +together, I have no doubt, for we have known one another all our lives. +I do not expect to be any happier than other men; and the married people +I have known have not exactly dwelt in paradise. Perhaps your experience +has been different?" + +"Oh, no!" she said, her hand trembling on my arm, and her face very +downcast; "but I should have liked you to be very, very happy." + +So softly spoken, with such a low, faltering voice! I could not trust +myself to speak again. A stern sense of duty toward Julia kept me +silent; and we moved on, though very slowly and lingeringly. + +"You love her very much?" said the quiet voice at my side, not much +louder than the voice of conscience, which was speaking imperiously just +then. + +"I esteem her more highly than any other woman, except my mother," I +said. "I believe she would die sooner than do any thing she considered +wrong. I do not deserve her, and she loves me, I am sure, very truly and +faithfully." + +"Do you think she will like me?" asked Olivia, anxiously. + +"No; she must love you," I said, with warmth; "and I, too, can be a more +useful friend to you after my marriage than I am now. Perhaps then you +will feel free to place perfect confidence in us." + +She smiled faintly, without speaking--a smile which said plainly she +could keep her own secret closely. It provoked me to do a thing I had +had no intention of doing, and which I regretted very much afterward. I +opened my pocket-book, and drew out the little slip of paper containing +the advertisement. + +"Read that," I said. + +But I do not think she saw more than the first line, for her face went +deadly white, and her eyes turned upon me with a wild, beseeching +look--as Tardif described it, the look of a creature hunted and +terrified. I thought she would have fallen, and I put my arm round her. +She fastened both her hands about mine, and her lips moved, though I +could not catch a word she was saying. + +"Olivia!" I cried, "Olivia! do you suppose I could do any thing to hurt +you? Do not be so frightened! Why, I am your friend truly. I wish to +Heaven I had not shown you the thing. Have more faith in me, and more +courage." + +"But they will find me, and force me away from here," she muttered. + +"No," I said; "that advertisement was printed in the _Times_ directly +after your flight last October. They have not found you out yet; and the +longer you are hidden, the less likely they are to find you. Good +Heavens! what a fool I was to show it to you!" + +"Never mind," she answered, recovering herself a little, but still +clinging to my arm; "I was only frightened for the time. You would not +give me up to them if you knew all." + +"Give you up to them!" I repeated, bitterly. "Am I a Judas?" + +But she could not talk to me any more. She was trembling like an +aspen-leaf, and her breath came sobbingly. All I could do was to take +her home, blaming myself for my cursed folly. + +Captain Carey and Tardif met us at the farm-yard gate, but Olivia could +not speak to them; and we passed them in silence, challenged by their +inquisitive looks. She could only bid me good-by in a tremulous voice; +and I watched her go on into her own little room, and close the door +between us. That was the last I should see of her before my marriage. + +Tardif walked with us to the top of the cliff, and made me a formal, +congratulatory speech before quitting us. When he was gone, Captain +Carey stood still until he was quite out of hearing, and then stretched +out his hand toward the thatched roof, yellow with stone-crop and +lichens. + +"This is a serious business, Martin," he said, looking sternly at me; +"you are in love with that girl." + +"I love her with all my heart and soul!" I cried. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. + +IN A FIX. + + +Yes, I loved Olivia with all my heart and soul. + +I had not known it myself till that moment; and now I acknowledged it +boldly, almost defiantly, with a strange mingling of delight and pain in +the confession. + +Yet the words startled me as I uttered them. They had involved in them +so many unpleasant consequences, so much chagrin and bitterness as their +practical result, that I stood aghast--even while my pulses throbbed, +and my heart beat high, with the novel rapture of loving any woman as I +loved Olivia. If I followed out my avowal to its just issue, I should be +a traitor to Julia; and all my life up to the present moment would be +lost to me. I had scarcely spoken it before I dropped my head on my +hands with a groan. + +"Come, come, my poor fellow!" said Captain Carey, who could never see a +dog with his tail between his legs without whistling to him and patting +him, "we must see what can be done." + +It was neither a time nor a place for the indulgence of emotion of any +kind. It was impossible for me to remain on the cliffs, bemoaning my +unhappy fate. I strode on doggedly down the path, kicking the loose +stones into the water as they came in my way. Captain Carey followed, +whistling softly to himself, and, of all the tunes in the world, he +chose the one to the "Three Fishers," which I had sung to Olivia. He +continued doing so after we were aboard the yacht, and I saw the boatmen +exchange apprehensive glances. + +"We shall have wind enough, without whistling for it, before we reach +Guernsey," said one of them, after a while; and Captain Carey relapsed +into silence. We scarcely spoke again, except about the shifting of the +sails, in our passage across. A pretty stiff breeze was blowing, and we +found plenty of occupation. + +"I cannot leave you like this, Martin, my boy," said Captain Carey, when +we went ashore at St. Sampson's; and he put his arm through mine +affectionately. + +"You will keep my secret?" I said--my voice a key or two lower than +usual. + +"Martin," answered the good-hearted, clear-sighted old bachelor, "you +must not do Julia the wrong of keeping this secret from her." + +"I must," I urged. "Olivia knows nothing of it; nobody guesses it but +you. I must conquer it. Things have gone too far with poor Julia, for me +to back out of our marriage now. You know that as well as I do. Think of +it, Captain Carey!" + +"But shall you conquer it?" asked Captain Carey, seriously. + +I could not answer yes frankly and freely. It seemed a sheer +impossibility for me to root out this new love, which I found in my +heart below all the old loves and friendships of my whole life. Mad as I +was with myself at the thought of my folly, the folly was so sweet to +me, that I would as soon have parted with life itself. Nothing in the +least resembling this feeling had been a matter of experience with me +before. I had read of it in poetry and novels, and laughed a little at +it; but now it had come upon me like a strong man armed. I quailed and +flinched before the painful conflict necessary to cast out the precious +guest. + +"Martin," urged Captain Carey, "come up to Johanna, and tell her all +about it." + +Johanna Carey was one of the powers in the island. Everybody knew her; +and everybody went to her for comfort and counsel. She was, of course, +related to us all; and knew the exact degree of relationship among us, +having the genealogy of each family at her fingers' ends. But, besides +these family histories, which were common property, she was also +intrusted with the inmost secrets of every household--those secrets +which were the most carefully and jealously guarded. I had always been a +favorite with her, and nothing could be more natural than this proposal +of her brother's, that I should go and tell her all my dilemma. + +The house stood on the border of L'Ancresse Common, with no view of the +sea, but with the soft, undulating brows and hollows of the common lying +before it, and a broken battlement of rocks rising beyond them. + +There was always a low, solemn murmur of the invisible sea, singing like +a lullaby about the peaceful dwelling, and hushing it into a more +profound quiet than even utter silence; for utter silence is irksome and +fretting to the ear, which needs some slight reverberation to keep the +brain behind it still. A perfume of violets, and the more dainty scent +of primroses, pervaded the garden. It seemed incredible that any man +should be allowed to live in such a spot; but then Captain Carey was +almost as gentle and fastidious as a woman. + +Johanna was not unlike her home. There was a repose about her similar to +the calm of a judge, which gave additional weight to her counsels. The +moment we entered through the gates, a certainty of comfort and help +appeared to be wafted upon the pure breeze, floating across the common +from the sea. + +Johanna was standing at one of the windows in a Quakerish dress of some +gray stuff, and with a plain white cap over her white hair. She came +down to the door as soon as she saw me, and received me with a motherly +kiss, which I returned with more than usual warmth, as one does in any +new kind of trouble. I think she was instantly aware that something was +amiss with me. + +"Is dinner ready, Johanna?" asked her brother; "we are as hungry as +hunters." + +That was not true as far as I was concerned. For the first time within +my recollection my appetite quite failed me, and I merely played with my +knife and fork. + +Captain Carey regarded me pitifully, and said, "Come, come, Martin, my +boy!" several times. + +Johanna made no remark; but her quiet, searching eyes looked me through +and through, till I almost longed for the time when she would begin to +question and cross-question me. After she was gone, Captain Carey gave +me two or three glasses of his choicest wine, to cheer me up, as he +said; but we were not long before we followed his sister. + +"Johanna," said Captain Carey, "we have something to tell you." + +"Come and sit here by me," she said, making room for me beside her on +her sofa; for long experience had taught her how much more difficult it +is to make a confession face to face with one's confessor, under the +fire of his eyes, as it were, than when one is partially concealed from +him. + +"Well," she said, in her calm, inviting voice. + +"Johanna," I replied, "I am in a terrible fix!" + +"Awful!" cried Captain Carey, sympathetically; but a glance from his +sister put him to silence. + +"What is it, my dear Martin?" asked her inviting voice again. + +"I will tell you frankly," I said, feeling I must have it out at once, +like an aching tooth. "I love, with all my heart and soul, that girl in +Sark; the one who has been my patient there." + +"Martin!" she cried, in a tone full of surprise and agitation--"Martin!" + +"Yes; I know all you would urge--my honor; my affection for Julia; the +claims she has upon me, the strongest claims possible; how good and +worthy she is; what an impossibility it is even to look back now. I know +it all, and feel how miserably binding it is upon me. Yet I love Olivia; +and I shall never love Julia." + +"Martin!" she cried again. + +"Listen to me, Johanna," I said, for now the ice was broken, my frozen +words were flowing as rapidly as a runnel of water; "I used to dream of +a feeling something like this years ago, but no girl I saw could kindle +it into reality. I have always esteemed Julia, and when my youth was +over, and I had never felt any devouring passion, I began to think love +was more of a word than a fact, or to believe that it had become only a +word in these cold late times. At any rate, I concluded I was past the +age for falling in love. There was my cousin Julia certainly dearer to +me than any other woman, except my mother. I knew all her little ways; +and they were not annoying to me, or were so in a very small degree. +Besides, my father had had a grand passion for my mother, and what had +that come to? There would be no such white ashes of a spent fire for +Julia to shiver over. That was how I argued the matter out with myself. +At eight-and-twenty I had never lost a quarter of an hour's sleep, or +missed a meal, for the sake of any girl. Surely I was safe. It was quite +fair for me to propose to Julia, and she would be satisfied with the +affection I could offer her. Then there was my mother; it was the +greatest happiness I could give her, and her life has not been a happy +one, God knows. So I proposed to Julia, and she accepted me last +Christmas." + +"And you are to be married next month?" said Johanna, in an exceedingly +troubled tone. + +"Yes," I answered, "and now every word Julia speaks, and every thing she +does, grates upon me. I love her as much as ever as my cousin, but as my +wife! Good Heavens! Johanna, I cannot tell you how I dread it." + +"What can be done?" she exclaimed, looking from me to Captain Carey, +whose face was as full of dismay as her own. But he only shook his head +despondingly. + +"Done!" I repeated, "nothing, absolutely nothing. It is utterly +impossible to draw back. Our house is nearly ready for us, and even +Julia's wedding-dress and veil are bought." + +"There is not a house you enter," said Johanna, solemnly, "where they +are not preparing a wedding-present for Julia and you. There has not +been a marriage in your district, among ourselves, for nine years. It is +as public as a royal marriage." + +"It must go on," I answered, with the calmness of despair. "I am the +most good-for-nothing scoundrel in Guernsey to fall in love with my +patient. You need not tell me so, Johanna. And yet, if I could think +that Olivia loved me, I would not change with the happiest man alive." + +"What is her name?" asked Johanna. + +"One of the Olliviers," answered Captain Carey; "but what Olliviers she +belongs to, I don't know. She is one of the prettiest creatures I ever +saw." + +"An Ollivier!" exclaimed Johanna, in her severest accents. "Martin, what +_are_ you thinking of?" + +"Her Christian name is Olivia," I said, hastily; "she does not belong to +the Olliviers at all. It was Tardif's mistake, and very natural. She was +born in Australia, I believe." + +"Of a good family, I hope?" asked Johanna. "There are some persons it +would be a disgrace to you to love. What is her other name?" + +"I don't know," I answered, reluctantly but distinctly. + +Johanna turned her face full upon me now--a face more agitated than I +had ever seen it. There was no use in trying to keep back any part of my +serious delinquency, so I resolved to make a clean breast of it. + +"I know very little about her," I said--"that is, about her history; as +for herself, she is the sweetest, dearest, loveliest girl in the whole +world to me. If I were free, and she loved me, I should not know what +else to wish for. All I know is, that she has run away from her people; +why, I have no more idea than you have, or who they are, or where they +live; and she has been living in Tardif's cottage since last October. It +is an infatuation, do you say? So it is, I dare say. It is an +infatuation; and I don't know that I shall ever shake it off." + +"What is she like?" asked Johanna. "Is she very merry and bright?" + +"I never saw her laugh," I said. + +"Very melancholy and sad, then?" + +"I never saw her weep," I said. + +"What is it then, Martin?" she asked, earnestly. + +"I cannot tell what it is," I answered. "Everything she does and says +has a charm for me that I could never describe. With her for my wife I +should be more happy than I ever was; with any one else I shall be +wretched. That is all I know." + +I had left my seat by Johanna, and was pacing to and fro in the room, +too restless and miserable to keep still. The low moan of the sea sighed +all about the house. I could have cast myself on the floor had I been +alone, and wept and sobbed like a woman. I could see no loop-hole of +escape from the mesh of circumstances which caught me in their net. + +A long, dreary, colorless, wretched life stretched before me, with Julia +my inseparable companion, and Olivia altogether lost to me. Captain +Carey and Johanna, neither of whom had tasted the sweets and bitters of +marriage, looked sorrowfully at me and shook their heads. + +"You must tell Julia," said Johanna, after a long pause. + +"Tell Julia!" I echoed. "I would not tell her for worlds!" + +"You must tell her," she repeated; "it is your clear duty. I know it +will be most painful to you both, but you have no right to marry her +with this secret on your mind." + +"I should be true to her," I interrupted, somewhat angrily. + +"What do you call being true, Martin Dobrée?" she asked, more calmly +than she had spoken before. "Is it being true to a woman to let her +believe you choose and love her above all other women when that is +absolutely false? No; you are too honorable for that. I tell you it is +your plain duty to let Julia know this, and know it at once." + +"It will break her heart," I said, with a sharp twinge of conscience and +a cowardly shrinking from the unpleasant duty urged upon me. + +"It will not break Julia's heart," said Johanna, very sadly; "it may +break your mother's." + +I reeled as if a sharp blow had struck me. I had been thinking far less +of my mother than of Julia; but I saw, as with a flash of lightning, +what a complete uprooting of all her old habits and long-cherished hopes +this would prove to my mother, whose heart was so set upon this +marriage. Would Julia marry me if she once heard of my unfortunate love +for Olivia? And, if not, what would become of our home? My mother would +have to give up one of us, for it was not to be supposed she would +consent to live under the same roof with me, now the happy tie of +cousinship was broken, and none dearer to be formed. + +Which could my mother part with best? Julia was almost as much her +daughter as I was her son; yet me she pined after if ever I was absent +long. No; I could not resolve to run the risk of breaking that gentle, +faithful heart, which loved me so fully. I went back to Johanna, and +took her hand in both of mine. + +"Keep my secret," I said, earnestly, "you two. I will make Julia and my +mother happy. Do not mistrust me. This infatuation overpowered me +unawares. I will conquer it; at the worst I can conceal it. I promise +you Julia shall never regret being my wife." + +"Martin," answered Johanna, determinedly, "if you do not tell Julia I +must tell her myself. You say you love this other girl with all your +heart and soul." + +"Yes, and that is true," I said. + +"Then Julia must know before she marries you." + +Nothing could move Johanna from that position, and in my heart I +recognized its righteousness. She argued with me that it was Julia's due +to hear it from myself. I knew afterward that she believed the sight of +her distress and firm love for myself would dissipate the infatuation of +my love for Olivia. But she did not read Julia's character as well as my +mother did. + +Before she let me leave her I had promised to have my confession and +subsequent explanation with Julia all over the following day; and to +make this the more inevitable, she told me she should drive into St. +Peter-Port the next afternoon about five o'clock, when she should expect +to find this troublesome matter settled, either by a renewal of my +affection for my betrothed, or the suspension of the betrothal. In the +latter case she promised to carry Julia home with her until the first +bitterness was over. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH. + +A MIDNIGHT RIDE. + + +I took care not to reach home before the hour when Julia usually went to +bed. She had been out in the country all day, visiting the south cliffs +of our island, with some acquaintances from England who were staying for +a few days in St. Peter-Port. In all probability she would be too tired +to sit up till my return if I were late. + +I had calculated aright. It was after eleven o'clock when I entered, and +my mother only was waiting for me. I wished to avoid any confidential +chat that evening, and, after answering briefly her fond inquiries as to +what could have kept me out so late, I took myself off to my own room. + +But it was quite vain to think of sleep that night. I had soon worked +myself up into that state of nervous, restless agitation; when one +cannot remain quietly in one; room. I attempted to conquer it, but I +could not. + +The moon, which was at the full, was shining out of a cloudless field of +sky upon my window. I longed for fresh air, and freedom, and motion; for +a distance between myself and my dear old home--that home which I was +about to plunge into troubled waters. The peacefulness oppressed me. + +About one o'clock I opened my door as softly as possible, and stole +silently downstairs--but not so silently that my mother's quick ear did +not catch the slight jarring of my door. + +The night-bell hung in my room, and occasionally I was summoned away at +hours like this to visit a patient. She called to me as I crept down the +stairs. + +"Martin, what is the matter?" she whispered, over the banisters. + +"Nothing, mother; nothing much," I answered. "I shall be home again in +an hour or two. Go to bed, and go to sleep. Whatever makes you so +thin-eared?" + +"Are you going to take Madam?" she asked, seeing my whip in my hand. +"Shall I ring up Pellet?" + +"No, no!" I said; "I can manage well enough. Good-night again, my +darling old mother." + +Her pale, worn face smiled down upon me very tenderly as she kissed her +hand to me. I stood, as if spellbound, watching her, and she watching +me, until we both laughed, though somewhat falteringly. + +"How romantic you are, my boy!" she said, in a tremulous voice. + +"I shall not stir till you go back to bed," I answered, peremptorily; +and as just then we heard my father calling out fretfully to ask why the +door was open, and what was going on in the house, she disappeared, and +I went on my way to the stables. + +Madam was my favorite mare, first-rate at a gallop when she was in good +temper, but apt to turn vicious now and then. She was in good temper +to-night, and pricked up her ears and whinnied when I unlocked the +stable-door. In a few minutes we were going up the Grange Road at a +moderate pace till we reached the open country, and the long, white, +dusty roads stretched before us, glimmering in the moonlight. I turned +for St. Martin's, and Madam, at the first touch of my whip on her +flanks, started off at a long and steady gallop. + +It was a cool, quiet night in May. A few of the larger fixed stars +twinkled palely in the sky, but the smaller ones were drowned in the +full moonlight. The largest of them shone solemnly and brightly in +afield of golden green just above the spot where the sun had set hours +before. The trees, standing out with a blackness and distinctness never +seen by day, appeared to watch for me and look after me as I rode along, +forming an avenue of silent but very stately spectators; and to my +fancy, for my fancy was highly excited that night, the rustling of the +young leaves upon them whispered the name of Olivia. The hoof-beats of +my mare's feet upon the hard roads echoed the name Olivia, Olivia! + +By-and-by I turned off the road to got nearer the sea, and rode along +sandy lanes with banks of turf instead of hedge-rows, which were covered +thickly with pale primroses, shining with the same hue as the moon above +them. As I passed the scattered cottages, here and there a dog yapped a +shrill, snarling hark, and woke the birds, till they gave a sleepy +twitter in their new nests. + +Now and then I came in full sight of the sea, glittering in the silvery +light. I crossed the head of a gorge, and stopped for a while to gaze +down it, till my flesh crept. It was not more than a few yards in +breadth, but it was of unknown depth, and the rocks stood above it with +a thick, heavy blackness. The tide was rushing into its narrow channel +with a thunder which throbbed like a pulse; yet in the intervals of its +pulsation I could catch the thin, prattling tinkle of a brook running +merrily down the gorge to plunge headlong into the sea. Round every spar +of the crags, and over every islet of rock, the foam played ceaselessly, +breaking over them like drifts of snow, forever melting, and forever +forming again. + +I kept on my way, as near the sea as I I could, past the sleeping +cottages and hamlets, round through St. Pierre du Bois and Torteval, +with the gleaming light-houses out on the Hanways, and by Rocquaine Bay, +and Vazon Bay, and through the vale to Captain Carey's peaceful house, +where, perhaps, to-morrow night--nay, this day's night--Julia might be +weeping and wailing broken-hearted. + +I had made the circuit of our island--a place so dear to me that it +seemed scarcely possible to live elsewhere; yet I should be forced to +live elsewhere. I knew that with a clear distinctness. There could be no +home for me in Guernsey when my conduct toward Julia should become +known. + +But now Sark, which had been behind me all my ride, lay full in sight, +and the eastern sky behind it began to quicken with new light. The gulls +were rousing themselves, and flying out to sea, with their plaintive +cries; and the larks were singing their first sleepy notes to the coming +day. + +As the sun rose, Sark looked very near, and the sea, a plain of silvery +blue, seemed solid and firm enough to afford me a road across to it. A +white mist lay like a huge snow-drift in hazy, broad curves over the +Havre Gosselin, with sharp peaks of cliffs piercing through. + +Olivia was sleeping yonder behind that veil of shining mist; and, dear +as Guernsey was to me, she was a hundredfold dearer. + +But my night's ride bad not made my day's task any easier for me. No new +light had dawned upon my difficulty. There was no loop-hole for me to +escape from the most painful and perplexing strait I had ever been in. +How was I to break it to Julia? and when? It was quite plain to me that +the sooner it was over the better it would be for myself, and perhaps +the better for her. How was I to go through my morning's calls, in the +state of nervous anxiety I found myself in? + +I resolved to have it over as soon as breakfast was finished, and my +father had gone to make his professional toilet, a lengthy and important +duty with him. Yet when breakfast came I was listening intently for some +summons, which would give me an hour's grace from fulfilling my own +determination. I prolonged my meal, keeping my mother in her place at +the table; for she had never given up her office of pouring out my tea +and coffee. + +I finished at List, and still no urgent message had come for me. My +mother left us together alone, as her custom was, for what time I had to +spare--a variable quantity always with me. + +Now was the dreaded moment. But how was I to begin? Julia was so calm +and unsuspecting. In what words could I convey my fatal meaning most +gently to her? My head throbbed, and I could not raise my eyes to her +face. Yet it must be done. + +"Dear Julia," I said, in as firm a voice as I could command. + +"Yes, Martin." + +But just then Grace, the housemaid, knocked emphatically at the door, +and after a due pause entered with a smiling, significant face, yet with +an apologetic courtesy. + +"If you please, Dr. Martin," she said, "I'm very sorry, but Mrs. Lihou's +baby is taken with convulsion-fits; and they want you to go as fast as +ever you can, please, sir." + +"Was I sorry or glad? I could not tell. It was a reprieve; but then I +knew positively it was nothing more than a reprieve. The sentence must +be executed. Julia came to me, bent her cheek toward me, and I kissed +it. That was our usual salutation when our morning's interview was +ended. + +"I am going down to the new house," she said. "I lost a good deal of +time yesterday, and I must make up for it to-day. Shall you be passing +by at any time, Martin?" + +"Yes--no--I cannot tell exactly," I stammered. + +"If you are passing, come in for a few minutes," she answered; "I have a +thousand things to speak to you about." + +"Shall you come in to lunch?" I asked. + +"No, I shall take something with me," she replied; "it hinders so; +coming back here." + +I was not overworked that morning. The convulsions of Mrs. Lihou's baby +were not at all serious; and, as I have before stated, the practice +which my father and I shared between us was a very limited one. My part +of it naturally fell among our poorer patients, who did not expect me to +waste their time and my own, by making numerous or prolonged visits. So +I had plenty of time to call upon Julia at the new house; but I could +not summon sufficient courage. The morning slipped away while I was +loitering about Fort George, and chatting carelessly with the officers +quartered there. + +I went to lunch, pretty sure of finding no one but my mother at home. +There was no fear of losing her love, if every other friend turned me +the cold shoulder, as I was morally certain they would, with no blame to +themselves. But the very depth and constancy of her affection made it +the more difficult and the more terrible for me to wound her. She had +endured so much, poor mother! and was looking so wan and pale. If it had +not been for Johanna's threat, I should have resolved to say nothing +about Olivia, and to run my chance of matrimonial happiness. + +What a cruel turn Fate had done me when it sent me across the sea to +Sark ten weeks ago! + +My mother was full of melancholy merriment that morning, making pathetic +little jokes about Julia and me, and laughing at them heartily +herself--short bursts of laughter which left her paler than she had been +before. + +I tried to laugh myself, in order to encourage her brief playfulness, +though the effort almost choked me. Before I went out again, I sat +beside her for a few minutes, with my head, which ached awfully by this +time, resting on her dear shoulder. + +"Mother," I said, "you are very fond of Julia?" + +"I love her just the same as if she were my daughter, Martin--as she +will be soon," she answered. + +"Do you love her as much as me?" I asked. + +"Jealous boy!" she said, laying her hand on my hot forehead, "no, not +half as much; not a quarter, not a tenth part as much! Does that content +you?" + +"Suppose something should prevent our marriage?" I suggested. + +"But nothing can," she interrupted; "and, O Martin! I am sure you will +be very happy with Julia." + +I said no more, for I did not dare to tell her yet; but I wished I had +spoken to her about Olivia, instead of hiding her name, and all +belonging to her, in my inmost heart. My mother would know all quite +soon enough, unless Julia and I agreed to keep it secret, and let things +go on as they were. + +If Julia said she would marry me, knowing that I was heart and soul in +love with another woman, why, then I would go through with it, and my +mother need never hear a word about my dilemma. + +Julia must decide my lot. My honor was pledged to her; and if she +insisted upon the fulfilment of my engagement to her, well, of course, I +would fulfil it. + +I went down reluctantly at length to the new house; but it was at almost +the last hour. The church-clocks had already struck four; and I knew +Johanna would be true to her time, and drive up the Grange at five. I +left a message with my mother for her, telling her where she would find +Julia and me. Then doggedly, but sick at heart with myself and all the +world, I went down to meet my doom. + +It was getting into nice order, this new house of ours. We had had six +months to prepare it in, and to fit it up exactly to our minds; and it +was as near my ideal of a pleasant home as our conflicting tastes +permitted. Perhaps this was the last time I should cross its threshold. +There was a pang in the thought. + +This was my position. If Julia listened to my avowal angrily, and +renounced me indignantly, passionately, I lost fortune, position, +profession; my home and friends, with the sole exception of my mother. I +should be regarded alternately as a dupe and a scoundrel. Guernsey would +become too hot to hold me, and I should be forced to follow my luck in +some foreign land. If, on the other hand, Julia clung to me, and would +not give me up, trusting to time to change my feelings, then I lost +Olivia; and to lose her seemed the worse fate of the two. + +Julia was sitting alone in the drawing-room, which overlooked the harbor +and the group of islands across the channel. There was no fear of +interruption; no callers to ring the bell and break in upon our +_tête-à-tête_. It was an understood thing that at present only Julia's +most intimate friends had been admitted into our new house, and then by +special invitation alone. + +There was a very happy, very placid expression on her face. Every harsh +line seemed softened, and a pleased smile played about her lips. Her +dress was one of those simple, fresh, clean muslin gowns, with knots of +ribbon about it, which make a plain woman almost pretty, and a pretty +woman bewitching. Her dark hair looked less prim and neat than usual. +She pretended not to hear me open the door; but as I stood still at the +threshold gazing at her, she lifted up her head, with a very pleasant +smile. + +"I am very glad you are come, my dear Martin," she said, softly. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. + +A LONG HALF-HOUR. + + +I dared not dally another moment. I must take my plunge at once into the +icy-cold waters. + +"I have something of importance to say to you, dear cousin," I began. + +"So have I," she said, gayly; "a thousand things, as I told you this +morning, sir, though you are so late in coming to hear them. See, I have +been making a list of a few commissions for you to do in London. They +are such as I can trust to you; but for plate, and glass, and china, I +think we had better wait till we return from Switzerland. We are sure to +come home through London." + +Her eyes ran over a paper she was holding in her hand; while I stood +opposite to her, not knowing what to do with myself, and feeling the +guiltiest wretch alive. + +"Cannot you find a seat?" she asked, after a short silence. + +I sat down on the broad window-sill instead of on the chair close to +hers. She looked up at that, and fixed her eyes upon me keenly. I had +often quailed before Julia's gaze as a boy, but never as I did now. + +"Well! what is it?" she asked, curtly. The incisiveness of her tone +brought life into me, as a probe sometimes brings a patient out of +stupor. + +"Julia," I said, "are you quite sure you love me enough to be happy with +me as my wife?" + +She opened her eyes very widely, and arched her eyebrows at the +question, laughed a little, and then drooped her head over the work in +her hands. + +"Think of it well, Julia," I urged. + +"I know you well enough to be as happy as the day is long with you," she +replied, the color rushing to her face. "I have no vocation for a single +life, such as so many of the girls here have to make up their minds to. +I should hate to have nothing to do and nobody to care for. Every night +and morning I thank God that he has ordained another life for me. He +knows how I love you, Martin." + +"What was I to say to this? How was I to set my foot down to crush this +blooming happiness of hers? + +"You do not often look as if you loved me," I said at last. + +"That is only my way," she answered. "I can't be soft and purring like +many women. I don't care to be always kissing and hanging about anybody. +But if you are afraid I don't love you enough--well! I will ask you what +you think in ten years' time." + +"What would you say if I told you I had once loved a girl better than I +do you?" I asked. + +"That's not true," she said, sharply. "I've known you all your life, and +you could not hide such a thing from your mother and me. You are only +laughing at me, Martin." + +"Heaven knows I'm not laughing," I answered, solemnly; "it's no laughing +matter. Julia, there is a girl I love better than you, even now." + +The color and the smile faded out of her face, leaving it ashy pale. Her +lips parted once or twice, but her voice failed her. Then she broke out +into a short, hysterical laugh. + +"You are talking nonsense, dear Martin!" she gasped; "you ought not! I +am not very strong. Get me a glass of water." + +I fetched a glass of water from the kitchen; for the servant, who had +been at work, had gone home, and we were quite alone in the house. When +I returned, her face was still working with nervous twitchings. + +"Martin, you ought not!" she repeated, after she had swallowed some +water. "Tell me it is a joke directly." + +"I cannot," I replied, painfully and sorrowfully; "it is the truth, +though I would almost rather face death than own it. I love you dearly, +Julia; but I love another woman better. God help us both!" + +There was dead silence in the room after those words. I could not hear +Julia breathe or move, and I could not look at her. My eyes were turned +toward the window and the islands across the sea, purple and hazy in the +distance. + +"Leave me!" she said, after a very long stillness; "go away, Martin." + +"I cannot leave you alone," I exclaimed; "no, I will not, Julia. Let me +tell you more; let me explain it all. You ought to know every thing +now." + +"Go away!" she repeated, in a slow, mechanical tone. + +I hesitated still, seeing her white and trembling, with her eyes glassy +and fixed. But she motioned me from her toward the door, and her pale +lips parted again to reiterate her command. + +How I crossed that room I do not know; but the moment after I had closed +the door I heard the key turn in the lock. I dared not quit the house +and leave her alone in such a state; and I longed ardently to hear the +clocks chime five, and the sound of Johanna's wheels on the +roughly-paved street. She could not be here yet for a full half-hour, +for she had to go up to our house in the Grange Road and come back +again. What if Julia should have fainted, or be dead! + +That was one of the longest half-hours in my life. I stood at the +street-door watching and waiting, and nodding to people who passed by, +and who simpered at me in the most inane fashion. + +"The fools!" I called them to myself. At length Johanna turned the +corner, and her pony-carriage came rattling cheerfully over the large +round stones. I ran to meet her. + +"For Heaven's sake, go to Julia!" I cried. "I have told her." + +"And what does she say?" asked Johanna. + +"Not a word, not a syllable," I replied, "except to bid me go away. She +has locked herself into the drawing-room." + +"Then you had better go away altogether," she said, "and leave me to +deal with her. Don't come in, and then I can say you are not here." + +A friend of mine lived in the opposite house, and, though I knew he was +not at home, I knocked at his door and asked permission to sit for a +while in his parlor. + +The windows looked into the street, and there I sat watching the doors +of our new house, for Johanna and Julia to come out. No man likes to be +ordered out of sight, as if he were a vagabond or a criminal, and I felt +myself aggrieved and miserable. + +At length the door opposite opened, and Julia appeared, her face +completely hidden behind a veil. Johanna helped her into the low +carriage, as if she had been an invalid, and paid her those minute +trivial attentions which one woman showers upon another when she is in +great grief. Then they drove off, and were soon out of my sight. + +By this time our dinner-hour was near, and I knew my mother would be +looking out for us both. I was thankful to find at the table a visitor, +who had dropped in unexpectedly: one of my father's patients--a widow, +with a high color, a loud voice, and boisterous spirits, who kept up a +rattle of conversation with Dr. Dobrée. My mother glanced anxiously at +me very often, but she could say little. + +"Where is Julia?" she had inquired, as we sat down to dinner without +her. + +"Julia?" I said, quite absently; "oh! she is gone to the Vale, with +Johanna Carey." + +"Will she come back to-night?" asked my mother. + +"Not to-night," I said, aloud; but to myself I added, "nor for many +nights to come; never, most probably, while I am under this roof. We +have been building our house upon the sand, and the floods have come, +and the winds have blown, and the house has fallen; but my mother knows +nothing of the catastrophe yet." + +If it were possible to keep her ignorant of it! But that could not be. +She read trouble in my face, as clearly as one sees a thunder-cloud in +the sky, and she could not rest till she had fathomed it. After she and +our guest had left us, my father lingered only a few minutes. He was not +a man that cared for drinking much wine, with no companion but me, and +he soon pushed the decanters from him. + +"You are as dull as a beetle to-night, Martin," he said. "I think I will +go and see how your mother and Mrs. Murray get along together." + +He went his way, and I went mine--up into my own room, where I should be +alone to think over things. It was a pleasant room, and had been mine +from my boyhood. There were some ugly old pictures still hanging against +the walls, which I could not find in my heart to take down. The model of +a ship I had carved with my penknife, the sails of which had been made +by Julia, occupied the top shelf over my books. The first pistol I had +ever possessed lay on the same shelf. It was my own den, my nest, my +sanctuary, my home within the home. I could not think of myself being +quite at home anywhere else. + +Of late I had been awakened in the night two or three times, and found +my mother standing at my bedside, with her thin, transparent fingers +shading the light from my eyes. When I remonstrated with her she had +kissed me, smoothed the clothes about me, and promised meekly to go back +to bed. Did she visit me every night? and would there come a time when +she could not visit me? + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. + +BROKEN OFF. + + +As I asked myself this question, with an unerring premonition that the +time would soon come when my mother and I would be separated, I heard +her tapping lightly at the door. She was not in the habit of leaving her +guests, and I was surprised and perplexed at seeing her. + +"Your father and Mrs. Murray are having a game of chess," she said, +answering my look of astonishment. "We can be alone together half an +hour. And now tell me what is the matter? There is something going wrong +with you." + +She sank down weariedly into a chair, and I knelt down beside her. It +was almost harder to tell her than to tell Julia; but it was worse than +useless to put off the evil moment. Better for her to hear all from me +before a whisper reached her from any one else. + +"Johanna came here," she continued, "with a face as grave as a judge, +and asked for Julia in a melancholy voice. Has there been any quarrel +between you two?" + +She was accustomed to our small quarrels, and to setting them right +again; for we were prone to quarrel in a cousinly fashion, without much +real bitterness on either side, but with such an intimate and irritating +knowledge of each other's weak points, that we needed a peace-maker at +hand. + +"Mother, I am not going to marry my cousin Julia," I said. + +"So I have heard before," she answered, with a faint smile. "Come, come, +Martin! it is too late to talk boyish nonsense like this." + +"But I love somebody else," I said, warmly, for my heart throbbed at the +thought of Olivia; "and I told Julia so this afternoon. It is broken off +for good now, mother." + +She gave me no answer, and I looked up into her dear face in alarm. It +had grown rigid, and a peculiar blue tinge of pallor was spreading over +it. Her head had fallen back against the chair. I had never seen her +look so death-like in any of her illnesses, and I sprang to my feet in +terror. She stopped me by a slight convulsive pressure of her hand, as I +was about to unfasten her brooch and open her dress to give her air. + +"No, Martin," she whispered, "I shall be better in a moment." + +But it was several minutes before she breathed freely and naturally, or +could lift up her head. Then she did not look at me, but lifted up her +eyes to the pale evening sky, and her lips quivered with agitation. + +"Martin, it will be the death of me," she said; and a few tears stole +down her cheeks, which I wiped away. + +"It shall not be the death of you," I exclaimed. "If Julia is willing to +marry me, knowing the whole truth, I am ready to marry her for your +sake, mother. I would do any thing for your sake. But Johanna said she +ought to be told, and I think it was right myself." + +"Who is it, who can it be that you love?" she asked. + +"Mother," I said, "I wish I had told you before, but I did not know that +I loved the girl as I do, till I saw her yesterday in Sark, and Captain +Carey charged me with it." + +"That girl!" she cried. "One of the Olliviers! O Martin, you must marry +in your own class." + +"That was a mistake," I answered. "Her Christian name is Olivia; I do +not know what her surname is." + +"Not know even her name!" she exclaimed. + +"Listen, mother," I said; and then I told her all I knew about Olivia, +and drew such a picture of her as I had seen her, as made my mother +smile and sigh deeply in turns. + +"But she may be an adventuress; you know nothing about her," she +objected. "Surely, you cannot love a woman you do not esteem?" + +"Esteem!" I repeated. "I never thought whether I esteemed Olivia, but I +am satisfied I love her. You may be quite sure she is no adventuress. An +adventuress would not hide herself in Tardif's out-of-the-world +cottage." + +"A girl without friends and without a name!" she sighed; "a runaway from +her family and home! It does not look well, Martin." + +I could answer nothing, and it would be of little use to try. I saw when +my mother's prejudices could blind her. To love any one not of our own +caste was a fatal error in her eyes. + +"Does Julia know all this?" she asked. + +"She has not heard a word about Olivia," I answered. "As soon as I told +her I loved some one else better than her, she bade me begone out of her +sight. She has not an amiable temper." + +"But she is an upright, conscientious, religious woman," she said, +somewhat angrily. "She would never have run away from her friends; and +we know all about her. I cannot think what your father will say, Martin. +It has given him more pleasure and satisfaction than any thing that has +happened for years. If this marriage is broken off, it upsets every +thing." + +Of course it would upset every thing; there was the mischief of it. The +convulsion would be so great, that I felt ready to marry Julia in order +to avoid it, supposing she would marry me. That was the question, and it +rested solely with her. I would almost rather face the long, slow +weariness of an unsuitable marriage than encounter the immediate results +of the breaking off of our engagement just on the eve of its +consummation. I was a coward, no doubt, but events had hurried me on too +rapidly for me to stand still and consider the cost. + +"O Martin, Martin!" wailed my poor mother, breaking down again suddenly. +"I had so set my heart upon this! I did so long to see you in a home of +your own! And Julia was so generous, never looking as if all the money +was hers, and you without a penny! What is to become of you now, my boy? +I wish I had been dead and in my grave before this had happened!" + +"Hush, mother!" I said, kneeling down again beside her and kissing her +tenderly; "it is still in Julia's hands. If she will marry me, I shall +marry her." + +"But then you will not be happy?" she said, with fresh sobs. + +It was impossible for me to contradict that. I felt that no misery would +be equal to that of losing Olivia. But I did my best to comfort my +mother, by promising to see Julia the next day and renew my engagement, +if possible. + +"Pray, may I be informed as to what is the matter now?" broke in a +satirical, cutting voice--the voice of my father. It roused us both--my +mother to her usual mood of gentle submission, and me to the chronic +state of irritation which his presence always provoked in me. + +"Not much, sir," I answered, coldly; "only my marriage with my cousin +Julia is broken off." + +"Broken off!" he ejaculated--"broken off!" + + + + +CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH. + +THE DOBRÉES' GOOD NAME. + + +My father's florid face looked almost as rigid and white as my mother's +had done. He stood in the doorway, with a lamp in his hand (for it had +grown quite dark while my mother and I were talking), and the light +shone full upon his changed face. His hand shook violently, so I took +the lamp from him and set it down on the table. + +"Go down to Mrs. Murray," he said, turning savagely upon my mother. "How +could you be so rude as to leave her? She talks of going away. Let her +go as soon as she likes. I shall stay here with Martin." + +"I did not know I had been away so long," she answered, meekly, and +looking deprecatingly from the one to the other of us.--"You will not +quarrel with your father, Martin, if I leave you, will you?" This she +whispered in my ear, in a beseeching tone. + +"Not if I can help it, mother," I replied, also in a whisper. + +"Now, confound it!" cried Dr. Dobrée, after she had gone, slowly and +reluctantly, and looking back at the door to me--"now just tell me +shortly all about this nonsense of yours. I thought some quarrel was up, +when Julia did not come home to dinner. Out with it, Martin." + +"As I said before, there is not much to tell," I answered. "I was +compelled in honor to tell Julia I loved another woman more than +herself; and I presume, though I am not sure, she will decline to become +my wife." + +"In love with another woman!" repeated my father, with a long whistle, +partly of sympathy, and partly of perplexity. "Who is it, my son?" + +"That is of little moment," I said, having no desire whatever to confide +the story to him. "The main point is that it's true, and I told Julia +so, this afternoon." + +"Good gracious, Martin!" he cried, "what accursed folly! What need was +there to tell her of any little peccadillo, if you could conceal it? Why +did you not come to me for advice? Julia is a prude, like your mother. +It will not be easy for her to overlook this." + +"There is nothing to overlook," I said. "As soon as I knew my own mind, +I told her honestly about it." + +At that moment it did not occur to me that my honesty was due to +Johanna's insistent advice. I believed just then that I had acted from +the impulse of my own sense of honor, and the belief gave my words and +tone more spirit than they would have had otherwise. My father's face +grew paler and graver as he listened; he looked older, by ten years, +than he had done an hour ago in the dining-room. + +"I don't understand it," he muttered; "do you mean that this is a +serious thing? Are you in love with some girl of our own class? Not a +mere passing fancy, that no one would think seriously of for an instant? +Just a trifling _faux pas_, that it is no use telling women about, eh? I +could make allowance for that, Martin, and get Julia to do the same. +Come, it cannot be any thing more." + +I did not reply to him. Here we had come, he and I, to the very barrier +that had been growing up between us ever since I had first discovered my +mother's secret and wasting grief. He was on one side of it and I on the +other--a wall of separation which neither of us could leap over. + +"Why don't you speak, Martin?" he asked, testily. + +"Because I hate the subject," I answered. "When I told Julia I loved +another woman, I meant that some one else occupied that place in my +affection which belonged rightfully to my wife; and so Julia understood +it." + +"Then," he cried with a gesture of despair, "I am a ruined man!" + +His consternation and dismay were so real that they startled me; yet, +knowing what a consummate actor he was, I restrained both my fear and +my sympathy, and waited for him to enlighten me further. He sat with his +head bowed, and his hands hanging down, in an attitude of profound +despondency, so different from his usual jaunty air, that every moment +increased my anxiety. + +"What can it have to do with you?" I asked, after a long pause. + +"I am a ruined and disgraced man." he reiterated, without looking up; +"if you have broken off your marriage with Julia, I shall never raise my +head again." + +"But why?" I asked, uneasily. + +"Come down into my consulting-room," he said, after another pause of +deliberation. I went on before him, carrying the lamp, and, turning +round once or twice, saw his face look gray, and the expression of it +vacant and troubled. His consulting-room was a luxurious room, elegantly +furnished; and with several pictures on the walls, including a painted +photograph of himself, taken recently by the first photographer in +Guernsey. There were book-cases containing a number of the best medical +works; behind which lay, out of sight, a numerous selection of French +novels, more thumbed than the ponderous volumes in front. He sank down +into an easy-chair, shivering as if we were in the depth of winter. + +"Martin, I am a ruined man!" he said, for the third time. + +"But how?" I asked again, impatiently; for my fears were growing strong. +Certainly he was not acting a part this time. + +"I dare not tell you," he cried, leaning his head upon his desk, and +sobbing. How white his hair was! and how aged he looked! I recollected +how he used to play with me when I was a boy, and carry me before him on +horseback, as long back as I could remember. My heart softened and +warmed to him as it had not done for years. + +"Father!" I said, "if you can trust any one, you can trust me. If you +are ruined and disgraced I shall be the same, as your son." + +"That's true," he answered, "that's true! It will bring disgrace on you +and your mother. We shall be forced to leave Guernsey, where she has +lived all her life; and it will be the death of her. Martin, you must +save us all by making it up with Julia." + +"But why?" I demanded, once more. "I must know what you mean." + +"Mean?" he said, turning upon me angrily, "you blockhead! I mean that +unless you marry Julia I shall have to give an account of her property; +and I could not make all square, not if I sold every stick and stone I +possess." + +I sat silent for a time, trying to take in this piece of information. He +had been Julia's guardian ever since she was left an orphan, ten years +old; but I had never known that there had not been a formal and legal +settlement of her affairs when she was of age. Our family name had no +blot upon it; it was one of the most honored names in the island. But if +this came to light, then the disgrace would be dark indeed. + +"Can you tell me all about it?" I asked. + +My father, after making his confession, settled himself in his chair +comfortably; appearing to feel that he had begun to make reparation for +the wrong. His temperament was more buoyant than mine. Selfish natures +are often buoyant. + +"It would take a long time," he said, "and it would be a deuse of a +nuisance. You make it up with Julia, and marry her, as you're bound to +do. Of course, you will manage all her money when you are her husband, +as you will be. Now you know all." + +"But I don't know all," I replied; "and I insist upon doing so, before I +make up my mind what to do." + +I believe he expected this opposition from me, for otherwise all he had +said could have been said in my room. But after feebly giving battle on +various points, and staving off sundry inquiries, he opened a drawer in +one of his cabinets, and produced a number of deeds, scrip, etc., +belonging to Julia. + +For two hours I was busy with his accounts. Once or twice he tried to +slink out of the room; but that I would not suffer. At length the +ornamental clock on his chimney-piece struck eleven, and he made +another effort to beat a retreat. + +"Do not go away till every thing is clear," I said; "is this all?" + +"All?" he repeated; "isn't it enough?" + +"Between three and four thousand pounds deficient!" I answered; "it is +quite enough." + +"Enough to make me a felon," he said, "if Julia chooses to prosecute +me." + +"I think it is highly probable," I replied; "though I know nothing of +the law." + +"Then you see clearly, Martin, there is no alternative, but for you to +marry her, and keep our secret. I have reckoned upon this for years, and +your mother and I have been of one mind in bringing it about. If you +marry Julia, her affairs go direct from my hands to yours, and we are +all safe. If you break with her she will leave us, and demand an account +of my guardianship; and your name and mine will be branded in our own +island." + +"That is very clear," I said, sullenly. + +"Your mother would not survive it!" he continued, with a solemn accent. + +"Oh! I have been threatened with that already," I exclaimed, very +bitterly. "Pray does my mother know of this disgraceful business?" + +"Heaven forbid!" he cried. "Your mother is a good woman, Martin; as +simple as a dove. You ought to think of her before you consign us all to +shame. I can quit Guernsey. I am an old man, and it signifies very +little where I lie down to die. I have not been as good a husband as I +might have been; but I could not face her after she knows this. Poor +Mary! My poor, poor love! I believe she cares enough for me still to +break her heart over it." + +"Then I am to be your scape-goat," I said. + +"You are my son," he answered; "and religion itself teaches us that the +sins of the fathers are visited on the children. I leave the matter in +your hands. But only answer one question: Could you show your face among +your own friends if this were known?" + +I knew very well I could not. My father a fraudulent steward of Julia's +property! Then farewell forever to all that had made my life happy! We +were a proud family--proud of our rank, and of our pure blood; above +all, of our honor, which had never been tarnished by a breath. I could +not yet bear to believe that my father was a rogue. He himself was not +so lost to shame that he could meet my eye. I saw there was no escape +from it--I must marry Julia. + +"Well," I said, at last, "as you say, the matter is in my hands now; and +I must make the best of it. Good-night, sir." + +Without a light I went up to my own room, where the moon that had shone +upon me in my last night's ride, was gleaming brightly through the +window. I intended to reflect and deliberate, but I was worn out. I +flung myself down on the bed, but could not have remained awake for a +single moment. I fell into a deep sleep which lasted till morning. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. + +TWO LETTERS. + + +When I awoke, my poor mother was sitting beside me, looking very ill and +sorrowful. She had slipped a pillow under my head, and thrown a shawl +across me. I got up with a bewildered brain, and a general sense of +calamity, which I could not clearly define. + +"Martin," she said, "your father has gone by this morning's boat to +Jersey. He says you know why; but he has left this note for you. Why +have you not been in bed last night?" + +"Never mind, mother," I answered, as I tore open the note, which was +carefully sealed with my father's private seal. He had written it +immediately after I left him. + + + "11.30 P.M. + + "MY SON: To-morrow morning, I shall run over to Jersey for a + few days until this sad business of yours is settled. I cannot + bear to meet your changed face. You make no allowances for + your father. Half my expenses have been incurred in educating + you; you ought to consider this, and that you owe more to me, + as your father, than to any one else. But in these days + parents receive little honor from their children. When all is + settled, write to me at Prince's Hotel. It rests upon you + whether I ever see Guernsey again. Your wretched father, + + "RICHARD DOBRÉE." + +"Can I see it?" asked my mother, holding out her hand. + +"No, never mind seeing it," I answered, "it is about Julia, you know. It +would only trouble you." + +"Captain Carey's man brought a letter from Julia just now," she said, +taking it from her pocket; "he said there was no answer." + +Her eyelids were still red from weeping, and her voice faltered as if +she might break out into sobs any moment. I took the letter from her, +but I did not open it. + +"You want to be alone to read it?" she said. "O Martin! if you can +change your mind, and save us all from this trouble, do it, for my +sake?" + +"If I can I will," I answered; "but every thing is very hard upon me, +mother." + +She could not guess how hard, and, if I could help it, she should never +know. Now I was fully awake, the enormity of my father's dishonesty and +his extreme egotism weighed heavily upon me. I could not view his +conduct in a fairer light than I had done in my amazement the night +before. It grew blacker as I dwelt upon it. And now he was off to +Jersey, shirking the disagreeable consequences of his own delinquency. I +knew how he would spend his time there. Jersey is no retreat for the +penitent. + +As soon as my mother was gone I opened Julia's letter. It began: + + + "MY DEAR MARTIN: I know all now. Johanna has told me. When you + spoke to me so hurriedly and unexpectedly, this afternoon, I + could not bear to hear another word. But now I am calm, and I + can think it all over quite quietly. + + "It is an infatuation, Martin. Johanna says so as well as I, + and she is never wrong. It is a sheer impossibility that you, + in your sober senses, should love a strange person, whose very + name you do not know, better than you do me, your cousin, your + sister, your _fiancée_, whom you have known all your life, and + loved. I am quite sure of that, with a very true affection. + + "It vexes me to write about that person in any connection with + yourself. Emma spoke of her in her last letter from Sark; not + at all in reference to you, however. She is so completely of a + lower class, that it would never enter Emma's head that you + could see any thing in her. She said there was a rumor afloat + that Tardif was about to marry the girl you had been + attending, and that everybody in the island regretted it. She + said it would be a _mésalliance_ for him, Tardif! What then + would it be for you, a Dobrée? No; it is a delusion, an + infatuation, which will quickly pass away. I cannot believe + you are so weak as to be taken in by mere prettiness without + character; and this person--I do not say so harshly, + Martin--has no character, no name. Were you free you could not + marry her. There is a mystery about her, and mystery usually + means shame. A Dobrée could not make an adventuress his wife. + Then you have seen so little of her. Three times, since the + week you were there in March! What is that compared to the + years we have spent together? It is impossible that in your + heart of hearts you should love her more than me. + + "I have been trying to think what you would do if all is + broken off between us. We could not keep this a secret in + Guernsey, and everybody would blame you. I will not ask you to + think of my mortification at being jilted, for people would + call it that. I could outlive that. But what are you to do? We + cannot go on again as we used to do. I must speak plainly + about it. Your practice is not sufficient to maintain the + family in a proper position for the Dobrées; and if I go to + live alone at the new house, as I must do, what is to become + of my uncle and aunt? I have often considered this, and have + been glad the difficulty was settled by our marriage. Now + every thing will be unsettled again. + + "I did not intend to say any thing about myself; but, O + Martin! you do not know the blank that it will be to me. I + have been so happy since you asked me to be your wife. It was + so pleasant to think that I should live all my life in + Guernsey, and yet not be doomed to the empty, vacant lot of an + unmarried woman. You think that perhaps Johanna is happy + single? She is content--good women ought to be content; but, I + tell you, I would gladly exchange her contentment for Aunt + Dobrée's troubles, with her pride and happiness in you. I have + seen her troubles clearly; and I say, Martin, I would give all + Johanna's calm, colorless peace for her delight in her son. + + "Then I cannot give up the thought of our home, just finished + and so pretty. It was so pleasant this afternoon before you + came in with your dreadful thunder-bolt. I was thinking what a + good wife I would be to you; and how, in my own house, I + should never be tempted into those tiresome tempers you have + seen in me sometimes. It was your father often who made me + angry, and I visited it upon you, because you are so + good-tempered. That was foolish of me. You could not know how + much I love you, how my life is bound up in you, or you would + have been proof against that person in Sark. + + "I think it right to tell you all this now, though it is not + in my nature to make professions and demonstrations of my + love. Think of me, of yourself, of your poor mother. You were + never selfish, and you can do noble things. I do not say it + would be noble to marry me; but it would be a noble thing to + conquer an ignoble passion. How could Martin Dobrée fall in + love with an unknown adventuress? + + "I shall remain in the house all day to-morrow, and if you can + come to see me, feeling that this has been a dream of folly + from which you have awakened, I will not ask you to own it. + That you come at all will be a sign to me that you wish it + forgotten and blotted out between us, as if it had never been. + + "With true, deep love for you, Martin, believe me still + + "Your affectionate JULIA." + +I pondered over Julia's letter as I dressed. There was not a word of +resentment in it. It was full of affectionate thought for us all. But +what reasoning! I had not known Olivia so long as I had known her, +therefore I could not love her as truly! + +A strange therefore! + +I had scarcely had leisure to think of Olivia in the hurry and anxiety +of the last twenty-four hours. But now "that person in Sark," the +"unknown adventuress," presented itself very vividly to my mind. Know +her! I felt as if I knew every tone of her voice and every expression of +her face; yet I longed to know them more intimately. The note she had +written to me a few weeks ago I could repeat word for word, and the +handwriting seemed far more familiar to me even than Julia's. There was +no doubt my love for her was very different from my affection for Julia; +and if it was an infatuation, it was the sweetest, most exquisite +infatuation that could ever possess me. + +Yet there was no longer any hesitation in my mind as to what I must do. +Julia knew all now. I had told her distinctly of my love for Olivia, and +she would not believe it. She appeared wishful to hold me to my +engagement in spite of it; at any rate, so I interpreted her letter. I +did not suppose that I should not live it down, this infatuation, as +they chose to call it. I might hunger and thirst, and be on the point of +perishing; then my nature would turn to other nutriment, and assimilate +it to its contracted and stultified capacities. + +After all there was some reason in the objections urged against Olivia. +The dislike of all insulated people against foreigners is natural +enough; and in her case there was a mystery which I must solve before I +could think of asking her to become my wife. Ask her to become my wife! +That was impossible now. I had chosen my wife months before I saw her. + +I went mechanically through the routine of my morning's work, and it was +late in the afternoon before I could get away to ride to the Vale. My +mother knew where I was going, and gazed wistfully into my face, but +without otherwise asking me any questions. At the last moment, as I +touched Madam's bridle, I looked down at her standing on the door-step. +"Cheer up, mother!" I said, almost gayly, "it will all come right." + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. + +ALL WRONG. + + +By this time you know that I could not ride along the flat, open shore +between St. Peter-Port and the Vale without having a good sight of Sark, +though it lay just a little behind me. It was not in human nature to +turn my back doggedly upon it. I had never seen it look nearer; the +channel between us scarcely seemed a mile across. The old windmill above +the Havre Gosselin stood out plainly. I almost fancied that but for +Breckhou I could have seen Tardif's house, where my darling was living. +My heart leaped at the mere thought of it. Then I shook Madam's bridle +about her neck, and she carried me on at a sharp canter toward Captain +Carey's residence. + +I saw Julia standing at a window up-stairs, gazing down the long white +road, which runs as straight as an arrow through the Braye du Valle to +L'Ancresse Common. + +She must have seen Madam and me half a mile away; but she kept her post +motionless as a sentinel, until I jumped down to open the gate. Then she +vanished. + +The servant-man was at the door by the time I reached it, and Johanna +herself was on the threshold, with her hands outstretched and her face +radiant. I was as welcome as the prodigal son, and she was ready to fall +on my neck and kiss me. + +"I felt sure of you," she said, in a low voice. "I trusted to your good +sense and honor, and they have not failed you. Thank God you are come! +Julia has neither ate nor slept since I brought her here." + +She led me to her own private sitting-room, where I found Julia standing +by the fireplace, and leaning against it, as if she could not stand +alone. When I went up to her and took her hand, she flung her arms round +my neck, and clung to me, in a passion of tears. It was some minutes +before she could recover her self-command. I had never seen her abandon +herself to such a paroxysm before. + +"Julia, my poor girl!" I said, "I did not think you would take it so +much to heart as this." + +"I shall come all right directly," she sobbed, sitting down, and +trembling from head to foot. "Johanna said you would come, but I was not +sure." + +"Yes, I am here," I answered, with a very dreary feeling about me. + +"That is enough," said Julia; "you need not say a word more. Let us +forget it, both of us. You will only give me your promise never to see +her, or speak to her again." + +It might be a fair thing for her to ask, but it was not a fair thing for +me to promise. Olivia had told me she had no friends at all except +Tardif and me; and if the gossip of the Sark people drove her from the +shelter of his roof, I should be her only resource; and I believed she +would come frankly to me for help. + +"Olivia quite understands about my engagement to you," I said. "I told +her at once that we were going to be married, and that I hoped she would +find a friend in you."' + +"A friend in me, Martin!" she exclaimed, in a tone of indignant +surprise; "you could not ask me to be that!" + +"Not now, I suppose," I replied; "the girl is as innocent and blameless +as any girl living; but I dare say you would sooner befriend the most +good-for-nothing Jezebel in the Channel Islands." + +"Yes, I would," she said. "An innocent girl indeed! I only wish she had +been killed when she fell from the cliff." + +"Hush!" I cried, shuddering at the bare mention of Olivia's death; "you +do not know what you say. It is worse than useless to talk about her. I +came to ask you to think no more of what passed between us yesterday." + +"But you are going to persist in your infatuation," said Julia; "you can +never deceive me. I know you too well. Oh, I see that you still think +the same of her'" + +"You know nothing about her," I replied. + +"And I shall take care I never do," she interrupted, spitefully. + +"So it is of no use to go on quarrelling about her," I continued, taking +no notice of the interruption. "I made up my mind before I came here +that I must see as little as possible of her for the future. You must +understand, Julia, she has never given me a particle of reason to +suppose she loves me." + +"But you are still in love with her?" she asked. + +I stood biting my nails to the quick, a trick I had while a boy, but one +that had been broken off by my mother's and Julia's combined vigilance. +Now the habit came back upon me in full force, as my only resource from +speaking. + +"Martin," she said, with flashing eyes, and a rising tone in her voice, +which, like the first shrill moan of the wind, presaged a storm, "I will +never marry you until you can say, on your word of honor, that you love +that person no longer, and are ready to promise to hold no further +communication with her. Oh! I know what my poor aunt has had to endure, +and I will not put up with it." + +"Very well, Julia," I answered, controlling myself as well as I could, +"I have only one more word to say on this subject. I love Olivia, and, +as far as I know myself, I shall love her as long as I live. I did not +come here to give you any reason for supposing my mind is changed as to +her. If you consent to be my wife, I will do my best, God helping me, to +be most true, most faithful to you; and God forbid I should injure +Olivia in thought by supposing she could care for me other than as a +friend. But my motive for coming now is to tell you some particulars +about your property, which my father made known to me only last night." + +It was a miserable task for me; but I told her simply the painful +discovery I had made. She sat listening with a dark and sullen face, but +betraying not a spark of resentment, so far as her loss of fortune was +concerned. + +"Yes," she said, bitterly, when I had finished, "robbed by the father +and jilted by the son." + +"I would give my life to cancel the wrong," I said. + +"It is so easy to talk," she replied, with a deadly coldness of tone and +manner. + +"I am ready to do whatever you choose," I urged. "It is true my father +has robbed you; but it is not true that I have jilted you. I did not +know my own heart till a word from Captain Carey revealed it to me; and +I told you frankly, partly because Johanna insisted upon it, and partly +because I believed it right to do so. If you demand it, I will even +promise not to see Olivia again, or to hold direct communication with +her. Surely that is all you ought to require from me." + +"No," she replied, vehemently; "do you suppose I could become your wife +while you maintain that you love another woman better than me? You must +have a very low opinion of me." + +"Would you have me tell you a falsehood?" I rejoined, with vehemence +equal to hers. + +"You had better leave me," she said, "before we hate one another. I tell +you I have been robbed by the father and jilted by the son. Good-by, +Martin." + +"Good-by, Julia," I replied; but I still lingered, hoping she would +speak to me again. I was anxious to hear what she would do against my +father. She looked at me fully and angrily, and, as I did not move, she +swept out of the room, with a dignity which I had never seen in her +before. I retreated toward the house-door, but could not make good my +escape without encountering Johanna. + +"Well, Martin?" she said. + +"It is all wrong," I answered. "Julia persists in it that I am jilting +her." + +"All the world will think you have behaved very badly," she said. + +"I suppose so," I replied; "but don't you think so, Johanna." + +She shook her head in silence, and closed the hall-door after me. Many a +door in Guernsey would be shut against me as soon as this was known. + +I had to go round to the stables to find Madam. The man had evidently +expected me to stay a long while, for her saddle-girths were loosened, +and the bit out of her mouth, that she might enjoy a liberal feed of +oats. Captain Carey came up tome as I was buckling the girths. + +"Well, Martin?" he asked, exactly as Johanna had done before him. + +"All wrong," I repeated. + +"Dear! dear!" he said, in his mildest tones, and with his hand resting +affectionately on my shoulder; "I wish I had lost the use of my eyes or +tongue the other day, I am vexed to death that I found out your secret." + +"Perhaps I should not have found it out myself," I said, "and it is +better now than after." + +"So it is, my boy; so it is," he rejoined. "Between ourselves, Julia is +a little too old for you. Cheer up! she is a good girl, and will get +over it, and be friends again with you by-and-by. I will do all I can to +bring that about. If Olivia is only as good as she is handsome, you'll +be happier with her than with poor Julia." + +He patted my back with a friendliness that cheered me, while his last +words sent the blood bounding through my veins. I rode home again, Sark +lying in full view before me; and, in spite of the darkness of my +prospects, I felt intensely glad to be free to win my Olivia. + +Four days passed without any sign from either Julia or my father. I +wrote to him detailing my interview with her, but no reply came. My +mother and I had the house to ourselves; and, in spite of her frettings, +we enjoyed considerable pleasure during the temporary lull. There were, +however, sundry warnings out-of-doors which foretold tempest. I met cold +glances and sharp inquiries from old friends, among whom some rumors of +our separation were floating. There was sufficient to justify suspicion: +my father's absence, Julia's prolonged sojourn with the Careys at the +Vale, and the postponement of my voyage to England. I began to fancy +that even the women-servants flouted at me. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. + +DEAD TO HONOR. + + +The mail from Jersey on Monday morning brought us no letter from my +father. But during the afternoon, as I was passing along the Canichers, +I came suddenly upon Captain Carey and Julia, who wore a thick veil over +her face. The Canichers is a very narrow, winding street, where no +conveyances are allowed to run, and all of us had chosen it in +preference to the broad road along the quay, where we were liable to +meet many acquaintances. There was no escape for any of us. An +enormously high, strong wall, such as abound in St. Peter-Port, was on +one side of us, and some locked-up stables on the other. Julia turned +away her head, and appeared absorbed in the contemplation of a very +small placard, which did not cover one stone of the wall, though it was +the only one there. I shook hands with Captain Carey, who regarded us +with a comical expression of distress, and waited to see if she would +recognize me; but she did not. + +"Julia has had a letter from your father," he said. + +"Yes?" I replied, in a tone of inquiry. + +"Or rather from Dr. Collas," he pursued. "Prepare yourself for bad news, +Martin. Your father is very ill; dangerously so, he thinks." + +The news did not startle me. I had been long aware that my father was +one of those medical men who are excessively nervous about their own +health, and are astonished that so delicate and complicated an +organization as the human frame should ever survive for sixty years the +ills it is exposed to. But at this time it was possible that distress of +mind and anxiety for the future might have made him really ill. There +was no chance of crossing to Jersey before the next morning. + +"He wished Dr. Collas to write to Julia, so as not to alarm your +mother," continued Captain Carey, as I stood silent. + +"I will go to-morrow," I said; "but we must not frighten my mother if we +can help it." + +"Dr. Dobrée begs that you will go," he answered--"you and Julia." + +"Julia!" I exclaimed. "Oh, impossible!" + +"I don't see that it is impossible," said Julia, speaking for the first +time. "He is my own uncle, and has acted as my father. I intend to go to +see him; but Captain Carey has promised to go with me." + +"Thank you a thousand times, dear Julia," I answered, gratefully. A +heavy load was lifted off my spirits, for I came to this +conclusion--that she had said nothing, and would say nothing, to the +Careys about his defalcations. She would not make her uncle's shame +public. + +I told my mother that Julia and I were going over to Jersey the next +morning, and she was more than satisfied. We went on board together as +arranged--Julia, Captain Carey, and I. But Julia did not stay on deck, +and I saw nothing of her during our two-hours' sail. + +Captain Carey told me feelingly how terribly she was fretting, +notwithstanding all their efforts to console her. He was full of this +topic, and could think and speak of nothing else, worrying me with the +most minute particulars of her deep dejection, until I felt myself one +of the most worthless scoundrels in existence. I was in this humiliated +state of mind when we landed in Jersey, and drove in separate cars to +the hotel where my father was lying ill. + +The landlady received us with a portentous face. Dr. Collas had spoken +very seriously indeed of his patient, and, as for herself, she had not +the smallest hope. I heard Julia sob, and saw her lift her handkerchief +to her eyes behind her veil. + +Captain Carey looked very much frightened. He was a man of quick +sympathies, and nervous about his own life into the bargain, so that any +serious illness alarmed him. As for myself, I was in the miserable +condition of mind I have described above. + +We were not admitted into my father's room for half an hour, as he sent +word he must get up his strength for the interview. Julia and myself +alone were allowed to see him. He was propped up in bed with a number of +pillows; with the room darkened by Venetian blinds, and a dim green +twilight prevailing, which cast a sickly hue over his really pallid +face. His abundant white hair fell lankly about his head, instead of +being in crisp curls as usual. I was about to feel his pulse for him, +but he waved me off. + +"No, my son," he said, "my recovery is not to be desired. I feel that I +have nothing now to do but to die. It is the only reparation in my +power. I would far rather die than recover." + +I had nothing to say to that; indeed, I had really no answer ready, so +amazed was I at the tone he had taken. But Julia began to sob again, and +pressed past me, sinking down on the chair by his side, and laying her +hand upon one of his pillows. + +"Julia, my love," he continued, feebly, "you know how I have wronged +you; but you are a true Christian. You will forgive your uncle when he +is dead and gone. I should like to be buried in Guernsey with the other +Dobrées." + +Neither did Julia answer, save by sobs. I stepped toward the window to +draw up the blinds, but he stopped me, speaking in a much stronger voice +than before. + +"Leave them alone," he said. "I have no wish to see the light of day. A +dishonored man does not care to show his face. I have seen no one since +I left Guernsey, except Collas." + +"I think you are alarming yourself needlessly," I answered. "You know +you are fidgety about your own health. Let me prescribe for you. Surely +I know as much as Collas." + +"No, no, let me die," he said, plaintively; "then you can all be happy. +I have robbed my only brother's only child, who was dear to me as my own +daughter. I cannot hold up my head after that. I should die gladly if +you two were but reconciled to one another." + +By this time Julia's hand had reached his, and was resting in it fondly. +I never knew a man gifted with such power over women and their +susceptibilities as he had. My mother herself would appear to forget all +her unhappiness, if he only smiled upon her. + +"My poor dear Julia!" he murmured; "my poor child!" + +"Uncle," she said, checking her sobs by a great effort, "if you imagine +I should tell any one--Johanna Carey even--what you have done, you wrong +me. The name of Dobrée is as dear to me as to Martin, and he was willing +to marry a woman he detested in order to shield it. No, you are quite +safe from disgrace as far as I am concerned." + +"God in heaven bless you, my own Julia!" he ejaculated, fervently. "I +knew your noble nature; but it grieves me the more deeply that I have so +thoughtlessly wronged you. If I should live to get over this illness, I +will explain it all to you. It is not so bad as it seems. But will you +not be equally generous to Martin? Cannot you forgive him as you do me?" + +"Uncle," she cried, "I could never, never marry a man who says he loves +some one else more than me." + +Her face was hidden in the pillows, and my father stroked her head, +glancing at me contemptuously at the same time. + +"I should think not, my girl!" he said, in a soothing tone; "but Martin +will very soon repent. He is a fool just now, but he will be wise again +presently. He has known you too long not to know your worth." + +"Julia," I said, "I do know how good you are. You have always been +generous, and you are so now. I owe you as much gratitude as my father +does, and any thing I can do to prove it I am ready to do this day." + +"Will you marry her before we leave Jersey?" asked my father. + +"Yes," I answered. + +The word slipped from me almost unawares, yet I did not wish to retract +it. She was behaving so nobly and generously toward us both, that I was +willing to do any thing to make her happy. + +"Then, my love," he said, "you hear what Martin promises. All's well +that ends well. Only make up your mind to put your proper pride away, +and we shall all be as happy as we were before." + +"Never!" she cried, indignantly. "I would not marry Martin here, +hurriedly and furtively; no, not if you were dying, uncle!" + +"But, Julia, if I were dying, and wished to see you united before my +death!" he insinuated. A sudden light broke upon me. It was an ingenious +plot--one at which I could not help laughing, mad as I was. Julia's +pride was to be saved, and an immediate marriage between us effected, +under cover of my father's dangerous illness. I did smile, in spite of +my anger, and he caught it, and smiled back again. I think Julia became +suspicious too. + +"Martin," she said, sharpening her voice to address me, "do _you_ think +your father is in any danger?" + +"No, I do not," I answered, notwithstanding his gestures and frowns. + +"Then that is at an end," she said. "I was almost foolish enough to +think that I would yield. You don't know what this disappointment is to +me. Everybody will be talking of it, and some of them will pity me, and +the rest laugh at me. I am ashamed of going out-of-doors anywhere. Oh, +it is too bad! I cannot bear it." + +She was positively writhing with agitation; and tears, real tears I am +sure, started into my father's eyes. + +"My poor little Julia!" he said; "my darling! But what can be done if +you will not marry Martin?" + +"He ought to go away from Guernsey," she sobbed. "I should feel better +if I was quite sure I should never see him, or hear of other people +seeing him." + +"I will go," I said. "Guernsey will be too hot for me when all this is +known." + +"And, uncle," she pursued, speaking to him, not me, "he ought to promise +me to give up that girl. I cannot set him free to go and marry her--a +stranger and adventuress. She will be his ruin. I think, for my sake, he +ought to give her up." + +"So he ought, and so he will, my love," answered my father. "When he +thinks of all we owe to you, he will promise you that." + +I pondered over what our family owed to Julia for some minutes. It was +truly a very great debt. Though I had brought her into perhaps the most +painful position a woman could be placed in, she was generously +sacrificing her just resentment and revenge against my father's +dishonesty, in order to secure our name from blot. + +On the other hand, I had no reason to suppose Olivia loved me, and I +should do her no wrong. I felt that, whatever it might cost me, I must +consent to Julia's stipulation. + +"It is the hardest thing you could ask me," I said, "but I will give her +up. On one condition, however; for I must not leave her without friends. +I shall tell Tardif, if he ever needs help for Olivia, he must apply to +me through my mother." + +"There could be no harm in that," observed my father. + +"How soon shall I leave Guernsey?" I asked. + +"He cannot go until you are well again, uncle," she answered. "I will +stay here to nurse you, and Martin must take care of your patients. We +will send him word a day or two before we return, and I should like him +to be gone before we reach home." + +That was my sentence of banishment. She had only addressed me once +during the conversation. It was curious to see how there was no +resentment in her manner toward my father, who had systematically robbed +her, while she treated me with profound wrath and bitterness. + +She allowed him to hold her hand and stroke her hair; she would not have +suffered me to approach her. No doubt it was harder for her to give up a +lover than to lose the whole of her property. + +She left us, to make the necessary arrangements for staying with my +father, whose illness appeared to have lost suddenly its worst symptoms. +As soon as she was gone he regarded me with a look half angry, half +contemptuous. + +"What a fool you are!" he said. "You have no tact whatever in the +management of women. Julia would fly back to you, if you only held up +your finger." + +"I have no wish to hold up my finger to her," I answered. "I don't think +life with her would be so highly desirable." + +"You thought so a few weeks ago," he said, "and you'll be a pauper +without her." + +"I was not going to marry her for her money," I replied. "A few weeks +ago I cared more for her than for any other woman, except my mother, and +she knew it. All that is changed now." + +"Well well!" he said, peevishly, "do as you like. I wash my hands of the +whole business. Julia will not forsake me if she renounces you, and I +shall have need of her and her money. I shall cling to Julia." + +"She will be a kind nurse to you," I remarked. + +"Excellent!" he answered, settling himself languidly down among his +pillows. "She may come in now and watch beside me; it will be the sort +of occupation to suit her in her present state of feeling. You had +better go out and amuse yourself in your own way. Of course you will go +home to-morrow morning." + +I would have gone back to Guernsey at once, but I found neither cutter +nor yacht sailing that afternoon, so I was obliged to wait for the +steamer next morning. I did not see Julia again, but Captain Carey told +me she had consented that he should remain at hand for a day or two, to +see if he could be of any use to her. + +The report of my father's illness had spread before I reached home, and +sufficiently accounted for our visit to Jersey, and the temporary +postponement of my last trip to England before our marriage. My mother, +Johanna, and I, kept our own counsel, and answered the many questions +asked us as vaguely as the Delphic oracle. + +Still an uneasy suspicion and suspense hung about our circle. The +atmosphere was heavily charged with electricity, which foreboded storms. +It would be well for me to quit Guernsey before all the truth came out. +I wrote to Tardif, telling him I was going for an indefinite period to +London, and that if any difficulty or danger threatened Olivia, I begged +of him to communicate with my mother, who had promised me to befriend +her as far as it lay in her power. My poor mother thought of her without +bitterness, though with deep regret. To Olivia herself I wrote a line or +two, finding myself too weak to resist the temptation. I said: + +"MY DEAR OLIVIA: I told you I was about to be married to my cousin Julia +Dobrée; that engagement is at an end. I am obliged to leave Guernsey, +and seek my fortune elsewhere. It will be a long time before I can see +you again, if I ever have that great happiness. Whenever you feel the +want of a true and tender friend, my mother is prepared to love you as +if you were her own daughter. Think of me also as your friend. MARTIN +DOBRÉE." + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD. + +IN EXILE. + + +I left Guernsey the day before my father and Julia returned from Jersey. + +My immediate future was not as black as it might have been. I was going +direct to the house of my friend Jack Senior, who had been my chum both +at Elizabeth College and at Guy's. He, like myself, had been hitherto a +sort of partner to his father, the well-known physician, Dr. Senior of +Brook Street. They lived together in a highly-respectable but gloomy +residence, kept bachelor fashion, for they had no woman-kind at all +belonging to them. The father and son lived a good deal apart, though +they were deeply attached to one another. Jack had his own apartments, +and his own guests, in the spacious house, and Dr. Senior had his. + +The first night, as Jack and I sat up together in the long summer +twilight, till the dim, not really dark, midnight came over us, I told +him every thing; as one tells a friend a hundred things one cannot put +into words to any person who dwells under the same roof, and is witness +of every circumstance of one's career. + +As I was talking to him, every emotion and perception of my brain, which +had been in a wild state of confusion and conflict, appeared to fall +into its proper rank. I was no longer doubtful as to whether I had been +the fool my father called me. My love for Olivia acquired force and +decision. My judgment that it would have been a folly and a crime to +marry Julia became confirmed. + +"Old fellow," said Jack, when I had finished, "you are in no end of a +mess." + +"Well, I am," I admitted; "but what am I to do?" + +"First of all, how much money have you?" he asked. + +"I'd rather not say," I answered. + +"Come, old friend," he said, in his most persuasive tones, "have you +fifty pounds in hand?" + +"No," I replied. + +"Thirty?" + +I shook my head, but I would not answer him further. + +"That's bad!" he said; "but it might be worse. I've lots of tin, and we +always went shares." + +"I must look out for something to do to-morrow," I remarked. + +"Ay, yes!" he answered, dryly; "you might go as assistant to a parish +doctor, or get a berth on board an emigrant-ship. There are lots of +chances for a young fellow." + +He sat smoking his cigar--a dusky outline of a human figure, with a +bright speck of red about the centre of the face. For a few minutes he +was lost in thought. + +"I tell you what," he said, "I've a good mind to marry Julia myself. +I've always liked her, and we want a woman in the house. That would put +things straighter, wouldn't it?" + +"She would never consent to leave Guernsey," I answered, laughing. "That +was one reason why she was so glad to marry me." + +"Well, then," he said, "would you mind me having Olivia?" + +"Don't jest about such a thing," I replied; "it is too serious a +question with me." + +"You are really in love!" he answered. "I will not jest at it. But I am +ready to do any thing to help you, old boy." + +So it proved, for he and Dr. Senior did their best during the next few +weeks to find a suitable opening for me. I made their house my home, and +was treated as a most welcome guest in it. Still the time was +irksome--more irksome than I ever could have imagined. They were busy +while I was unoccupied. + +Occasionally I went out to obey some urgent summons, when either of them +was absent; but that was a rare circumstance. The hours hung heavily +upon me; and the close, sultry air of London, so different from the +fresh sea-breezes of my native place, made me feel languid and +irritable. + +My mother's letters did not tend to raise my spirits. The tone of them +was uniformly sad. She told me the flood of sympathy for Julia had risen +very high indeed: from which I concluded that the public indignation +against myself must have risen to the same tide-mark, though my poor +mother said nothing about it. Julia had resumed her old occupations, but +her spirit was quite broken. Johanna Carey had offered to go abroad with +her, but she had declined it, because it would too painfully remind her +of our projected trip to Switzerland. + +A friend of Julia's, said my mother in another letter, had come to stay +with her, and to try to rouse her. + +It was evident she did not like this Kate Daltrey, herself, for the +dislike crept out unawares through all the gentleness of her phrases. +"She says she is the same age as Julia," she wrote, "but she is probably +some years older; for, as she does not belong to Guernsey, we have no +opportunity of knowing." I laughed when I read that. "Your father +admires her very much," she added. + +No, my mother felt no affection for her new guest. + +There was not a word about Olivia. Sark itself was never mentioned, and +it might have sunk into the sea. My eye ran over every letter first, +with the hope of catching that name, but I could not find it. This +persistent silence on my mother's part was very trying. + +I had been away from Guernsey two months, and Jack was making +arrangements for a long absence from London as soon as the season was +over, leaving me in charge, when I received the following letter from +Johanna Carey: + + + "DEAR MARTIN: Your father and Julia have been here this + afternoon, and have confided to me a very sad and very painful + secret, which they ask me to break gently to you. I am afraid + no shadow of a suspicion of it has ever fallen upon your mind, + and, I warn you, you will need all your courage and strength + as a man to bear it. I was myself so overwhelmed that I could + not write to you until now, in the dead of the night, having + prayed with all my heart to our merciful God to sustain and + comfort you, who will feel this sorrow more than any of us. My + dearest Martin, my poor boy, how can I tell it to you? You + must come home again for a season. Even Julia wishes it, + though she cannot stay in the same house with you, and will go + to her own with her friend Kate Daltrey. Your father cried + like a child. He takes it more to heart than I should have + expected. Yet there is no immediate danger; she may live for + some months yet. My poor Martin, you will have a mother only a + few months longer. Three weeks ago she and I went to Sark, at + her own urgent wish, to see your Olivia. I did not then know + why. She had a great longing to see the unfortunate girl who + had been the cause of so much sorrow to us all, but especially + to her, for she has pined sorely after you. We did not find + her in Tardif's house, but Suzanne directed us to the little + graveyard half a mile away. We followed her there, and + recognized her, of course, at the first glance. She is a + charming creature, that I allow, though I wish none of us had + ever seen her. Your mother told her who she was, and the + sweetest flush and smile came across her face! They sat down + side by side on one of the graves, and I strolled away, so I + do not know what they said to one another. Olivia walked down + with us to the Havre Gosselin, and your mother held her in her + arms and kissed her tenderly. Even I could not help kissing + her. + + "Now I understand why your mother longed to see Olivia. She + knew then--she has known for months--that her days are + numbered. When she was in London last November, she saw the + most skilful physicians, and they all agreed that her disease + was incurable and fatal. Why did she conceal it from you? Ah, + Martin, you must know a woman's heart, a mother's heart, + before you can comprehend that. Your father knew, but no one + else. What a martyrdom of silent agony she has passed through! + She has a clear calculation, based upon the opinion of the + medical men, as to how long she might have lived had her mind + been kept calm and happy. How far that has not been the case + we all know too well. + + "If your marriage with Julia had taken place, you would now + have been on your way home, not to be parted from her again + till the final separation. We all ask you to return to + Guernsey, and devote a few more weeks to one who has loved you + so passionately and fondly. Even Julia asks it. Her resentment + gives way before this terrible sorrow. We have not told your + mother what we are about to do, lest any thing should prevent + your return. She is as patient and gentle as a lamb, and is + ready with a quiet smile for every one. O Martin, what a loss + she will be to us all! My heart is bleeding for you. + + "Do not come before you have answered this letter, that we + may prepare her for your return. Write by the next boat, and + come by the one after. Julia will have to move down to the new + house, and that will be excitement enough for one day. + + "Good-by, my dearest Martin. I have forgiven every thing; so + will all our friends as soon as they know this dreadful + secret. + + "Your faithful, loving cousin, JOHANNA CAREY." + +I read this letter twice, with a singing in my ears and a whirling of my +brain, before I could realize the meaning. Then I refused to believe it. +No one knows better than a doctor how the most skilful head among us may +be at fault. + +My mother dying of an incurable disease! Impossible! I would go over at +once and save her. She ought to have told me first. Who could have +attended her so skilfully and devotedly as her only son? + +Yet the numbing, deadly chill of dread rested upon my heart. I felt +keenly how slight my power was, as I had done once before when I thought +Olivia would die. But then I had no resources, no appliances. Now I +would take home with me every remedy the experience and researches of +man had discovered. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH. + +OVERMATCHED. + + +My mother had consulted Dr. Senior himself when she had been in London. +He did not positively cut off all hope from me, though I knew well he +was giving me encouragement in spite of his own carefully-formed +opinion. He asserted emphatically that it was possible to alleviate her +sufferings and prolong her life, especially if her mind was kept at +rest. There was not a question as to the necessity for my immediate +return to her. But there was still a day for me to tarry in London. + +"Martin," said Jack, "why have you never followed up the clew about your +Olivia--the advertisement, you know? Shall we go to those folks in +Gray's-Inn Road this afternoon?" + +It had been in my mind all along to do so, but the listless +procrastination of idleness had caused me to put it off from time to +time. Besides, while I was absent from the Channel Islands my curiosity +appeared to sleep. It was enough to picture Olivia in her lowly home in +Sark. Now that I was returning to Guernsey, and the opportunity was +about to slip by, I felt more anxious to seize it. I would learn all I +could about Olivia's family and friends, without betraying any part of +her secret. + +At the nearest cab-stand we found a cabman patronized by Jack--a +red-faced, good-tempered, and good-humored man, who was as fond and +proud of Jack's notice as if he had been one of the royal princes. + +Of course there was not the smallest difficulty in finding the office of +Messrs. Scott and Brown. It was on the second floor of an ordinary +building, and, bidding the cabman wait for us, we proceeded at once up +the staircase. + +There did not seem much business going on, and our appearance was hailed +with undisguised satisfaction. The solicitors, if they were solicitors, +were two inferior, common-looking men, but sharp enough to be a match +for either of us. We both felt it, as if we had detected a snake in the +grass by its rattle. I grew wary by instinct, though I had not come with +any intention to tell them what I knew of Olivia. My sole idea had been +to learn something myself, not to impart any information. But, when I +was face to face with these men, my business, and the management of it, +did not seem quite so simple as it had done until then. + +"Do you wish to consult my partner or me?" asked the keenest-looking +man. "I am Mr. Scott." + +"Either will do," I answered. "My business will be soon dispatched. Some +months ago you inserted an advertisement in the _Times_." + +"To what purport?" inquired Mr. Scott. + +"You offered fifty pounds reward," I replied, "for information +concerning a young lady." + +A gleam of intelligence and gratification flickered upon both their +faces, but quickly faded away into a sober and blank gravity. Mr. Scott +waited for me to speak again, and bowed silently, as if to intimate he +was all attention. + +"I came," I added, "to ask you for the name and address of that young +lady's friends, as I should prefer communicating directly with them, +with a view to cooperation in the discovery of her hiding-place. I need +scarcely say I have no wish to receive any reward. I entirely waive any +claim to that, if you will oblige me by putting me into connection with +the family." + +"Have you no information you can impart to us?" asked Mr. Scott. + +"None," I answered, decisively. "It is some months since I saw the +advertisement, and it must be nine months since you put it into the +_Times_. I believe it is nine months since the young lady was missing." + +"About that time," he said. + +"Her friends must have suffered great anxiety," I remarked. + +"Very great indeed," he admitted. + +"If I could render them any service, it would be a great pleasure to +me," I continued; "cannot you tell me where to find them?" + +"We are authorized to receive any information," he replied. "You must +allow me to ask if you know any thing about the young lady in question?" + +"My object is to combine with her friends in seeking her," I said, +evasively. "I really cannot give you any information; but if you will +put me into communication with them, I may be useful to them." + +"Well," he said, with an air of candor, "of course the young lady's +friends are anxious to keep in the background. It is not a pleasant +circumstance to occur in a family; and if possible they would wish her +to be restored without any _éclat_. Of course, if you could give us any +definite information it would be quite another thing. The young lady's +family is highly connected. Have you seen any one answering to the +description?" + +"It is a very common one," I answered. "I have seen scores of young +ladies who might answer to it. I am surprised that in London you could +not trace her. Did you apply to the police?" + +"The police are blockheads," replied Mr. Scott.--"Will you be so good as +to see if there is any one in the outer office, Mr. Brown, or on the +stairs? I believe I heard a noise outside." + +Mr. Brown disappeared for a few minutes; but his absence did not +interrupt our conversation. There was not much to be made out of it on +either side, for we were only fencing with one another. I learned +nothing about Olivia's friends, and I was satisfied he had learned +nothing about her. + +At last we parted with mutual dissatisfaction; and I went moodily +downstairs, followed by Jack. We drove back to Brook Street, to spend +the few hours that remained before the train started for Southampton. + +"Doctor," said Simmons, as Jack paid him his fare, with a small coin +added to it, "I'm half afeard I've done some mischief. I've been turning +it over and over in my head, and can't exactly see the rights of it. A +gent, with a pen behind his ear, comes down, at that orfice in Gray's +Inn Road, and takes my number. But after that he says a civil thing or +two. 'Fine young gents,' he says, pointing up the staircase. 'Very much +so,' says I. 'Young doctors?' he says. 'You're right,' I says. 'I +guessed so,' he says; 'and pretty well up the tree, eh?' 'Ay,' I says; +'the light-haired gent is son to Dr. Senior, the great pheeseecian; and +the other he comes from Guernsey, which is an island in the sea.' 'Just +so,' he says; 'I've heard as much.' I hope I've done no mischief, +doctor?" + +"I hope not, Simmons," answered Jack; "but your tongue hangs too loose, +my man.--Look out for a squall on the Olivia coast, Martin," he added. + +My anxiety would have been very great if I had not been returning +immediately to Guernsey. But once there, and in communication with +Tardif, I could not believe any danger would threaten Olivia from which +I could not protect or rescue her. She was of age, and had a right to +act for herself. With two such friends as Tardif and me, no one could +force her away from her chosen home. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH. + +HOME AGAIN. + + +My mother was looking out for me when I reached home the next morning. I +had taken a car from the pier-head to avoid meeting any acquaintances; +and hers was almost the first familiar face I saw. It was pallid with +the sickly hue of a confirmed disease, and her eyes were much sunken; +but she ran across the room to meet me. I was afraid to touch her, +knowing how a careless movement might cause her excruciating pain; but +she was oblivious of every thing save my return, and pressed me closer +and closer in her arms, with all her failing strength, while I leaned my +face down upon her dear head, unable to utter a word. + +"God is very good to me," sobbed my mother. + +"Is He?" I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears, so forced and +altered it was. + +"Very, very good," she repeated. "He has brought you back to me." + +"Never to leave you again, mother," I said--"never again!" + +"No; you will never leave me alone again here," she whispered. "Oh, how +I have missed you, my boy!" + +I made her sit down on the sofa, and sat beside her, while she caressed +my hand with her thin and wasted fingers. + +I must put an end to this, if I was to maintain my self-control. + +"Mother," I said, "you forget that I have been on the sea all night, and +have not had my breakfast yet." + +"The old cry, Martin," she answered, smiling. "Well, you shall have your +breakfast here, and I will wait upon you once more." + +I watched her furtively as she moved about, not with her usual quick and +light movements, but with a slow and cautious tread. It was part of my +anguish to know, as only a medical man can know, how every step was a +fresh pang to her. She sat down with me at the table, though I would not +suffer her to pour out my coffee, as she wished to do. There was a +divine smile upon her face; yet beneath it there was an indication of +constant and terrible pain, in the sunken eyes and drawn lips. It was +useless to attempt to eat with that smiling face opposite me. I drank +thirstily, but I could not swallow a crumb. She knew what it meant, and +her eyes were fastened upon me with a heart-breaking expression. + +That mockery of a meal over, she permitted me to lay her down on the +sofa, almost as submissively as a tired child, and to cover her with an +eider-down quilt; for her malady made her shiver with its deadly +coldness, while she could not bear any weight upon her. My father was +gone out, and would not be back before evening. The whole day lay before +us; I should have my mother entirely to myself. + +We had very much to say to one another; but it could only be said at +intervals, when her strength allowed of it. We talked together, more +calmly than I could have believed possible, of her approaching death; +and, in a stupor of despair, I owned to myself and her that there was +not a hope of her being spared to me much longer. + +"I have longed so," she murmured, "to see my boy in a home of his own +before I died. Perhaps I was wrong, but that was why I urged on your +marriage with Julia. You will have no real home after I am gone, Martin; +and I feel as if I could die so much more quietly if I had some +knowledge of your future life. Now I shall know nothing. I think that is +the sting of death to me." + +"I wish it had been as you wanted it to be," I said, never feeling so +bitterly the disappointment I had caused her, and almost grieved that I +had ever seen Olivia. + +"I suppose it is all for the best," she answered, feebly. "O Martin! I +have seen your Olivia." + +"Well?" I said. + +"I did so want to see her," she continued--"though she has brought us +all into such trouble. I loved her because you love her. Johanna went +with me, because she is such a good judge, you know, and I did not like +to rely upon my own feelings. Appearances are very much against her; but +she is very engaging, and I believe she is a good girl. I am sure she is +good." + +"I know she is," I said. + +"We talked of you," she went on--"how good you were to her that week in +the spring. She had never been quite unconscious, she thought; but she +had seen and heard you all the time, and knew you were doing your utmost +to save her. I believe we talked more of you than of any thing else." + +That was very likely, I knew, as far as my mother was concerned. But I +was anxious to hear whether Olivia had not confided to her more of her +secret than I had yet been able to learn from other sources. To a woman +like my mother she might have intrusted all her history. + +"Did you find any thing out about her friends and family?" I asked. + +"Not much," she answered. "She told me her own mother had died when she +was quite a child; and she had a step-mother living, who has been the +ruin of her life. That was her expression. 'She has been the ruin of my +life!' she said; and she cried a little, Martin, with her head upon my +lap. If I could only have offered her a home here, and promised to be a +mother to her!" + +"God bless you, my darling mother!" I said. + +"She intends to stay where she is as long as it is possible," she +continued; "but she told me she wanted work to do--any kind of work by +which she could earn a little money. She has a diamond ring, and a watch +and chain, worth a hundred pounds; so she must have been used to +affluence. Yet she spoke as if she might have to live in Sark for years. +It is a very strange position for a young girl." + +"Mother," I said, "you do not know how all this weighs upon me. I +promised Julia to give her up, and never to see her again; but it is +almost more than I can bear, especially now. I shall be as friendless +and homeless as Olivia by-and-by." + +I had knelt down beside her, and she pressed my face to hers, murmuring +those soft, fondling words, which a man only hears from his mother's +lips. I knew that the anguish of her soul was even greater than my own. +The agitation was growing too much for her, and would end in an access +of her disease. I must put an end to it at once. + +"I suppose Julia is gone to the new house now," I said, in a calm voice. + +"Yes," she answered, but she could say no more. + +"And Miss Daltrey with her?" I pursued. + +The mention of that name certainly roused my mother more effectually +than any thing else I could have said. She released me from her clinging +hands, and looked up with a decided expression of dislike on her face. + +"Yes," she replied. "Julia is just wrapped up in her, though why I +cannot imagine. So is your father. But I don't think you will like her, +Martin. I don't want you to be taken with her." + +"I won't, mother," I said. "I am ready to hate her, if that is any +satisfaction to you." + +"Oh, you must not say that," she answered, in a tone of alarm. "I do not +wish to set you against her, not in the least, my boy. Only she has so +much influence over Julia and your father; and I do not want you to go +over to her side. I know I am very silly; but she always makes my flesh +creep when she is in the room." + +"Then she shall not come into the room," I said. + +"Martin," she went on, "why does it rouse one up more to speak evil of +people than to speak good of them? Speaking of Kate Daltrey makes me +feel stronger than talking of Olivia." + +I laughed a little. It had been an observation of mine, made some years +ago, that the surest method of consolation in cases of excessive grief, +was the introduction of some family or neighborly gossip, seasoned +slightly with scandal. The most vehement mourning had been turned into +another current of thought by the lifting of this sluice. + +"It restores the balance of the emotions," I answered. "Anything soft, +and tender, and touching, makes you more sensitive. A person like Miss +Daltrey acts as a tonic; bitter, perhaps, but invigorating." + +The morning passed without any interruption; but in the afternoon Grace +came in, with a face full of grave importance, to announce that Miss +Dobrée had called, and desired to see Mrs. Dobrée alone. "Quite alone," +repeated Grace, emphatically. + +"I'll go up-stairs to my own room," I said to my mother. + +"I am afraid you cannot, Martin," she answered, hesitatingly. "Miss +Daltrey has taken possession of it, and she has not removed all her +things yet. She and Julia did not leave till late last night. You must +go to the spare room." + +"I thought you would have kept my room for me, mother," I said, +reproachfully. + +"So I would," she replied, her lips quivering, "but Miss Daltrey took a +fancy to it, and your father and Julia made a point of indulging her. I +really think Julia would have had every thing belonging to you swept +into the streets. It was very hard for me, Martin. I was ten times more +vexed than you are to give up your room to Miss Daltrey. It was my only +comfort to go and sit there, and think of my dear boy." "Never mind, +never mind," I answered. "I am at home now, and you will never be left +alone with them again--nevermore, mother." + +I retreated to the spare room, fully satisfied that I should dislike +Miss Daltrey quite as much as my mother could wish. Finding that Julia +prolonged her visit downstairs, I went out after a while for a stroll in +the old garden, where the trees and shrubs had grown with my growth, and +were as familiar as human friends to me. I visited Madam in her stall, +and had a talk with old Pellet; and generally established my footing +once more as the only son of the house; not at all either as if I were a +prodigal son, come home repentant. I was resolved not to play that +_rôle_, for had I not been more sinned against than sinning? + +My father came in to dinner; but, like a true man of the world, he +received me back on civil and equal terms, not alluding beyond a word or +two to my long absence. We began again as friends; and our mutual +knowledge of my mother's fatal malady softened our hearts and manners +toward one another. Whenever he was in-doors he waited upon her with +sedulous attention. But, for the certainty that death was lurking very +near to us, I should have been happier in my home than I had ever been +since that momentous week in Sark. But I was also nearer to Olivia, and +every throb of my pulse was quickened by the mere thought of that. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH. + +A NEW PATIENT. + + +In one sense, time seemed to be standing still with me, so like were the +days that followed the one to the other. But in another sense those days +fled with awful swiftness, for they were hurrying us both, my mother and +me, to a great gulf which would soon, far too soon, lie between us. + +Every afternoon Julia came to spend an hour or two with my mother; but +her arrival was always formally announced, and it was an understood +thing that I should immediately quit the room, to avoid meeting her. +There was an etiquette in her resentment which I was bound to observe. + +What our circle of friends thought, had become a matter of very +secondary consideration to me; but there seemed a general disposition to +condone my offences, in view of the calamity that was hanging by a mere +thread above me. I discovered from their significant remarks that it had +been quite the fashion to visit Sark during the summer, by the Queen of +the Isles, which made the passage every Monday; and that Tardif's +cottage had been an object of attraction to many of my relatives of +every degree. Few of them had caught even a glimpse of Olivia; and I +suspected that she had kept herself well out of sight on those days when +the weekly steamer flooded the island with visitors. + +I had not taken up any of my old patients again, for I was determined +that everybody should feel that my residence at home was only temporary. +But, about ten days after my return, the following note was brought to +me, directed in full to Dr. Martin Dobrée: + +"A lady from England, who is only a visitor in Guernsey, will be much +obliged by Dr. Martin Dobrée calling upon her, at Rose Villa, Vauvert +Road. She is suffering from a slight indisposition; and, knowing Dr. +Senior by name and reputation, she would feel great confidence in the +skill of Dr. Senior's friend." + +I wondered for an instant who the stranger could be, and how she knew +the Seniors; but, as there could be no answer to these queries without +visiting the lady, I resolved to go. Rose Villa was a house where the +rooms were let to visitors during the season, and the Vauvert Road was +scarcely five minutes' walk from our house. Julia was paying her daily +visit to my mother, and I was at a loss for something to do, so I went +at once. + +I found a very handsome, fine-looking woman; dark, with hair and eyes as +black as a gypsy's, and a clear olive complexion to match. Her forehead +was low, but smooth and well-shaped; and the lower part of her face, +handsome as it was, was far more developed than the upper. There was not +a trace of refinement about her features; yet the coarseness of them was +but slightly apparent as yet. She did not strike me as having more than +a very slight ailment indeed, though she dilated fluently about her +symptoms, and affected to be afraid of fever. It is not always possible +to deny that a woman has a violent headache; but, where the pulse is all +right, and the tongue clean, it is clear enough that there is not any +thing very serious threatening her. My new patient did not inspire me +with much sympathy; but she attracted my curiosity, and interested me by +the bold style of her beauty. + +"You Guernsey people are very stiff with strangers," she remarked, as I +sat opposite to her, regarding her with that close observation which is +permitted to a doctor. + +"So the world says," I answered. "Of course I am no good judge, for we +Guernsey people believe ourselves as perfect as any class of the human +family. Certainly, we pride ourselves on being a little more difficult +of approach than the Jersey people. Strangers are more freely welcome +there than here, unless they bring introductions with them. If you have +any introductions, you will find Guernsey as hospitable a spot as any in +the world." + +"I have been here a week," she replied, pouting her full crimson lips, +"and have not had a chance of speaking a word, except to strangers like +myself who don't know a soul." + +That, then, was the cause of the little indisposition which had obtained +me the honor of attending her. I indulged myself in a mild sarcasm to +that effect, but it was lost upon her. She gazed at me solemnly with her +large black eyes, which shone like beads. + +"I am really ill," she said, "but it has nothing to do with not seeing +anybody, though that's dull. There's nothing for me to do but take a +bath in the morning, and a drive in the afternoon, and go to bed very +early. Good gracious! it's enough to drive me mad!" + +"Try Jersey," I suggested. + +"No, I'll not try Jersey," she said. "I mean to make my way here. Don't +you know anybody, doctor, that would take pity on a poor stranger?" + +"I am sorry to say no," I answered. + +She frowned at that, and looked disappointed. I was about to ask her how +she knew the Seniors, when she spoke again. + +"Do you have many visitors come to Guernsey late in the autumn, as late +as October?" she inquired. + +"Not many," I answered; "a few may arrive who intend to winter here." + +"A dear young friend of mine came here last autumn," she said, "alone, +as I am, and I've been wondering, ever since I've been here, however she +would get along among such a set of stiff, formal, stand-offish folks. +She had not money enough for a dash, or that would make a difference, I +suppose." + +"Not the least," I replied, "if your friend came without any +introductions." + +"What a dreary winter she'd have!" pursued my patient, with a tone of +exultation. "She was quite young, and as pretty as a picture. All the +young men would know her, I'll be bound, and you among them, Dr. Martin. +Any woman who isn't a fright gets stared at enough to be known again." + +Could this woman know any thing of Olivia? I looked at her more +earnestly and critically. She was not a person I should like Olivia to +have any thing to do with. A coarse, ill-bred, bold woman, whose eyes +met mine unabashed, and did not blink under my scrutiny. Could she be +Olivia's step-mother, who had been the ruin of her life? + +"I'd bet a hundred to one you know her," she said, laughing and showing +all her white teeth. "A girl like her couldn't go about a little poky +place like this without all the young men knowing her. Perhaps she left +the island in the spring. I have asked at all the drapers' shops, but +nobody recollects her. I've very good news for her if I could find +her--a slim, middle-sized girl, with a clear, fair skin, and gray eyes, +and hair of a bright brown. Stay, I can show you her photograph." + +She put into my hands an exquisite portrait of Olivia, taken in +Florence. There was an expression of quiet mournfulness in the face, +which touched me to the core of my heart. I could not put it down and +speak indifferently about it. My heart beat wildly, and I felt tempted +to run off with the treasure and return no more to this woman. + +"Ah! you recognize her!" she exclaimed triumphantly. + +"I never saw such a person in Guernsey," I answered, looking steadily +into her face. A sullen and gloomy expression came across it, and she +snatched the portrait out of my hand. + +"You want to keep it a secret," she said, "but I defy you to do it. I am +come here to find her, and find her I will. She hasn't drowned herself, +and the earth hasn't swallowed her up. I've traced her as far as here, +and that I tell you. She crossed in the Southampton boat one dreadfully +stormy night last October--the only lady passenger--and the stewardess +recollects her well. She landed here. You must know something about +her." + +"I assure you I never saw that girl here," I replied, evasively. "What +inquiries have you made after her?" + +"I've inquired here, and there, and everywhere," she said. "I've done +nothing else ever since I came. It is of great importance to her, as +well as to me, that I should find her. It's a very anxious thing when a +girl like that disappears and is never heard of again, all because she +has a little difference with her friends. If you could help me to find +her you would do her family a very great service." + +"Why do you fix upon me?" I inquired. "Why did you not send for one of +the resident doctors? I left Guernsey some time ago." + +"You were here last winter," she said; "and you're a young man, and +would notice her more." + +"There are other young doctors in Guernsey," I remarked. + +"Ah! but you've been in London," she answered, "and I know something of +Dr. Senior. When you are in a strange place you catch at any chance of +an acquaintance." + +"Come, be candid with me," I said. "Did not Messrs. Scott and Brown send +you here?" + +The suddenness of my question took her off her guard and startled her. +She hesitated, stammered, and finally denied it with more than natural +emphasis. + +"I could take my oath I don't know any such persons," she answered. "I +don't know whom you mean, or what you mean. All I want is quite honest. +There is a fortune waiting for that poor girl, and I want to take her +back to those who love her, and are ready to forgive and forget every +thing. I feel sure you know something of her. But no body except me and +her other friends have any thing to do with it." + +"Well," I said, rising to take my leave, "all the information I can give +you is, that I never saw such a person here, either last winter or +since. It is quite possible she went on to Jersey, or to Granville, when +the storm was over. That she did not stay in Guernsey, I am quite sure." + +I went away in a fever of anxiety. The woman, who was certainly not a +lady, had inspired me with a repugnance that I could not describe. There +was an ingrain coarseness about her--a vulgarity excessively distasteful +to me as in any way connected with Olivia. The mystery which surrounded +her was made the deeper by it. Surely, this person could not be related +to Olivia! I tried to guess in what relationship to her she could +possibly stand. There was the indefinable delicacy and refinement of a +lady, altogether independent of her surroundings, so apparent in Olivia, +that I could not imagine her as connected by blood with this woman. Yet +why and how should such a person have any right to pursue her? I felt +more chafed than I had ever done about Olivia's secret. + +I tried to satisfy myself with the reflection that I had put Tardif on +his guard, and that he would protect her. But that did not set my mind +at ease. I never knew a mother yet who believed that any other woman +could nurse her sick child as well as herself; and I could not be +persuaded that even Tardif would shield Olivia from danger and trouble +as I could, if I were only allowed the privilege. Yet my promise to +Julia bound me to hold no communication with her. Besides, this was +surely no time to occupy myself with any other woman in the world than +my mother. She herself, good, and amiable, and self-forgetting, as she +was, might feel a pang of jealousy, and I ought not to be the one to add +a single drop of bitterness to the cup she was drinking. + +On the other hand, I was distracted at the thought that this stranger +might discover the place of Olivia's retreat, from which there was no +chance of escape if it were once discovered. A hiding-place like Sark +becomes a trap as soon as it is traced out. Should this woman catch the +echo of those rumors which had circulated so widely through Guernsey +less than three months ago--and any chance conversation with one of our +own people might bring them to her ears--then farewell to Olivia's +safety and concealment. Here was the squall which had been foretold by +Jack. I cursed the idle curiosity of mine which had exposed her to this +danger. + +I had strolled down some of the quieter streets of the town while I was +turning this affair over in my mind, and now, as I crossed the end of +Rue Haute, I caught sight of Kate Daltrey turning into a milliner's +shop. There was every reasonable probability that she would not come out +again soon, for I saw a bonnet reached out of the window. If she were +gone to buy a bonnet, she was safe for half an hour, and Julia would be +alone. I had felt a strong desire to see Julia ever since I returned +home. My mind was made up on the spot. I knew her so well as to be +certain that, if I found her in a gentle mood, she would, at any rate, +release me from the promise she had extorted from me when she was in the +first heat of her anger and disappointment. It was a chance worth +trying. If I were free to declare to Olivia my love for her, I should +establish a claim upon her full confidence, and we could laugh at +further difficulties. She was of age, and, therefore, mistress of +herself. Her friends, represented by this odious woman, could have no +legal authority over her. + +I turned shortly up a side-street, and walked as fast as I could toward +the house which was to have been our home. By a bold stroke I might +reach Julia's presence. I rang, and the maid who answered the bell +opened wide eyes of astonishment at seeing me there. I passed by +quickly. + +"I wish to speak to Miss Dobrée," I said. "Is she in the drawing-room?" + +"Yes, sir," she answered, in a hesitating tone. + +I waited for nothing more, but knocked at the drawing-room door for +myself, and heard Julia call, "Come in." + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH. + +SET FREE. + + +Julia looked very much the same as she had done that evening when I came +reluctantly to tell her that my heart was not in her keeping, but +belonged to another. She wore the same kind of fresh, light muslin +dress, with ribbons and lace about it, and she sat near the window, with +a piece of needle-work in her hands; yet she was not sewing, and her +hands lay listlessly on her lap. But, for this attitude of dejection, I +could have imagined that it was the same day and the same hour, and that +she was still ignorant of the change in my feelings toward her. If it +had not been for our perverse fate, we should now be returning from our +wedding-trip, and receiving the congratulations of our friends. A +mingled feeling of sorrow, pity, and shame, prevented me from advancing +into the room. She looked up to see who was standing in the doorway, and +my appearance there evidently alarmed and distressed her. + +"Martin!" she cried. + +"May I come in and speak to you, Julia?" I asked. + +"Is my aunt worse?" she inquired, hurriedly. "Are you come to fetch me +to her?" + +"No, no, Julia," I said; "my mother is as well as usual, I hope. But +surely you will let me speak to you after all this time?" + +"It is not a long time," she answered. + +"Has it not been long to you?" I asked. "It seems years to me. All life +has changed for me. I had no idea then of my mother's illness." + +"Nor I," she said, sighing deeply. + +"If I had known it," I continued, "all this might not have happened. +Surely, the troubles I shall have to bear must plead with you for me!" + +"Yes, Martin," she answered; "yes, I am very sorry for you." + +She came forward and offered me her hand, but without looking into my +face. I saw that she had been crying, for her eyes were red. In a tone +of formal politeness she asked me if I would not sit down. I considered +it best to remain standing, as an intimation that I should not trouble +her with my presence for long. + +"My mother loves you very dearly, Julia," I ventured to say, after a +long pause, which she did not seem inclined to break. I had no time to +lose, lest Kate Daltrey should come in, and it was a very difficult +subject to approach. + +"Not more than I love her," she said, warmly. "Aunt Dobrée has been as +good to me as any mother could have been. I love her as dearly as my +mother. Have you seen her since I was with her this afternoon?" + +"No. I have just come from visiting a very curious patient, and have not +been home yet." + +I hoped Julia would catch at the word curious, and make some inquiries +which would open a way for me; but she seemed not to hear it, and +another silence fell upon us both. For the life of me I could not utter +a syllable of what I had come to say. + +"We were talking of you," she said at length, in a harried and thick +voice. "Aunt is in great sorrow about you. It preys upon her day and +night that you will be dreadfully alone when she is gone, +and--and--Martin, she wishes to know before she dies that the girl in +Sark will become your wife." + +The word struck like a shot upon my ear and brain. What! had Julia and +my mother been arranging between them my happiness and Olivia's safety +that very afternoon? Such generosity was incredible. I could not believe +I had heard aright. + +"She has seen the girl," continued Julia, in the same husky tone, which +she could not compel to be clear and calm; "and she is convinced she is +no adventuress. Johanna says the same. They tell me it is unreasonable +and selfish in me to doom you to the dreadful loneliness I feel. If Aunt +Dobrée asked me to pluck out my right eye just now, I could not refuse. +It is something like that, but I have promised to do it. I release you +from every promise you ever made to me, Martin." + +"Julia!" I cried, crossing to her and bending over her with more love +and admiration than I had ever felt before; "this is very noble, very +generous." + +"No," she said, bursting into tears; "I am neither noble nor generous. I +do it because I cannot help myself, with aunt's white face looking so +imploringly at me. I do not give you up willingly to that girl in Sark. +I hope I shall never see her or you for many, many years. Aunt says you +will have no chance of marrying her till you are settled in a practice +somewhere; but you are free to ask her to be your wife. Aunt wants you +to have somebody to love you and care for you after she is gone, as I +should have done." + +"But you are generous to consent to it," I said again. + +"So," she answered, wiping her eyes, and lifting up her head; "I thought +I was generous; I thought I was a Christian, but it is not easy to be a +Christian when one is mortified, and humbled, and wounded. I am a great +disappointment to myself; quite as great as you are to me. I fancied +myself very superior to what I am. I hope you may not be disappointed in +that girl in Sark." + +The latter words were not spoken in an amiable tone, but this was no +time for criticising Julia. She had made a tremendous sacrifice, that +was evident; and a whole sacrifice without any blemish is very rarely +offered up nowadays, however it may have been in olden times. I could +not look at her dejected face and gloomy expression without a keen sense +of self-reproach. + +"Julia," I said, "I shall never be quite happy--no, not with Olivia as +my wife--unless you and I are friends. We have grown up together too +much as brother and sister, for me to have you taken right out of my +life without a feeling of great loss. It is I who would lose a right +hand or a right eye in losing you. Some day we must be friends again as +we used to be." + +"It is not very likely," she answered; "but you had better go now, +Martin. It is very painful to me for you to be here." + +I could not stay any longer after that dismissal. Her hand was lying on +her lap, and I stooped down and kissed it, seeing on it still the ring I +had given her when we were first engaged. She did not look at me or bid +me good-by; and I went out of the house, my veins tingling with shame +and gladness. I met Captain Carey coming up the street, with a basket of +fine grapes in his hand. He appeared very much amazed. + +"Why, Martin!" he exclaimed; "can you have been to see Julia?" + +"Yes," I answered. + +"Reconciled?" he said, arching his eyebrows, which were still dark and +bushy though his hair was grizzled. + +"Not exactly," I replied, with a stiff smile, exceedingly difficult to +force; "nothing of the sort indeed. Captain, when will you take me +across to Sark?" + +"Come, come! none of that, Martin," he said; "you're on honor, you know. +You are pledged to poor Julia not to visit Sark again." + +"She has just set me free," I answered; and out of the fulness of my +heart I told him all that had just passed between us. His eyes +glistened, though a film came across them which he had to wipe away. + +"She is a noble girl," he ejaculated; "a fine, generous, noble girl. I +really thought she'd break her heart over you at first, but she will +come round again now. We will have a run over to Sark to-morrow." + +I felt myself lifted into a third heaven of delight all that evening. My +mother and I talked of no one but Olivia. The present rapture so +completely eclipsed the coming sorrow, that I forgot how soon it would +be upon me. I remember now that my mother neither by word nor sign +suffered me to be reminded of her illness. She listened to my +rhapsodies, smiling with her divine, pathetic smile. There is no love, +no love at all, like that of a mother! + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH. + +A BRIGHT BEGINNING. + + +Not the next day, which was wet and windy, but the day following, did +Captain Carey take me over to Sark. I had had time to talk over all my +plans for the future with my mother, and I bore with me many messages +from her to the girl I was about to ask to become my wife. + +Coxcomb as I was, there was no doubt in my mind that I could win Olivia. + +To explain my coxcombry is not a very easy task. I do not suppose I had +a much higher sense of my own merits than such as is common to man. I +admit I was neither shy nor nervous on the one hand, but on the other I +was not blatantly self-conceited. It is possible that my course through +life hitherto--first as an only son adored by his mother, and secondly +as an exceedingly eligible _parti_ in a circle where there were very few +young men of my rank and family, and where there were twenty or more +marriageable women to one unmarried man--had a great deal to do with my +feeling of security with regard to this unknown, poor, and friendless +stranger. But, added to this, there was Olivia's own frank, unconcealed +pleasure in seeing me, whenever I had had a chance of visiting her, and +the freedom with which she had always conversed with me upon any topic +except that of her own mysterious position. I was sure I had made a +favorable impression upon her. In fact, when I had been talking with +her, I had given utterance to brighter and clearer thoughts than I had +ever been conscious of before. A word from her, a simple question, +seemed to touch the spring of some hidden treasure of my brain, and I +had surprised myself by what I had been enabled to say to her. It was +this, probably more than her beauty, which had drawn me to her and made +me happy in her companionship. No, I had never shown myself +contemptible, but quite the reverse, in her presence. No doubt or +misgiving assailed me as the yacht carried us out of St. Sampson's +Harbor. + +Swiftly we ran across, with a soft wind drifting over the sea and +playing upon our faces, and a long furrow lying in the wake of our boat. +It was almost low tide when we reached the island--the best time for +seeing the cliffs. They were standing well out of the water, scarred and +chiselled with strange devices, and glowing in the August sunlight with +tints of the most gorgeous coloring, while their feet, swathed with +brown seaweed, were glistening with the dashing of the waves. I had seen +nothing like them since I had been there last, and the view of these +wild, rugged crags, with their regal robes of amber and gold and silver, +almost oppressed me with delight. If I could but see Olivia on this +summit! + +The currents and the wind had been in favor of our running through the +channel between Sark and Jethou, and so landing at the Creux Harbor, on +the opposite coast of the island to the Havre Gosselin. I crossed in +headlong haste, for I was afraid of meeting with Julia's friends, or +some of my own acquaintances who were spending the summer months there. +I found Tardif's house completely deserted. The only sign of life was a +family of hens clucking about the fold. + +The door was not fastened, and I entered, but there was nobody there. I +stood in the middle of the kitchen and called, but there was no answer. +Olivia's door was ajar, and I pushed it a little more open. There lay +books I had lent her on the table, and her velvet slippers were on the +floor, as if they had only just been taken off. Very worn and brown were +the little slippers, but they reassured me she had been wearing them a +short time ago. + +I returned through the fold and mounted the bank that sheltered the +house, to see if I could discover any trace of her, or Tardif, or his +mother. All the place seemed left to itself. Tardif's sheep were +browsing along the cliffs, and his cows were tethered here and there, +but nobody appeared to be tending them. At last I caught sight of a head +rising from behind a crag, the rough shock head of a boy, and I shouted +to him, making a trumpet with my hands. + +"Where is neighbor Tardif?" I called. + +"Down below there," he shouted back again, pointing downward to the +Havre Gosselin. I did not wait for any further information, but darted +off down the long, steep gulley to the little strand, where the pebbles +were being lapped lazily by the ripple of the lowering tide. Tardif's +boat was within a stone's throw, and I saw Olivia sitting in the stern +of it. I shouted again with a vehemence which made them both start. + +"Come back, Tardif," I cried, "and take me with you." + +The boat was too far off for me to see how my sudden appearance affected +Olivia. Did she turn white or red at the sound of my voice? By the time +it neared the shore, and I plunged in knee-deep to meet it, her face was +bright with smiles, and her hands were stretched out to help me over the +boat's side. + +If Tardif had not been there, I should have kissed them both. As it was, +I tucked up my wet legs out of reach of her dress, and took an oar, +unable to utter a word of the gladness I felt. + +I recovered myself in a few seconds, and touched her hand, and grasped +Tardif's with almost as much force as he gripped mine. + +"Where are you going to?" I asked, addressing neither of them in +particular. + +"Tardif was going to row me past the entrance to the Gouliot Caves," +answered Olivia, "but we will put it off now. We will return to the +shore, and hear all your adventures, Dr. Martin. You come upon us like a +phantom, and take an oar in ghostly silence. Are you really, truly +there?" + +"I am no phantom," I said, touching her hand again. "No, we will not go +back to the shore. Tardif shall row us to the caves, and I will take you +into them, and then we two will return along the cliffs. Would you like +that, mam'zelle?" + +"Very much," she answered, the smile still playing about her face. It +was brown and freckled with exposure to the sun, but so full of health +and life as to be doubly beautiful to me, who saw so many wan and sickly +faces. There was a bloom and freshness about her, telling of pure air, +and peaceful hours and days spent in the sunshine. I was seated on the +bench before Tardif, with my back to him, and Olivia was in front of +me--she, and the gorgeous cliffs, and the glistening sea, and the +cloudless sky overhead. No, there is no language on earth that could +paint the rapture of that moment. + +"Doctor," said Tardif's deep, grave voice behind me, "your mother, is +she better?" + +It was like the sharp prick of a poniard, which presently you knew must +pierce your heart. + +The one moment of rapture had fled. The paradise, that had been about me +for an instant, with no hint of pain, faded out of my sight. But Olivia +remained, and her face grew sad, and her voice low and sorrowful, as she +leaned forward to speak to me. + +"I have been so grieved for you," she said. "Your mother came to see me +once, and promised to be my friend. Is it true? Is she so very ill?" +"Quite true," I answered, in a choking voice. + +We said no more for some minutes, and the splash of the oars in the +water was the only sound. Olivia's air continued sad, and her eyes were +downcast, as if she shrank from looking me in the face. + +"Pardon me, doctor," said Tardif in our own dialect, which Olivia could +not understand, "I have made you sorry when you were having a little +gladness. Is your mother very ill?" + +"There is no hope, Tardif," I answered, looking round at his honest and +handsome face, full of concern for me. + +"May I speak to you as an old friend?" he asked. "You love mam'zelle, +and you are come to tell her so?" + +"What makes you think that?" I said. + +"I see it in your face," he answered, lowering his voice, though he knew +Olivia could not tell what we were saying. "Your marriage with +mademoiselle your cousin was broken off--why? Do you suppose I did not +guess? I knew it from the first-week you stayed with us. Nobody could +see mam'zelle as we see her, without loving her." + +"The Sark folks say you are in love with her yourself, Tardif," I said, +almost against my will, and certainly without any intention beforehand +of giving expression to such a rumor. + +His lips contracted and his face saddened, but he met my eyes frankly. + +"It is true," he answered; "but what then? If it had only pleased God to +make me like you, or that she should be of my class, I would have done +my utmost to win her. But that is impossible! See, I am nothing else +than a servant in her eyes. I do not know how to be any thing else, and +I am content. She is as far above my reach as one of the white clouds up +yonder. To think of myself as any thing but her servant would be +irreligious." + +"You are a good fellow, Tardif," I exclaimed. + +"God is the judge, of that," he said, with a sigh. "Mam'zelle thinks of +me only as her servant. 'My good Tardif, do this, or do that.' I like +it. I do not know any happier moment than when I hold her little boots +in my hand and brush them. You see she is as helpless and tender as my +little wife was; but she is very much higher than my poor little wife. +Yes, I love her as I love the blue sky, and the white clouds and the +stars shining in the night. But it will be quite different between her +and you." + +"I hope so," I thought to myself. + +"You do not feel like a servant," he continued, his oars dipping a +little too deeply and setting the boat a-rocking. "By-and-by, when you +are married, she will look up to you and obey you. I do not understand +altogether why the good God has made this difference between us two; but +I see it and feel it. It would be fitting for you to be her husband; it +would be a shame to her to become my wife." + +"Are you grieved about it, Tardif?" I asked. + +"No, no," he answered; "we have always been good friends, you and I, +doctor. No, you shall marry her, and I will be happy. I will come to +visit you sometimes, and she will call me her good Tardif. That is +enough for me." + +"What are you talking about?" asked Olivia. It was impossible to tell +her, or to continue the conversation. Moreover, the narrow channel +between Breckhou and Sark is so strong in its current, that it required +both caution and skill to steer the boat amid the needle-like points of +the rocks. At last we gained one of the entrances to the caves, but we +could not pull the boat quite up to the strand. A few paces of shallow +water, clear as glass, with pebbles sparkling like gems beneath it, lay +between us and the caves. + +"Tardif," I said, "you need not wait for us. We will return by the +cliffs." + +"You know the Gouliot Caves as well as I do?" he replied, though in a +doubtful tone. + +"All right!" I said, as I swung over the side of the boat into the +water, when I found myself knee-deep. Olivia looked from me to Tardif +with a flushed face--an augury that made my pulses leap. Why should her +face never change when he carried her in his arms? Why should she +shrink from me? + +"Are you as strong as Tardif?" she asked, lingering and hesitating +before she would trust herself to me. + +"Almost, if not altogether," I answered gayly. "I'm strong enough to +undertake to carry you without wetting the soles of your feet. Come, it +is not more than half a dozen yards." + +She was standing on the bench I had just left, looking down at me with +the same vivid flush upon her cheeks and forehead, and with an uneasy +expression in her eyes. Before she could speak again I put my arms round +her, and lifted her down. + +"You are quite as light as a feather," I said, laughing, as I carried +her to the strip of moist and humid strand under the archway in the +rocks. As I put her down I looked back to Tardif, and saw him regarding +us with grave and sorrowful eyes. + +"Adieu!" he cried; "I am going to look after my lobster-pots. God bless +you both!" + +He spoke the last words heartily; and we stood watching him as long as +he was in sight. Then we went on into the caves. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH. + +THE GOULIOT CAVES. + + +Olivia was very silent. + +The coast of Sark shows some of the most fantastic workmanship of the +sea, but the Gouliot Caves are its wildest and maddest freak. A strong, +swift current sets in from the southwest, and being lashed into a giddy +fury by the lightest southwest wind, it has hewn out of the rock a +series of cells, and grottos, and alcoves, some of them running far +inland, in long, vaulted passages and corridors, with now and then a +shaft or funnel in the rocky roof, through which the light streams down +into recesses far from the low porches, which open from the sea. Here +and there a crooked, twisted tunnel forms a skylight overhead, and the +blue heavens look down through it like a far-off eye. You cannot number +the caverns and niches. Everywhere the sea has bored alleys and +galleries, or hewn out solemn aisles, with arches intersecting each +other, and running off into capricious furrows and mouldings. There are +innumerable refts, and channels, and crescents, and cupolas, +half-finished or only hinted at. There are chambers of every height and +shape, leading into one another by irregular portals, but all rough and +rude, as though there might have been an original plan, from which, +while the general arrangement is kept, every separate stroke perversely +diverged. + +But another, and not a secondary, curiosity of this ocean-labyrinth is, +that it is the habitat of a multitude of marine creatures, not to be +seen at home in many other places. Except twice a month, at the +neaptides, the lower chambers are filled with the sea; and here live and +flourish thousands, upon thousands of those mollusks and zoophytes which +can exist only in its salt waters. The sides of the caves, as far as the +highest tides swept, were studded with crimson and purple and amber +mollusca, glistening like jewels in the light pouring down upon them +from the eyelet-openings overhead. Not the space of a finger-tip was +clear. Above them in the clefts of the rock hung fringes of delicate +ferns of the most vivid green, while here and there were nooks and +crevices of profound darkness, black with perpetual, unbroken shadow. + +I had known the caves well when I was a boy, but it was many years since +I had been there. Now I was alone in them with Olivia, no other human +being in sight or sound of us. I had scarcely eyes for any sight but +that of her face, which had grown shy and downcast, and was generally +turned away from me. She would be frightened, I thought, if I spoke to +her in that lonesome place, I would wait till we were on the cliffs, in +the open eye of day. + +She left my side for one moment while I was poking under a stone for a +young pieuvre, which had darkened the little pool of water round it with +its inky fluid. I heard her utter an exclamation of delight, and I gave +up my pursuit instantly to learn what was giving her pleasure. She was +stooping down to look beneath a low arch, not more than two feet high, +and I knelt down beside her. Beyond lay a straight narrow channel of +transparent water, blue from a faint reflected light, with smooth, +sculptured walls of rock, clear from mollusca, rising on each side of +it. Level lines of mimic waves rippled monotonously upon it, as if it +was stirred by some soft wind which we could not feel. You could have +peopled it with tiny boats flitting across it, or skimming lightly down +it. Tears shone in Olivia's eyes. + +"It reminds me so of a canal in Venice," she said, in a tremulous voice. + +"Do you know Venice?" I asked; and the recollection of her portrait +taken in Florence came to my mind. Well, by-and-by I should have a right +to hear about all her wanderings. + +"Oh, yes!" she answered; "I spent three months there once, and this +place is like it." + +"Was it a happy time?" I inquired, jealous of those tears. + +"It was a hateful time," she said, vehemently. "Don't let us talk of it. +I hate to remember it. Why cannot we forget things, Dr. Martin? You, who +are so clever, can tell me that." + +"That is simple enough," I said, smiling. "Every circumstance of our +life makes a change in the substance of the brain, and, while that +remains sound and in vigor, we cannot forget. To-day is being written on +our brain now. You will have to remember this, Olivia." + +"I know I shall remember it," she answered, in a low tone. + +"You have travelled a great deal, then?" I pursued, wishing her to talk +about herself, for I could scarcely trust my resolution to wait till we +were out of the caves. "I love you with all my heart and soul" was on my +tongue's end. + +"We travelled nearly all over Europe," she replied. + +I wondered whom she meant by "we." She had never used the plural pronoun +before, and I thought of that odious woman in Guernsey--an unpleasant +recollection. + +We had wandered back to the opening where Tardif had left us. The rapid +current between us and Breckhou was running in swift eddies, which +showed the more plainly because the day was calm, and the open sea +smooth. Olivia stood near me; but a sort of chilly diffidence had crept +over me, and I could not have ventured to press too closely to her, or +to touch her with my hand. + +"How have you been content to live here?" I asked. + +"This year in Sark has saved me," she answered, softly. + +"What has it saved you from?" I inquired, with intense eagerness. She +turned her face full upon me, with a world of reproach in her gray eyes. + +"Dr. Martin," she said, "why will you persist in asking me about my +former life? Tardif never does. He never implies by a word or look that +he wishes to know more than I choose to tell. I cannot tell you any +thing about it." + +I felt uncomfortably that she was drawing a comparison unfavorable to me +between Tardif and myself--the gentleman, who could not conquer or +conceal his desire to fathom a mystery, and the fisherman, who acted as +if there were no mystery at all. Yet Olivia appeared more grieved than +offended; and when she knew how I loved her she would admit that my +curiosity was natural. She should know, too, that I was willing to take +her as she was, with all the secrets of her former life kept from me. +Some day I would make her own I was as generous as Tardif. + +Just then my ear caught for the first time a low boom-boom, which had +probably been sounding through the caves for some minutes. + +"Good Heavens!" I ejaculated. + +Yet a moment's thought convinced me that, though there might be a little +risk, there was no paralyzing danger. I had forgotten the narrowness of +the gully through which alone we could gain the cliffs. From the open +span of beach where we were now standing, there was no chance of leaving +the caves except as we had come to them, by a boat; for on each side a +crag ran like a spur into the water. The comparatively open space +permitted the tide to lap in quietly, and steal imperceptibly higher +upon its pebbles. But the low boom I heard was the sea rushing in +through the throat of the narrow outlet through which lay our only means +of escape. There was not a moment to lose. Without a word, I snatched up +Olivia in my arms, and ran back into the caves, making as rapidly as I +could for the long, straight passage. + +Neither did Olivia speak a word or utter a cry. We found ourselves in a +low tunnel, where the water was beginning to flow in pretty strongly. I +set her down for an instant, and tore off my coat and waistcoat. Then I +caught her up again, and strode along over the slippery, slimy masses of +rock which lay under my feet, covered with seaweed. + +"Olivia," I said, "I must have my right hand free to steady myself with. +Put both your arms round my neck, and cling to me so. Don't touch my +arms or shoulders." + +Yet the clinging of her arms about my neck, and her cheek close to mine, +almost unnerved me. I held her fast with my left arm, and steadied +myself with my right. We gained in a minute or two the mouth of the +tunnel. The drift was pouring into it with a force almost too great for +me, burdened as I was. But there was the pause of the tide, when the +waves rushed out again in white floods, leaving the water comparatively +shallow. There were still six or eight yards to traverse before we could +reach an archway in the cliffs, which would land us in safety in the +outer caves. Across this small space the tide came in strongly, beating +against the foot of the rocks, and rebounding with great force. There +was some peril; but we had no alternative. I lifted Olivia a little +higher against my shoulder, for her long serge dress wrapped dangerously +around us both; and then, waiting for the pause in the throbbing of the +tide, I dashed hastily across. + +One swirl of the water coiled about us, washing up nearly to my throat, +and giving me almost a choking sensation of dread; but before a second +could swoop down upon us I had staggered half-blinded to the arch, and +put down Olivia in the small, secure cave within it. She had not spoken +once. She did not seem able to speak now. Her large, terrified eyes +looked up at me dumbly, and her face was white to the lips. I clasped +her in my arms once more, and kissed her forehead and lips again and +again in a paroxysm of passionate love and gladness. + +"Thank God!" I cried. "How I love you, Olivia!" + +I had told her only a few minutes before that the brain is ineffaceably +stamped with the impress of every event in our lives. But how much more +deeply do some events burn themselves there than others' I see it all +now--more clearly, it seems to me, than my eyes saw it then. There is +the huge, high entrance to the outer caves where we are standing, with a +massive lintel of rocks overhead, all black but for a few purple and +gray tints scattered across the blackness. Behind us the sea is +glistening, and prismatic colors play upon the cliffs. Shadows fall from +rocks we cannot see. Olivia stands before me, pale and terrified, the +water running from her heavy dress, which clings about her slender +figure. She shrinks away from me a pace or two. + +"Hush!" she cries, in a tone of mingled pain and dread--"hush!" + +There was something so positive, so prohibitory in her voice and +gesture, that my heart contracted, and a sudden chill of despondency ran +through me. But I could not be silent now. It was impossible for me to +hold my peace, even at her bidding. + +"Why do you say hush?" I asked, peremptorily. "I love you, Olivia. Is +there any reason why I should not love you?" + +"Yes," she said, very slowly and with quivering lips. "I was married +four years ago, and my husband is living still!" + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH. + +A GLOOMY ENDING. + + +Olivia's answer struck me like an electric shock. For some moments I was +simply stunned, and knew neither what she had said, nor where we were. + +I suppose half a minute had elapsed before I fairly received the meaning +of her words into my bewildered brain. It seemed as if they were +thundering in my ears, though she had uttered them in a low, frightened +voice. I scarcely understood them when I looked up and saw her leaning +against the rock, with her hands covering her face. + +"Olivia!" I cried, stretching out my arms toward her, as though she +would flutter back to them and lay her head again where it had been +resting upon my shoulder, with her face against my neck. + +But she did not see my gesture, and the next moment I knew that she +could never let me hold her in my arms again. I dared not even take one +step nearer to her. + +"Olivia," I said again, after another minute or two of troubled silence, +with no sound but the thunders of the sea reverberating through the +perilous strait where we had almost confronted death together--"Olivia, +is it true?" + +She bowed her head still lower upon her hands, in speechless +confirmation. A stricken, helpless, cowering child she seemed to me, +standing there in her drenched clothing. An unutterable tenderness, +altogether different from the feverish passion of a few minutes ago, +filled my heart as I looked at her. + +"Come," I said, as calmly as I could speak, "I am at any rate your +doctor, and I am bound to take care of you. You must not stay here wet +and cold. Let us make haste back to Tardif's, Olivia." + +I drew her hand down from her face and through my arm, for we had still +to re-enter the outer cave, and to return through a higher gallery, +before we could reach the cliffs above. I did not glance at her. The +road was very rough, strewed with huge bowlders, and she was compelled +to receive my help. But we did not speak again till we were on the +cliffs, in the eye of day, with our faces and our steps turned toward +Tardif's farm. + +"Oh!" she cried, suddenly, in a tone that made my heart ache the keener, +"how sorry I am!" + +"Sorry that I love you?" I asked, feeling that my love was growing every +moment in spite of myself. The sun shone on her face, which was just +below my eyes. There was an expression of sad perplexity and questioning +upon it, which kept away every other sign of emotion. She lifted her +eyes to me frankly, and no flush of color came over her pale cheeks. + +"Yes," she answered; "it is such a miserable, unfortunate thing for you. +But how could I have helped it?" + +"You could not help it," I said. + +"I did not mean to deceive you," she continued--"neither you nor any +one. When I fled away from him I had no plan of any kind. I was just +like a leaf driven about by the wind, and it tossed me here. I did not +think I ought to tell any one I was married. I wish I could have +foreseen this. Why did God let me have that accident in the spring? Why +did he let you come over to see me?" + +"Are you surprised that I love you?" I asked. + +Now I saw a subtle flush steal across her face, and her eyes fell to the +ground. + +"I never thought of it till this afternoon," she murmured. "I knew you +were going to marry your cousin Julia, and I knew I was married, and +that there could be no release from that. All my life is ruined, but you +and Tardif made it more bearable. I did not think you loved me till I +saw your face this afternoon." + +"I shall always love you," I cried, passionately, looking down on the +shining, drooping head beside me, and the sad face and listless arms +hanging down in an attitude of dejection. She seemed so forlorn a +creature that I wished I could take her to my heart again; but that was +impossible now. + +"No," she answered in her calm, sorrowful voice. "When you see clearly +that it is an evil thing, you will conquer it. There will be no hope +whatever in your love for me, and it will pass away. Not soon, perhaps; +I can scarcely wish you to forget me soon. Yet it would be wrong for you +to love me now. Why was I driven to marry him so long ago?" + +A sharp, bitter tone rang through her quiet voice, and for a moment she +hid her face in her hands. + +"Olivia," I said, "it is harder upon me than you can think, or I can +tell." + +She had not the faintest notion of how hard this trial was. I had +sacrificed every plan and purpose of my life in the hope of winning her. +I had cast away, almost as a worthless thing, the substantial prosperity +which had been within my grasp, and now that I stretched out my hand for +the prize, I found it nothing but an empty shadow. Deeper even than this +lay the thought of my mother's bitter disappointment. + +"Your husband must have treated you very badly, before you would take +such a desperate step as this," I said again, after a long silence, +scarcely knowing what I said. + +"He treated me so ill," said Olivia, with the same hard tone in her +voice, "that when I had a chance of escape it seemed as if God Himself +opened the door for me. He treated me so ill that, if I thought there +was any fear of him finding me out here, I would rather a thousand times +you had left me to die in the caves." + +That brought to my mind what I had almost forgotten--the woman whom my +imprudent curiosity had brought into pursuit; of her. I felt ready to +curse my folly aloud, as I did in my heart, for having gone to Messrs. +Scott and Brown. + +"Olivia," I said, "there is a woman in Guernsey who has some clew to +you--" + +But I could say no more, for I thought she would have fallen to the +ground in her terror. I drew her hand through my arm, and hastened to +reassure her. + +"No harm can come to you," I continued, "while Tardif and I are here to +protect you. Do not frighten yourself; we will defend you from every +danger." + +"Martin," she whispered--and the pleasant familiarity of my name spoken +by her gave me a sharp pang, almost of gladness--"no one can help me or +defend me. The law would compel me to go back to him. A woman's heart +may be broken without the law being broken. I could prove nothing that +would give me a right to be free--nothing. So I took it into my own +hands. I tell you I would rather have been drowned this afternoon. Why +did you save me?" + +I did not answer, except by pressing her hand against my side. I hurried +her on silently toward the cottage. She was shivering in her cold, wet +dress, and trembling with fear. It was plain to me that even her fine +health should not be trifled with, and I loved her too tenderly, her +poor, shivering, trembling frame, to let her suffer if I could help it. +When we reached the fold-yard gate, I stopped her for a moment to speak +only a few words. + +"Go in." I said, "and change, every one of your wet clothes. I will see +you again, once again, when we can talk with one another calmly. God +bless and take care of you, my darling!" + +She smiled faintly, and laid her hand in mine. + +"You forgive me?" she said. + +"Forgive you!" I repeated, kissing the small brown hand lingeringly; "I +have nothing to forgive." + +She went on across the little fold and into the house, without looking +back toward me. I could see her pass through the kitchen into her own +room, where I had watched her through the struggle between life and +death, which had first made her dear to me. Then I made my way, blind +and deaf, to the edge of the cliff, seeing nothing, hearing-nothing. I +flung myself down on the turf with my face to the ground, to hide my +eyes from the staring light of the summer sun. + +Already it seemed a long time since I had known that Olivia was married. +The knowledge had lost its freshness and novelty, and the sting of it +had become a rooted sorrow. There was no mystery about her now. I almost +laughed, with a resentful bitterness, at the poor guesses I had made. +This was the solution, and it placed her forever out of my reach. As +with Tardif, so she could be nothing for me now, but as the blue sky, +and the white clouds, and the stars shining in the night. My poor +Olivia! whom I loved a hundredfold more than I had done even this +morning. This morning I had been full of my own triumph and gladness. +Now I had nothing in my heart but a vast pity and reverential tenderness +for her. + +Married? That was what she had said. It shut out all hope for the +future. She must have been a mere child four years ago; she looked very +young and girlish still. And her husband treated her ill--my Olivia, for +whom I had given up all I had to give. She said the law would compel her +to return to him, and I could do nothing. I could not interfere even to +save her from a life which was worse to her than death. + +My heart was caught in a vice, and there was no escape from the torture +of its relentless grip. Whichever way I looked there was sorrow and +despair. I wished, with a faint-heartedness I had never felt before, +that Olivia and I had indeed perished together down in the caves where +the tide was now sweeping below me. + +"Martin!" said a clear, low, tender tone in my ear, which could never be +deaf to that voice. I looked up at Olivia without moving. My head was at +her feet, and I laid my hand upon the hem of her dress. + +"Martin," she said again, "see, I have brought you Tardifs coat in place +of your own. You must not lie here in this way. Captain Carey's yacht is +waiting for you below." + +I staggered giddily when I stood on my feet, and only Olivia's look of +pain steadied me. She had been weeping bitterly. I could not trust +myself to look in her face again. At any rate my next duty was to go +away without adding to her distress, if that were possible. Tardif was +standing behind her, regarding us both with great concern. + +"Doctor," he said, "when I came in from my lobster-pots, the captain +sent a message by me to say the sun would be gone down before you reach +Guernsey. He has come round to the Havre Gosselin. I'll walk down the +cliff with you." + +I should have said no, but Olivia caught at his words eagerly. + +"Yes, go, my good Tardif," she cried, "and bring me word that Dr. Martin +is safe on board.--Good-by!" + +Her hand in mine again for a moment, with its slight pressure. Then she +was gone, Tardif was tramping down the stony path before me, speaking to +me over his shoulder. + +"It has not gone well, then, doctor?" he said. + +"She will tell you," I answered, briefly, not knowing how much Olivia +might wish him to know. + +"Take care of mam'zelle," I said, when we had reached the top of the +ladder, and the little boat from the yacht was dancing at the foot of +it. "There is some danger ahead, and you can protect her better than I." + +"Yes, yes," he replied; "you may trust her with me. But God knows I +should have been glad if it had gone well with you." + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST. + +A STORY IN DETAIL. + + +"Well?" said Captain Carey, as I set my foot on the deck. His face was +all excitement; and he put his arm affectionately through mine. + +"It is all wrong," I answered, gloomily. + +"You don't mean that she will not have you?" he exclaimed. + +I nodded, for I had no spirit to explain the matter just then. + +"By George!" he cried; "and you've thrown over Julia, and offended all +our Guernsey folks, and half broken your poor mother's heart, all for +nothing!" + +The last consideration was the one that stung me to the quick. It _had_ +half broken my mother's heart. No one knew better than I that it had +without doubt tended to shorten her fleeting term of life. At this +moment she was waiting for me to bring her good news--perhaps the +promise that Olivia had consented to become my wife before her own last +hour arrived; for my mother and I had even talked of that. I had thought +it a romantic scheme when my mother spoke of it, but my passion had +fastened eagerly upon it, in spite of my better judgment. These were the +tidings she was waiting to hear from my lips. + +When I reached home I found her full of dangerous excitement. It was +impossible to allay it without telling her either an untruth or the +whole story. I could not deceive her, and with a desperate calmness I +related the history of the day. I tried to make light of my +disappointment, but she broke down into tears and wailings. + +"Oh, my boy!" she lamented; "and I did so want to see you happy before I +died: I wanted to leave some one who could comfort you; and Olivia would +have comforted you and loved you when I am gone! You had set your heart +upon her. Are you sure it is true? My poor, poor Martin, you must forget +her now. It becomes a sin for you to love her." + +"I cannot forget her," I said; "I cannot cease to love her. There can be +no sin in it as long as I think of her as I do now." + +"And there is poor Julia!" moaned my mother. + +Yes, there was Julia; and she would have to be told all, though she +would rejoice over it. Of course, she would rejoice; it was not in human +nature, at least in Julia's human nature, to do otherwise. She had +warned me against Olivia; had only set me free reluctantly. But how was +I to tell her? I must not leave to my mother the agitation of imparting +such tidings. I couldn't think of deputing the task to my father. There +was no one to do it but myself. + +My mother passed a restless and agitated night, and I, who sat up with +her, was compelled to listen to all her lamentation. But toward the +morning she fell into a heavy sleep, likely to last for some hours. I +could leave her in perfect security; and at an early hour I went down to +Julia's house, strung up to bear the worst, and intending to have it all +out with her, and put her on her guard before she paid her daily visit +to our house. She must have some hours for her excitement and rejoicing +to bubble over, before she came to talk about it to my mother. + +"I wish to see Miss Dobrée," I said to the girl who quickly answered my +noisy peal of the house-bell. + +"Please, sir,'" was her reply, "she and Miss Daltrey are gone to Sark +with Captain Carey." + +"Gone to Sark!" I repeated, in utter amazement. + +"Yes, Dr. Martin. They started quite early because of the tide, and +Captain Carey's man brought the carriage to take them to St. Sampson's. +I don't look for them back before evening. Miss Dobrée said I was to +come, with her love, and ask how Mrs. Dobrée is to-day, and if she's +home in time she'll come this evening; but if she's late she'll come +to-morrow morning." + +"When did they make up their minds to go to Sark?" I inquired, +anxiously. + +"Only late last night, sir," she answered. "Cook had settled with Miss +Dobrée to dine early to-day; but then Captain Carey came in, and after +he was gone she said breakfast must be ready at seven this morning in +their own rooms while they were dressing; so they must have settled it +with Captain Carey last night." + +I turned away very much surprised and bewildered, and in an irritable +state which made the least thing jar upon me. Curiosity, which had slept +yesterday, or was numbed by the shock of my disappointment, was +feverishly awake to-day. How little I knew, after all, of the mystery +which surrounded Olivia! The bitter core of it I knew, but nothing of +the many sheaths and envelops which wrapped it about. There might be +some hope, some consolation to be found wrapped up with it. I must go +again to Sark in the steamer on Monday, and hear Olivia tell me all she +could tell of her history. + +Then, why were Julia and Kate Daltrey gone to Sark? What could they have +to do with Olivia? It made me almost wild with anger to think of them +finding Olivia, and talking to her perhaps of me and my +love--questioning her, arguing with her, tormenting her! The bare +thought of those two badgering my Olivia was enough to drive me frantic. + +In the cool twilight, Julia and Kate Daltrey were announced. I was about +to withdraw from my mother's room, in conformity with the etiquette +established among us, when Julia recalled me in a gentler voice than she +had used toward me since the day of my fatal confession. + +"Stay, Martin," she said; "what we have to tell concerns you more than +any one." + +I sat down again by my mother's sofa, and she took my hand between both +her own, fondling it in the dusk. + +"It is about Olivia," I said, in as cool a tone as I could command. + +"Yes," answered Julia; "we have seen her, and we have found out why she +has refused you. She is married already." + +"She told me so yesterday," I replied. + +"Told you so yesterday!" repeated Julia, in an accent of chagrin. "If we +had only known that, we might have saved ourselves the passage across to +Sark." + +"My dear Julia," exclaimed my mother, feverishly, "do tell us all about +it, and begin at the beginning." + +There was nothing Julia liked so much, or could do so well, as to give a +circumstantial account of any thing she had done. She could relate +minute details with so much accuracy, without being exactly tedious, +that when one was lazy or unoccupied it was pleasant to listen. My +mother enjoyed, with all the delight of a woman, the small touches by +which Julia embellished her sketches. I resigned myself to hearing a +long history, when I was burning to ask one or two questions and have +done with the topic. + +"To begin at the beginning, then," said Julia, "dear Captain Carey came +into town very late last night to talk to us about Martin, and how the +girl in Sark had refused him. I was very much astonished, very much +indeed! Captain Carey said that he and dear Johanna had come to the +conclusion that the girl felt some delicacy, perhaps, because of +Martin's engagement to me. We talked it over as friends, and thought of +you, dear aunt, and your grief and disappointment, till all at once I +made up my mind in a moment. 'I will go over to Sark and see the girl +myself,' I said. 'Will you?' said Captain Carey. 'Oh, no, Julia, it will +be too much for you.' 'It would have been a few weeks ago,' I said; 'but +now I could do any thing to give Aunt Dobrée a moment's happiness.'" + +"God bless you, Julia!" I interrupted, going across to her and kissing +her cheek impetuously. + +"There, don't stop me, Martin," she said, earnestly. "So it was arranged +off-hand that Captain Carey should send for us at St. Sampson's this +morning, and take us over to Sark. You know Kate has never been yet. We +had a splendid passage, and landed at the Creux, where the yacht was to +wait till we returned. Kate was in raptures with the landing-place, and +the lovely lane leading up into the island. We went on past Vaudin's Inn +and the mill, and turned down the nearest way to Tardifs. Kate said she +never felt any air like the air of Sark. Well, you know that brown pool, +a very brown pool, in the lane leading to the Havre Gosselin? Just +there, where there are some low, weather-beaten trees meeting overhead +and making a long green isle, with the sun shining down through the +knotted branches, we saw all in a moment a slim, erect, very +young-looking girl coming toward us. She was carrying her bonnet in her +hand, and her hair curled in short, bright curls all over her head. I +knew in an instant that it was Miss Ollivier." + +She paused for a minute. How plainly I could see the picture! The +arching trees, and the sunbeams playing fondly with her shining golden +hair! I held my breath to listen. + +"What completely startled me," said Julia, "was that Kate suddenly +darted forward and ran to meet her, crying 'Olivia!'" + +"How does she know her?" I exclaimed. + +"Hush. Martin! Don't interrupt me. The girl went so deadly pale, I +thought she was going to faint, but she did not. She stood for a minute +looking at us, and then she burst into the most dreadful fit of crying! + +"I ran to her, and made her sit down on a little bank of turf close by, +and gave her my smelling-bottle, and did all I could to comfort her. +By-and-by, as soon as she could speak, she said to Kate, 'How did you +find me out?' and Kate told her she had not the slightest idea of +finding her there. 'Dr. Martin Dobrée, of Guernsey, told me you were +looking for me, only yesterday,' she said. + +"That took us by surprise, for Kate had not the faintest idea of seeing +her. I have always thought her name was Ollivier, and so did Kate. 'For +pity's sake,' said the girl, 'if you have any pity, leave me here in +peace. For God's sake do not betray me!' + +"I could hardly believe it was not a dream. There was Kate standing over +us, looking very stern and severe, and the girl was clinging to me--to +_me_, as if I were her dearest friend. Then all of a sudden up came old +Mother Renouf, looking half crazed, and began to harangue us for +frightening mam'zelle. Tardif, she said, would be at hand in a minute or +two, and he would take care of her from us and everybody else. 'Take me +away!' cried the girl, running to her; and the old woman tucked her hand +under her arm, and walked off with her in triumph, leaving us by +ourselves in the lane." + +"But what does it all mean?" asked my mother, while I paced to and fro +in the dim room, scarcely able to control my impatience, yet afraid to +question Julia too eagerly. + +"I can tell you," said Kate Daltrey, in her cold, deliberate tones; "she +is the wife of my half-brother, Richard Foster, who married her more +than four years ago in Melbourne; and she ran away from him last +October, and has not been heard of since." + +"Then you know her whole history," I said, approaching her and pausing +before her. "Are you at liberty to tell it to us?" + +"Certainly," she answered; "it is no secret. Her father was a wealthy +colonist, and he died when she was fifteen, leaving her in the charge of +her step-mother, Richard Foster's aunt. The match was one of the +stepmother's making, for Olivia was little better than a child. Richard +was glad enough to get her fortune, or rather the income from it, for of +course she did not come into full possession of it till she was of age. +One-third of it was settled upon her absolutely; the other two-thirds +came to her for her to do what she pleased with it. Richard was looking +forward eagerly to her being one-and-twenty, for he had made ducks and +drakes of his own property, and tried to do the same with mine. He would +have done so with his wife's; but a few weeks before Olivia's +twenty-first birthday, she disappeared mysteriously. There her fortune +lies, and Richard has no more power than I have to touch it. He cannot +even claim the money lying in the Bank of Australia, which has been +remitted by her trustees; nor can Olivia claim it without making +herself known to him. It is accumulating there, while both of them are +on the verge of poverty." + +"But he must have been very cruel to her before she would run away!" +said my mother in a very pitiful voice. Poor mother! she had borne her +own sorrows dumbly, and to leave her husband had probably never occurred +to her. + +"Cruel!" repeated Kate Daltrey. "Well, there are many kinds of cruelty. +I do not suppose Richard would ever transgress the limits of the law. +But Olivia was one of those girls who can suffer great torture--mental +torture I mean. Even I could not live in the same house with him, and +she was a dreamy, sensitive, romantic child, with as much knowledge of +the world as a baby. I was astonished to hear she had had daring enough +to leave him." + +"But there must be some protection for her from the law," I said, +thinking of the bold, coarse woman, no doubt his associate, who was in +pursuit of Olivia. "She might sue for a judicial separation, at the +least, if not a divorce." + +"I am quite sure nothing could be brought against him in a court of +law," she answered. "He is very wary and cunning, and knows very well +what he may do and what he may not do. A few months before Olivia's +flight, he introduced a woman as her companion--a disreputable woman +probably; but he calls her his cousin, and I do not know how Olivia +could prove her an unfit person to be with her. Our suspicions may be +very strong, but suspicion is not enough for an English judge and jury. +Since I saw her this morning I have been thinking of her position in +every light, and I really do not see any thing she could have done, +except running away as she did, or making up her mind to be deaf and +blind and dumb. There was no other alternative." + +"But could he not be induced to leave her in peace if she gave up a +portion of her property?" I asked. + +"Why should he?" she retorted. "If she was in his hands the whole of the +property would be his. He will never release her--never. No, her only +chance is to hide herself from him. The law cannot deal with wrongs like +hers, because they are as light as air apparently, though they are as +all-pervading as air is, and as poisonous as air can be. They are like +choke-damp, only not quite fatal. He is as crafty and cunning as a +serpent. He could prove himself the kindest, most considerate of +husbands, and Olivia next thing to an idiot. Oh, it is ridiculous to +think of pitting a girl like her against him!" + +"If she had been older, or if she had had a child, she would never have +left him," said my mother's gentle and sorrowful voice. + +"But what can be done for her?" I asked, vehemently and passionately. +"My poor Olivia! what can I do to protect her?" + +"Nothing!" answered Kate Daltrey, coldly. "Her only chance is +concealment, and what a poor chance that is! I went over to Sark, never +thinking that your Miss Ollivier whom I had heard so much of was Olivia +Foster. It is an out-of-the-world place; but so much the more readily +they will find her, if they once get a clew. A fox is soon caught when +it cannot double; and how could Olivia escape if they only traced her to +Sark?" + +My dread of the woman into whose hands my imbecile curiosity had put the +clew was growing greater every minute. It seemed as if Olivia could not +be safe now, day or night; yet what protection could I or Tardif give to +her? + +"You will not betray her?" I said to Kate Daltrey, though feeling all +the time that I could not trust her in the smallest degree. + +"I have promised dear Julia that," she answered. + +I should fail to give you any clear idea of my state of mind should I +attempt to analyze it. The most bitter thought in it was that my own +imprudence had betrayed Olivia. But for me she might have remained for +years, in peace and perfect seclusion, in the home to which she had +drifted. Richard Foster and his accomplice must have lost all hope of +finding her during the many months that had elapsed between her +disappearance and my visit to their solicitors. That had put them on the +track again. If the law forced her back to her husband, it was I who had +helped him to find her. That was a maddening thought. My love for her +was hopeless; but what then? I discovered to my own amazement that I had +loved her for her sake, not my own. I had loved the woman in herself, +not the woman as my wife. She could never become that, but she was +dearer to me than ever. She was as far removed from me as from Tardif. +Could I not serve her with as deep a devotion and as true a chivalry as +his? She belonged to both of us by as unselfish and noble a bond as ever +knights of old were pledged to. + +It became my duty to keep a strict watch over the woman who had come to +Guernsey to find Olivia. If possible I must decoy her away from the +lowly nest where my helpless bird was sheltered. She had not sent for me +again, but I called upon her the next morning professionally, and stayed +some time talking with her. But nothing resulted from the visit beyond +the assurance that she had not yet made any progress toward the +discovery of my secret. I almost marvelled at this, so universal had +been the gossip about my visits to Sark in connection with the +breaking-off of my engagement to Julia. But that had occurred in the +spring, and the nine-days' wonder had ceased before my patient came to +the island. Still, any accidental conversation might give her the +information, and open up a favorable chance for her. I must not let her +go across to Sark unknown to myself. + +Neither did I feel quite safe about Kate Daltrey. She gave me the +impression of being as crafty and cunning as she described her +half-brother. Did she know this woman by sight? That was a question I +could not answer. There was another question hanging upon it. If she saw +her, would she not in some way contrive to give her a sufficient hint, +without positively breaking her promise to Julia? Kate Daltrey's name +did not appear in the newspapers among the list of visitors, as she was +staying in a private house; but she and this woman might meet any day in +the streets or on the pier. + +Then the whole story had been confided by Julia at once to Captain Carey +and Johanna. That was quite natural; but it was equally natural for them +to confide it again to some one or two of their intimate friends. The +secret was already an open one among six persons. Could it be considered +a secret any longer? The tendency of such a singular story, whispered +from one to another, is to become in the long-run more widely circulated +than if it were openly proclaimed. I had a strong affection for my +circle of cousins, which widened as the circle round a stone cast into +water; but I knew I might as well try to arrest the eddying of such +waters as stop the spread of a story like Olivia's. + +I had resolved, in the first access of my curiosity, to cross over to +Sark the next week, alone and independent of Captain Carey. Every Monday +the Queen of the Isles made her accustomed trip to the island, to convey +visitors there for the day. + +I had not been on deck two minutes the following Monday when I saw my +patient step on after me. The last clew was in her fingers now, that was +evident. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND. + +OLIVIA GONE. + + +She did not see me at first; but her air was exultant and satisfied. +There was no face on board so elated and flushed. I kept out of her way +as long as I could without consigning myself to the black hole of the +cabin; but at last she caught sight of me, and came down to the +forecastle to claim me as an acquaintance. + +"Ha! ha! Dr. Dobrée!" she exclaimed; "so you are going to visit Sark +too?" + +"Yes," I answered, more curtly than courteously. + +"You are looking rather low," she said, triumphantly--"rather blue, I +might say. Is there any thing the matter with you? Your face is as long +as a fiddle. Perhaps it is the sea that makes you melancholy." + +"Not at all," I answered, trying to speak briskly; "I am an old sailor. +Perhaps you will feel melancholy by-and-by." + +Luckily for me, my prophecy was fulfilled shortly after, for the day was +rough enough to produce uncomfortable sensations in those who were not +old sailors like myself. My tormentor was prostrate to the last moment. + +When we anchored at the entrance of the Creux, and the small boats came +out to carry us ashore, I managed easily to secure a place in the first, +and to lose sight of her in the bustle of landing. As soon as my feet +touched the shore I started off at my swiftest pace for the Havre +Gosselin. + +But I had not far to go, for at Vaudin's Inn, which stands at the top of +the steep lane running from the Creux Harbor, I saw Tardif at the door. +Now and then he acted as guide when young Vaudin could not fill that +office, or had more parties than he could manage; and Tardif was now +waiting the arrival of the weekly stream of tourists. He came to me +instantly, and we sat down on a low stone wall on the roadside, but +well out of hearing of any ears but each other's. + +"Tardif," I said, "has mam'zelle told you her secret?" + +"Yes, yes," he answered; "poor little soul! and she is a hundredfold +dearer to me now than before." + +He looked as if he meant it, for his eyes moistened and his face +quivered. + +"She is in great danger at this moment," I continued. "A woman sent by +her husband has been lurking about in Guernsey to get news of her, and +she has come across in the steamer to-day. She will be in sight of us in +a few minutes. There is no chance of her not learning where she is +living. But could we not hide Olivia somewhere? There are caves +strangers know nothing of. We might take her over to Breckhou. Be quick, +Tardif! we must decide at once what to do." + +"But mam'zelle is not here. She is gone!" he answered. + +"Gone!" I ejaculated. I could not utter another word; but I stared at +him as if my eyes could tear further information from him. + +"Yes," he said; "that lady came last week with Miss Dobrée, your cousin. +Then mam'zelle told me all, and we took counsel together. It was not +safe for her to stay any longer, though I would have died for her +gladly. But what could be done? We knew she must go elsewhere, and the +next morning I rowed her over to Peter-Port in time for the steamer to +England. Poor little thing! poor little hunted soul!" + +His voice faltered as he spoke, and he drew his fisherman's cap close +down over his eyes. I did not speak again for a minute or two. + +"Tardif," I said at last, as the foremost among the tourists came in +sight, "did she leave no message for me?" + +"She wrote a letter for you," he said, "the very last thing. She did not +go to bed that night, neither did I. I was going to lose her, doctor, +and she had been like the light of the sun to me. But what could I do? +She was terrified to death at the thought of her husband claiming her. I +promised to give the letter into your own hands; but we settled I must +not show myself in Peter-Port the day she left. Here it is." + +It had been lying in his breast-pocket, and the edges were worn already. +He gave it to me lingeringly, as if loath to part with it. The tourists +were coming up in greater numbers, and I made a retreat hastily toward a +quiet and remote part of the cliffs seldom visited in Little Sark. + +There, with the sea, which had carried her away from me, playing +buoyantly among the rocks, I read her farewell letter. It ran thus: + +"My dear Friend: I am glad I can call you my friend, though nothing can +ever come of our friendship--nothing, for we may not see one another as +other friends do. My life was ruined four years ago, and every now and +then I see afresh how complete and terrible the ruin is. Yet if I had +known beforehand how your life would be linked with mine, I would have +done any thing in my power to save you from sharing in my ruin. Ought I +to have told you at once that I was married? But just that was my +secret, and it seemed so much safer while no one knew it but myself. I +did not see, as I do now, that I was acting a falsehood. I do not see +how I can help doing that. It is as shocking to me as to you. Do not +judge me harshly. + +"I do not like to speak to you about my marriage. I was very young and +very miserable; any change seemed better than living with my +step-mother. I did not know what I was doing. The Saviour said, 'Father, +forgive them, for they know not what they do.' I hope I shall be +forgiven by you, and your mother, and God, for indeed I did not know +what I was doing. + +"Last October when I escaped from them, it was partly because I felt I +should soon be as wicked as they. I do not think any one ought to remain +where there is no chance of being good. If I am wrong, remember I am not +old yet. I may learn what my duty is, and then I will do it. I am only +waiting to find out exactly what I ought to do, and then I will do it, +whatever it may be. + +"Now I am compelled to flee away again from this quiet, peaceful home +where you and Tardif have been so good to me. I began to feel perfectly +safe here, and all at once the refuge fails me. It breaks my heart, but +I must go, and my only gladness is that it will be good for you. +By-and-by you will forget me, and return to your cousin Julia, and be +happy just as you once thought you should be--as you would have been but +for me. You must think of me as one dead. I am quite dead--lost to you. + +"Yet I know you will sometimes wish to hear what has become of me. +Tardif will. And I owe you both more than I can ever repay. But it would +not be well for me to write often. I have promised Tardif that I will +write to him once a year, that you and he may know that I am still +alive. When there comes no letter, say, 'Olivia is dead!' Do not be +grieved for that; it will be the greatest, best release God can give me. +Say, 'Thank God, Olivia is dead!' + +"Good-by, my dear friend; good-by, good-by! + +"OLIVIA." + +The last line was written in a shaken, irregular hand, and her name was +half blotted out, as if a tear had fallen upon it. I remained there +alone on the wild and solitary cliffs until it was time to return to the +steamer. + +Tardif was waiting for me at the entrance of the little tunnel through +which the road passes down to the harbor. He did not speak at first, but +he drew out of his pocket an old leather pouch filled with yellow +papers. Among them lay a long curling tress of shining hair. He touched +it gently with his finger, as if it had feeling and consciousness. + +"You would like to have it, doctor?" he said. + +"Ay," I answered, and that only. I could not venture upon another word. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD. + +THE EBB OF LIFE. + + +There was nothing now for me to do but to devote myself wholly to my +mother. + +I made the malady under which she was slowly sinking my special study. +There remained a spark of hope yet in my heart that I might by diligent, +intense, unflagging search, discover some remedy yet untried, or perhaps +unthought of. I succeeded only in alleviating her sufferings. I pored +over every work which treated of the same class of diseases. At last in +an old, almost-forgotten book, I came upon a simple medicament, which, +united with appliances made available by modern science, gave her +sensible relief, and without doubt tended to prolong her shortening +days. The agonizing thought haunted me that, had I come upon this +discovery at an earlier stage of her illness, her life might have been +spared for many years. + +But it was too late now. She suffered less, and her spirits grew calm +and even. We even ventured, at her own wish, to spend a week together in +Sark, she and I--a week never to be forgotten, full of exquisite pain +and exquisite enjoyment to us both. We revisited almost every place +where we had been many years before, while I was but a child and she was +still young and strong. Tardif rowed us out in his boat under the +cliffs. Then we came home again, and she sank rapidly, as if the flame +of life had been burning too quickly in the breath of those innocent +pleasures. + +Now she began to be troubled again with the dread of leaving me alone +and comfortless. There is no passage in Christ's farewell to His +disciples which, touches me so much as those words, "I will not leave +you comfortless; I will come unto you." My mother could not promise to +come back to me, and her dying vision looked sorrowfully into the future +for me. Sometimes she put her fear into words--faltering and foreboding +words; but it was always in her eyes, as they followed me wherever I +went with a mute, pathetic anxiety. No assurances of mine, no assumed +cheerfulness and fortitude could remove it. I even tried to laugh at +it, but my laugh only brought the tears into her eyes. Neither reason +nor ridicule could root it out--a root of bitterness indeed. + +"Martin," she said, in her failing, plaintive voice, one evening when +Julia and I were both sitting with her, for we met now without any +regard to etiquette--"Martin, Julia and I have been talking about your +future life while you were away." + +Julia's face flushed a little. She was seated on a footstool by my +mother's sofa, and looked softer and gentler than I had ever seen her +look. She had been nursing my mother with a single-hearted, +self-forgetful devotion that had often touched me, and had knit us to +one another by the common bond of an absorbing interest. Certainly I had +never leaned upon or loved Julia as I was doing now. + +"There is no chance of your ever marrying Olivia now," continued my +mother, faintly, "and it is a sin for you to cherish your love for her. +That is a very plain duty, Martin." + +"Such love as I cherish for Olivia will hurt neither her nor myself," I +answered. "I would not wrong her by a thought." + +"But she can never be your wife," she said. + +"I never think of her as my wife," I replied; "but I can no more cease +to love her than I can cease to breathe. She has become part of my life, +mother." + +"Still, time and change must make a difference," she said. "You will +realize your loneliness when I am gone, though you cannot before. I want +to have some idea of what you will be doing in the years to come, before +we meet again. If I think at all, I shall be thinking of you, and I do +long to have some little notion. You will not mind me forming one poor +little plan for you once more, my boy?" + +"No," I answered, smiling to keep back the tears that were ready to +start to my eyes. + +"I scarcely know how to tell you," she said. "You must not be angry or +offended with us. But my dear Julia has promised me, out of pure love +and pity for me, you know, that if ever--how can I express it?--if you +ever wish you could return to the old plans--it may be a long time +first, but if you conquered your love for Olivia, and could go back, and +wished to go back to the time before you knew her--Julia will forget all +that has come between. Julia would consent to marry you if you asked her +to be your wife. O Martin, I should die so much happier if I thought you +would ever marry Julia, and go to live in the house I helped to get +ready for you!" + +Julia's head had dropped upon my mother's shoulder, and her face was +hidden, while my mother's eyes sought mine beseechingly. I was +irresistibly overcome by this new proof of her love for both of us, for +I knew well what a struggle it must have been to her to gain the mastery +over her proper pride and just resentment. I knelt down beside her, +clasping her hand and my mother's in my own. + +"Mother, Julia," I said, "I promise that if ever I can be true in heart +and soul to a wife, I will ask Julia to become mine. But it may be many +years hence; I dare not say how long. God alone knows how dear Olivia is +to me. And Julia is too good to waste herself upon so foolish a fellow. +She may change, and see some one she can love better." + +"That is nonsense, Martin," answered Julia, with a ring of the old +sharpness in her tone; "at my age I am not likely to fall in love +again.--Don't be afraid, aunt; I shall not change, and I will take care +of Martin. His home is ready, and he will come back to me some day, and +it will all be as you wish." + +I know that promise of ours comforted her, for she never lamented over +my coming solitude again. + +I have very little more I can say about her. When I look back and try to +write more fully of those last, lingering days, my heart fails me. The +darkened room, the muffled sounds, the loitering, creeping, yet too +rapid hours! I had no time to think of Julia, of Olivia, or of myself; I +was wrapped up in her. + +One evening--we were quite alone--she called me to come closer to her, +in that faint, far-off voice of hers, which seemed already to be +speaking from another world. I was sitting so near to her that I could +touch her with my hand, but she wanted me nearer--with my arm across +her, and my cheek against hers. + +"My boy," she whispered, "I am going." + +"Not yet, mother," I cried; "not yet! I have so much to say. Stay with +me a day or two longer." + +"If I could," she murmured, every word broken with her panting breath, +"I would stay with you forever! Be patient with your father, Martin. Say +good-by for me to him and Julia. Don't stir. Let me die so!" + +"You shall not die, mother," I said, passionately. + +"There is no pain," she whispered--"no pain at all; it is taken away. I +am only sorry for my boy. What will he do when I am gone? Where are you, +Martin?" + +"I am here, mother!" I answered--"close to you. O God! I would go with +you if I could." + +Then she lay still for a time, pressing my arm about her with her feeble +fingers. Would she speak to me no more? Had the dearest voice in the +world gone away altogether into that far-off, and, to us, silent country +whither the dying go? Dumb, blind, deaf to _me_? She was breathing yet, +and her heart fluttered faintly against my arm. Would not my mother know +me again? + +"O Martin!" she murmured, "there is great love in store for us all! I +did not know how great the love was till now!" + +There had been a quicker, more irregular throbbing of her heart as she +spoke. Then--I waited, but there came no other pulsation. Suddenly I +felt as if I also must be dying, for I passed into a state of utter +darkness and unconsciousness. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH. + +A DISCONSOLATE WIDOWER. + + +My senses returned painfully, with a dull and blunted perception that +some great calamity had overtaken me. I was in my mother's +dressing-room, and Julia was holding to my nostrils some sharp essence, +which had penetrated to the brain and brought back consciousness. My +father was sitting by the empty grate, sobbing and weeping vehemently. +The door into my mother's bedroom was closed. I knew instantly what was +going on there. + +I suppose no man ever fainted without being ashamed of it. Even in the +agony of my awakening consciousness I felt the inevitable sting of shame +at my weakness and womanishness. I pushed away Julia's hand, and raised +myself. I got up on my feet and walked unsteadily and blindly toward the +shut door. + +"Martin," said Julia, "you must not go back there. It is all over." + +I heard my father calling me in a broken voice, and I turned to him. His +frame was shaken by the violence of his sobs, and he could not lift up +his head from his hands. There was no effort at self-control about him. +At times his cries grew loud enough to be heard all over the house. + +"Oh, my son!" he said, "we shall never see any one like your poor mother +again! She was the best wife any man ever had! Oh, what a loss she is to +me!" + +I could not speak of her just then, nor could I say a word to comfort +him. She had bidden me be patient with him, but already I found the task +almost beyond me. I told Julia I was going up to my own room for the +rest of the night, if there were nothing for me to do. She put her arms +round my neck and kissed me as if she had been my sister, telling me I +could leave every thing to her. Then I went away into the solitude that +had indeed begun to close around me. + +When the heart of a man is solitary, there is no society for him even +among a crowd of friends. All deep love and close companionship seemed +stricken out of my life. + +We laid her in the cemetery, in a grave where the wide-spreading +branches of some beech-trees threw a pleasant shadow over it during the +day. At times the moan of the sea could be heard there, when the surf +rolled in strongly upon the shore of Cobo Bay. The white crest of the +waves could be seen from it, tossing over the sunken reefs at sea; yet +it lay in the heart of our island. She had chosen the spot for herself, +not very long ago, when we had been there together. Now I went there +alone. + +I counted my father and his loud grief as nothing. There was neither +sympathy nor companionship between us. He was very vehement in his +lamentations, repeating to every one who came to condole with us that +there never had lived such a wife, and his loss was the greatest that +man could bear. His loss was nothing to mine. + +Yet I did draw a little nearer to him in the first few weeks of our +bereavement. Almost insensibly I fell into our old plan of sharing the +practice, for he was often unfit to go out and see our patients. The +house was very desolate now, and soon lost those little delicate traces +of feminine occupancy which constitute the charm of a home, and to which +we had been all our lives accustomed. Julia could not leave her own +household, even if it had been possible for her to return to her place +in our deserted dwelling. The flowers faded and died unchanged in the +vases, and there was no dainty woman's work lying about--that litter of +white and colored shreds of silk and muslin, which give to a room an +inhabited appearance. These were so familiar to me, that the total +absence of them was like the barrenness of a garden without flowers in +bloom. + +My father did not feel this as I did, for he was not often at home after +the first violence of his grief had spent itself. Julia's house was open +to him in a manner it could not be open to me. I was made welcome there, +it is true; but Julia was not unembarrassed and at home with me. The +half-engagement renewed between us rendered it difficult to us both to +meet on the simple ground of friendship and relationship. Moreover, I +shrank from setting gossips' tongues going again on the subject of my +chances of marrying my cousin; so I remained at home, alone, evening +after evening, unless I was called out professionally, declining all +invitations, and brooding unwholesomely over my grief. There is no more +cowardly a way of meeting a sorrow. But I was out of heart, and no words +could better express the morbid melancholy I was sinking into. + +There was some tedious legal business to go through, for my mother's +small property, bringing in a hundred a year, came to me on her death. I +could not alienate it, but I wished Julia to receive the income as part +payment of my father's defalcations. She would not listen to such a +proposal, and she showed me that she had a shrewd notion of the true +state of our finances. They were in such a state that if I left Guernsey +with my little income my father would positively find some difficulty in +making both ends meet; the more so as I was becoming decidedly the +favorite with our patients, who began to call him slightingly the "old +doctor." No path opened up for me in any other direction. It appeared as +if I were to be bound to the place which was no longer a home to me. + +I wrote to this effect to Jack Senior, who was urging my return to +England. I could not bring myself to believe that this dreary, +monotonous routine of professional duties, of very little interest or +importance, was all that life should offer to me. Yet for the present my +duty was plain. There was no help for it. + +I made some inquiries at the lodging-house in Vauvert Road, and learned +that the person who had been in search of Olivia had left Guernsey about +the time when I was so fully engrossed with my mother as to have but +little thought for any one else. Of Olivia there was neither trace nor +tidings. Tardif came up to see me whenever he crossed over from Sark, +but he had no information to give to me. The chances were that she was +in London; but she was as much lost to me as if she had been lying +beside my mother under the green turf of Foulon Cemetery. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH. + +THE WIDOWER COMFORTED. + + +In this manner three months passed slowly away after my mother's death. +Dr. Dobrée, who was utterly inconsolable the first few weeks, fell into +all his old maundering, philandering ways again, spending hours upon his +toilet, and paying devoted attentions to every passable woman who came +across his path. My temper grew like touch-wood; the least spark would +set it in a blaze. I could not take such things in good part. + +We had been at daggers-drawn for a day or two, he and I, when one +morning I was astonished by the appearance of Julia in our +consulting-room, soon after my father, having dressed himself +elaborately, had quitted the house. Julia's face was ominous, the upper +lip very straight, and a frown upon her brow. I wondered what could be +the matter, but I held my tongue. My knowledge of Julia was intimate +enough for me to hit upon the right moment for speech or silence--a rare +advantage. It was the time to refrain from speaking. Julia was no +termagant--simply a woman who had had her own way all her life, and was +so sure it was the best way that she could not understand why other +people should wish to have theirs. + +"Martin," she began in a low key, but one that might run up to +shrillness if advisable, "I am come to tell you something that fills me +with shame and anger. I do not know how to contain myself. I could never +have believed that I could have been so blind and foolish. But it seems +as if I were doomed to be deceived and disappointed on every hand--I who +would not deceive or disappoint anybody in the world. I declare it makes +me quite ill to think of it. Just look at my hands, how they tremble." + +"Your nervous system is out of order," I remarked. + +"It is the world that is out of order," she said, petulantly; "I am well +enough. Oh, I do not know how ever I am to tell you. There are some +things it is a shame to speak of." + +"Must you speak of them?" I asked. + +"Yes; you must know, you will have to know all, sooner or later. If +there was any hope of it coming to nothing, I should try to spare you +this; but they are both so bent upon disgracing themselves, so deaf to +reason! If my poor, dear aunt knew of it, she could not rest in her +grave. Martin, cannot you guess? Are men born so dull that they cannot +see what is going on under their own eyes?" + +"I have not the least idea of what you are driving at," I answered. "Sit +down, my dear Julia, and calm yourself. Shall I give you a glass of +wine?" + +"No, no," she said, with a gesture of impatience. "How long is it since +my poor, dear aunt died?" + +"You know as well as I do," I replied, wondering that she should touch +the wound so roughly. "Three months next Sunday." + +"And Dr. Dobrée," she said, in a bitter accent--then stopped, looking me +full in the face. I had never heard her call my father Dr. Dobrée in my +life. She was very fond of him, and attracted by him, as most women +were, and as few women are attracted by me. Even now, with all the +difference in our age, the advantage being on my side, it was seldom I +succeeded in pleasing as much as he did. I gazed back in amazement at +Julia's dark and moody face. + +"What now?" I asked. "What has my unlucky father been doing now?" + +"Why," she exclaimed, stamping her foot, while the blood mantled to her +forehead, "Dr. Dobrée is in haste to take a second wife! He is indeed, +my poor Martin. He wishes to be married immediately to that viper, Kate +Daltrey." + +"Impossible!" I cried, stung to the quick by these words. I remembered +my mother's mild, instinctive dislike to Kate Daltrey, and her harmless +hope that I would not go over to her side. Go over to her side! No. If +she set her foot into this house as my mother's successor, I would never +dwell under the same roof. As soon as my father made her his wife I +would cut myself adrift from them both. But he knew that; he would never +venture to outrage my mother's memory or my feelings in such a flagrant +manner. + +"It is possible, for it is true," said Julia. She had not let her voice +rise above its low, angry key, and now it sank nearly to a whisper, as +she glanced round at the door. "They have understood each other these +four weeks. You may call it an engagement, for it is one; and I never +suspected them, not for a moment! He came down to my house to be +comforted, he said: his house was so dreary now. And I was as blind as a +mole. I shall never forgive myself, dear Martin. I knew he was given to +all that kind of thing, but then he seemed to mourn for my poor aunt so +deeply, and was so heart-broken. He made ten times more show of it than +you did. I have heard people say you bore it very well, and were quite +unmoved, but I knew better. Everybody said _he_ could never get over it. +Couldn't you take out a commission of lunacy against him? He must be mad +to think of such a thing." + +"How did you find it out?" I inquired. + +"Oh, I was so ashamed!" she said. "You see I had not the faintest shadow +of a suspicion. I had left them in the drawing-room to go up-stairs, and +I thought of something I wanted, and went back suddenly, and there they +were--his arm around her waist, and her head on his shoulder--he with +his gray hairs too! She says she is the same age as me, but she is forty +if she is a day. The simpletons! I did not know what to say, or how to +look. I could not get out of the room again as if I had not seen, for I +cried 'Oh!' at the first sight of them. Then I stood staring at them; +but I think they felt as uncomfortable as I did." + +"What did they say?" I asked, sternly. + +"Oh, he came up to me quite in his dramatic way, you know, trying to +carry it off by looking grand and majestic; and he was going to take my +hand and lead me to her, but I would not stir a step. 'My love,' he +said, 'I am about to steal your friend from you.' 'She is no friend of +mine,' I said, 'if she is going to be what all this intimates, I +suppose. I will never speak to her or you again, Dr. Dobrée.' Upon that +he began to weep, and protest, and declaim, while she sat still and +glared at me. I never thought her eyes could look like that. 'When do +you mean to be married?' I asked, for he made no secret of his intention +to make her his wife. 'What is the good of waiting?' he said, 'My home +is miserable with no woman in it.' 'Uncle,' I said, 'if you will promise +me to give up the idea of a second marriage, which is ridiculous at your +age, I will come back to you, in spite of all the awkwardness of my +position with regard to Martin. For my aunt's sake I will come back.' +Even an arrangement like this would be better than his marriage with +that woman--don't you think so?" + +"A hundred times better," I said, warmly. "It was very good of you, +Julia. But he would not agree to that, would he?" + +"He wouldn't hear of it. He swore that Kate was as dear to him as ever +my poor aunt was. He vowed he could not live without her and her +companionship. He maintained that his age did not make it ridiculous. +Kate hid her brazen face in her hands, and sobbed aloud. + +"That made him ten times worse an idiot. He knelt down before her, and +implored her to look at him. I reminded him how all the island would +rise against him--worse than it did against you, Martin--and he declared +he did not care a fig for the island! I asked him how he would face the +Careys, and the Brocks, and the De Saumarez, and all the rest of them, +and he snapped his fingers at them all. Oh, he must be going out of his +mind." + +I shook my head. Knowing him as thoroughly as a long and close study +could help me to know any man, I was less surprised than Julia, who had +only seen him from a woman's point of view, and had always been lenient +to his faults. Unfortunately, I knew my father too well. + +"Then I talked to him about the duty he owed to our family name," she +resumed, "and I went so far as to remind him of what I had done to +shield him and it from disgrace, and he mocked at it--positively mocked +at it! He said there was no sort of parallel. It would be no dishonor to +our house to receive Kate into it, even if they were married at once. +What did it signify to the world that only three months had elapsed? +Besides, he did not mean to marry her for a month to come, as the house +would need beautifying for her--beautifying for her! Neither had he +spoken of it to you; but he had no doubt you would be willing to go on +as you have done." + +"Never!" I said. + +"I was sure not," continued Julia. "I told him I was convinced you would +leave Guernsey again, but he pooh-poohed that. I asked him how he was +to live without any practice, and he said his old patients might turn +him off for a while, but they would be glad to send for him again. I +never saw a man so obstinately bent upon his own ruin." + +"Julia," I said, "I shall leave Guernsey before this marriage can come +off. I would rather break stones on the highway than stay to see that +woman in my mother's place. My mother disliked her from the first." + +"I know it," she replied, with tears in her eyes, "and I thought it was +nothing but prejudice. It was my fault, bringing her to Guernsey. But I +could not bear the idea of her coming as mistress here. I said so +distinctly. 'Dr. Dobrée,' I said, 'you must let me remind you that the +house is mine, though you have paid me no rent for years. If you ever +take Kate Daltrey into it, I will put my affairs into a notary's hands. +I will, upon my word, and Julia Dobrée never broke her word yet.' That +brought him to his senses better than any thing. He turned very pale, +and sat down beside Kate, hardly knowing what to say. Then she began. +She said if I was cruel, she would be cruel too. Whatever grieved you, +Martin, would grieve me, and she would let her brother Richard Foster +know where Olivia was." + +"Does she know where she is?" I asked, eagerly, in a tumult of surprise +and hope. + +"Why, in Sark, of course," she replied. + +"What! Did you never know that Olivia left Sark before my mother's +death?" I said, with a chill of disappointment. "Did I never tell you +she was gone, nobody knows where?" + +"You have never spoken of her in my hearing, except once--you recollect +when, Martin? We have supposed she was still living in Tardif's house. +Then there is nothing to prevent me from carrying out my threat. Kate +Daltrey shall never enter this house as mistress." + +"Would you have given it up for Olivia's sake?" I asked, marvelling at +her generosity. + +"I should have done it for your sake," she answered, frankly. + +"But," I said, reverting to our original topic, "if my father has set +his mind upon marrying Kate Daltrey, he will brave any thing." + +"He is a dotard," replied Julia. "He positively makes me dread growing +old. Who knows what follies one may be guilty of in old age! I never +felt afraid of it before. Kate says she has two hundred a year of her +own, and they will go and live on that in Jersey, if Guernsey becomes +unpleasant to them. Martin, she is a viper--she is indeed. And I have +made such a friend of her! Now I shall have no one but you and the +Careys. Why wasn't I satisfied with Johanna as my friend?" + +She stayed an hour longer, turning over this unwelcome subject till we +had thoroughly discussed every point of it. In the evening, after +dinner, I spoke to my father briefly but decisively upon the same topic. +After a very short and very sharp conversation, there remained no +alternative for me but to make up my mind to try my fortune once more +out of Guernsey. I wrote by the next mail to Jack Senior, telling him my +purpose, and the cause of it, and by return of post I received his +reply: + + + "Dear old boy: Why shouldn't you come, and go halves with me? + Dad says so. He is giving up shop, and going to live in the + country at Fulham. House and practice are miles too big for + me. 'Senior and Dobrée,' or 'Dobrée and Senior,' whichever you + please. If you come I can pay dutiful attention to Dad without + losing my customers. That is his chief reason. Mine is that I + only feel half myself without you at hand. Don't think of + saying no. + + "JACK." + +It was a splendid opening, without question. Dr. Senior had been in good +practice for more than thirty years, and he had quietly introduced Jack +to the position he was about to resign. Yet I pondered over the proposal +for a whole week before agreeing to it. I knew Jack well enough to be +sure he would never regret his generosity; but if I went I would go as +junior partner, and with a much smaller proportion of the profits than +that proffered by Jack. Finally I resolved to accept the offer, and +wrote to him as to the terms upon which alone I would join him. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SIXTH. + +FINAL ARRANGEMENTS. + + +I did not wait for my father to commit the irreparable folly of his +second marriage. Guernsey had become hateful to me. In spite of my +exceeding love for my native island, more beautiful in the eyes of its +people than any other spot on earth, I could no longer be happy or at +peace there. A few persons urged me to stay and live down my chagrin and +grief, but most of my friends congratulated me on the change in my +prospects, and bade me God-speed. Julia could not conceal her regret, +but I left her in the charge of Captain Carey and Johanna. She promised +to be my faithful correspondent, and I engaged to write to her +regularly. There existed between us the half-betrothal to which we had +pledged ourselves at my mother's urgent request. She would wait for the +time when Olivia was no longer the first in my heart; then she would be +willing to become my wife. But if ever that day came, she would require +me to give up my position in England, and settle down for life in +Guernsey. + +Fairly, then, I was launched upon the career of a physician in the great +city. The completeness of the change suited me. Nothing here, in +scenery, atmosphere, or society, could remind me of the fretted past. +The troubled waters subsided into a dull calm, as far as emotional life +went. Intellectual life, on the contrary, was quickened in its current, +and day after day drifted me farther away from painful memories. To be +sure, the idea crossed me often that Olivia might be in London--even in +the same street with me. I never caught sight of a faded green dress but +my steps were hurried, and I followed till I was sure that the wearer +was not Olivia. But I was aware that the chances of our meeting were so +small that I could not count upon them. Even if I found her, what then? +She was as far away from me as though the Atlantic rolled between us. If +I only knew that she was safe, and as happy as her sad destiny could let +her be, I would be content. For this assurance I looked forward through +the long months that must intervene before her promised communication +would come to Tardif. + +Thus I was thrown entirely upon my profession for interest and +occupation. I gave myself up to it with an energy that amazed Jack, and +sometimes surprised myself. Dr. Senior, who was an old veteran, loved it +with ardor for its own sake, was delighted with my enthusiasm. He +prophesied great things for me. + +So passed my first winter in London. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SEVENTH. + +THE TABLES TURNED. + + +A dreary season was that first winter in London. + +It happened quite naturally that here, as in Guernsey, my share of the +practice fell among the lower and least important class of patients. +Jack Senior had been on the field some years sooner, and he was +London-born and London-bred. All the surroundings of his life fitted him +without a wrinkle. He was at home everywhere, and would have counted the +pulse of a duchess with as little emotion as that of a dairy-maid. On +the other hand, I could not accommodate myself altogether to haughty and +aristocratic strangers--though I am somewhat ante-dating later +experiences, for during the winter our fashionable clients were all out +of town, and our time comparatively unoccupied. To be at ease anywhere, +it was, at that time, essential to me to know something of the people +with whom I was associating--an insular trait, common to all those who +are brought up in a contracted and isolated circle. + +Besides this rustic embarrassment which hung like a clog about me +out-of-doors, within-doors I missed wofully the dainty feminine ways I +had been used to. There was a trusty female servant, half cook, half +house-keeper, who lived in the front-kitchen and superintended our +household; but she was not at all the angel in the house whom I needed. +It was a well-appointed, handsome dwelling, but it was terribly gloomy. +The heavy, substantial leather chairs always remained undisturbed in +level rows against the wall, and the crimson cloth upon the table was as +bare as a billiard-table. A thimble lying upon it, or fallen on the +carpet and almost crushed by my careless tread, would have been as +welcome a sight to me as a blade of grass or a spring of water in some +sandy desert. The sound of a light foot and rustling dress, and low, +soft voice, would have been the sweetest music in my ears. If a young +fellow of eight-and-twenty, with an excellent appetite and in good +health, could be said to pine, I was pining for the pretty, fondling +woman's ways which had quite vanished out of my life. + +At times my thoughts dwelt upon my semi-engagement to Julia. As soon as +I could dethrone the image of Olivia from its pre-eminence in my heart, +she was willing to welcome me back again--a prodigal suitor, who had +spent all his living in a far country. We corresponded regularly and +frequently, and Julia's letters were always good, sensible, and +affectionate. If our marriage, and all the sequel to it, could have been +conducted by epistles, nothing could have been more satisfactory. But I +felt a little doubtful about the termination of this Platonic +friendship, with its half-betrothal. It did not appear to me that +Olivia's image was fading in the slightest degree; no, though I knew her +to be married, though I was ignorant where she was, though there was not +the faintest hope within me that she would ever become mine. + +During the quiet, solitary evenings, while Jack was away at some ball or +concert, to which I had no heart to go, my thoughts were pretty equally +divided between my lost mother and my lost Olivia--lost in such +different ways! It would have grieved Julia in her very soul if she +could have known how rarely, in comparison, I thought of her. + +Yet, on the whole, there was a certain sweetness in feeling myself not +altogether cut off from womanly love and sympathy. There was a home +always open to me--a home, and a wife devotedly attached to me, whenever +I chose to claim them. That was not unpleasant as a prospect. As soon as +this low fever of the spirit was over, there was a convalescent hospital +to go to, where it might recover its original tone and vigor. At present +the fever had too firm and strong a hold for me to pronounce myself +convalescent; but if I were to believe all that sages had said, there +would come a time when I should rejoice over my own recovery. + +Early in the spring I received a letter from Julia, desiring me to look +out for apartments, somewhere in my neighborhood, for herself, and +Johanna and Captain Carey. They were coming to London to spend two or +three months of the season. I had not had any task so agreeable since I +left Guernsey. Jack was hospitably anxious for them to come to our own +house, but I knew they would not listen to such a proposal. I found some +suitable rooms for them, however, in Hanover Street, where I could be +with them at any time in five minutes. + +On the appointed day I met them at Waterloo Station, and installed them +in their new apartments. + +It struck me that, notwithstanding the fatigue of the journey, Julia was +looking better and happier than I had seen her look for a long time. Her +black dress suited her, and gave her a style which she never had in +colors. Her complexion looked dark, but not sallow; and her brown hair +was certainly more becomingly arranged. Her appearance was that of a +well-bred, cultivated, almost elegant woman, of whom no man need be +ashamed. Johanna was simply herself, without the least perceptible +change. But Captain Carey again looked ten years younger, and was +evidently taking pains with his appearance. That suit of his had never +been made in Guernsey; it must have come out of a London establishment. +His hair was not so gray, and his face was less hypochondriac. He +assured me that his health had been wonderfully good all the winter. I +was more than satisfied, I was proud of all my friends. + +"We want you to come and have a long talk with us to-morrow," said +Johanna; "it is too late to-night. We shall be busy shopping in the +morning, but can you come in the evening?" + +"Oh, yes," I answered; "I am at leisure most evenings, and I count upon +spending them with you. I can escort you to as many places of amusement +as you wish to visit." + +"To-morrow, then," she said, "we shall take tea at eight o'clock." + +I bade them good-night with a lighter heart than I had felt for a long +while. I held Julia's hand the longest, looking into her face earnestly, +till it flushed and glowed a little under my scrutiny. + +"True heart!" I said to myself, "true and constant! and I have nothing, +and shall have nothing, to offer it but the ashes of a dead passion. +Would to Heaven," I thought as I paced along Brook Street, "I had never +been fated to see Olivia!" + +I was punctual to my time the next day. The dull, stiff drawing-room was +already invested with those tokens of feminine occupancy which I missed +so greatly in our much handsomer house. There were flowers blooming in +the centre of the tea-table, and little knick-knacks lay strewed about. +Julia's work-basket stood on a little stand near the window. There was +the rustle and movement of their dresses, the noiseless footsteps, the +subdued voices caressing my ear. I sat among them quiet and silent, but +revelling in this partial return of olden times. When Julia poured out +my tea, and passed it to me with her white hand, I felt inclined to kiss +her jewelled fingers. If Captain Carey had not been present I think I +should have done so. + +We lingered over the pleasant meal as if time were made expressly for +that purpose, instead of hurrying over it, as Jack and I were wont to +do. At the close Captain Carey announced that he was about to leave us +alone together for an hour or two. I went down to the door with him, for +he had made me a mysterious signal to follow him. In the hall he laid +his hand upon my shoulder, and whispered a few incomprehensible +sentences into my ear. + +"Don't think any thing of me, my boy. Don't sacrifice yourself for me. +I'm an old fellow compared to you, though I'm not fifty yet; everybody +in Guernsey knows that. So put me out of the question, Martin. 'There's +many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.' That I know quite well, my dear +fellow." + +He was gone before I could ask for an explanation, and I saw him tearing +off toward Regent Street. I returned to the drawing-room, pondering over +his words. Johanna and Julia were sitting side by side on a sofa, in the +darkest corner of the room--though the light was by no means brilliant +anywhere, for the three gas-jets were set in such a manner as not to +turn on much gas. + +"Come here, Martin," said Johanna; "we wish to consult you on a subject +of great importance to us all." + +I drew up a chair opposite to them, and sat down, much as if it was +about to be a medical consultation. I felt almost as if I must feel +somebody's pulse, and look at somebody's tongue. + +"It is nearly eight months since your poor dear mother died," remarked +Johanna. + +Eight months! Yes; and no one knew what those eight months had been to +me--how desolate! how empty! + +"You recollect," continued Johanna, "how her heart was set on your +marriage with Julia, and the promise you both made to her on her +death-bed?" + +"Yes," I answered, bending forward and pressing Julia's hand, "I +remember every word." + +There was a minute's silence after this; and I waited in some wonder as +to what this prelude was leading to. + +"Martin," asked Johanna, in a solemn tone, "are you forgetting Olivia?" + +"No," I said, dropping Julia's hand as the image of Olivia flashed +across me reproachfully, "not at all. What would you have me say? She is +as dear to me at this moment as she ever was." + +"I thought you would say so," she replied; "I did not think yours was a +love that would quickly pass away, if it ever does. There are men who +can love with the constancy of a woman. Do you know any thing of her?" + +"Nothing!" I said, despondently; "I have no clew as to where she may be +now." + +"Nor has Tardif," she continued; "my brother and I went across to Sark +last week to ask him." + +"That was very good of you," I interrupted. + +"It was partly for our own sakes," she said, blushing faintly. "Martin, +Tardif says that if you have once loved Olivia, it is once for all. You +would never conquer it. Do you think that this is true? Be candid with +us." + +"Yes," I answered, "it is true. I could never love again as I love +Olivia." + +"Then, my dear Martin," said Johanna, very softly, "do you wish to keep +Julia to her promise?" + +I started violently. What! Did Julia wish to be released from that +semi-engagement, and be free? Was it possible that any one else coveted +my place in her affections, and in the new house which we had fitted up +for ourselves? I felt like the dog in the manger. It seemed an +unheard-of encroachment for any person to come between my cousin Julia +and me. + +"Do you ask me to set you free from your promise, Julia?" I asked, +somewhat sternly. + +"Why, Martin," she said, averting her face from me, "you know I should +never consent to marry you, with the idea of your caring most for that +girl. No, I could never do that. If I believed you would ever think of +me as you used to do before you saw her, well, I would keep true to you. +But is there any hope of that?" + +"Let us be frank with one another," I answered; "tell me, is there any +one else whom you would marry if I release you from this promise, which +was only given, perhaps, to soothe my mothers last hours?" + +Julia hung her head, and did not speak. Her lips trembled. I saw her +take Johanna's hand and squeeze it, as if to urge her to answer the +question. + +"Martin," said Johanna, "your happiness is dear to every one of us. If +we had believed there was any hope of your learning to love Julia as she +deserves, and as a man ought to love his wife, not a word of this would +have been spoken. But we all feel there is no such hope. Only say there +is, and we will not utter another word." + +"No," I said, "you must tell me all now. I cannot let the question rest +here. Is there any one else whom Julia would marry if she felt quite +free?" + +"Yes," answered Johanna, while Julia hid her face in her hands, "she +would marry my brother." + +Captain Carey! I fairly gasped for breath. Such an idea had never once +occurred to me; though I knew she had been spending most of her time +with the Careys at the Vale. Captain Carey to marry! and to marry Julia! +To go and live in our house! I was struck dumb, and fancied that I had +heard wrongly. All the pleasant, distant vision of a possible marriage +with Julia, when my passion had died out, and I could be content in my +affection and esteem for her--all this vanished away, and left my whole +future a blank. If Julia wished for revenge--and when is not revenge +sweet to a jilted woman?--she had it now. I was as crestfallen, as +amazed, almost as miserable, as she had been. Yet I had no one to blame, +as she had. How could I blame her for preferring Captain Carey's love to +my _réchauffé_ affections? + +"Julia," I said, after a long silence, and speaking as calmly as I +could, "do you love Captain Carey?" + +"That is not a fair question to ask," answered Johanna. "We have not +been treacherous to you. I scarcely know how it has all come about. But +my brother has never asked Julia if she loves him; for we wished to see +you first, and hear how you felt about Olivia. You say you shall never +love again as you love her. Set Julia free then, quite free, to accept +my brother or reject him. Be generous, be yourself, Martin." + +"I will," I said.--"My dear Julia, you are as free as air from all +obligation to me. You have been very good and very true to me. If +Captain Carey is as good and true to you, as I believe he will be, you +will be a very happy woman--happier than you would ever be with me." + +"And you will not make yourself unhappy about it?" asked Julia, looking +up. + +"No," I answered, cheerfully, "I shall be a merry old bachelor, and +visit you and Captain Carey, when we are all old folks. Never mind me, +Julia; I never was good enough for you. I shall be very glad to know +that you are happy." + +Yet when I found myself in the street--for I made my escape as soon as I +could get away from them--I felt as if every thing worth living for were +slipping away from me. My mother and Olivia were gone, and here was +Julia forsaking me. I did not grudge her her new happiness. There was +neither jealousy nor envy in my feelings toward my supplanter. But in +some way I felt that I had lost a great deal since I entered their +drawing-room two hours ago. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH. + +OLIVIA'S HUSBAND. + + +I did not go straight home to our dull, gloomy, bachelor dwelling-place; +for I was not in the mood for an hour's soliloquy. Jack and I had +undertaken between us the charge of the patients belonging to a friend +of ours, who had been called out of town for a few days. I was passing +by the house, chewing the bitter cud of my reflections, and, recalling +this, I turned in to see if any messages were waiting there for us. +Lowry's footman told me a person had been with an urgent request that he +would go as soon as possible to No. 19 Bellringer Street. I did not know +the street, or what sort of a locality it was in. + +"What kind of a person called?" I asked. + +"A woman, sir; not a lady. On foot--poorly dressed. She's been here +before, and Dr. Lowry has visited the case twice. No. 19 Bellringer +Street. Perhaps you will find him in the case-book, sir." + +I went in to consult the case-book. Half a dozen words contained the +diagnosis. It was the same disease, in an incipient form, of which my +poor mother died. I resolved to go and see this sufferer at once, late +as the hour was. + +"Did the person expect some one to go to-night?" I asked, as I passed +through the hall. + +"I couldn't promise her that, sir," was the answer. "I did say I'd send +on the message to you, and I was just coming with it, sir. She said +she'd sit up till twelve o'clock." + +"Very good," I said. + +Upon inquiry I found that the place was two miles away; and, as our old +friend Simmons was still on the cab-stand, I jumped into his cab, and +bade him drive me as fast as he could to No. 19 Bellringer Street. I +wanted a sense of motion, and a chance of scene. If I had been in +Guernsey, I should have mounted Madam, and had another midnight ride +round the island. This was a poor substitute for that; but the visit +would serve to turn my thoughts from Julia. If any one in London could +do the man good. I believed it was I; for I had studied that one malady +with my soul thrown into it. + +"We turned at last into a shabby street, recognizable even in the +twilight of the scattered lamps as being a place for cheap +lodging-houses. There was a light burning in the second-floor windows of +No. 19; but all the rest of the front was in darkness. I paid Simmons +and dismissed him, saying I would walk home. By the time I turned to +knock at the door, it was opened quietly from within. A woman stood in +the doorway; I could not see her face, for the candle she had brought +with her was on the table behind her; neither was there light enough for +her to distinguish mine. + +"Are you come from Dr. Lowry's?" she asked. + +The voice sounded a familiar one, but I could not for the life of me +recall whose it was. + +"Yes," I answered, "but I do not know the name of my patient here." + +"Dr. Martin Dobrée!" she exclaimed, in an accent almost of terror. + +I recollected her then as the person who had been in search of Olivia. +She had fallen back a few paces, and I could now see her face. It was +startled and doubtful, as if she hesitated to admit me. Was it possible +I had come to attend Olivia's husband? + +"I don't know whatever to do!" she ejaculated; "he is very ill to-night, +but I don't think he ought to see _you_--I don't think he would." + +"Listen to me," I said; "I do not think there is another man in London +as well qualified to do him good." + +"Why?" she asked, eagerly. + +"Because I have made this disease my special study," I answered. "Mind, +I am not anxious to attend him. I came here simply because my friend is +out of town. If he wishes to see me, I will see him, and do my best for +him. It rests entirely with himself." + +"Will you wait here a few minutes?" she asked, "while I see what he +will do?" + +She left me in the dimly-lighted hall, pervaded by a musty smell of +unventilated rooms, and a damp, dirty underground floor. The place was +altogether sordid, and dingy, and miserable. At last I heard her step +coming down the two flights of stairs, and I went to meet her. + +"He will see you," she said, eying me herself with a steady gaze of +curiosity. + +Her curiosity was not greater than mine. I was anxious to see Olivia's +husband, partly from the intense aversion I felt instinctively toward +him. He was lying back in an old, worn-out easy-chair, with a woman's +shawl thrown across his shoulders, for the night was chilly. His face +had the first sickly hue and emaciation of the disease, and was probably +refined by it. It was a handsome, regular, well-cut face, narrow across +the brows, with thin, firm lips, and eyes perfect in shape, but cold and +glittering as steel. I knew afterward that he was fifteen years older +than Olivia. Across his knees lay a shaggy, starved-looking cat, which +he held fast by the fore-paws, and from time to time entertained himself +by teasing and tormenting it. He scrutinized me as keenly as I did him. + +"I believe we are in some sort connected. Dr. Martin Dobrée," he said, +smiling coldly; "my half-sister, Kate Daltrey, is married to your +father, Dr. Dobrée." + +"Yes," I answered, shortly. The subject was eminently disagreeable to +me, and I had no wish to pursue it with him. + +"Ay! she will make him a happy man," he continued, mockingly; "you are +not yourself married, I believe, Dr. Martin Dobrée?" + +I took no notice whatever of his question, or the preceding remark, but +passed on to formal inquiries concerning his health. My close study of +his malady helped me here. I could assist him to describe and localize +his symptoms, and I soon discovered that the disease was as yet in a +very early stage. + +"You have a better grip of it than Lowry," he said, sighing with +satisfaction. "I feel as if I were made of glass, and you could look +through me. Can you cure me?" + +"I will do my best," I answered. + +"So you all say," he muttered, "and the best is generally good for +nothing. You see I care less about getting over it than my wife does. +She is very anxious for my recovery." + +"Your wife!" I repeated, in utter surprise; "you are Richard Foster, I +believe?" + +"Certainly," he replied. + +"Does your wife know of your present illness?" I inquired. + +"To be sure," he answered; "let me introduce you to Mrs. Richard +Foster." + +The woman looked at me with flashing eyes and a mocking smile, while Mr. +Foster indulged himself with extorting a long and plaintive mew from the +poor cat on his knees. + +"I cannot understand," I said. I did not know how to continue my speech. +Though they might choose to pass as husband and wife among strangers, +they could hardly expect to impose upon me. + +"Ah! I see you do not," said Mr. Foster, with a visible sneer. "Olivia +is dead." + +"Olivia dead!" I exclaimed. + +I repeated the words mechanically, as if I could not make any meaning +out of them. Yet they had been spoken with such perfect deliberation and +certainty that there seemed to be no question about the fact. Mr. +Foster's glittering eyes dwelt delightedly upon my face. + +"You were not aware of it?" he said, "I am afraid I have been too +sudden. Kate tells us you were in love with my first wife, and +sacrificed a most eligible match for her. Would it be too late to open +fresh negotiations with your cousin? You see I know all your family +history." + +"When did Olivia die?" I inquired, though my tongue felt dry and +parched, and the room, with his fiendish face, was swimming giddily +before my eyes. + +"When was it, Carry?" he asked, turning to his wife. + +"We heard she was dead on the first of October," she answered. "You +married me the next day." + +"Ah, yes!" he said; "Olivia had been dead to me for more than twelve +months and the moment I was free I married her, Dr. Martin. We could not +be married before, and there was no reason to wait longer. It was quite +legal." + +"But what proof have you?" I asked, still incredulous, yet with a heart +so heavy that it could hardly rouse itself to hope. + +"Carry, have you those letters?" said Richard Foster. + +She was away for a few minutes, while he leaned back again in his chair, +regarding nic with his half-closed, cruel eyes. I said nothing, and +resolved to betray no emotion. Olivia dead! my Olivia! I could not +believe it. + +"Here are the proofs," said Mrs. Foster, reentering the room. She put +into my hand an ordinary certificate of death, signed by J. Jones, M.D. +It stated that the deceased, Olivia Foster, had died on September the +27th, of acute inflammation of the lungs. Accompanying this was a letter +written in a good handwriting, purporting to be from a clergyman or +minister, of what denomination it was not stated, who had attended +Olivia in her fatal illness. He said that she had desired him to keep +the place of her death and burial a secret, and to forward no more than +the official certificate of the former event. This letter was signed E. +Jones. No clew was given by either document as to the place where they +were written. + +"Are you not satisfied?" asked Foster. + +"No," I replied; "how is it, if Olivia is dead, that you have not taken +possession of her property?" + +"A shrewd question," he said, jeeringly. "Why am I in these cursed poor +lodgings? Why am I as poor as Job, when there are twenty thousand pounds +of my wife's estate lying unclaimed? My sweet, angelic Olivia left no +will, or none in my favor, you may be sure; and by her father's will, if +she dies intestate or without children, his property goes to build +almshouses, or some confounded nonsense, in Melbourne. All she bequeaths +to me is this ring, which I gave to her on our wedding-day, curse her!" + +He held out his hand, on the little finger of which shone a diamond, +which might, as far as I knew, be the one I had once seen in Olivia's +possession. + +"Perhaps you do not know," he continued, "that it was on this very +point, the making of her will, or securing her property to me in some +way, that my wife took offence and ran away from me. Carry was just a +little too hard upon her, and I was away in Paris. But consider, I +expected to be left penniless, just as you see me left, and Carry was +determined to prevent it." + +"Then you are sure of her death?" I said. + +"So sure," he replied, calmly, "that we were married the next day. +Olivia's letter to me, as well as those papers, was conclusive of her +identity. Will you like to see it?" + +Mrs. Foster gave me a slip of paper, on which were written a few lines. +The words looked faint, and grew paler as I read them. They were without +doubt Olivia's writing: + +"I know that, you are poor, and I send you all I can spare--the ring you +once gave to me. I am even poorer than yourself, but I have just enough +for my last necessities. I forgive you, as I trust that God forgives +me." + + * * * * * + +There was no more to be said or done. Conviction had been brought home +to me. I rose to take my leave, and Foster held out his hand to me, +perhaps with a kindly intention. Olivia's ring was glittering on it, and +I could not take it into mine. + +"Well, well," he said, "I understand; I am sorry for you. Come again, +Dr. Martin Dobrée. If you know of any remedy for my ease, you are no +true man if you do not try it." + +I went down the narrow staircase, closely followed by Mrs. Foster. Her +face had lost its gayety and boldness, and looked womanly and careworn, +as she laid her hand upon my arm before opening the house-door. + +"For God's sake, come again," she said, "if you can do any thing for +him! We have money left yet, and I am earning more every day. We can pay +you well. Promise me you will come again." + +"I can promise nothing to-night," I answered. + +"You shall not go till you promise," she said, emphatically. + +"Well, then, I promise," I answered, and she unfastened the chain almost +noiselessly, and opened the door into the street. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-NINTH. + +SAD SEWS. + + +A fine, drizzling rain was falling; I was just conscious of it as an +element of discomfort, but it did not make me quicken my steps. I +wanted no rapidity of motion now. There was nothing to be done, nothing +to look forward to, nothing to flee away from. Olivia was dead! + +I had said the same thing again and again to myself, that Olivia was +dead to me; but at this moment I learned how great a difference there +was between the words as a figure of speech and as a terrible reality. I +could no longer think of her as treading the same earth--the same +streets, perhaps; speaking the same language; seeing the same daylight +as myself. I recalled her image, as I had seen her last in Sark; and +then I tried to picture her white face, with lips and eyes closed +forever, and the awful chill of death resting upon her. It seemed +impossible; yet the cuckoo-cry went on in my brain, "Olivia is dead--is +dead!" + +I reached home just as Jack was coming in from his evening amusement. He +let me in with his latch-key, giving me a cheery greeting; but as soon +as we had entered the dining-room, and he saw my face, he exclaimed. +"Good Heavens! Martin, what has happened to you?" + +"Olivia is dead," I answered. + +His arm was about my neck in a moment, for we were like boys together +still, when we were alone. He knew all about Olivia, and he waited +patiently till I could put my tidings into words. + +"It must be true," he said, though in a doubtful tone; "the scoundrel +would not have married again if he had not sufficient proof." + +"She must have died very soon after my mother," I answered, "and I never +knew it!" + +"It's strange!" he said. "I wonder she never got anybody to write to you +or Tardif." + +There was no way of accounting for that strange silence toward us. We +sat talking in short, broken sentences, while Jack smoked a cigar; but +we could come to no conclusion about it. It was late when we parted, and +I went to bed, but not to sleep. + +For as soon as the room was quite dark, visions of Olivia haunted me. +Phantasms of her followed one another rapidly through my brain. She had +died, so said the certificate, of inflammation of the lungs, after an +illness of ten days. I felt myself bound to go through every stage of +her illness, dwelling upon all her sufferings, and thinking of her as +under careless or unskilled attendance, with no friend at hand to take +care of her. She ought not to have died, with her perfect constitution. +If I had been there she should not have died. + +About four o'clock Jack tapped softly upon the wall between our +bedrooms--it was a signal we had used when we were boys--as though to +inquire if I was all right; but it was quiet enough not to wake me if I +were asleep. It seemed like the friendly "Ahoy!" from a boat floating on +the same dark sea. Jack was lying awake, thinking of me as I was +thinking of Olivia. There was something so consolatory in this sympathy +that I fell asleep while dwelling upon it. + +Upon going downstairs in the morning I found that Jack was already off, +having left a short note for me, saving he would visit my patients that +day. I had scarcely begun breakfast when the servant announced "a lady," +and as the lady followed close upon his heels, I saw behind his shoulder +the familiar face of Johanna, looking extremely grave. She was soon +seated beside me, watching me with something of the tender, wistful gaze +of my mother. Her eyes were of the same shape and color, and I could +hardly command myself to speak calmly. + +"Your friend Dr. John Senior called upon us a short time since," she +said; "and told us this sad, sad news." + +I nodded silently. + +"If we had only known it yesterday," she continued, "you would never +have heard what we then said. This makes so vast a difference. Julia +could not have become your wife while there was another woman living +whom you loved more. You understand her feeling?" + +"Yes," I said; "Julia is right." + +"My brother and I have been talking about the change this will make," +she resumed. "He would not rob you of any consolation or of any future +happiness; not for worlds. He relinquishes all claim to or hope of +Julia's affection--" + +"That would be unjust to Julia," I interrupted. "She must not be +sacrificed to me any longer. I do not suppose I shall ever marry--" + +"You must marry, Martin," she interrupted in her turn, and speaking +emphatically; "you are altogether unfitted for a bachelor's life. It is +all very well for Dr. John Senior, who has never known a woman's +companionship, and who can do without it. But it is misery to you--this +cold, colorless life. No. Of all the men I ever knew, you are the least +fitted for a single life." + +"Perhaps I am," I admitted, as I recalled my longing for some sign of +womanhood about our bachelor dwelling. + +"I am certain of it," she said. "Now, but for our precipitation last +night, you would have gone naturally to Julia for comfort. So my brother +sends word that he is going back to Guernsey to-night, leaving us in +Hanover Street, where we are close to you. We have said nothing to Julia +yet. She is crying over this sad news--mourning for your sorrow. You +know that my brother has not spoken directly to Julia of his love; and +now all that is in the past, and is to be as if it had never been, and +we go on exactly as if we had not had that conversation yesterday." + +"But that cannot be," I remonstrated. "I cannot consent to Julia wasting +her love and time upon me. I assure you most solemnly I shall never +marry my cousin now." + +"You love her?" said Johanna. + +"Certainly," I answered, "as my sister." + +"Better than any woman now living?" she pursued. + +"Yes," I replied. + +"That is all Julia requires," she continued; "so let us say no more at +present, Martin. Only understand that all idea of marriage between her +and my brother is quite put away. Don't argue with me, don't contradict +me. Come to see us as you would have done but for that unfortunate +conversation last night. All will come right by-and-by." + +"But Captain Carey--" I began. + +"There! not a word!" she interrupted imperatively. "Tell me all about +that wretch, Richard Foster. How did you come across him? Is he likely +to die? Is he any thing like Kate Daltrey?--I will never call her Kate +Dobrée as long as the world lasts. Come, Martin, tell me every thing +about him." + +She sat with me most of the morning, talking with animated perseverance, +and at last prevailed upon me to take her a walk in Hyde Park. Her +pertinacity did me good in spite of the irritation it caused me. When +her dinner-hour was at hand I felt bound to attend her to her house in +Hanover Street; and I could not get away from her without first speaking +to Julia. Her face was very sorrowful, and her manner sympathetic. We +said only a few words to one another, but I went away with the +impression that her heart was still with me. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTIETH. + +A TORMENTING DOUBT. + + +At dinner Jack announced his intention of paying a visit to Richard +Foster. + +"You are not fit to deal with the fellow," he said; "you may be sharp +enough upon your own black sheep in Guernsey, but you know nothing of +the breed here. Now, if I see him, I will squeeze out of him every +mortal thing he knows about Olivia. Where did those papers come from?" + +"There was no place given," I answered. + +"But there would be a post-mark on the envelop," he replied; "I will +make him show me the envelop they were in." + +"Jack," I said, "you do not suppose he has any doubt of her death?" + +"I can't say," he answered. "You see he has married again, and if she +were not dead that would be bigamy--an ugly sort of crime. But are you +sure they are married?" + +"How can I be sure?" I asked fretfully, for grief as often makes men +fretful as illness. "I did not ask for their marriage-certificate." + +"Well, well! I will go," he answered. + +I awaited his return with impatience. With this doubt insinuated by +Jack, it began to seem almost incredible that Olivia's exquisitely +healthy frame should have succumbed suddenly under a malady to which she +had no predisposition whatever. Moreover, her original soundness of +constitution had been strengthened by ten months' residence in the pure, +bracing air of Sark. Yet what was I to think in face of those undated +documents, and of her own short letter to her husband? The one I knew +was genuine; why should I suppose the others to be forged? And if +forgeries, who had been guilty of such a cruel and crafty artifice, and +for what purpose? + +I had not found any satisfactory answer to these queries before Jack +returned, his face kindled with excitement. He caught my hand, and +grasped it heartily. + +"I no more believe she is dead than I am," were his first words. "You +recollect me telling you of a drunken brawl in a street off the Strand, +where a fellow, as drunk as a lord, was for claiming a pretty girl as +his wife; only I had followed her out of Ridley's agency-office, and was +just in time to protect her from him--a girl I could have fallen in love +with myself. You recollect?" + +"Yes, yes," I said, almost breathless. + +"He was the man, and Olivia was the girl!" exclaimed Jack. + +"No!" I cried. + +"Yes!" continued Jack, with an affectionate lunge at me; "at any rate I +can swear he is the man; and I would bet a thousand to one that the girl +was Olivia." + +"But when was it?" I asked. + +"Since he married again," he answered; "they were married on the 2d of +October, and this was early in November. I had gone to Ridley's after a +place for a poor fellow as an assistant to a druggist; and I saw the +girl distinctly. She gave the name of Ellen Martineau. Those letters +about her death are all forgeries." + +"Olivia's is not," I said; "I know her handwriting too well." + +"Well, then," observed Jack, "there is only one explanation. She has +sent them herself to throw Foster off the scent; she thinks she will be +safe if he believes her dead." + +"No," I answered, hotly, "she would never have done such a thing as +that." + +"Who else is benefited by it?" he asked, gravely. "It does not put +Foster into possession of any of her property; or that would have been a +motive for him to do it. But he gains nothing by it; and he is so +convinced of her death that he has married a second wife." + +It was difficult to hit upon any other explanation; yet I could not +credit this one. I felt firmly convinced that Olivia could not be guilty +of an artifice so cunning. I was deceived in her indeed if she would +descend to any fraud so cruel. But I could not discuss the question even +with Jack Senior. Tardif was the only person who knew Olivia well enough +to make his opinion of any value. Besides, my mind was not as clear as +Jack's that she was the girl he had seen in November. Yet the doubt of +her death was full of hope; it made the earth more habitable, and life +more endurable. + +"What can I do now?" I said, speaking aloud, though I was thinking to +myself. + +"Martin," he replied, gravely, "isn't it wisest to leave the matter as +it stands? If you find Olivia, what then? she is as much separated from +you as she can be by death. So long as Foster lives, it is worse than +useless to be thinking of her. There is no misery like that of hanging +about a woman you have no right to love." + +"I only wish to satisfy myself that she is alive," I answered. "Just +think of it, Jack, not to know whether she is living or dead! You must +help me to satisfy myself. Foster has got the only valuable thing she +had in her possession, and if she is living she may be in absolute want. +I cannot be contented with that dread on my mind. There can be no harm +in my taking some care of her at a distance. This mystery would be +intolerable to me." + +"You're right, old fellow," he said, cordially; "we will go to Ridley's +together to-morrow morning." + +We were there soon after the doors were open. There were not many +clients present, and the clerks were enjoying a slack time. Jack had +recalled to his mind the exact date of his former visit; and thus the +sole difficulty was overcome. The clerk found the name of Ellen +Martineau entered under that date in his book. + +"Yes," he said, "Miss Ellen Martineau, English teacher in a French +school; premium to be paid, about 10 Pounds; no salary; reference, Mrs. +Wilkinson, No. 19 Bellringer Street." + +"No. 19 Bellringer Street!" we repeated in one breath. + +"Yes, gentlemen, that is the address," said the clerk, closing the book. +"Shall I write it down for you? Mrs. Wilkinson was the party who should +have paid our commission; as you perceive, a premium was required +instead of a salary given. We feel pretty sure the young lady went to +the school, but Mrs. Wilkinson denies it, and it is not worth our while +to pursue our claim in law." + +"Can you describe the young lady?" I inquired. + +"Well, no. We have such hosts of young ladies here. But she was pretty, +decidedly pretty; she made that impression upon me, at least. We are too +busy to take particular notice; but I should know her again if she came +in. I think she would have been here again, before this, if she had not +got that engagement." + +"Do you know where the school is?" I asked. + +"No. Mrs. Wilkinson was the party," he said. "We had nothing to do with +it, except send any ladies to her who thought it worth their while. That +was all." + +As we could obtain no further information, we went away, and paced up +and down the tolerably quiet street, deep in consultation. That we +should have need for great caution, and as much craftiness as we both +possessed, in pursuing our inquiries at No. 19 Bellringer Street, was +quite evident. Who could be this unknown Mrs. Wilkinson? Was it possible +that she might prove to be Mrs. Foster herself? At any rate, it would +not do for either of us to present ourselves there in quest of Miss +Ellen Martineau. It was finally settled between us that Johanna should +be intrusted with the diplomatic enterprise. There was not much chance +that Mrs. Foster would know her by sight, though she had been in +Guernsey; and it would excite less notice for a lady to be inquiring +after Olivia. We immediately turned our steps toward Hanover Street, +where we found her and Julia seated at some fancy-work in their sombre +drawing-room. + +Julia received me with a little embarrassment, but conquered it +sufficiently to give me a warm pressure of the hand, and to whisper in +my ear that Johanna had told her every thing. Unluckily, Johanna herself +knew nothing of our discovery the night before. I kept Julia's hand in +mine, and looked steadily into her eyes. + +"My dear Julia," I said, "we bring strange news. We have reason to +believe that Olivia is not dead, but that something underhand is going +on, which we cannot yet make out." + +Julia's face grew crimson, but I would not let her draw her hand away +from my clasp. I held it the more firmly; and, as Jack was busy talking +to Johanna, I continued speaking to her in a lowered tone. + +"My dear," I said, "you have been as true, and faithful, and generous a +friend as any man ever had. But this must not go on, for your own sake. +You fancied you loved me, because every one about us wished it to be so; +but I cannot let you waste your life on me. Speak to me exactly as your +brother. Do you believe you could be really happy with Captain Carey?" + +"Arthur is so good," she murmured, "and he is so fond of me." + +I had never heard her call him Arthur before. The elder members of our +Guernsey circle called him by his Christian name, but to us younger ones +he had always been Captain Carey. Julia's use of it was more eloquent +than many phrases. She had grown into the habit of calling him +familiarly by it. + +"Then, Julia," I said, "what folly it would be for you to sacrifice +yourself to a false notion of faithfulness! I could not accept such a +sacrifice. Think no more of me or my happiness." + +"But my poor aunt was so anxious for you to have a home of your own," +she said, sobbing, "and I do love you dearly. Now you will never marry. +I know you will not, if you can have neither Olivia nor me for your +wife." + +"Very likely," I answered, trying to laugh away her agitation; "I shall +be in love with two married women instead. How shocking that will sound +in Guernsey! But I'm not afraid that Captain Carey will forbid me his +house." + +"How little we thought!" exclaimed Julia. I knew very well what her mind +had gone back to--the days when she and I and my mother were furnishing +and settling the house that would now become Captain Carey's home. + +"Then it is all settled," I said, "and I shall write to him by +to-night's post, inviting him back again--that is, if he really left you +last night." + +"Yes," she replied; "he would not stay a day longer." + +Her face had grown calm as we talked together. A scarcely perceptible +smile was lurking about her lips, as if she rejoiced that her suspense +was over. There was something very like a pang in the idea of some one +else filling the place I had once fully occupied in her heart; but the +pain was unworthy of me. I drove it away by throwing myself heart and +soul into the mystery which hung over the fate of Olivia. + +"We have hit upon a splendid plan," said Jack: "Miss Carey will take +Simmons's cab to Bellringer Street, and reach the house about the same +time as I visit Foster. That is for me to be at hand if she should need +any protection, you know. I shall stay up-stairs with Foster till I +hear the cab drive off again, and it will wait for me at the corner of +Dawson Street. Then we will come direct here, and tell you every thing +at once. Of course, Miss Dobrée will wish to hear it all." + +"Cannot I go with Johanna?" she asked. + +"No," I said, hastily; "it is very probable Mrs. Foster knows you by +sight, though she is less likely to know Johanna. I fancy Mrs. Wilkinson +will turn out to be Mrs. Foster herself. Yet why they should spirit +Olivia away into a French school, and pretend that she is dead, I cannot +see." + +Nor could any one of the others see the reason. But as the morning was +fast waning away, and both Jack and I were busy, we were compelled to +close the discussion, and, with our minds preoccupied to a frightful +extent, make those calls upon our patients which were supposed to be in +each case full of anxious and particular thought for the ailments we +were attempting to alleviate. + +Upon meeting again for a few minutes at luncheon, we made a slight +change in our plan; for we found a note from Foster awaiting me, in +which he requested me to visit him in the future, instead of Dr. John +Senior, as he felt more confidence in my knowledge of his malady. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIRST. + +MARTIN DOBRÉE'S PLEDGE. + + +I followed Simmons's cab up Bellringer Street, and watched Johanna +alight and enter the house. The door was scarcely closed upon her when I +rang, and asked the slatternly drudge of a servant if I could see Mr. +Foster. She asked me to go up to the parlor on the second floor, and I +went alone, with little expectation of finding Mrs. Foster there, unless +Johanna was there also, in which case I was to appear as a stranger to +her. + +The parlor looked poorer and shabbier by daylight than at night. There +was not a single element of comfort in it. The curtains hung in rags +about a window begrimed with soot and smoke. The only easy-chair was the +one occupied by Foster, who himself looked as shabby and worn as the +room. The cuffs and collar of his shirt were yellow and tattered; his +hair hung long and lank; and his skin had a sallow, unwholesome tint. +The diamond ring upon his finger was altogether out of keeping with his +threadbare coat, buttoned up to the chin, as if there were no waistcoat +beneath it. From head to foot he looked a broken-down, seedy fellow, yet +still preserving some lingering traces of the gentleman. This was +Olivia's husband! + +A good deal to my surprise, I saw Mrs. Foster seated quietly at a table +drawn close to the window, very busily writing--engrossing, as I could +see, for some miserable pittance a page. She must have had some +considerable practice in the work, for it was done well, and her pen ran +quickly over the paper. A second chair left empty opposite to her showed +that Foster had been engaged at the same task, before he heard my step +on the stairs. He looked weary, and I could not help feeling something +akin to pity for him. I did not know that they had come down as low as +that. + +"I did not expect you to come before night," he said, testily; "I like +to have some idea when my medical attendant is coming." + +"I was obliged to come now," I answered, offering no other apology. The +man irritated me more than any other person that had ever come across +me. There was something perverse and splenetic in every word he uttered, +and every expression upon his face. + +"I do not like your partner," he said; "don't send him again. He knows +nothing about his business." + +He spoke with all the haughtiness of a millionnaire to a country +practitioner. I could hardly refrain from smiling as I thought of Jack's +disgust and indignation. + +"As for that," I replied, "most probably neither of us will visit you +again. Dr. Lowry will return to-morrow, and you will be in his hands +once more." + +"No!" he cried, with a passionate urgency in his tone--"no, Martin +Dobrée; you said if any man in London could cure me, it was yourself. I +cannot leave myself in any other hands. I demand from you the fulfilment +of your words. If what you said is true, you can no more leave me to the +care of another physician, than you could leave a fellow-creature to +drown without doing your utmost to save him. I refuse to be given up to +Dr. Lowry." + +"But it is by no means a parallel ease," I argued; "you were under his +treatment before, and I have no reason whatever to doubt his skill. Why +should you feel safer in my hands than in his?" + +"Well!" he said, with a sneer, "if Olivia were alive, I dare scarcely +have trusted you, could I? But you have nothing to gain by my death, you +know; and I have so much faith in you, in your skill, and your honor, +and your conscientiousness--if there be any such qualities in the +world--that I place myself unfalteringly under your professional care. +Shake hands upon it, Martin Dobrée." + +In spite of my repugnance, I could not resist taking his offered hand. +His eyes were fastened upon me with something of the fabled fascination +of a serpent's. I knew instinctively that he would have the power, and +use it, of probing every wound he might suspect in me to the quick. Yet +he interested me; and there was something not entirely repellent to me +about him. Above all for Olivia's sake, should we find her still living, +I was anxious to study his character. It might happen, as it does +sometimes, that my honor and straight-forwardness might prove a match +for his crafty shrewdness. + +"There," he said, exultantly, "Martin Dobrée pledges himself to cure +me.--Carry, you are the witness of it. If I die, he has been my assassin +as surely as if he had plunged a stiletto into me." + +"Nonsense!" I answered; "it is not in my power to heal or destroy. I +simply pledge myself to use every means I know of for your recovery." + +"Which comes to the same thing," he replied; "for, mark you, I will be +the most careful patient you ever had. There should be no chance for +you, even if Olivia were alive." + +Always harping on that one string. Was it nothing more than a lore of +torturing some one that made him reiterate those words? Or did he wish +to drive home more deeply the conviction that she was indeed dead? + +"Have you communicated the intelligence of her death to her trustee in +Australia?" I asked. + +"No; why should I?" he said, "no good would come of it to me. Why should +I trouble myself about it?" + +"Nor to your step-sister?" I added. + +"To Mrs. Dobrée?" he rejoined; "no, it does not signify a straw to her +either. She holds herself aloof from me now, confound her! You are not +on very good terms with her yourself, I believe?" + +"The cab was still standing at the door, and I could not leave before it +drove away, or I should have made my visit a short one. Mrs. Foster was +glancing through the window from time to time, evidently on the watch to +see the visitor depart. Would she recognize Johanna? She had stayed some +weeks in Guernsey; and Johanna was a fine, stately-looking woman, +noticeable among strangers. I must do something to get her away from her +post of observation. + +"Mrs. Foster," I said, and her eyes sparkled at the sound of her name, +"I should be exceedingly obliged to you if you will give me another +sight of those papers you showed to me the last time I was here." + +She was away for a few minutes, and I heard the cab drive off before she +returned. That was the chief point gained. When the papers were in my +hand, I just glanced at them, and that was all. + +"Have you any idea where they came from?" I asked. + +"There is the London post-mark on the envelop," answered Foster.--"Show +it to him, Carry. There is nothing to be learned from that." + +"No," I said, comparing the handwriting on the envelop with the letter, +and finding them the same. "Well, good-by! I cannot often pay you as +long a visit as this." + +I hurried off quickly to the corner of Dawson Street, where Johanna was +waiting for me. She looked exceedingly contented when I took my seat +beside her in the cab. + +"Well, Martin," she said, "you need suffer no more anxiety. Olivia has +gone as English teacher in an excellent French school, where the lady is +thoroughly acquainted with English ways and comforts. This is the +prospectus of the establishment. You see there are 'extensive grounds +for recreation, and the comforts of a cheerfully happy home, the +domestic arrangements being on a thoroughly liberal scale.' Here is also +a photographic view of the place: a charming villa, you see, in the best +French style. The lady's husband is an _avocat_; and every thing is +taught by professors--cosmography and pedagogy, and other studies of +which we never heard when I was a girl. Olivia is to stay there twelve +months, and in return for her services will take lessons from any +professors attending the establishment. Your mind may be quite at ease +now." + +"But where is the place?" I inquired. + +"Oh! it is in Normandy--Noireau," she said--"quite out of the range of +railways and tourists. There will be no danger of any one finding her +out there; and you know she has changed her name altogether this time." + +"Did you discover that Olivia and Ellen Martineau are the same persons?" +I asked. + +An expression of bewilderment and consternation came across her +contented face. + +"No, I did not," she answered; "I thought you were sure of that." + +But I was not sure of it; neither could Jack be sure. He puzzled himself +in trying to give a satisfactory description of his Ellen Martineau; but +every answer he gave to my eager questions plunged us into greater +uncertainty. He was not sure of the color either of her hair or eyes, +and made blundering guesses at her height. The chief proof we had of +Olivia's identity was the drunken claim made upon Ellen Martineau by +Foster, a month after he had received convincing proof that she was +dead. What was I to believe? + +It was running too great a risk to make any further inquiries at No. 19 +Bellringer Street. Mrs. Wilkinson was the landlady of the lodging-house, +and she had told Johanna that Madame Perrier boarded with her when she +was in London. But she might begin to talk to her other lodgers, if her +own curiosity were excited; and once more my desire to fathom the +mystery hanging about Olivia might plunge her into fresh difficulties, +should they reach the ears of Foster or his wife. + +"I must satisfy myself about her safety now," I said. "Only put yourself +in my place, Jack. How can I rest till I know more about Olivia?" + +"I do put myself in your place," he answered. "What do you say to having +a run down to this place in Basse-Normandie, and seeing for yourself +whether Miss Ellen Martineau is your Olivia?" + +"How can I?" I asked, attempting to hang back from the suggestion. It +was a busy time with us. The season was in full roll, and our most +aristocratic patients were in town. The easterly winds were bringing in +their usual harvest of bronchitis and diphtheria. If I went, Jack's +hands would be more than full. Had these things come to perplex us only +two months earlier, I could have taken a holiday with a clear +conscience. + +"Dad will jump at the chance of coming back for a week," replied Jack; +"he is bored to death down at Fulham. Go you must, for my sake, old +fellow. You are good for nothing as long as you're so down in the mouth. +I shall be glad to be rid of you." + +We shook hands upon that, as warmly as if he had paid me the most +flattering compliments. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-SECOND. + +NOIREAU + + +In this way it came to pass that two evenings later I was crossing the +Channel to Havre, and found myself about five o'clock in the afternoon +of the next day at Falaise. It was the terminus of the railway in that +direction; and a very ancient conveyance, bearing the name of La Petite +Vitesse, was in waiting to carry on any travellers who were venturesome +enough to explore the regions beyond. There was space inside for six +passengers, but it smelt too musty, and was too full of the fumes of bad +tobacco, for me; and I very much preferred sitting beside the driver, a +red-faced, smooth-cheeked Norman, habited in a blue blouse, who could +crack his long whip with almost the skill of a Parisian omnibus-driver. +We were friends in a trice, for my _patois_ was almost identical with +his own, and he could not believe his own ears that he was talking with +an Englishman. + +"La Petite Vitesse" bore out its name admirably, if it were meant to +indicate exceeding slowness. We never advanced beyond a slow trot, and +at the slightest hint of rising ground the trot slackened into a walk, +and eventually subsided into a crawl. By these means the distance we +traversed was made to seem tremendous, and the drowsy jingle of the +collar-bells, intimating that progress was being accomplished, added to +the delusion. But the fresh, sweet air, blowing over leagues of fields +and meadows, untainted with a breath of smoke, gave me a delicious +tingling in the veins. I had not felt such a glow of exhilaration since +that bright morning when I bad crossed the channel to Sark, to ask +Olivia to become mine. + +The sun sank below the distant horizon, with the trees showing clearly +against it, for the atmosphere was as transparent as crystal; and the +light of the stars that came out one by one almost cast a defined shadow +upon our path, from the poplar-trees standing in long, straight rows in +the hedges. If I found Olivia at the end of that starlit path my +gladness in it would be completed. Yet if I found her, what then? I +should see her for a few minutes in the dull _salon_ of a school perhaps +with some watchful, spying Frenchwoman present. I should simply satisfy +myself that she was living. There could be nothing more between us. I +dare not tell her how dear she was to me, or ask her if she ever thought +of me in her loneliness and friendlessness. I began to wish that I had +brought Johanna with me, who could have taken her in her arms, and +kissed and comforted her. Why had I not thought of that before? + +As we proceeded at our delusive pace along the last stage of our +journey, I began to sound the driver, cautiously wheeling about the +object of my excursion into those remote regions. I had tramped through +Normandy and Brittany three or four times, but there had been no +inducement to visit Noireau, which resembled a Lancashire cotton-town, +and I had never been there. + +"There are not many English at Noireau?" I remarked, suggestively. + +"Not one," he replied--"not one at this moment. There was one little +English mam'zelle--peste!--a very pretty little English girl, who was +voyaging precisely like you, m'sieur, some months ago. There was a +little child with her, and the two were quite alone. They are very +intrepid, are the English mam'zelles. She did not know a word of our +language. But that was droll, m'sieur! A French demoiselle would never +voyage like that." + +The little child puzzled me. Yet I could not help fancying that this +young Englishwoman travelling alone, with no knowledge of French, must +be my Olivia. At any rate it could be no other than Miss Ellen +Martineau. + +"Where was she going to?" I asked. + +"She came to Noireau to be an instructress in an establishment," +answered the driver, in a tone of great enjoyment--"an establishment +founded by the wife of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the avocat! He! he! he! +Mon Dieu! how droll that was, m'sieur! An avocat! So they believed that +in England? Bah! Emile Perrier an avocat--mon Dieu!" + +"But what is there to laugh at?" I asked, as the man's laughter rang +through the quiet night. + +"Am I an avocat?" he inquired derisively, "am I a proprietor? am I even +a curé? Pardon, m'sieur, but I am just as much avocat, proprietor, curé, +as Emile Perrier. He was an impostor. He became bankrupt; he and his +wife ran away to save themselves; the establishment was broken up. It +was a bubble, m'sieur, and it burst comme ça." + +My driver clapped his hands together lightly, as though Monsieur +Perrier's bubble needed very little pressure to disperse it. + +"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, "but what became of Oli--of the young +English lady, and the child?" + +"Ah, m'sieur!" he said, "I do not know. I do not live in Noireau, but I +pass to and fro from Falaise in La Petite Vitesse. She has not returned +in my omnibus, that is all I know. But she could go to Granville, or to +Caen. There are other omnibuses, you see. Somebody will tell you down +there." + +For three or four miles before us there lay a road as straight as a +rule, ending in a small cluster of lights glimmering in the bottom of a +valley, into which we were descending with great precaution on the part +of the driver and his team. That was Noireau. But already my +exhilaration was exchanged for profound anxiety. I extorted from the +Norman all the information he possessed concerning the bankrupt; it was +not much, and it only served to heighten my solicitude. + +It was nearly eleven o'clock before we entered the town; but I learned a +few more particulars from the middle-aged woman in the omnibus bureau. +She recollected the name of Miss Ellen Martineau, and her arrival; and +she described her with the accuracy and faithfulness of a woman. If she +were not Olivia herself, she must be her very counterpart. But who was +the child, a girl of nine or ten years of age, who had accompanied her? +It was too late to learn any more about them. The landlady of the hotel +confirmed all I had heard, and added several items of information. +Monsieur Perrier and his wife had imposed upon several English families, +and had succeeded in getting dozens of English pupils, so she assured +me, who had been scattered over the country, Heaven only knew where, +when the school was broken up, about a month ago. + +I started out early the next morning to find the Rue de Grâce, where the +inscription on my photographic view of the premises represented them as +situated. The town was in the condition of a provincial town in England +about a century ago. The streets were as dirty as the total absence of +drains and scavengers could make them, and the cleanest path was up the +kennel in the centre. The filth of the houses was washed down into them +by pipes, with little cisterns at each story, and under almost every +window. There were many improprieties, and some indecencies, shocking to +English sensibilities. In the Rue de Grâce I saw two nuns in their hoods +and veils, unloading a cart full of manure. A ladies' school for English +people in a town like this seemed ridiculous. + +There was no difficulty in finding the houses in my photographic view. +There were two of them, one standing in the street, the other lying back +beyond a very pleasant garden. A Frenchman was pacing up and down the +broad gravel-path which connected them, smoking a cigar, and examining +critically the vines growing against the walls. Two little children were +gambolling about in close white caps, and with frocks down to their +heels. Upon seeing me, he took his cigar from his lips with two fingers +of one hand, and lifted his hat with the other. I returned the +salutation with a politeness as ceremonious as his own. + +"Monsieur is an Englishman?" he said, in a doubtful tone. + +"From the Channel Islands," I replied. + +"Ah! you belong to us," he said, "but you are hybrid, half English, half +French; a fine race. I also have English blood in my veins." + +I paid monsieur a compliment upon the result of the admixture of blood +in his own instance, and then proceeded to unfold my object in visiting +him. + +"Ah!" he said, "yes, yes, yes; Perrier was an impostor. These houses are +mine, monsieur. I live in the front, yonder; my daughter and son-in-law +occupy the other. We had the photographs taken for our own pleasure, but +Perrier must have bought them from the artist, no doubt. I have a small +cottage at the back of my house; voilà, monsieur! there it is. Perrier +rented it from me for two hundred francs a year. I permitted him to pass +along this walk, and through our coach-house into a passage which leads +to the street where madame had her school. Permit me, and I will show it +to you." + +He led me through a shed, and along a dirty, vaulted passage, into a +mean street at the back. A small, miserable-looking house stood in it, +shut up, with broken _persiennes_ covering the windows. My heart sank at +the idea of Olivia living here, in such discomfort, and neglect, and +sordid poverty. + +"Did you ever see a young English lady here, monsieur?" I asked; "she +arrived about the beginning of last November." + +"But yes, certainly, monsieur," he replied, "a charming English +demoiselle! One must have been blind not to observe her. A face sweet +and _gracieuse_; with hair of gold, but a little more sombre. Yes, yes! +The ladies might not admire her, but we others--" + +He laughed, and shrugged his shoulders in a detestable manner. + +"What height was she, monsieur?" I inquired. + +"A just height," he answered, "not tall like a camel, nor too short like +a monkey. She would stand an inch or two above your shoulder, monsieur." + +It could be no other than my Olivia! She had been living here, then, in +this miserable place, only a month ago; but where could she be now? How +was I to find any trace of her? + +"I will make some inquiries from my daughter," said the Frenchman; "when +the establishment was broken up I was ill with the fever, monsieur. We +have fever often here. But she will know--I will ask her." + +He returned to me after some time, with the information that the English +demoiselle had been seen in the house of a woman who sold milk, +Mademoiselle Rosalie by name; and he volunteered to accompany me to her +dwelling. + +It was a poor-looking house, of one room only, in the same street as the +school; but we found no one there except an old woman, exceedingly deaf, +who told us, after much difficulty in making her understand our object, +that Mademoiselle Rosalie was gone somewhere to nurse a relative, who +was dangerously ill. She had not had any cows of her own, and she had +easily disposed of her small business to this old woman and her +daughter. Did the messieurs want any milk for their families? No. Well, +then, she could not tell us any thing more about Mam'zelle Rosalie; and +she knew nothing of an Englishwoman and a little girl. + +I turned away baffled and discouraged; but my new friend was not so +quickly depressed. It was impossible, he maintained, that the English +girl and the child could have left the town unnoticed. He went with me +to all the omnibus bureaus, where we made urgent inquiries concerning +the passengers who had quitted Noireau during the last month. No places +had been taken for Miss Ellen Martineau and the child, for there was no +such name in any of the books. But at each bureau I was recommended to +see the drivers upon their return in the evening; and I was compelled to +give up the pursuit for that day. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-THIRD. + +A SECOND PURSUER. + + +No wonder there was fever in the town, I thought, as I picked my way +among the heaps of garbage and refuse lying out in the streets. The most +hideous old women I ever saw, wrinkled over every inch of their skin, +blear-eyed, and with eyelids reddened by smoke, met me at each turn. +Sallow weavers, in white caps, gazed out at me from their looms in +almost every house. There was scarcely a child to be seen about. The +whole district, undrained and unhealthy, bears the name of the +"Manufactory of Little Angels," from the number of children who die +there. And this was the place where Olivia had been spending a very hard +and severe winter! + +There was going to be a large cattle-fair the next day, and all the town +was alive. Every inn in the place was crowded to overflowing. As I sat +at the window of my _café_, watching the picturesque groups which formed +in the street outside, I heard a vehement altercation going on in the +archway, under which was the entrance to my hotel. + +"Grands Dieux!" cried the already familiar voice of my landlady, shrill +as the cackling of a hen--"grands Dieux! not a single soul from +Ville-en-bois can rest here, neither man nor woman! They have the fever +like a pest there. No, no, m'sieur, that is impossible; go away, you and +your beast. There is room at the Lion d'or. But the gensdarmes should +not let you enter the town. We have fever enough of our own." + +"But my farm is a league from Ville-en-bois," was the answer, in the +slow, rugged accents of a Norman peasant. + +"But I tell you it is impossible,'" she retorted; "I have an Englishman +here, very rich, a milor, and he will not hear of any person from +Ville-en-bois resting in the house. Go away to the Lion d'or, my good +friend, where there are no English. They are as afraid of the fever as +of the devil." + +I laughed to myself at my landlady's ingenious excuses; but after this +the conversation fell into a lower key, and I heard no more of it. + +I went out late in the evening to question each of the omnibus--drivers, +but in vain. Whether they were too busy to give me proper attention, or +too anxious to join the stir and mirth of the townspeople, they all +declared they knew nothing of any Englishwoman. As I returned dejectedly +to my inn, I heard a lamentable voice, evidently English, bemoaning in +doubtful French. The omnibus from Falaise had just come in, and under +the lamp in the entrance of the archway stood a lady before my hostess, +who was volubly asserting that there was no room left in her house. I +hastened to the assistance of my countrywoman, and the light of the lamp +falling full upon her face revealed to me who she was. + +"Mrs. Foster!" I exclaimed, almost shouting her name in my astonishment. +She looked ready to faint with fatigue and dismay, and she laid her hand +heavily on my arm, as if to save herself from sinking to the ground. + +"Have you found her?" she asked, involuntarily. + +"Not a trace of her," I answered. + +Mrs. Foster broke into an hysterical laugh, which was very quickly +followed by sobs. I had no great difficulty in persuading the landlady +to find some accommodation for her, and then I retired to my own room to +smoke in peace, and turn over the extraordinary meeting which had been +the last incident of the day. + +It required very little keenness to come to the conclusion that the +Fosters had obtained their information concerning Miss Ellen Martineau, +where we had got ours, from Mrs. Wilkinson. Also that Mrs. Foster had +lost no time in following up the clew, for she was only twenty-four +hours behind me. She had looked thoroughly astonished and dismayed when +she saw me there; so she had had no idea that I was on the same track. +But nothing could be more convincing than this journey of hers that +neither she nor Foster really believed in Olivia's death. That was as +clear as day. But what explanation could I give to myself of those +letters, of Olivia's above all? Was it possible that she had caused them +to be written, and sent to her husband? I could not even admit such a +question, without a sharp sense of disappointment in her. + +I saw Mrs. Foster early in the morning, somewhat as a truce-bearer may +meet another on neutral ground. She was grateful to me for my +interposition in her behalf the night before; and, as I knew Ellen +Martineau to be safely out of the way, I was inclined to be tolerant +toward her. I assured her, upon my honor, that I had failed in +discovering any trace of Olivia in Noireau, and I told her all I had +learned about the bankruptcy of Monsieur Perrier, and the scattering of +the school. + +"But why should you undertake such a chase?" I asked; "if you and Foster +are satisfied that Olivia is dead, why should you be running after Ellen +Martineau? You show me the papers which seem to prove her death, and now +I find you in this remote part of Normandy, evidently in pursuit of her. +What does this mean?" + +"You are doing the same thing yourself," she answered. + +"Yes," I replied, "because I am not satisfied. But you have proved your +conviction by becoming Richard Foster's second wife." + +"That is the very point," she said, shedding a few tears; "as soon as +ever Mrs. Wilkinson described Ellen Martineau to me, when she was +talking about her visitor who had come to inquire after her, in that cab +which was standing at the door the last time you visited Mr. Foster--and +I had no suspicion of it--I grew quite frightened lest he should ever be +charged with marrying me while she was alive. So I persuaded him to let +me come here and make sure of it, though the journey costs a great deal, +and we have very little money to spare. We did not know what tricks +Olivia might do, and it made me very miserable to think she might be +still alive, and I in her place." + +I could not but acknowledge to myself that there was some reason in Mrs. +Foster's statement of the case. + +"There is not the slightest chance of your finding her," I remarked. + +"Isn't there?" she asked, with an evil gleam in her eyes, which I just +caught before she hid her face again in her handkerchief. + +"At any rate," I said, "you would have no power over her if you found +her. You could not take her back with you by force. I do not know how +the French laws would regard Foster's authority, but you can have none +whatever, and he is quite unfit to take this long journey to claim her. +Really I do not see what you can do; and I should think your wisest +plan would be to go back and take care of him, leaving her alone. I am +here to protect her, and I shall stay until I see you fairly out of the +place." + +She did not speak again for some minutes, but she was evidently +reflecting upon what I had just said. + +"But what are we to live upon?" she asked at last; "there is her money +lying in the bank, and neither she nor Richard can touch it. It must be +paid to her personally or to her order; and she cannot prove her +identity herself without the papers Richard holds. It is aggravating. I +am at my wits' end about it." + +"Listen to me," I said. "Why cannot we come to some arrangement, +supposing Ellen Martineau proves to be Olivia? It would be better for +you all to make some division of her property by mutual agreement. You +know best whether Olivia could insist upon a judicial separation. But in +any other case why should not Foster agree to receive half her income, +and leave her free, as free as she can be, with the other half? Surely +some mutual agreement could be made." + +"He would never do it!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands round her +knees, and swaying to and fro passionately; "he never loses any power. +She belongs to him, and he never gives up any thing. He would torment +her almost to death, but he would never let her go free. No, no. You do +not know him, Dr. Martin." + +"Then we will try to get a divorce," I said, looking at her steadily. + +"On what grounds?" she asked, looking at me as steadily. + +I could not and would not enter into the question with her. + +"There has been no personal cruelty on Richard's part toward her," she +resumed, with a half-smile. "It's true I locked her up for a few days +once, but he was in Paris, and had nothing to do with it. You could not +prove a single act of cruelty toward her." + +Still I did not answer, though she paused and regarded me keenly. + +"We were not married till we had reason to believe her dead," she +continued; "there is no harm in that. If she has forged those papers, +she is to blame. We were married openly, in our parish church; what +could be said against that?" + +"Let us return to what I told you at first," I said; "if you find +Olivia, you have no more authority over her than I have. You will be +obliged to return to England alone; and I shall place her in some safe +custody. I shall ascertain precisely how the law stands, both, here and +in England. Now I advise you, for Foster's sake, make as much haste home +as you can; for he will be left without nurse or doctor while we two are +away." + +She sat gnawing her under lip for some minutes, and looking as vicious +as Madam was wont to do in her worst tempers. + +"You will let me make some inquiries to satisfy myself?" she said. + +"Certainly," I replied; "you will only discover, as I have, that the +school was broken up a month ago, and Ellen Martineau has disappeared." + +I kept no very strict watch over her during the day, for I felt sure she +would find no trace of Olivia in Noireau. At night I saw her again. She +was worn out and despondent, and declared herself quite ready to return +to Falaise by the omnibus at five o'clock in the morning. I saw her off, +and gave the driver a fee, to bring me word for what town she took her +ticket at the railway-station. When he returned in the evening, he told +me he had himself bought her one for Honfleur, and started her fairly on +her way home. + +As for myself, I had spent the day in making inquiries at the offices of +the _octrois_--those local custom-houses which stand at every entrance +into a town or village in France, for the gathering of trifling, +vexatious taxes upon articles of food and merchandise. At one of these I +had learned, that, three or four weeks ago, a young Englishwoman with a +little girl had passed by on foot, each carrying a small bundle, which +had not been examined. It was the _octroi_ on the road to Granville, +which was between thirty and forty miles away. From Granville was the +nearest route to the Channel Islands. Was it not possible that Olivia +had resolved to seek refuge there again? Perhaps to seek me! My heart, +bowed down by the sad picture of her and the little child leaving the +town on foot, beat high again at the thought of Olivia in Guernsey. + +I set off for Granville by the omnibus next morning, and made further +inquiries at every village we passed through, whether any thing had been +seen of a young Englishwoman and a little girl. At first the answer was +yes; then it became a matter of doubt; at last everywhere they replied +by a discouraging no. At one point of our journey we passed a +dilapidated sign-post with a rude, black figure of the Virgin hanging +below it. I could just decipher upon one finger of the post, in +half-obliterated letters, "Ville-en-bois." It recurred to me that this +was the place where fever was raging like the pest. + +"It is a poor place," said the driver, disparagingly; "there is nothing +there but the fever, and a good angel of a curé, who is the only doctor +into the bargain. It is two leagues and a kilometre, and it is on the +road to nowhere." + +I could not stop in my quest to turn aside, and visit this village +smitten with fever, though I felt a strong inclination to do so. At +Granville I learned that a young lady and a child had made the voyage to +Jersey a short time before; and I went on with stronger hope. But in +Jersey I could obtain no further information about her; nor in Guernsey, +whither I felt sure Olivia would certainly have proceeded. I took one +day more to cross over to Sark, and consult Tardif; but he knew no more +than I did. He absolutely refused to believe that Olivia was dead. + +"In August," he said, "I shall hear from her. Take courage and comfort. +She promised it, and she will keep her promise. If she had known herself +to be dying, she would have sent me word." + +"It is a long time to wait," I said, with an utter sinking of spirit. + +"It is a long time to wait!" he echoed, lifting up his hands, and +letting them fall again with a gesture of weariness; "but we must wait +and hope." + +To wait in impatience, and to hope at times, and despair at times, I +returned to London. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-FOURTH. + +THE LAW OF MARRIAGE. + + +One of my first proceedings, after my return, was to ascertain how the +English law stood with regard to Olivia's position. Fortunately for me, +one of Dr. Senior's oldest friends was a lawyer of great repute, and he +discussed the question with me after a dinner at his house at Fulham. + +"There seems to be no proof against the husband of any kind," he said, +after I had told him all. + +"Why!" I exclaimed, "here you have a girl, brought up in luxury and +wealth, willing to brave any poverty rather than continue to live with +him." + +"A girl's whim," he said; "mania, perhaps. Is there insanity in her +family?" + +"She is as sane as I am," I answered. "Is there no law to protect a wife +against the companionship of such a woman as this second Mrs. Foster?" + +"The husband introduces her as his cousin," he rejoined, "and places her +in some little authority on the plea that his wife is too young to be +left alone safely in Continental hotels. There is no reasonable +objection to be taken to that." + +"Then Foster could compel her to return to him?" I said. + +"As far as I see into the case, he certainly could," was the answer, +which drove me nearly frantic. + +"But there is this second marriage," I objected. + +"There lies the kernel of the case," he said, daintily peeling his +walnuts. "You tell me there are papers, which you believe to be +forgeries, purporting to be the medical certificate, with corroborative +proof of her death. Now, if the wife be guilty of framing these, the +husband will bring them against her as the grounds on which he felt free +to contract his second marriage. She has done a very foolish and a very +wicked thing there." + +"You think she did it?" I asked. + +He smiled significantly, but without saying any thing. + +"I cannot!" I cried. + +"Ah! you are blind," he replied, with the same maddening smile; "but let +me return. On the other hand, _if_ the husband has forged these papers, +it would go far with me as strong presumptive evidence against him, upon +which we might go in for a divorce, not a separation merely. If the +young lady had remained with him till she had collected proof of his +unfaithfulness to her, this, with his subsequent marriage to the same +person during her lifetime, would probably have set her absolutely +free." + +"Divorced from him?" I said. + +"Divorce," he repeated. + +"But what can be done now?" I asked. + +"All you can do," he answered, "is to establish your influence over this +fellow, and go cautiously to work with him. As long as the lady is in +France, if she be alive, and he is too ill to go after her, she is safe. +You may convince him by degrees that it is to his interest to come to +some terms with her. A formal deed of separation might be agreed upon, +and drawn up; but even that will not perfectly secure her in the +future." + +I was compelled to remain satisfied with this opinion. Yet how could I +be satisfied, while Olivia, if she was still living, was wandering about +homeless, and, as I feared, destitute, in a foreign country? + +I made my first call upon Foster the next evening. Mrs. Foster had been +to Brook Street every day since her return, to inquire for me, and to +leave an urgent message that I should go to Bellringer Street as soon as +I was again in town. The lodging-house looked almost as wretched as the +forsaken dwelling down at Noireau, where Olivia had perhaps been living; +and the stifling, musty air inside it almost made me gasp for breath. + +"So you are come back!" was Foster's greeting, as I entered the dingy +room. + +"Yes." I replied. + +"I need not ask what success you've had," he said, sneering, 'Why so +pale and wan, fond lover?' Your trip has not agreed with you, that is +plain enough. It did not agree with Carry, either, for she came back +swearing she would never go on such a wild-goose chase again. You know I +was quite opposed to her going?" + +"No," I said, incredulously. The diamond ring had disappeared from his +finger, and it was easy to guess how the funds had been raised for the +journey. + +"Altogether opposed," he repeated. "I believe Olivia is dead. I am quite +sure she has never been under this roof with me, as Miss Ellen Martineau +has been. I should have known it as surely as ever a tiger scented its +prey. Do you suppose I have no sense keen enough to tell me she was in +the very house where I was?" + +"Nonsense!" I answered. His eyes glistened cruelly, and made me almost +ready to spring upon him. I could have seized him by the throat and +shaken him to death, in my sudden passion of loathing against him; but I +sat quiet, and ejaculated "Nonsense!" Such power has the spirit of the +nineteenth century among civilized classes. + +"Olivia is dead," he said, in a solemn tone. "I am convinced of that +from another reason: through all the misery of our marriage, I never +knew her guilty of an untruth, not the smallest. She was as true as the +Gospel. Do you think you or Carry could make me believe that she would +trifle with such an awful subject as her own death? No. I would take my +oath that Olivia would never have had that letter sent, or write to me +those few lines of farewell, but to let me know that she was really +dead." + +His voice faltered a little, as though even he were moved by the thought +of her early death. Mrs. Foster glanced at him jealously, and he looked +back at her with a provoking curve about his lips. For the moment there +was more hatred than love in the regards exchanged between them. I saw +it was useless to pursue the subject. + +"Well," I said, "I came to arrange a time for Dr. Lowry to visit you +with me, for the purpose of a thorough examination. It is possible that +Dr. Senior may be induced to join us, though he has retired from +practice. I am anxious for his opinion as well as Lowry's." "You really +wish to cure me?" he answered, raising his eyebrows. + +"To be sure," I replied. "I can have no other object in undertaking your +case. Do you imagine it is a pleasure to me? It is possible that your +death would be a greater benefit to the world than your life, but that +is no question for me to decide. Neither is it for me to consider +whether you are my friend or my enemy. There is simply a life to be +saved if possible; whose, is not my business. Do you understand me?" + +"I think so," he said. "I am nothing except material for you to exercise +your craft upon." + +"Precisely," I answered; "that and nothing more. As some writer says, +'It is a mere matter of instinct with me. I attend you just as a +Newfoundland dog saves a drowning man.'" + +I went from him to Hanover Street, where I found Captain Carey, who met +me with the embarrassment and shamefacedness of a young girl. I had not +yet seen them since my return from Normandy. There was much to tell +them, though they already knew that my expedition had failed, and that +it was still doubtful whether Ellen Martineau and Olivia were the same +person. + +Captain Carey walked along the street with me toward home. He had taken +my arm in his most confidential manner, but he did not open his lips +till we reached Brook Street. + +"Martin," he said, "I've turned it over in my own mind, and I agree with +Tardif. Olivia is no more dead than you or me. We shall find out all +about it in August, if not before. Cheer up, my boy! I tell you what: +Julia and I will wait till we are sure about Olivia." + +"No, no," I interrupted; "you and Julia have nothing to do with it. +When is your wedding to be?" + +"If you have no objection," he answered--"have you the least shadow of +an objection?" + +"Not a shadow of a shadow," I said. + +"Well, then," he resumed, bashfully, "what do you think of August? It is +a pleasant month, and would give us time for that trip to Switzerland, +you know. Not any sooner, because of your poor mother; and later, if you +like that better." + +"Not a day later," I said; "my father has been married again these four +months." + +Yet I felt a little sore for my mother's memory. How quickly it was +fading away from every heart but mine! If I could but go to her now, and +pour out all my troubled thoughts into her listening, indulgent ear! Not +even Olivia herself, who could never be to me more than she was at this +moment, could fill her place. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIFTH. + +FULFILLING THE PLEDGE. + + +We--that is, Dr. Senior, Lowry, and I--made our examination of Foster, +and held our consultation, three days from that time. + +There was no doubt whatever that he was suffering from the same disease +as that which had been the death of my mother--a disease almost +invariably fatal, sooner or later. A few cases of cure, under most +favorable circumstances, had been reported during the last half-century; +but the chances were dead against Foster's recovery. In all probability, +a long and painful illness, terminating in inevitable death, lay before +him. In the opinion of my two senior physicians, all that I could do +would be to alleviate the worst pangs of it. + +His case haunted me day and night. In that deep under-current of +consciousness which lurks beneath our surface sensations and +impressions, there was always present the image of Foster, with his +pale, cynical face, and pitiless eyes. With this, was the perpetual +remembrance that a subtile malady, beyond the reach of our skill, was +slowly eating away his life. The man I abhorred; but the sufferer, +mysteriously linked with the memories which clung about my mother, +aroused her most urgent, instinctive compassion. Only once before had I +watched the conflict between disease and its remedy with so intense an +interest. + +It was a day or two after our consultation that I came accidentally upon +the little note-book which I had kept in Guernsey--a private note-book, +accessible only to myself. It was night; Jack, as usual, was gone out, +and I was alone. I turned over the leaves merely for listless want of +occupation. All at once I came upon an entry, made in connection with my +mother's illness, which recalled to me the discovery I believed I had +made of a remedy for her disease, had it only been applied in its +earlier stages. It had slipped out of my mind, but now my memory leaped +upon it with irresistible force. + +I must tell the whole truth, however terrible and humiliating it may be. +Whether I had been true or false to myself up to that moment I cannot +say. I had taken upon myself the care, and, if possible, the cure of +this man, who was my enemy, if I had an enemy in the world. His life and +mine could not run parallel without great grief and hurt to me, and to +one dearer than myself. Now that a better chance was thrust upon me in +his favor, I shrank from seizing it with unutterable reluctance. I +turned heart-sick at the thought of it. I tried my utmost to shake off +the grip of my memory. Was it possible that, in the core of my heart, I +wished this man to die? + +Yes, I wished him to die. Conscience flashed the answer across the inner +depths of my soul, as a glare of lightning over the sharp crags and +cruel waves of our island in a midnight storm. I saw with terrible +distinctness that there had been lurking within a sure sense of +satisfaction in the certainty that he must die. I had suspected nothing +of it till that moment. When I told him it was the instinct of a +physician to save his patient, I spoke the truth. But I found something +within me deeper than instinct, that was wailing and watching for the +fatal issue of his malady, with a tranquil security so profound that it +never stirred the surface of my consciousness, or lifted up its ghostly +face to the light of conscience. + +I took up my note-book, and went away to my room, lest Jack should come +in suddenly, and read my secret on my face. I thrust the book into a +drawer in my desk, and locked it away out of my sight. What need had I +to trouble myself with it or its contents? I found a book, one of +Charles Dickens's most amusing stories, and set myself resolutely to +read it; laughing aloud at its drolleries, and reading faster and +faster; while all the time thoughts came crowding into my mind of my +mother's pale, worn face, and the pains she suffered, and the remedy +found out too late. These images grew so strong at last that my eyes ran +over the sentences mechanically, but my brain refused to take in the +meaning of them. I threw the book from me; and, leaning my head on my +hands, I let all the waves of that sorrowful memory flow over me. + +How strong they were! how persistent! I could hear the tones of her +languid voice, and see the light lingering to the last in her dim eyes, +whenever they met mine. A shudder crept through me as I recollected how +she travelled that dolorous road, slowly, day by day, down to the grave. +Other feet were beginning to tread the same painful journey; but there +was yet time to stay them, and the power to do it was intrusted to me. +What was I to do with my power? + +It seemed cruel that this power should come to me from my mother's +death. If she were living still, or if she had died from any other +cause, the discovery of this remedy would never have been made by me. +And I was to take it as a sort of miraculous gift, purchased by her +pangs, and bestow it upon the only man I hated. For I hated him; I said +so to myself, muttering the words between my teeth. + +What was the value of his life, that I should ransom it by such a +sacrifice? A mean, selfish, dissipated life--a life that would be +Olivia's curse as long as it lasted. For an instant a vision stood out +clear before me, and made my heart beat fast, of Olivia free, as she +must be in the space of a few months, should I leave the disease to take +its course; free and happy, disenthralled from the most galling of all +bondage. Could I not win her then? She knew already that I loved her; +would she not soon learn to love me in return? If Olivia were living, +what an irreparable injury it would be to her for this man to recover! + +That seemed to settle the question. I could not be the one to doom her +to a continuation of the misery she was enduring. It was irrational and +over-scrupulous of my conscience to demand such a thing from me. I would +use all the means practised in the ordinary course of treatment to +render the recovery of my patient possible, and so fulfil my duty. I +would carefully follow all Dr. Senior's suggestions. He was an +experienced and very skilful physician; I could not do better than +submit my judgment to his. + +Besides, how did I know that this fancied discovery of mine was of the +least value? I had never had a chance of making experiment of it, and no +doubt it was an idle chimera of my brain, when it was overwrought by +anxiety for my mother's sake. I had not hitherto thought enough of it to +ask the opinion of any of my medical friends and colleagues. Why should +I attach any importance to it now? Let it rest. Not a soul knew of it +but myself. I had a perfect right to keep or destroy my own notes. +Suppose I destroyed that one at once? + +I unlocked the desk, and took out my book again. The leaf on which these +special notes were written was already loose, and might have been easily +lost at any time, I thought. I burned it by the flame of the gas, and +threw the brown ashes into the grate. For a few minutes I felt elated, +as if set free from an oppressive burden; and I returned to the story I +had been reading, and laughed more heartily than before at the grotesque +turn of the incidents. But before long the tormenting question came up +again. The notes were not lost. They seemed now to be burned in upon my +brain. + +The power has been put into your hands to save life, said my conscience, +and you are resolving to let it perish. What have you to do with the +fact that the nature is mean, selfish, cruel? It is the physical life +simply that you have to deal with. What is beyond that rests in the +hands of God. What He is about to do with this soul is no question for +you. Your office pledges you to cure him if you can, and the fulfilment +of this duty is required of you. If you let this man die, you are a +murderer. + +But, I said in answer to myself, consider what trivial chances the whole +thing has hung upon. Besides the accident that this was my mother's +malady, there was the chance of Lowry not being called from home. The +man was his patient, not mine. After that there was the chance of Jack +going to see him, instead of me; or of him refusing my attendance. If +the chain had broken at one of these links, no responsibility could have +fallen upon me. He would have died, and all the good results of his +death would have followed naturally. Let it rest at that. + +But it could not rest at that. I fought a battle with myself all through +the quiet night, motionless and in silence, lest Jack should become +aware that I was not sleeping. How should I ever face him, or grasp his +hearty hand again, with such a secret weight upon my soul? Yet how could +I resolve to save Foster at the cost of dooming Olivia to a life-long +bondage should he discover where she was, or to life-long poverty should +she remain concealed? If I were only sure that she was alive! But if she +were dead--why, then all motive for keeping back this chance of saving +him would be taken away. It was for her sake merely that I hesitated. + +For her sake, but for my own as well, said my conscience; for the subtle +hope, which had taken deeper root day by day, that by-and-by the only +obstacle between us would be removed. Suppose then that he was dead, and +Olivia was free to love me, to become my wife. Would not her very +closeness to me be a reproving presence forever at my side? Could I ever +recall the days before our marriage, as men recall them when they are +growing gray and wrinkled, as a happy golden time? Would there not +always be a haunting sense of perfidy, and disloyalty to duty, standing +between me and her clear truth and singleness of heart? There could be +no happiness for me, even with Olivia, my cherished and honored wife, if +I had this weight and cloud resting upon my conscience. + +The morning dawned before I could decide. The decision, when made, +brought no feeling of relief or triumph to me. As soon as it was +probable that Dr. Senior could see me; I was at his house at Fulham; and +in rapid, almost incoherent words laid what I believed to be my +important discovery before him. He sat thinking for some time, running +over in his own mind such cases as had come under his own observation. +After a while a gleam of pleasure passed over his face, and his eyes +brightened as he looked at me. + +"I congratulate you, Martin," he said, "though I wish Jack had hit upon +this. I believe it will prove a real benefit to our science. Let me turn +it over a little longer, and consult some of my colleagues about it. But +I think you are right. You are about to try it on poor Foster?" + +"Yes," I answered, with a chilly sensation in my veins, the natural +reaction upon the excitement of the past night. + +"It can do him no harm," he said, "and in my opinion it will prolong his +life to old age, if he is careful of himself. I will write a paper on +the subject for the _Lancet_, if you will allow me." + +"With all my heart," I said sadly. + +The old physician regarded me for a minute with his keen eyes, which had +looked through the window of disease into many a human soul. I shrank +from the scrutiny, but I need not have done so. He grasped my hand +firmly and closely in his own. + +"God bless you, Martin!" he said, "God bless you!" + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-SIXTH. + +A DEED OF SEPARATION. + + +That keen, benevolent glance of Dr. Senior's was like a gleam of +sunlight piercing through the deepest recesses of my troubled spirit. I +felt that I was no longer fighting my fight out alone. A friendly eye +was upon me; a friendly voice was cheering me on. "The dead shall look +me through and through," says Tennyson. For my part I should wish for a +good, wise man to look me through and through; feel the pulse of my soul +from time to time, when it was ailing, and detect what was there +contrary to reason and to right. Dr. Senior's hearty "God bless you!" +brought strength and blessing with it. + +I went straight from Fulham to Bellringer Street. A healthy impulse to +fulfil all my duty, however difficult, was in its first fervid moment of +action. Nevertheless there was a subtle hope within me founded upon one +chance that was left--it was just possible that Foster might refuse to +be made the subject of an experiment; for an experiment it was. + +I found him not yet out of bed. Mrs. Foster was busy at her task of +engrossing in the sitting-room--- a task she performed so well that I +could not believe but that she had been long accustomed to it. I +followed her to Foster's bedroom, a small close attic at the back, with +a cheerless view of chimneys and the roofs of houses. There was no means +of ventilation, except by opening a window near the head of the bed, +when the draught of cold air would blow full upon him. He looked +exceedingly worn and wan. The doubt crossed me, whether the disease had +not made more progress than we supposed. His face fell as he saw the +expression upon mine. + +"Worse, eh?" he said; "don't say I am worse." + +I sat down beside him, and told him what I believed to be his chance of +life; not concealing from him that I proposed to try, if he gave his +consent, a mode of treatment which had never been practised before. His +eye, keen and sharp as that of a lynx, seemed to read my thoughts as Dr. +Senior's had done. + +"Martin Dobrée," he said, in a voice so different from his ordinary +caustic tone that it almost startled me, "I can trust you. I put myself +with implicit confidence into your hands." + +The last chance--dare I say the last hope?--was gone. I stood pledged on +my honor as a physician, to employ this discovery, which had been laid +open to me by my mother's fatal illness, for the benefit of the man +whose life was most harmful to Olivia and myself. I felt suffocated, +stifled. I opened the window for a minute or two, and leaned through it +to catch the fresh breath of the outer air. + +"I must tell you," I said, when I drew my head in again, "that you must +not expect to regain your health and strength so completely as to be +able to return to your old dissipations. You must make up your mind to +lead a regular, quiet, abstemious life, avoiding all excitement. Nine +months out of the twelve at least, if not the whole year, you must spend +in the country for the sake of fresh air. A life in town would kill you +in six months. But if you are careful of yourself you may live to sixty +or seventy." + +"Life at any price!" he answered, in his old accents, "yet you put it in +a dreary light before me. It hardly seems worth while to buy such an +existence, especially with that wife of mine downstairs, who cannot +endure the country, and is only a companion for a town-life. Now, if it +had been Olivia--you could imagine life in the country endurable with +Olivia?" + +What could I answer to such a question, which ran through me like an +electric shock? A brilliant phantasmagoria flashed across my brain--a +house in Guernsey with Olivia in it--sunshine--flowers--the singing of +birds--the music of the sea--the pure, exhilarating atmosphere. It had +vanished into a dead blank before I opened my mouth, though probably a +moment's silence had not intervened. Foster's lips were curled into a +mocking smile. + +"There would be more chance for you now," I said, "if you could have +better air than this." + +"How can I?" he asked. + +"Be frank with me," I answered, "and tell me what your means are. It +would be worth your while to spend your last farthing upon this chance." + +"Is it not enough to make a man mad," he said, "to know there are +thousands lying in the bank in his wife's name, and he cannot touch a +penny of it? It is life itself to me; yet I may die like a dog in this +hole for the want of it. My death will lie at Olivia's door, curse her!" + +He fell back upon his pillows, with a groan as heavy and deep as ever +came from the heart of a wretch perishing from sheer want. I could not +choose but feel some pity for him; but this was an opportunity I must +not miss. + +"It is of no use to curse her," I said; "come, Foster, let us talk over +this matter quietly and reasonably. If Olivia be alive, as I cannot help +hoping she is, your wisest course would be to come to some mutual +agreement, which-would release you both from your present difficulties; +for you must recollect she is as penniless as yourself. Let me speak to +you as if I were her brother. Of this one thing you may be quite +certain, she will never consent to return to you; and in that I will aid +her to the utmost of my power. But there is no reason why you should not +have a good share of the property, which she would gladly relinquish on +condition that you left her alone. Now just listen carefully. I think +there would be small difficulty, if we set about it, in proving that you +were guilty against her with your present wife; and in that case she +could claim a divorce absolutely, and her property would remain her own. +Your second marriage with the same person would set her free from you +altogether." + +"You could prove nothing." he replied, fiercely, "and my second marriage +is covered by the documents I could produce." + +"Which are forged," I said, calmly; "we will find out by whom. You are +in a net of your own making. But we do not wish to push this question to +a legal issue. Let us come to some arrangement. Olivia will consent to +any terms I agree to." + +Unconsciously I was speaking as if I knew where Olivia was, and could +communicate with her when I chose. I was merely anticipating the time +when Tardif felt sure of hearing from her. Foster lay still, watching me +with his cold, keen eyes. + +"If those letters are forged," he said, uneasily, "it is Olivia who has +forged them. But I must consult my lawyers. I will let you know the +result in a few days." + +But the same evening I received a note, desiring me to go and see him +immediately. I was myself in a fever of impatience, and glad at the +prospect of any settlement "of this subject, in the hope of setting +Olivia free, as far as she could be free during his lifetime. He was +looking brighter and better than in the morning, and an odd smile played +now and then about his face as he talked to me, after having desired +Mrs. Foster to leave us alone together. + +"Mark!" he said, "I have not the slightest reason to doubt Olivia's +death, except your own opinion to the contrary, which is founded upon +reasons of which I know nothing. But, acting on the supposition that she +may be still alive, I am quite willing to enter into negotiations with +her, I suppose it must be through you." + +"It must," I answered, "and it cannot be at present. You will have to +wait for some months, perhaps, while I pursue my search for her. I do +not know where she is any more than you do." + +A vivid gleam crossed his face at these words, but whether of +incredulity or satisfaction I could not tell. + +"But suppose I die in the mean time?" he objected. + +That objection was a fair and obvious one. His malady would not pause in +its insidious attack while I was seeking Olivia. I deliberated for a few +minutes, endeavoring to look at a scheme which presented itself to me +from every point of view. + +"I do not know that I might not leave you in your present position," I +said at last; "it may be I am acting from an over-strained sense of +duty. But if you will give me a formal deed protecting her from +yourself, I am willing to advance the funds necessary to remove you to +purer air, and more open quarters than these. A deed of separation, +which both of you must sign, can be drawn up, and receive your +signature. There will be no doubt as to getting hers, when we find her. +But that may be some months hence, as I said. Still I will run the +risk." + +"For her sake?" he said, with a sneer. + +"For her sake, simply," I answered; "I will employ a lawyer to draw up +the deed, and as soon as you sign it I will advance the money you +require. My treatment of your disease I shall begin at once; that falls, +under my duty as your doctor; but I warn you that fresh air and freedom +from agitation are almost, if not positively, essential to its success. +The sooner you secure these for yourself, the better your chance." + +Some further conversation passed between us, as to the stipulations to +be insisted upon, and the division of the yearly income from Olivia's +property, for I would not agree to her alienating any portion of it. +Foster wished to drive a hard bargain, still with that odd smile on his +face; and it was after much discussion that we came to an agreement. + +I had the deed drawn up by a lawyer, who warned me that, if Foster sued +for a restitution of his rights, they would be enforced. But I hoped +that when Olivia was found she would have some evidence in her own +favor, which would deter him from carrying the case into court. The deed +was signed by Foster, and left in my charge till Olivia's signature +could be obtained. + +As soon as the deed was secured, I had my patient removed from +Bellringer Street to some apartments in Fulham, near to Dr. Senior, +whose interest in the case was now almost equal to my own. Here, if I +could not visit him every day, Dr. Senior did, while his great +professional skill enabled him to detect symptoms which might have +escaped my less experienced eye. Never had any sufferer, under the +highest and wealthiest ranks, greater care and science expended upon him +than Richard Foster. + +The progress of his recovery was slow, but it was sure. I felt that it +would be so from the first. Day by day I watched the pallid hue of +sickness upon his face changing into a more natural tone. I saw his +strength coming back by slight but steady degrees. The malady was forced +to retreat into its most hidden citadel, where it might lurk as a +prisoner, but not dwell as a destroyer, for many years to come, if +Foster would yield himself to the _régime_ of life we prescribed. But +the malady lingered there, ready to break out again openly, if its +dungeon-door were set ajar. I had given life to him, but it was his part +to hold it fast. + +There was no triumph to me in this, as there would have been had my +patient been any one else. The cure aroused much interest among my +colleagues, and made my name more known. But what was that to me? As +long as this man lived, Olivia was doomed to a lonely and friendless +life. I tried to look into the future for her, and saw it stretch out +into long, dreary years. I wondered where she would find a home. Could I +persuade Johanna to receive her into her pleasant dwelling, which would +become so lonely to her when Captain Carey had moved into Julia's house +in St. Peter-Port? That was the best plan I could form. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-SEVENTH. + +A FRIENDLY, CABMAN. + + +Julia's marriage arrangements were going on speedily. There was +something ironical to me in the chance that made me so often the witness +of them. We were so merely cousins again, that she discussed her +purchases, and displayed them before me, as if there had never been any +notion between us of keeping house together. Once more I assisted in the +choice of a wedding-dress, for the one made a year before was said to be +yellow and old-fashioned. But this time Julia did not insist upon having +white satin. A dainty tint of gray was considered more suitable, either +to her own complexion or the age of the bridegroom. Captain Carey +enjoyed the purchase with the rapture I had failed to experience. + +The wedding was fixed to take place the last week in July, a fortnight +earlier than the time proposed; it was also a fortnight earlier than the +date I was looking forward to most anxiously, when, if ever, news would +reach Tardif from Olivia. All my plans were most carefully made, in the +event of her sending word where she was. The deed of separation, signed +by Foster, was preserved by me most cautiously, for I had a sort of +haunting dread that Mrs. Foster would endeavor to get possession of it. +She was eminently sulky, and had been so ever since the signing of the +deed. Now that Foster was very near convalescence, they might be trying +some stratagem to recover it. But our servants were trustworthy, and the +deed lay safe in the drawer of my desk. + +At last Dr. Senior agreed with me that Foster was sufficiently advanced +on the road to recovery to be removed from Fulham to the better air of +the south coast. The month of May had been hotter than usual, and June +was sultry. It was evidently to our patient's advantage to exchange the +atmosphere of London for that of the sea-shore, even though he had to +dispense with our watchful attendance. In fact he could not very well +fall back now, with common prudence and self-denial. We impressed upon +him the urgent necessity of these virtues, and required Mrs. Foster to +write us fully, three times a week, every variation she might observe in +his health. After that we started them off to a quiet village in Sussex. +I breathed more freely when they were out of my daily sphere of duty. + +But before they went a hint of treachery reached me, which put me doubly +on my guard. One morning, when Jack and I were at breakfast, each deep +in our papers, with an occasional comment to one another on their +contents, Simmons, the cabby, was announced, as asking to speak to one +or both of us immediately. He was a favorite with Jack, who bade the +servant show him in; and Simmons appeared, stroking his hat round and +round with his hand, as if hardly knowing what to do with his limbs off +the box. + +"Nothing amiss with your wife, or the brats. I hope?" said Jack. + +"No, Dr. John, no," he answered, "there ain't any thing amiss with them, +except being too many of 'em p'raps, and my old woman won't own to that. +But there's some thing in the wind as concerns Dr. Dobry, so I thought +I'd better come and give you a hint of it." + +"Very good, Simmons," said Jack. + +"You recollect taking my cab to Gray's-Inn Road about this time last +year, when I showed up so green, don't you?" he asked. + +"To be sure," I said, throwing down my paper, and listening eagerly. + +"Well, doctors," he continued, addressing us both, "the very last Monday +as ever was, a lady walks slowly along the stand, eying us all very +hard, but taking no heed to any of 'em, till she catches sight of _me_. +That's not a uncommon event, doctors. My wife says there's something +about me as gives confidence to her sex. Anyhow, so it is, and I can't +gainsay it. The lady comes along very slowly--she looks hard at me--she +nods her head, as much as to say, 'You, and your cab, and your horse, +are what I'm on the lookout for;' and I gets down, opens the door, and +sees her in quite comfortable. Says she, 'Drive me to Messrs. Scott and +Brown, in Gray's-Inn Road.'" + +"No!" I ejaculated. + +"Yes, doctors," replied Simmons. "'Drive me,' she says, 'to Messrs. +Scott and Brown, Gray's-Inn Road.' Of course I knew the name again; I +was vexed enough the last time I were there, at showing myself so green. +I looks hard at her. A very fine make of a woman, with hair and eyes as +black as coals, and a impudent look on her face somehow. I turned it +over and over again in my head, driving her there--could there be any +reason in it? or had it any thing to do with last time? and cetera. She +told me to wait for her in the street; and directly after she goes in, +there comes down the gent I had seen before, with a pen behind his ear. +He looks very hard at me, and me at him. Says he, 'I think I have seen +your face before, my man.' Very civil; as civil as a orange, as folks +say. 'I think you have,' I says. 'Could you step up-stairs for a minute +or two?' says he, very polite; 'I'll find a boy to take charge of your +horse.' And he slips a arf-crown into my hand, quite pleasant." + +"So you went in, of course?" said Jack. + +"Doctors," he answered, solemnly, "I did go in. There's nothing to be +said against that. The lady is sitting in a orfice up-stairs, talking to +another gent, with hair and eyes like hers, as black as coals, and the +same look of brass on his face. All three of 'em looked a little under +the weather. 'What's your name, my man?' asked the black gent. 'Walker,' +I says. 'And where do you live?' he says, taking me serious. 'In Queer +Street,' I says, with a little wink to show 'em I were up to a trick or +two. They all three larfed a little among themselves, but not in a +pleasant sort of way. Then the gent begins again. 'My good fellow,' he +says, 'we want you to give us a little information that 'ud be of use to +us, and we are willing to pay you handsome for it. It can't do you any +harm, nor nobody else, for it's only a matter of business. You're not +above taking ten shillings for a bit of useful information?' 'Not by no +manner of means.' I says." + +"Go on," I said, impatiently, as Simmons paused to look as hard at us as +he had done at these people. + +"Jest so doctors," he continued, "but this time I was minding my P's and +Q's. 'You know Dr. Senior, of Brook Street?' he says. 'The old doctor?' +I says; 'he's retired out of town.' 'No,' he says, 'nor the young doctor +neither; but there's another of 'em isn't there?' 'Dr. Dobry?' I says. +'Yes,' he says, 'he often takes your cab, my friend?' 'First one and +then the other,' I says, 'sometimes Dr. John and sometimes Dr. Dobry. +They're as thick as brothers, and thicker.' 'Good friends of yours?' he +says. 'Well,' says I, 'they take my cab when they can have it; but +there's not much friendship, as I see, in that. It's the best cab and +horse on the stand, though I say it, as shouldn't. Dr. John's pretty +fair, but the other's no great favorite of mine.' 'Ah!' he says." + +Simmons's face was illuminated with delight, and he winked sportively at +us. + +"It were all flummery, doctors," he said; "I don't deny as Dr. John is a +older friend, and a older favorite; but that is neither here nor there. +I jest see them setting a trap, and I wanted to have a finger in it. +'Ah!' he says, 'all we want to know, but we do want to know that very +particular, is where you drive Dr. Dobry to the oftenest. He's going to +borrow money from us, and we'd like to find out something about his +habits; specially where he spends his spare time, and all that sort of +thing, you understand. You know where he goes in your cab.' 'Of course I +do,' I says; 'I drove him and Dr. John here nigh a twelvemonth ago. The +other gent took my number down, and knew where to look for me when you +wanted me.' 'You're a clever fellow,' he says. 'So my old woman thinks,' +I says. 'And you'd be glad to earn a little more for your old woman?' he +says. 'Try me,' I says. 'Well then,' says he, 'here's a offer for you. +If you'll bring us word where he spends his spare time, we'll give you +ten shillings; and if it turns out of any use to us, well make it five +pounds.' 'Very good,' I says. 'You've not got any information to tell us +at once?' he says. 'Well, no,' I says, 'but I'll keep my eye upon him +now.' 'Stop,' he says, as I were going away; 'they keep a carriage, of +course?' 'Of course,' I says; 'what's the good of a doctor that hasn't a +carriage and pair?' 'Do they use it at night?' says he. 'Not often,' +says I; 'they take a cab; mine if it's on the stand.' 'Very good,' he +says; 'good-morning, my friend.' So I come away, and drives back again +to the stand." + +"And you left the lady there?" I asked, with no doubt in my mind that it +was Mrs. Foster. + +"Yes, doctor," he answered, "talking away like a poll-parrot with the +black-haired gent. That were last Monday; to-day's Friday, and this +morning there comes this bit of a note to me at our house in Dawson +Street. So my old woman says. 'Jim, you'd better go and show it to Dr. +John.' That's what's brought me here at this time, doctors." + +He gave the note into Jack's hands; and he, after glancing at it, passed +it on to me. The contents were simply these words: "James Simmons is +requested to call at No.--Gray's-Inn Road, at 6.30 Friday evening." The +handwriting struck me as one I had seen and noticed before. I scanned it +more closely for a minute or two; then a glimmering of light began to +dawn upon my memory. Could it be? I felt almost sure it was. In another +minute I was persuaded that it was the same hand as that which had +written the letter announcing Olivia's death. Probably if I could see +the penmanship of the other partner, I should find it to be identical +with that of the medical certificate which had accompanied the letter. + +"Leave this note with me, Simmons," I said, giving him half a crown in +exchange for it. I was satisfied now that the papers had been forged, +but not with Olivia's connivance. Was Foster himself a party to it? Or +had Mrs. Foster alone, with the aid of these friends or relatives of +hers, plotted and carried out the scheme, leaving him in ignorance and +doubt like my own? + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-EIGHTH. + +JULIA'S WEDDING. + + +Before the Careys and Julia returned to Guernsey, Captain Carey came to +see me one evening, at our own house in Brook Street. He seemed +suffering from some embarrassment and shyness; and I could not for some +time lead him to the point he was longing to gain. + +"You are quite reconciled to all this, Martin?" he said, stammering. I +knew very well what he meant. + +"More than reconciled," I answered, "I am heartily glad of it. Julia +will make you an excellent wife." + +"I am sure of that," he said, simply, "yet it makes me nervous a little +at times to think I may be standing in your light. I never thought what +it was coming to when I tried to comfort Julia about you, or I would +have left Johanna to do it all. It is very difficult to console a person +without seeming very fond of them; and then there's the danger of them +growing fond of you. I love Julia now with all my heart: but I did not +begin comforting her with that view, and I am sure you exonerate me, +Martin?" + +"Quite, quite," I said, almost laughing at his contrition; "I should +never have married Julia, believe me; and I am delighted that she is +going to be married, especially to an old friend like you. I shall make +your house my home." + +"Do, Martin," he answered, his face brightening; "and now I am come to +ask you a great favor--a favor to us all." + +"I'll do it, I promise that beforehand," I said. + +"We have all set our hearts on your being my best man," he replied--"at +the wedding, you know. Johanna says nothing will convince the Guernsey +people that we are all good friends except that. It will have a queer +look, but if you are there everybody will be satisfied that you do not +blame either Julia or me. I know it will be hard for you, dear Martin, +because of your poor mother, and your father being in Guernsey still; +but if you can conquer that, for our sakes, you would make us every one +perfectly happy." + +I had not expected them to ask this; but, when I came to think of it, it +seemed very natural and reasonable. There was no motive strong enough to +make me refuse to go to Julia's wedding; so I arranged to be with them +the last week in July. + +About ten days before going, I ran down to the little village on the +Sussex coast to visit Foster, from whom, or from his wife, I had +received a letter regularly three times a week. I found him as near +complete health as he could ever expect to be, and I told him so; but I +impressed upon him the urgent necessity of keeping himself quiet and +unexcited. He listened with that cool, taunting sneer which had always +irritated me. + +"Ah! you doctors are like mothers," he said, "who try to frighten their +children with bogies. A doctor is a good crutch to lean upon when one is +quite lame, but I shall be glad to dispense with my crutch as soon as my +lameness is gone." + +"Very good," I replied; "you know your life is of no value to me. I have +simply done my duty by you." + +"Your mother, Mrs. Dobrée, wrote to me this week." he remarked, smiling +as I winced at the utterance of that name; "she tells me there is to be +a grand wedding in Guernsey; that of your _fiancée_, Julia Dobrée, with +Captain Carey. You are to be present, so she says." + +"Yes," I replied. + +"It will be a pleasure to you to revisit your native island," he said, +"particularly under such circumstances." + +I took no notice of the taunt. My conversation with this man invariably +led to full stops. He said something to which silence was the best +retort. I did not stay long with him, for the train by which I was to +return passed through the village in less than an hour from my arrival. +As I walked down the little street I turned round once by a sudden +impulse, and saw Foster gazing after me with his pale face and +glittering eyes. Ho waved his hand in farewell to me, and that was the +last I saw of him. + +Some days after this I crossed in the mail-steamer to Guernsey, on a +Monday night, as the wedding was to take place at an early hour on +Wednesday morning, in time for Captain Carey and Julia to catch the boat +to England. The old gray town, built street above street on the rock +facing the sea, rose before my eyes, bathed in the morning sunlight. But +there was no home in it for me now. The old familiar house in the Grange +Road was already occupied by strangers. I did not even know where I was +to go. I did not like the idea of staying under Julia's roof, where +every thing would remind me of that short spell of happiness in my +mother's life, when she was preparing it for my future home. Luckily, +before the steamer touched the pier, I caught sight of Captain Carey's +welcome face looking out for my appearance. He stood at the end of the +gangway, as I crossed over it with my portmanteau. + +"Come along, Martin," hee said; "you are to go with me to the Vale, as +my groomsman, you know. Are all the people staring at us, do you think? +I daren't look round. Just look about you for me, my boy." + +"They are staring awfully," I answered, "and there are scores of them +waiting to shake hands with us." + +"Oh, they must not!" he said, earnestly; "look as if you did not see +them, Martin. That's the worst of getting married; yet most of them are +married themselves, and ought to know better. There's the dog-cart +waiting for us a few yards off, if we could only get to it. I have kept +my face seaward ever since I came on the pier, with my collar turned up, +and my hat over my eyes. Are you sure they see who we are?" + +"Sure!" I cried, "why, there's Carey Dobrée, and Dobrée Carey, and Brock +de Jersey, and De Jersey le Cocq, and scores of others. They know us as +well as their own brothers. We shall have to shake hands with every one +of them." + +"Why didn't you come in disguise?" asked Captain Carey, reproachfully; +but before I could answer I was seized upon by the nearest of our +cousins, and we were whirled into a very vortex of greetings and +congratulations. It was fully a quarter of an hour before we were +allowed to drive off in the dog-cart; and Captain Carey was almost +breathless with exhaustion. + +"They are good fellows," he said, after a time, "very good fellows, but +it is trying, isn't it, Martin? It is as if no man was ever married +before; though they have gone through it themselves, and ought to know +how one feels. Now you take it quietly, my boy, and you do not know how +deeply I feel obliged to you." + +There was some reason for me to take it quietly. I could not help +thinking how nearly I had been myself in Captain Carey's position. I +knew that Julia and I would have led a tranquil, matter-of-fact, +pleasant enough life together, but for the unlucky fate that had carried +me across to Sark to fall in love with Olivia. There was something +enviable in the tranquil prosperity I had forfeited. Guernsey was the +dearest spot on earth to me, yet I was practically banished from it. +Julia was, beyond all doubt, the woman I loved most, next to Olivia, but +she was lost to me. There was no hope for me on the other hand. Foster +was well again, and by my means. Probably I might secure peace and +comparative freedom for Olivia, but that was all. She could never be +more to me than she was now. My only prospect was that of a dreary +bachelorhood; and Captain Carey's bashful exultation made the future +seem less tolerable to me. + +I felt it more still when, after dinner in the cool of the summer +evening, we drove lack into town to see Julia for the last time before +we met in church the next morning. There was an air of glad excitement +pervading the house. Friends were running in, with gifts and pleasant +words of congratulation. Julia herself had a peculiar modest stateliness +and frank dignity, which suited her well. She was happy and content, and +her face glowed. Captain Carey's manner was one of tender chivalry, +somewhat old-fashioned. I found it a hard thing to "look at happiness +through another man's eyes." + +I drove Captain Carey and Johanna home along the low, level shore which +I had so often traversed with my heart full of Olivia. It was dusk, the +dusk of a summer's night; but the sea was luminous, and Sark lay upon it +a bank of silent darkness, sleeping to the music of the waves. A strong +yearning came over me, a longing to know immediately the fate of my +Olivia. Would to Heaven she could return to Sark, and be cradled there +in its silent and isolated dells! Would to Heaven this huge load of +anxiety and care for her, which bowed me down, might be taken away +altogether! + +"A fortnight longer," I said to myself, "and Tardif will know where she +is; then I can take measures for her tranquillity and safety in the +future." + +It was well for me that I had slept during my passage, for I had little +sleep during that night. Twice I was aroused by the voice of Captain +Carey at my door, inquiring what the London time was, and if I could +rely upon my watch not having stopped. At four o'clock he insisted upon +everybody in the house getting up. The ceremony was to be solemnized at +seven, for the mail-steamer from Jersey to England was due in Guernsey +at nine, and there were no other means of quitting the island later in +the day. Under these circumstances there could be no formal +wedding-breakfast, a matter not much to be regretted. There would not be +too much time, so Johanna said, for the bride to change her +wedding-dress at her own house for a suitable travelling-costume, and +the rest of the day would be our own. + +Captain Carey and I were standing at the altar of the old church some +minutes before the bridal procession appeared. He looked pale, but wound +up to a high pitch of resolute courage. The church was nearly full of +eager spectators, all of whom I had known from my childhood--faces that +would have crowded about me, had I been standing in the bridegroom's +place. Far back, half sheltered by a pillar, I saw the white head and +handsome face of my father, with Kate Daltrey by his side; but though +the church was so full, nobody had entered the same pew. His name had +not been once mentioned in my hearing. As far as his old circle in +Guernsey was concerned, Dr. Dobrée was dead. + +At length Julia appeared, pale like the bridegroom, but dignified and +prepossessing. She did not glance at me; she evidently gave no thought +to me. That was well, and as it should be. If any fancy had been +lingering in my head that she still regretted somewhat the exchange she +had made, that fancy vanished forever. Julia's expression, when Captain +Carey drew her hand through his arm, and led her down the aisle to the +vestry, was one of unmixed contentment. + +Yet there was a pang in it--reason as I would, there was a pang in it +for me. I should have liked her to glance once at me, with a troubled +and dimmed eye. I should have liked a shade upon her face as I wrote my +name below hers in the register. But there was nothing of the kind. She +gave me the kiss, which I demanded as her cousin Martin, without +embarrassment, and after that she put her hand again upon the +bridegroom's arm, and marched off with him to the carriage. + +A whole host of us accompanied the bridal pair to the pier, and saw them +start off on their wedding-trip, with a pyramid of bouquets before them +on the deck of the steamer. We ran round to the light-house, and waved +out hats and handkerchiefs as long as they were in sight. That duty +done, the rest of the day was our own. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-NINTH. + +A TELEGRAM IN PATOIS. + + +What a long day it was! How the hours seemed to double themselves, and +creep along at the slowest pace they could! + +I had had some hope of running over to Sark to see Tardif, but that +could not be. I was needed too much by the party that had been left +behind by Captain Carey and Julia. We tried to while away the time by a +drive round the island, and by visiting many of my old favorite haunts; +but I could not be myself. + +Everybody rallied me on my want of spirits, but I found it impossible to +shake off my depression. I was glad when the day was over, and Johanna +and I were left in the quiet secluded house in the Vale, where the moan +of the sea sighed softly through the night air. + +"This has been a trying day for you, Martin," said Johanna. + +"Yes," I answered; "though I can hardly account for my own depression. +Johanna, in another fortnight I shall learn where Olivia is. I want to +find a home for her. Just think of her desolate position! She has no +friends but Tardif and me; and you know how the world would talk if I +were too openly her friend. Indeed, I do not wish her to come to live in +London; the trial would be too great for me. I could not resist the +desire to see her, to speak to her--and that would be fatal to her. +Dearest Johanna, I want such a home as this for her." + +Johanna made no reply, and I could not see her face in the dim moonlight +which filled the room. I knelt down beside her, to urge my petition more +earnestly. + +"Your name would be such a protection to her." I went on, "this house +such a refuge! If my mother were living, I would ask her to receive her. +You have been almost as good to me as my mother. Save me, save Olivia +from the difficulty I see before us." + +"Will you never get over this unfortunate affair?"' she asked, half +angrily. + +"Never!" I said; "Olivia is so dear to me that I am afraid of harming +her by my love. Save her from me, Johanna. You have it in your power. I +should be happy if I knew she was here with you. I implore you, for my +mother's sake, to receive Olivia into your home." + +"She shall come to me," said Johanna, after a few minutes' silence. I +was satisfied, though the consent was given with a sigh. I knew that, +before long, Johanna would be profoundly attached to my Olivia. + +It was almost midnight the next day when I reached Brook Street, where I +found Jack expecting my return. He had bought, in honor of it, some +cigars of special quality, over which I was to tell him all the story of +Julia's wedding. But a letter was waiting for me, directed in queer, +crabbed handwriting, and posted in Jersey a week before. It had been so +long on the road in consequence of the bad penmanship of the address. I +opened it carelessly as I answered Jack's first inquiries; but the +instant I saw the signature I held up my hand to silence him. It was +from Tardif. This is a translation: + + + "DEAR DOCTOR AND FRIEND: This day I received a letter from + mam'zelle; quite a little letter with only a few lines in it. + She says, 'Come to me. My husband has found me; he is here. I + have no friends but you and one other, and I cannot send for + him. You said you would come to me whenever I wanted you. I + have not time to write more. I am in a little village called + Ville-en-bois, between Granville and Noireau. Come to the + house of the curé; I am there.' + + "Behold, I am gone, dear monsieur. I write this in my boat, + for we are crossing to Jersey to catch the steamboat to + Granville. To-morrow evening I shall be in Ville-en-bois. Will + you learn the law of France about this affair? They say the + code binds a woman to follow her husband wherever he goes. At + London you can learn any thing. Believe me, I will protect + mam'zelle, or I should say madame, at the loss of my life. + Write to me as soon as you receive this. There will be an inn + at Ville-en-bois; direct to me there. Take courage, monsieur. + Your devoted TARDIF." + +"I must go!" I exclaimed, starting to my feet, about to rush out of the +house. + +"Where?" cried Jack, catching my arm between both his hands, and holding +me fast. + +"To Olivia," I answered; "that villain, that scoundrel has hunted her +out in Normandy. Read that, Jack. Let me go." + +"Stay!" he said; "there is no chance of going so late as this; it is +after twelve o'clock. Let us think a few minutes, and look at Bradshaw." + +But at that moment a furious peal of the bell rang through the house. +We both ran into the hall. The servant had just opened the door, and a +telegraph-clerk stood on the steps, with a telegram, which he thrust +into his hands. It was directed to me. I tore it open. "From Jean +Grimont, Granville, to Dr. Dobrée. Brook Street, London." I did not know +any Jean Grimont, of Granville, it was the name of a stranger to me. A +message was written underneath in Norman _patois_, but so mispelt and +garbled in its transmission that I could not make out the sense of it. +The only words I was sure about were "mam'zelle," "Foster," "Tardif," +and "_à l'agonie_." Who was on the point of death I could not tell. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIRST. + +OLIVIA'S JUSTIFICATION. + + +I know that in the eyes of the world I was guilty of a great fault--a +fault so grave that society condemns it bitterly. How shall I justify +myself before those who believe a woman owes her whole self to her +husband, whatever his conduct to her may be? That is impossible. To them +I merely plead "guilty," and say nothing of extenuating circumstances. + +But there are others who will listen, and be sorry for me. There are +women like Johanna Carey, who will pity me, and lay the blame where it +ought to lie. + +I was little more than seventeen when I was married; as mere a child as +any simple, innocent girl of seventeen among you. I knew nothing of what +life was, or what possibilities of happiness or misery it contained. I +married to set away from a home that had been happy, but which had +become miserable. This was how it was: + +My own mother died when I was too young a child to feel her loss. For +many years after that, my father and I lived alone together on one of +the great sheep-farms of Adelaide, which belonged to him, and where he +made all the fortune that he left me. A very happy life, very free, with +no trammels of society and no fetters of custom; a simple, rustic life, +which gave me no preparation for the years that came after it. + +When I was thirteen my father married again--for my sake, and mine +only. I knew afterward that he was already foreseeing his death, and +feared to leave me alone in the colony. He thought his second wife would +be a mother to me, at the age when I most needed one. He died two years +after, leaving me to her care. He died more peacefully than he could +have done, because of that. This he said to me the very last day of his +life. Ah! I trust the dead do not know the troubles that come to the +living. It would have troubled my father--nay, it would have been +anguish to him, even in heaven itself, if he could have seen my life +after he was gone. It is no use talking or thinking about it. After two +wretched years I was only too glad to be married, and get away from the +woman who owed almost the duty of a mother to me. + +Richard Foster was a nephew of my step-mother, the only man I was +allowed to see. He was almost twice my age; but he had pleasant manners, +and a smooth, smooth tongue. I believed he loved me, he swore it so +often and so earnestly; and I was in sore need of love. I wanted some +one to take care of me, and think of me, and comfort me, as my father +had been used to do. So much alone, so desolate I had been since his +death, no one caring whether I were happy or miserable, ill or well, +that I felt grateful to Richard Foster when he said he loved me. He +seemed to come in my father's stead, and my step-mother urged and +hurried on our marriage, and I did not know what I was doing. The +trustees who had charge of my property left me to the care of my +father's widow. That was how I came to marry him when I was only a girl +of seventeen, with no knowledge of the world but what I had learned on +my father's sheep-run. + +It was a horrible, shameful thing, if you will only think of it. There +was I, an ignorant, unconscious, bewildered girl, with the film of +childhood over my eyes still; and there was he, a crafty, unprincipled, +double-tongued adventurer, who was in love with my fortune, not with me. +As quickly as he could carry me off from my home, and return to his own +haunts in Europe, he brought me away from the colony, where all whom I +could ever call friends were living. I was utterly alone with him--at +his mercy. There was not an ear that I could whisper a complaint to; not +one face that would look at me in pity and compassion. My father had +been a good man, single-hearted, high-minded, and chivalrous. This man +laughed at all honor and conscience scornfully. + +I cannot tell you the shock and horror of it. I had not known there were +such places and such people in the world, until I was thrust suddenly +into the midst of them; innocent at first, like the child I was, but the +film soon passed away from my eyes. I grew to loathe myself as well as +him. How would an angel feel, who was forced to go down to hell, and +become like the lost creatures there, remembering all the time the +undefiled heaven he was banished from? I was no angel, but I had been a +simple, unsullied, clear-minded girl, and I found myself linked in +association with men and women such as frequent the gambling-places on +the Continent. For we lived upon the Continent, going from one +gambling-place to another. How was a girl like me to possess her own +soul, and keep it pure, when it belonged to a man like Richard Foster? + +There was one more injury and degradation for me to suffer. I recollect +the first moment I saw the woman who wrought me so much misery +afterward. We were staying in Homburg for a few weeks at a hotel; and +she was seated at a little table in a window, not far from the one where +we were sitting. A handsome, bold-looking, arrogant woman. They had +known one another years before, it seemed. He said she was his cousin. +He left me to go and speak to her, and I watched them, though I did not +know then that any thing more would come of it than a casual +acquaintance. I saw his face grow animated, and his eyes look into hers, +with an expression that stirred something like jealousy within me, if +jealousy can exist without love. When he returned to me, he told me he +had invited her to join us as my companion. She came to us that evening. + +She never left us after that. I was too young, he said, to be left alone +in foreign towns while he was attending to his business, and his cousin +would be the most suitable person to take care of me. I hated the woman +instinctively. She was civil to me just at first, but soon there was +open war between us, at which he laughed only; finding amusement for +himself in my fruitless efforts to get rid of her. After a while I +discovered it could only be by setting myself free from him. + +Now judge me. Tell me what I was bound to do. Three voices I hear speak. + +One says: "You, a poor hasty girl, very weak yet innocent, ought to have +remained in the slough, losing day by day your purity, your worth, your +nobleness, till you grew like your companions. You had vowed ignorantly, +with a profound ignorance it might be, to obey and honor this man till +death parted you. You had no right to break that vow." + +Another says: "You should have made of yourself a spy, you should have +laid traps; you should have gathered up every scrap of evidence you +could find against them, that might have freed you in a court of law." + +A third says: "It was right for you, for the health of your soul, and +the deliverance of your whole self from an intolerable bondage, to break +the ignorantly-taken vow, and take refuge in flight. No soul can be +bound irrevocably to another for its own hurt and ruin." + +I listened then, as I should listen now, to the third voice. The chance +came to me just before I was one-and-twenty. They were bent upon +extorting from me that portion of my father's property which would come +to me, and be solely in my own power, when I came of age. It had been +settled upon me in such a way, that if I were married my husband could +not touch it without my consent. + +I must make this quite clear. One-third, of my fortune was so settled +that I myself could not take any portion of it save the interest; but +the other two-thirds were absolutely mine, whether I was married or +single. By locking up one-third, my father had sought to provide against +the possibility of my ever being reduced to poverty. The rest was my +own, to keep if I pleased; to give up to my husband if I pleased. + +At first they tried what fair words and flattery would do with me. Then +they changed their tactics. They brought me over to London, where not a +creature knew me. They made me a prisoner in dull, dreary rooms, where I +had no employment and no resources. That is, the woman did it. My +husband, after settling us in a house in London, disappeared, and I saw +no more of him. I know now he wished to keep himself irresponsible for +my imprisonment. She would have been the scape-goat, had any legal +difficulties arisen. He was anxious to retain all his rights over me. + +I can see how subtle he was. Though my life was a daily torture, there +was positively nothing I could put into words against him--nothing that +would have authorized me to seek a legal separation. I did not know any +thing of the laws, how should I? except the fact which he dinned into my +ears that he could compel me to live with him. But I know now that the +best friends in the world could not have saved me from him in any other +way than the one I took. He kept within the letter of the law. He +forfeited no atom of his claim upon me. + +Then God took me by the hand, and led me into a peaceful and untroubled +refuge, until I had gathered strength again. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SECOND. + +ON THE WING AGAIN. + + +How should I see that Dr. Martin Dobrée was falling in love with me? I +was blind to it; strangely blind those wise people will think, who say a +woman always knows when a man loves her. I knew so well that all my life +was shut out from the ordinary hopes and prospects of girlhood, that I +never realized the fact that to him I was a young girl whom he might +love honorably, were he once set free from his engagement to his cousin +Julia. + +I had not looked for any trouble of that kind. He had been as kind to me +as any brother could have been--kind, and chivalrous, and considerate. +The first time I saw him I was weak and worn out with great pain, and my +mind seemed wandering. His face came suddenly and distinctly before me; +a pleasant face, though neither handsome nor regular in features. It +possessed great vivacity and movement, changing readily, and always full +of expression. He looked at me so earnestly and compassionately, his +dark eyes seeming to search for the pain I was suffering, that I felt +perfect confidence in him at once. I was vaguely conscious of his close +attendance, and unremitting care, during the whole week that I lay ill. +All this placed us on very pleasant terms of familiarity and friendship. + +How grieved I was when this friendship came to an end--when he confessed +his unfortunate love to me--it is impossible for me to say. Such a +thought had never crossed my mind. Not until I saw the expression on his +face, when he called to us from the shore to wait for him, and waded +eagerly through the water to us, and held my hands fast as I helped him +into the boat--not till then did I suspect his secret. Poor Martin! + +Then there came the moment when I was compelled to say to him. "I was +married four years ago, and my husband is still living"--a very bitter +moment to me; perhaps more bitter than to him. I knew we must see one +another no more; and I who was so poor in friends, lost the dearest of +them by those words. That was a great shock to me. + +But the next day came the second shock of meeting Kate Daltrey, my +husband's half-sister. Martin had told me that there was a person in +Guernsey who had traced my flight so far; but in my trouble and sorrow +for him, I had not thought much of this intelligence. I saw in an +instant that I had lost all again, my safety, my home, my new friends. I +must flee once more, alone and unaided, leaving no trace behind me. When +old Mother Renouf, whom Tardif had set to watch me for very fear of this +mischance, had led me away from Kate Daltrey to the cottage, I sought +out Tardif at once. + +He was down at the water's edge, mending his boat, which lay with its +keel upward. He heard my footsteps among the pebbles, and turned round +to greet me with one of his grave smiles, which had never failed me +whenever I went to him. + +"Mam'zelle is triste," he said; "is there any thing I can do for you?" + +"I must go away from here, Tardif," I answered, with a choking voice. + +A change swept quickly across his face, but he passed his hand for a +moment over it, and then regarded me again with his grave smile. + +"For what reason, mam'zelle?" he asked. + +"Oh! I must tell you every thing!" I cried. + +"Tell me every thing," he repeated; "it shall be buried here, in my +heart, as if it was buried in the depths of the sea. I will try not to +think of it even, if you bid me. I am your friend as well as your +servant." + +Then leaning against his boat, for I could not control my trembling, I +told him almost all about my wretched life, from which God had delivered +me, leading me to him for shelter and comfort. He listened with his eyes +cast down, never once raising them to my face, and in perfect silence, +except that once or twice he groaned within himself, and clinched his +hard hands together. I know that I could never have told my history to +any other man as I told it to him, a homely peasant and fisherman, but +with as noble and gentle a heart as ever beat. + +"You must go," he said, when I had finished. His voice was hollow and +broken, but the words were spoken distinctly enough for me to hear them. + +"Yes, there is no help for me," I answered; "there is no rest for me but +death." + +"It would be better to die," he said, solemnly, "than return to a life +like that. I would sooner bury you up yonder, in our little graveyard, +than give you up to your husband." + +"You will help me to get away at once?" I asked. + +"At once," he repeated, in the same broken voice. His face looked gray, +and his mouth twitched. He leaned against his boat, as if he could +hardly stand; as I was doing myself, for I felt utterly weak and shaken. + +"How soon?" I asked. + +"To-morrow I will row you to Guernsey in time for the packet to +England," he answered. Mon Dieu! how little I thought what I was mending +my boat for! Mam'zelle, is there nothing, nothing in the world I can do +for you?" + +"Nothing, Tardif," I said, sorrowfully. + +"Nothing!" he assented, dropping his head down upon his hands. No, there +was positively nothing he could do for me. There was no person on the +face of the earth who could help me. + +"My poor Tardif," I said, laying my hand on his shoulder, "I am a great +trouble to you." + +"I cannot bear to let you go in this way," he replied, without looking +up. "If it had been to marry Dr. Martin--why, then--but you have to go +alone, poor little child!" + +"Yes," I said, "alone." + +After that we were both silent for some minutes. We could hear the +peaceful lapping of the water at our feet, and its boom against the +rocks, and the shrieking of the sea-gulls; but there was utter silence +between us two. I felt as if it would break my heart to leave this +place, and go whither I knew not. Yet there was no alternative. + +"Tardif," I said at last, "I will go first to London. It is so large a +place, nobody will find me there. Besides, they would never think of me +going back to London. When I am there I will try to get a situation as +governess somewhere. I could teach little children; and if I go into a +school there will be no one to fall in love with me, like Dr. Martin. I +am very sorry for him." + +"Sorry for him!" repeated Tardif. + +"Yes, very sorry," I replied; "it is as if I must bring trouble +everywhere. You are troubled, and I cannot help it." + +"I have only had one trouble as great," he said, as if to himself, "and +that was when my poor little wife died. I wish to God I could keep you +here in safety, but that is impossible." + +"Quite impossible," I answered. + +Yet it seemed too bad to be true. What had I done, to be driven away +from this quiet little home into the cold, wide world? Poor and +friendless, after all my father's far-seeing plans and precautions to +secure me from poverty and friendlessness! What was to be my lot in that +dismal future, over the rough threshold of which I must cross to-morrow? + +Tardif and I talked it all over that evening, sitting at the +cottage-door until the last gleam of daylight had faded from the sky. He +had some money in hand just then, which he had intended to invest the +next time he went to Guernsey, and could see his notary. This money, +thirty pounds, he urged me to accept as a gift; but I insisted upon +leaving with him my watch and chain in pledge, until I could repay the +money. It would be a long time before I could do that, I knew; for I was +resolved never to return to Richard Foster, and to endure any privation +rather than claim my property. + +I left Tardif after a while, to pack up my very few possessions. We did +not tell his mother that I was going, for he said it would be better +not. In the morning he would simply let her know I was going over to +Guernsey. No communication had ever passed between the old woman and me +except by signs, yet I should miss even her in that cold, careless crowd +in which I was about to be lost, in the streets of London. + +We started at four in the morning, while the gray sky was dappled over +with soft clouds, and the sea itself seemed waking up from sleep, as if +it too had been slumbering through the night. The morning mist upon the +cliffs made them look mysterious, as if they had some secrets to +conceal. Untrodden tracks climbed the surface of the rocks, and were +lost in the fine filmy haze. The water looked white and milky, with +lines across it like the tracks on the cliffs, which no human foot could +tread; and the tide was coming back to the shore with a low, tranquil, +yet sad moan. The sea-gulls skimmed past us with their white wings, +almost touching us; their plaintive wailing seeming to warn us of the +treachery and sorrow of the sea. I was not afraid of the treachery of +the sea, yet I could not bear to hear them, nor could Tardif. + +We landed at one of the stone staircases running up the side of the pier +at Guernsey; for we were only just in time for the steamer. The steps +were slimy and wet with seaweed, but Tardif's hand grasped mine firmly. +He pushed his way through the crowd of idlers who were watching the +lading of the cargo, and took me down immediately into the cabin. + +"Good-by, mam'zelle," he said; "I must leave you. Send for me, or come +to me, if you are in trouble and I can do any thing for you. If it were +to Australia, I would follow you. I know I am only fit to be your +servant, but all the same I am your friend. You have a little regard for +me, mam'zelle?" + +"O Tardif!" I sobbed, "I love you very dearly." + +"Now that makes me glad," he said, holding my hand between his, and +looking down at me with tears in his eyes; "you said that from your good +heart, mam'zelle. When I am out alone in my boat, I shall think of it, +and in the long winter nights by the fire, when there is no little +mam'zelle to come and talk to me, I shall say to myself, 'She loves you +very dearly.' Good-by, mam'zelle. God be with you and protect you!" + +"Good-by," I said, with a sore grief in my heart, "good-by, Tardif. It +is very dreadful to be alone again." + +There was no time to say more, for a bell rang loudly on deck, and we +heard the cry, "All friends on shore!" Tardif put his lips to my hand, +and left me. I was indeed alone. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRD. + +IN LONDON LODGINGS. + + +Once more I found myself in London, a city so strange to me that I did +not know the name of any street in it. I had more acquaintance with +almost every great city on the Continent. Fortunately, Tardif had given +me the address of a boarding-house, or rather a small family hotel, +where he had stayed two or three times, and I drove there at once. It +was in a quiet back street, within sound of St. Paul's clock. The hour +was so late, nearly midnight, that I was looked upon with suspicion, as +a young woman travelling alone, and with little luggage. It was only +when I mentioned Tardif, whose island bearing had made him noticeable +among the stream of strangers passing through the house, that the +mistress of the place consented to take me in. + +This was my first difficulty, but not the last. By the advice of the +mistress of the boarding-house, I went to several governess agencies, +which were advertising for teachers in the daily papers. At most of +these they would not even enter my name, as soon as I confessed my +inability to give one or two references to persons who would vouch for +my general character, and my qualifications. This was a fatal +impediment, and one that had never occurred to me; yet the request was a +reasonable one, even essential. What could be more suspicious than a +girl of my age without a friend to give a guarantee of her +respectability? There seemed no hope whatever of my entering into the +ill-paid ranks of governesses. + +When a fortnight had passed with no opening for me, I felt it necessary +to leave the boarding-house which had been my temporary home. I must +economize my funds, for I did not know how long I must make them hold +out. Wandering about the least fashionable suburbs, where lodgings would +cost least, I found a bedroom in the third story of a house in a +tolerably respectable street. The rent was six shillings a week, to be +paid in advance. In this place, I entered upon a new phase of life, so +different from that in Sark that, in the delusions which solitude often +brings, I could not always believe myself the same person. + +A dreamy, solitary, gloomy life; shut in upon myself, with no outlet for +association with my fellow creatures. My window opened upon a back-yard, +with a row of half-built houses standing opposite to it. These houses +had been left half-finished, and were partly falling into ruin. A row of +bare, empty window-frames faced me whenever I turned my wearied eyes to +the scene without. Not a sound or sign of life was there about them. +Within, my room was; small and scantily furnished, yet there was +scarcely space enough for me to move about it. There was no table for me +to take my meals at, except the top of the crazy chest of drawers, which +served as my dressing-table. One chair, broken in the back, and tied +together with a faded ribbon, was the only seat, except my box, which, +set in a corner where I could lean against the wall, made me the most +comfortable place for resting. There was a little rusty grate, but it +was still summer-time, and there was no need of a fire. A fire indeed +would have been insupportable, for the sultry, breathless atmosphere of +August, with the fever-heat of its sun burning in the narrow streets and +close yards, made the temperature as parching as an oven. I panted for +the cool cliffs and sweet fresh air of Sark. + +In this feverish solitude one day dragged itself after another with +awful monotony. As they passed by, the only change they brought was that +the sultry heat grew ever cooler, and the long days shorter. The winter +seemed inclined to set in early, and with unusual rigor, for a month +before the usual time fires became necessary. I put off lighting mine, +for fear of the cost, until my sunless little room under the roof was +almost like an ice-house. A severe cold, which made me afraid of having +to call in a doctor, compelled me to have a fire; and the burning of it, +and the necessity of tending it, made it like a second person and +companion in the lonely place. Hour after hour I sat in front of it on +my box, with my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands, watching the +changeful scenery of its embers, and the exquisite motion of the flames, +and the upward rolling of the tiny columns of smoke, and the fiery, +gorgeous colors that came and went with a breath. To see the tongues of +fire lap round the dull, black coal, and run about it, and feel it, and +kindle it with burning touches, and never quit it till it was glowing +and fervid, and aflame like themselves--that was my sole occupation for +hours together. + +Think what a dreary life for a young girl! I was as fond of +companionship, and needed love, as much as any girl. Was it strange that +my thoughts dwelt somewhat dangerously upon the pleasant, peaceful days +in Sark? + +When I awoke in the morning to a voiceless, solitary, idle day, how +could I help thinking of Martin Dobrée, of Tardif, even of old Mother +Renouf, with her wrinkled face and her significant nods and becks? +Martin Dobrée's pleasant face would come before me, with his eyes +gleaming so kindly under his square forehead, and his lips moving +tremulously with every change of feeling. Had he gone back to his cousin +Julia again, and were they married? I ought not to feel any sorrow at +that thought. His path had run side by side with mine for a little +while, but always with a great barrier between us; and now they had +diverged, and must grow farther and farther apart, never to touch again. +Yet, how my father would have loved him had he known him! How securely +he would have trusted to his care for me! But stop! There was folly and +wickedness in thinking that way. Let me make an end of that. + +There was no loneliness like that loneliness. Twice a day I exchanged a +word or two with the overworked drudge of a servant in the house where I +lived; but I had no other voice to speak to me. No wonder that my +imagination sometimes ran in forbidden and dangerous channels. + +When I was not thinking and dreaming thus, a host of anxieties crowded +about me. My money was melting away again, though slowly, for I denied +myself every thing but the bare necessaries of life. What was to become +of me when it was all gone? It was the old question; but the answer was +as difficult to find as ever. I was ready for any kind of work, but no +chance of work came to me. With neither work nor money, what was I to +do? What was to be the end of it? + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTH. + +RIDLEY'S AGENCY-OFFICE. + + +Now and then, when I ventured out into the streets, a panic would seize +me, a dread unutterably great, that I might meet my husband amid the +crowd. I did not even know that he was in London; he had always spoken +of it as a place he detested. His habits made the free, unconventional +life upon the Continent more agreeable to him. How he was living now, +what he was doing, where he was, were so many enigmas to me; and I did +not care to run any risk in finding out the answers to them. Twice I +passed the Bank of Australia, where very probably. I could have learned +if he was in the same city as myself; but I dared not do it, and as soon +as I knew how to avoid that street, I never passed along it. + +I had been allowed to leave my address with the clerk of a large general +agency in the city, when I had not been permitted to enter my name in +the books for want of a reference. Toward the close of October I +received a note from him, desiring me to call at the office at two +o'clock the following afternoon, without fail. + +No danger of my failing to keep such an appointment! I felt in better +spirits that night than I had done since I had been driven from Sark. +There was an opening for me, a chance of finding employment, and I +resolved beforehand to take it, whatever it might be. + +It was an agency for almost every branch of employment not actually +menial, from curates to lady's-maids, and the place of business was a +large one. There were two entrances, and two distinct compartments, at +the opposite ends of the building; but a broad, long counter ran the +whole length of it, and a person at one end could see the applicants at +the other as they stood by the counter. The compartment into which I +entered was filled with a crowd of women, waiting their turn to transact +their business. Behind the counter were two or three private boxes, in +which employers might see the candidates, and question them on the spot. +A lady was at that moment examining a governess, in a loud, imperious +voice which we could all hear distinctly. My heart sank at the idea of +passing through such a cross-examination as to my age, my personal +history, my friends, and a number of particulars foreign to the question +of whether I was fit for the work I offered myself for. + +At last I heard the imperious voice say, "You may go. I do not think you +will suit me," and a girl of about my own age came away from the +interview, pale and trembling, and with tears stealing down her cheeks. +A second girl was summoned to go through the same ordeal. + +What was I to do if this person, unseen in her chamber of torture, was +the lady I had been summoned to meet? + +It was a miserable sight, this crowd of poor women seeking work, and my +spirits sank like lead. A set of mournful, depressed, broken-down women! +There was not one I would have chosen to be a governess for my girls. +Those who were not dispirited were vulgar and self-asserting; a class +that wished to rise above the position they were fitted for by becoming +teachers. These were laughing loudly among themselves at the +cross-questioning going on so calmly within their hearing. I shrank away +into a corner, until my turn to speak to the busy clerk should come. + +I had a long time to wart. The office clock pointed to half-past three +before I caught the clerk's eye, and saw him beckon me up to the +counter. I had thrown back my veil, for here I was perfectly safe from +recognition. At the other end of the counter, in the compartment devoted +to curates, doctors' assistants, and others, there stood a young man in +earnest consultation with another clerk. He looked earnestly at me, but +I was sure he could not know me. + +"Miss Ellen Martineau?" said the clerk. That was my mother's name, and I +had adopted it for my own, feeling as if I had some right to it. + +"Yes," I answered. + +"Would you object to go into a French school as governess?" he inquired. + +"Not in the least," I said, eagerly. + +"And pay a small premium?" he added. "How much?" I asked, my spirits +falling again. + +"A mere trifle," he said; "about ten pounds or so for twelve months. You +would perfect yourself in French, you know; and you would gain a referee +for the future." + +"I must think about it," I replied. + +"Well, there is the address of a lady who can give you all the +particulars," he said, handing me a written paper. + +I left the office heavy-hearted. Ten pounds would be more than the half +of the little store left to me. Yet, would it not be wiser to secure a +refuge and shelter for twelve months than run the risk of hearing of +some other situation? I walked slowly along the street toward the busier +thoroughfares, with my head bent down and my mind busy, when suddenly a +heavy hand was laid upon my arm, grasping it with crushing force, and a +harsh, thick voice shouted triumphantly in my ear: + +"The devil! I've caught you at last!" + +It was like the bitterness of death, that chill and terror sweeping over +me. My husband's hot breath was upon my cheek, and his eyes were looking +closely into mine. But before I could speak his grasp was torn away from +me, and he was sent whirling into the middle of the road. I turned, +almost in equal terror, to see who had thrust himself between us. It was +the stranger whom I had seen in the agency-office. But his face was now +dark with passion, and as my husband staggered back again toward us, his +hand was ready to thrust him away a second time. + +"She's my wife," he stammered, trying to get past the stranger to me. By +this time a knot of spectators had formed about us, and a policeman had +come up. The stranger drew my arm through his, and faced them defiantly. + +"He's a drunken vagabond!" he said; "he has just come out of those +spirit-vaults. This young lady is no more his wife than she is mine, and +I know no more of her than that she has just come away from Ridley's +office, where she has been looking after a situation. Good Heavens! +cannot a lady walk through the streets of London without being insulted +by a drunken scoundrel like that"?" + +"Will you give him in charge, sir?" asked the policeman, while Richard +Foster was making vain efforts to speak coherently, and explain his +claim upon me. I clung to the friendly arm that had come to my aid, sick +and almost speechless with fear. + +"Shall I give him in charge?" he asked me. + +"I have only just heard of a situation," I whispered, unable to speak +aloud. + +"And you are afraid of losing it?" he said; "I understand.--Take the +fellow away, policeman, and lock him up if you can for being drunk and +disorderly in the streets; but the lady won't give him in charge. I've a +good mind to make him go down on his knees and beg her pardon." + +"Do, do!" said two or three voices in the crowd. + +"Don't," I whispered again, "oh! take me away quickly." + +He cleared a passage for us both with a vigor and decision that there +was no resisting. I glanced back for an instant, and saw my husband +struggling with the policeman, the centre of the knot of bystanders from +which I was escaping. He looked utterly unlike a gay, prosperous, +wealthy man, with a well-filled purse, such as he had used to appear. He +was shabby and poor enough now for the policeman to be very hard upon +him, and to prevent him from following me. The stranger kept my hand +firmly on his arm, and almost carried me into Fleet Street, where, in a +minute or two we were quite lost in the throng, and I was safe from all +pursuit. + +"You are not fit to go on," he said, kindly; "come out of the noise a +little." + +He led me down a covered passage between two shops, into a quiet cluster +of squares and gardens, where only a subdued murmur of the uproar of the +streets reached us. There were a sufficient number of passers-by to +prevent it seeming lonely, but we could hear our own voices, and those +of others, even in whispers. + +"This is the Temple," he said, smiling, "a fit place for a sanctuary." + +"I do not know how to thank you," I answered falteringly. + +"You are trembling still!" he replied; "how lucky it was that I +followed you directly out of Ridley's! If I ever come across that +scoundrel again, I shall know him, you may be sure. I wish we were a +little nearer home, you should go in to rest; but our house is in Brook +Street, and we have no women-kind belonging to us. My name is John +Senior. Perhaps you have heard of my father, Dr. Senior, of Brook +Street?" + +"No." I replied, "I know nobody in London." + +"That's bad," he said. "I wish I was Jane Senior instead of John Senior; +I do indeed. Do you feel better now, Miss Martineau?" + +"How do you know my name?" I asked. + +"The clerk at Ridley's called you Miss Ellen Martineau," he answered. +"My hearing is very good, and I was not deeply engrossed in my business. +I heard and saw a good deal while I was there, and I am very glad I +heard and saw you. Do you feel well enough now for me to see you home?" + +"Oh! I cannot let you see me home," I said, hurriedly. + +"I will do just what you like best." he replied. "I have no more right +to annoy you than that drunken vagabond had. If I did, I should be more +blamable than he was. Tell me what I shall do for you then. Shall I call +a cab?" + +I hesitated, for my funds were low, and would be almost spent by the +time I had paid the premium of ten pounds, and my travelling expenses; +yet I dared not trust myself either in the streets or in an omnibus. I +saw my new friend regard me keenly; my dress, so worn and faded, and my +old-fashioned bonnet. A smile flickered across his face. He led me back +into Fleet Street, and called an empty cab that was passing by. We shook +hands warmly. There was no time for loitering; and I told him the name +of the suburb where I was living, and he repeated it to the cabman. + +"All right," he said, speaking through the window, "the fare is paid, +and I've taken cabby's number. If he tries to cheat you, let me know; +Dr. John Senior, Brook Street. I hope that situation will be a good one, +and very pleasant. Good-by." + +"Good-by," I cried, leaning forward and looking at his face till the +crowd came between us, and I lost sight of it. It was a handsomer face +than Dr. Martin Dobrée's, and had something of the same genial, +vivacious light about it. I knew it well afterward, but I had not +leisure to think much of it then. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTH. + +BELLRINGER STREET. + + +I was still trembling with the terror that my meeting with Richard +Foster had aroused. A painful shuddering agitated me, and my heart +fluttered with an excess of fear which I could not conquer. I could +still feel his grasp upon my arm, where the skin was black with the +mark; and there was before my eyes the sight of his haggard and enraged +face, as he struggled to get free from the policeman. When he was sober +would he recollect all that had taken place, and go to make inquiries +after me at Ridley's agency-office? Dr. John Senior had said he had +followed me from there. I scarcely believed he would. Yet there was a +chance of it, a deadly chance to me. If so, the sooner I could fly from +London and England the better. + +I felt safer when the cabman set me down at the house where I lodged, +and I ran up-stairs to my little room. I kindled the fire, which had +gone out during my absence, and set my little tin tea-kettle upon the +first clear flame which burned up amid the coal. Then I sat down on my +box before it, thinking. + +Yes; I must leave London. I must take this situation, the only one open +to me, in a school in France. I should at least be assured of a home for +twelve months; and, as the clerk had said, I should perfect myself in +French and gain a referee. I should be earning a character, in fact. At +present I had none, and so was poorer than the poorest servant-maid. No +character, no name, no money; who could be poorer than the daughter of +the wealthy colonist, who had owned thousands of acres in Adelaide? I +almost laughed and cried hysterically at the thought of my father's vain +care and provision for my future. + +But the sooner I fled from London again the better, now that I knew my +husband was somewhere in it and might be upon my track. I unfolded the +paper on which was written the name of the lady to whom I was to apply. +Mrs. Wilkinson. 19 Bellringer Street. I ran down to the sitting-room, to +ask my landlady where it was, and told her, in my new hopefulness, that +I had heard of a situation in France. Bellringer Street was less than a +mile away, she said. I could be there before seven o'clock, not too late +perhaps for Mrs. Wilkinson to give me an interview. + +A thick yellow fog had come in with nightfall--a fog that could almost +be tasted and smelt--but it did not deter me from my object. I inquired +my way of every policeman I met, and at length entered the street. The +fog hid the houses from my view, but I could see that some of the lower +windows were filled with articles for sale, as if they were shops +struggling into existence. It was not a fashionable street, and Mrs. +Wilkinson could not be a very aristocratic person. + +No. 19 was not difficult to find, and I pulled the bell-handle with a +gentle and quiet pull, befitting my errand. I repeated this several +times without being admitted, when it struck me that the wire might be +broken. Upon that I knocked as loudly as I could upon the panels of the +broad old door; a handsome, heavy door, such as are to be found in the +old streets of London, from which the tide of fashion has ebbed away. A +slight, thin child in rusty mourning opened it, with the chain across, +and asked who I was in a timid voice. + +"Does Mrs. Wilkinson live here?" I asked. + +"Yes," said the child. + +"Who is there?" I heard a voice calling shrilly from within; not an +English voice, I felt sure, for each word was uttered distinctly and +slowly. + +"I am come about a school in France," I said to the child. + +"Oh! I'll let you in," she answered, eagerly; "she will see you about +that, I'm sure. I'm to go with you, if you go." + +She let down the chain, and opened the door. There was a dim light +burning in the hall, which looked shabby and poverty-stricken. There was +no carpet upon the broad staircase, and nothing but worn-out oil-cloth +on the floor. I had only time to take in a vague general impression, +before the little girl conducted me to a room on the ground-floor. That +too was uncarpeted and barely furnished; but the light was low, and I +could see nothing distinctly, except the face of the child looking +wistfully at me with shy curiosity. + +"I'm to go if you go," she said again; "and, oh! I do so hope you will +agree to go." + +"I think I shall," I answered. + +"I daren't be sure," she replied, nodding her head with an air of +sagacity; "there have been four or five governesses here, and none of +them would go. You'd have to take me with you; and, oh! it is such a +lovely, beautiful place. See! here is a picture of it." + +She ran eagerly to a side-table, on which lay a book or two, one of +which she opened, and reached out a photograph, which had been laid +there for security. When she brought it to me, she stood leaning lightly +against me as we both looked at the same picture. It was a clear, +sharply-defined photograph, with shadows so dark yet distinct as to show +the clearness of the atmosphere in which it had been taken. At the left +hand stood a handsome house, with windows covered with lace curtains, +and provided with outer Venetian shutters. In the centre stood a large +square garden, with fountains, and arbors, and statues, in the French +style of gardening, evidently well kept; and behind this stood a long +building of two stories, and a steep roof with dormer windows, every +casement of which was provided, like the house in the front, with rich +lace curtains and Venetian shutters. The whole place was clearly in good +order and good taste, and looked like a very pleasant home. It would +probably be my home for a time, and I scrutinized it the more closely. +Which of those sunny casements would be mine? What nook in that garden +would become my favorite? If I could only get there undetected, how +secure and happy I might be! + +Above the photograph was written in ornamental characters, "Pensionnat +de Demoiselles, à Noireau, Calvados." Underneath it were the words, +"Fondé par M. Emile Perrier, avocat, et par son épouse." Though I knew +very little of French, I could make out the meaning of these sentences. +Monsieur Perrier was an _avocat_. Tardif had happened to speak to me +about the notaries in Guernsey, who appeared to me to be of the same +rank as our solicitors, while the _avocats_ were on a par with our +barristers. A barrister founding a boarding-school for young ladies +might be somewhat opposed to English customs, but it was clear that he +must be a man of education and position; a gentleman, in fact. + +"Isn't it a lovely place?" asked the child beside me, with a deep sigh +of longing. + +"Yes," I said; "I should like to go." + +I had had time to make all these observations before the owner of the +foreign voice, which I had heard at the door, came in. At the first +glance I knew her to be a Frenchwoman, with the peculiar yellow tone in +her skin which seems inevitable in middle-aged Frenchwomen. Her black +eyes were steady and cold, and her general expression one of +watchfulness. She had wrapped tightly about her a China crape shawl, +which had once been white, but had now the same yellow tint as her +complexion. The light was low, but she turned it a little higher, and +scrutinized me with a keen and steady gaze. + +"I have not the honor of knowing you," she said politely. + +"I come from Ridley's agency-office," I answered, "about a situation as +English teacher in a school in France." + +"Be seated, miss," she said, pointing me to a stiff, high-backed chair, +whither the little girl followed me, stroking with her hand the soft +seal-skin jacket I was wearing. + +"It is a great chance," she continued; "my friend Madame Perrier is very +good, very amiable for her teachers. She is like a sister for them. The +terms are very high, very high for France; but there is absolutely every +comfort. The arrangements are precisely like England. She has lived in +England for two years, and knows what English young ladies look for; and +the house is positively English. I suppose you could introduce a few +English pupils." + +"No," I answered, "I am afraid I could not. I am sure I could not." + +"That of course must be considered in the premium," she continued; "if +you could have introduced, say, six pupils, the premium would be low. I +do not think my friend would take one penny less than twenty pounds for +the first year, and ten for the second." + +The tears started to my eyes. I had felt so sure of going if I would pay +ten pounds, that I was quite unprepared for this disappointment. There +was still my diamond ring left; but how to dispose of it, for any thing +like its value, I did not know. It was in my purse now, with all my +small store of money, which I dared not leave behind me in my lodgings. + +"What were you prepared to give?" asked Mrs. Wilkinson, while I +hesitated. + +"The clerk at Ridley's office told me the premium would be ten pounds," +I answered; + +"I do not see how I can give more." + +"Well," she said, after musing a little, while I watched her face +anxiously, "it is time this child went. She has been here a month, +waiting for somebody to take her down to Noireau. I will agree with you, +and will explain it to Madame Perrier. How soon could you go?" + +"I should like to go to-morrow," I replied, feeling that the sooner I +quitted London the better. Mrs. Wilkinson's steady eyes fastened upon me +again with sharp curiosity. + +"Have you references, miss?" she asked. + +"No," I faltered, my hope sinking again before this old difficulty. + +"It will be necessary then," she said, "for you to give the money to me, +and I will forward it to Madame Perrier. Pardon, miss, but you perceive +I could not send a teacher to them unless I knew that she could pay the +money down. There is my commission to receive the money for my friend." + +She gave me a paper written in French, of which I could read enough to +see that it was a sort of official warrant to receive accounts for +Monsieur Perrier, _avocat_, and his wife. I did not waver any longer. +The prospect seemed too promising for me to lose it by any irresolution. +I drew out my purse, and laid down two out of the three five-pound notes +left me. She gave me a formal receipt in the names of Emile and Louise +Perrier, and her sober face wore an expression of satisfaction. + +"There! it is done," she said, wiping her pen carefully. "You will take +lessons, any lessons you please, from the professors who attend the +school. It is a grand chance, miss, a grand chance. Let us say you go +the day after to-morrow; the child will be quite ready. She is going for +four years to that splendid place, a place for ladies of the highest +degree." + +At that moment an imperious knock sounded upon the outer door, and the +little girl ran to answer it, leaving the door of our room open. A voice +which I knew well, a voice which made my heart stand still and my veins +curdle, spoke in sharp loud tones in the hall. + +"Is Mr. Foster come home yet?" were the words the terrible voice +uttered, quite close to me it seemed; so close that I shrank back +shivering as if every syllable struck a separate blow. All my senses +were awake: I could hear every sound in the hall, each step that came +nearer and nearer. Was she about to enter the room where I was sitting? +She stood still for half a minute as if uncertain what to do. + +"He is up stairs," said the child's voice. "He told me he was ill when I +opened the door for him." + +"Where is Mrs. Wilkinson?" she asked. + +"She is here," said the child, "but there's a lady with her." + +Then the woman's footsteps went on up the staircase. I listened to them +climbing up one step after another, my brain throbbing with each sound, +and I heard a door opened and closed. Mrs. Wilkinson had gone to the +door, and looked out into the hall, as if expecting some other questions +to be asked. She had not seen my panic of despair. I must get away +before I lost the use of my senses, for I felt giddy and faint. + +"I will send the child to you in a cab on Wednesday," she said, as I +stood up and made my way toward the hall; "you have not told me your +address." + +I paused for a moment. Dared I tell her my address? Yet my money was +paid, and if I did not I should lose both it and the refuge I had bought +with it. Besides, I should awaken suspicion and inquiry by silence. It +was a fearful risk to run; yet it seemed safer than a precipitous +retreat. I gave her my address, and saw her write it down on a slip of +paper. + +As I returned to my lodgings I grew calmer and more hopeful. It was not +likely that my husband would see the address, or even hear that any one +like me had been at the house. I did not suppose he would know the name +of Martineau as my mother's maiden name. As far as I recollected, I had +never spoken of her to him. Moreover he was not a man to make himself at +all pleasant and familiar with persons whom he looked upon as inferiors. +It was highly improbable that he would enter into any conversation with +his landlady. If that woman did so, all she would learn would be that a +young lady, whose name was Martineau, had taken a situation as English +teacher in a French school. What could there be in that to make her +think of me? + +I tried to soothe and reassure myself with these reasonings, but I could +not be quiet or at peace. I watched all through the next day, listening +to every sound in the house below; but no new terror assailed me. The +second night I was tranquil enough to sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTH. + +LEAVING ENGLAND. + + +I was on the rack all the next day. It was the last day I should be in +England, and I had a nervous dread of being detained. If I should once +more succeed in quitting the country undetected, it seemed as though I +might hope to be in safety in Calvados. Of Calvados I knew even less +than of the Channel Islands; I had never heard the name before. But Mrs. +Wilkinson had given me the route by which we were to reach Noireau: by +steamer to Havre, across the mouth of the Seine to Honfleur, to Falaise +by train, and finally from Falaise to Noireau by omnibus. It was an +utterly unknown region to me; and I had no reason to imagine that +Richard Foster was better acquainted with it than I. My anxiety was +simply to get clear away. + +In the afternoon the little girl arrived quite alone, except that a man +had been hired to carry a small box for her, and to deliver her into my +charge. This was a great relief to me, and I paid the shilling he +demanded gladly. The child was thinly and shabbily dressed for our long +journey, and there was a forlorn loneliness about her position, left +thus with a stranger, which touched me to the heart. We were alike poor, +helpless, friendless--I was about to say childish, and in truth I was in +many things little more than a child still. The small elf, with her +sharp, large eyes, which were too big for her thin face, crept up to +me, as the man slammed the door after him and clattered noisily +downstairs. + +"I'm so glad!" she said, with a deep-drawn sigh of relief; "I was afraid +I should never go, and school is such a heavenly place!" + +The words amused yet troubled me; they were so different from a child's +ordinary opinion. + +"It's such a hateful place at Mrs. Wilkinson's," she went on, "everybody +calling me at once, and scolding me; and there are such a many people to +run errands for. You don't know what it is to run errands when you are +tired to death. And it's such a beautiful, splendid place where we're +going to!" + +"What is your name, my dear?" I asked, sitting down on my box and taking +her on my lap. Such a thin, stunted little woman, precociously learned +in trouble! Yet she nestled in my arms like a true child, and a tear or +two rolled down her cheeks, as if from very contentment. + +"Nobody has nursed me like this since mother died," she said. "I'm +Mary; but father always called me Minima, because I was the least in the +house. He kept a boys' school out of London, in Epping Forest, you know; +and it was so heavenly! All the boys were good to me, and we used to +call father Dominie. Then he died, and mother died just before him; and +he said,'Courage, Minima! God will take care of my little girl.' So the +boys' fathers and mothers made a subscription for me, and they got a +great deal of money, a hundred pounds; and somebody told them about this +school, where I can stay four years for a hundred pounds, and they all +said that was the best thing they could do with me. But I've had to stay +with Mrs. Wilkinson nearly two months, because she could not find a +governess to go with me. I hate her; I detest her; I should like to spit +at her!" + +The little face was all aflame, and the large eyes burning. + +"Hush! hush!" I said, drawing her head down upon my shoulder again. + +"Then there is Mr. Foster," she continued, almost sobbing; "he torments +me so. He likes to make fun of me, and tease me, till I can't bear to go +into his room. Father used to say it was wicked to hate anybody, and I +didn't hate anybody then. I was so happy. But you'd hate Mr. Foster, and +Mrs. Foster, if you only knew them." + +"Why?" I asked in a whisper. My voice sounded husky to me, and my throat +felt parched. The child's impotent rage and hatred struck a slumbering +chord within me. + +"Oh! they are horrid in every way," she said, with emphasis; "they +frighten me. He is fond of tormenting any thing because he's cruel. We +had a cruel boy in our school once, so I know. But they are very +poor--poor as Job, Mrs. Wilkinson says, and I'm glad. Aren't you glad?" + +The question jarred in my memory against a passionate craving after +revenge, which had died away in the quiet and tranquillity of Sark. A +year ago I should have rejoiced in any measure of punishment or +retribution, which had overtaken those who had destroyed my happiness. +But it was not so now; or perhaps I should rather own that it was only +faintly so. It had never occurred to me that my flight would plunge him +into poverty similar to my own. But now that the idea was thrust upon +me. I wondered how I could have overlooked this necessary consequence of +my conduct. Ought I to do any thing for him? Was there any thing I could +do to help him?" + +"He is ill, too," pursued the child; "I heard him say once to Mrs. +Foster, he knew he should die like a dog. I was a little tiny bit sorry +for him then; for nobody would like to die like a dog, and not go to +heaven, you know. But I don't care now, I shall never see them +again--never, never! I could jump out of my skin for joy. I sha'n't even +know when he is dead, if he does die like a dog." + +Ill! dead! My heart beat faster and faster as I pondered over these +words. Then I should be free indeed; his death would release me from +bondage, from terror, from poverty--those three evils which dogged my +steps. I had never ventured to let my thoughts run that way, but this +child's prattling had forced them into it. Richard Foster ill--dying! O +God! what ought I to do? + +I could not make myself known to him; that was impossible. I would ten +thousand times sooner die myself than return to him. He was not alone +either. But yet there came back to my mind the first days when I knew +him, when he was all tenderness and devotion to me, declaring that he +could find no fault in his girl-wife. How happy I had been for a little +while, exchanging my stepmother's harshness for his indulgence! He might +have won my love; he had almost won it. But that happy, golden time was +gone, and could never come back to me. Yet my heart was softened toward +him, as I thought of him ill, perhaps dying. What could I do for him, +without placing myself in his power? + +There was one thing only that I could do, only one little sacrifice I +could make for him whom I had vowed, in childish ignorance, to love, +honor, and cherish in sickness and in health, until death parted us. A +home was secured to me for twelve months, and at the end of that time I +should have a better career open to me. I had enough money still to last +me until then. My diamond ring, which had been his own gift to me on our +wedding-day, would be valuable to him. Sixty pounds would be a help to +him, if he were as poor as this child said. He must be poor, or he would +never have gone to live in that mean street and neighborhood. + +Perhaps--if he had been alone--I do not know, but possibly if he had +been quite alone, ill, dying in that poor lodging of his, I might have +gone to him. I ask myself again, could you have done this thing? But I +cannot answer it even to myself. Poor and ill he was, but he was not +alone. + +It was enough for me, then, that I could do something, some little +service for him. The old flame of vengeance had no spark of heat left in +it. I was free from hatred of him. I set the child gently away from me, +and wrote my last letter to my husband. Both the letter and the ring I +enclosed in a little box. These are the words I wrote, and I put neither +date nor name of place: + +"I know that you are poor, and I send you all I can spare--the ring you +once gave to me. I am even poorer than yourself, but I have just enough +for my immediate wants. I forgive you, as I trust God forgives me." + +I sat looking at it, thinking of it for some time. There was a vague +doubt somewhere in my mind that this might work some mischief. But at +last I decided that it should go. I must register the packet at a +post-office on our way to the station, and it could not fail to reach +him. + +This business settled, I returned to the child, who was sitting, as I +had so often, done, gazing pensively into the fire. Was she to be a sort +of miniature copy of myself? + +"Come, Minima," I said, "we must be thinking of tea. Which would you +like best, buns, or cake, or bread-and-butter? We must go out and buy +them, and you shall choose." + +"Which would cost the most?" she asked, looking at me with the careworn +expression of a woman. The question sounded so oddly, coming from lips +so young, that it grieved me. How bitterly and heavily must the burden +of poverty have already fallen upon this child! I was almost afraid to +think what it must mean. I put my arm round her, pressing my cheek +against hers, while childish visions, more childish than any in this +little head, flitted before me, of pantomimes, and toys, and sweetmeats, +and the thousand things that children love. If I had been as rich as my +father had planned for me to be, how I would have lavished them upon +this anxious little creature! + +We were discussing this question with befitting gravity, when a great +thump against the door brought a host of fears upon me. But before I +could stir the insecure handle gave way, and no one more formidable +appeared than the landlady of the house, carrying before her a tray on +which was set out a sumptuous tea, consisting of buttered crumpets and +shrimps. She put it down on my dressing-table, and stood surveying it +and us with an expression of benign exultation, until she had recovered +her breath sufficiently to speak. + +"Those as are going into foring parts," she said, "ought to get a good +English meal afore they start. If you was going to stay in England, +miss, it would be quite a differing thing; but me and my master don't +know what they may give you to eat where you're going to. Therefore we +beg you'll accept of the crumpets, and the shrimps, and the +bread-and-butter, and the tea, and every thing; and we mean no offence +by it. You've been a very quiet, regular lodger, and give no trouble; +and we're sorry to lose you. And this, my master says, is a testimonial +to you." + +I could hardly control my laughter, and I could not keep back my tears. +It was a long time now since any one had shown me so much kindness and +sympathy as this. The dull face of the good woman was brightened by her +kind-hearted feeling, and instead of thanking her I put my lips to her +cheek. + +"Lor!" she exclaimed, "why! God bless you, my dear! I didn't mean any +offence, you know. Lor! I never thought you'd pay me like that. It's +very pretty of you, it is; for I'm sure you're a lady to the backbone, +as often and often I've said to my master. Be good enough to eat it all, +you and the little miss, for you've a long journey before you. God bless +you both, my dears, and give you a good appetite!" + +She backed out of the room as she was speaking, her face beaming upon us +to the last. + +There was a pleasant drollery about her conduct, and about the intense +delight of the child, and her hearty enjoyment of the feast, which for +the time effectually dissipated my fears and my melancholy thoughts. It +was the last hour I should spend in my solitary room; my lonely days +were past. This little elf, with her large sharp eyes, and sagacious +womanly face, was to be my companion for the future. I felt closely +drawn to her. Even the hungry appetite with which she ate spoke of the +hard times she had gone through. When she had eaten all she could eat, I +heard her say softly to herself, "Courage, Minima!" + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. + +A LONG JOURNEY. + + +It as little more than twelve months since I had started from the same +station on the same route; but there was no Tardif at hand now. As I +went into the ticket-office, Minima caught me by the dress and whispered +earnestly into my ear. + +"We're not to travel first-class," she said; "it costs too much. Mrs. +Wilkinson said we ought to go third, if we could; and you're to pay for +me, please, only half-price, and they'll pay you again when we reach the +school. I'll come with you, and then they'll see I'm only half-price. I +don't look too old, do I?" + +"You look very old," I answered, smiling at her anxious face. + +"Oh, dear, dear!" she said; "but I sit very small. Perhaps I'd better +not come to the ticket-office; the porters are sure to think me only a +little girl." + +She was uneasy until we had fairly started from the station, her right +to a half-ticket unchallenged. + +The November night was cold and foggy, and there was little difference +between the darkness of the suburbs and the darkness of the open +country. + +Once again the black hulls and masts of two steamers stood before us, at +the end of our journey, and hurrying voices shouted, "This way for +Jersey and Guernsey," "This way to Havre." What would I not have given +to return to Sark, to my quiet room under Tardif's roof, with his true +heart and steadfast friendship to rest upon! But that could not be. My +feet were setting out upon a new track, and I did not know where the +hidden path would lead me. + +The next morning found us in France. It was a soft, sunny day, with a +mellow light, which seemed to dwell fondly on the many-tinted leaves of +the trees which covered the banks of the Seine. From Honfleur to Falaise +the same warm, genial sunshine filled the air. The slowly-moving train +carried us through woods where the autumn seemed but a few days old, and +where the slender leaflets of the acacias still fluttered in the +caressing breath of the wind. We passed through miles upon miles of +orchards, where a few red leaves were hanging yet upon the knotted +branches of the apple-trees, beneath which lay huge pyramids of apples. +Truck-loads of them stood at every station. The air was scented by them. +Children were pelting one another with them; and here and there, where +the orchards had been cleared and the trees stripped, flocks of geese +were searching for those scattered among the tufts of grass. The roses +were in blossom, and the chrysanthemums were in their first glory. The +few countrywomen who got into our carriage were still wearing their +snowy muslin caps, as in summer. Nobody appeared cold and pinched yet, +and everybody was living out-of-doors. + +It was almost like going into a new world, and I breathed more freely +the farther we travelled down into the interior. At Falaise we exchanged +the train for a small omnibus, which bore the name "Noireau" +conspicuously on its door. I had discovered that the little French I +knew was not of much service, as I could in no way understand the rapid +answers that were given to my questions. A woman came to us, at the door +of a _café_, where the omnibus stopped in Falaise, and made a long and +earnest harangue, of which I did not recognize one word. At length we +started off on the last stage of our journey. + +Where could we be going to? I began to ask myself the question anxiously +after we had crept on, at a dog-trot, for what seemed an interminable +time. We had passed through long avenues of trees, and across a series +of wide, flat plains, and down gently-sloping roads into narrow valleys, +and up the opposite ascents; and still the bells upon the horses' +collars jingled sleepily, and their hoof-beats shambled along the roads. +We were seldom in sight of any house, and we passed through very few +villages. I felt as if we were going all the way to Marseilles. + + +"I'm so hungry!" said Minima, after a very long silence. + +I too had been hungry for an hour or two past. We had breakfasted at +mid-day at one of the stations, but we had had nothing to eat since, +except a roll which Minima had brought away from breakfast, with wise +prevision; but this had disappeared long ago. + +"Try to go to sleep," I said; "lean against me. We must be there soon." + +"Yes," she answered, "and it's such a splendid school! I'm going to stay +there four years, you know, so it's foolish to mind being hungry now. +'Courage, Minima!' I must recollect that." + +"Courage, Olivia!" I repeated to myself. "The farther you go, the more +secure will be your hiding-place." The child nestled against me, and +soon fell asleep. I went to sleep myself--an unquiet slumber, broken by +terrifying dreams. Sometimes I was falling from the cliffs in Sark into +the deep, transparent waters below, where the sharp rocks lay like +swords. Then I was in the Gouliot Caves, with Martin Dobrée at my side, +and the tide was coming in too strongly for us; and beyond, in the +opening through which we might have escaped, my husband's face looked in +at us, with a hideous exultation upon it. I woke at last, shivering with +cold and dread, for I had fancied that he had found me, and was carrying +me away again to his old hateful haunts. + +Our omnibus was jolting and rumbling down some steep and narrow streets +lighted by oil-lamps swung across them. There were no lights in any of +the houses, save a few in the upper windows, as though the inmates were +all in bed, or going to bed. Only at the inn where we stopped was there +any thing like life. A lamp, which hung over the archway leading to the +yard and stables, lit up a group of people waiting for the arrival of +the omnibus. I woke up Minima from her deep and heavy sleep. + +"We are here at Noireau!" I said. "We have reached our home at last!" + +The door was opened before the child was fairly awake. A small cluster +of bystanders gathered round us as we alighted, and watched our luggage +put down from the roof; while the driver ran on volubly, and with many +gesticulations, addressed to the little crowd. He, the chamber-maid, the +landlady, and all the rest, surrounded us as solemnly as if they were +assisting at a funeral. There was not a symptom of amusement, but they +all stared at us unflinchingly, as if a single wink of their eyelids +would cause them to lose some extraordinary spectacle. If I had been a +total eclipse of the sun, and they a group of enthusiastic astronomers +bent upon observing every phenomenon, they could not have gazed more +steadily. Minima was leaning against me, half asleep. A narrow vista of +tall houses lay to the right and left, lost in impenetrable darkness. +The strip of sky overhead was black with midnight. + +"Noireau?" I asked, in a tone of interrogation. + +"Oui, oui, madame," responded a chorus of voices. + +"Carry me to the house of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the _avocat_," I said, +speaking slowly and distinctly. + +The words, simple as they were, seemed to awaken considerable +excitement. The landlady threw up her hands, with an expression of +astonishment, and the driver recommenced his harangue. Was it possible +that I could have made a mistake in so short and easy a sentence? I +said it over again to myself, and felt sure I was right. With renewed +confidence I repeated it aloud, with a slight variation. + +"I wish to go to the house of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the _avocat_," I +said. + +But while they still clustered round Minima and me, giving no sign of +compliance with my request, two persons thrust themselves through the +circle. The one was a man, in a threadbare brown greatcoat, with a large +woollen comforter wound several times about his neck; and the other a +woman, in an equally shabby dress, who spoke to me in broken English. + +"Mees, I am Madame Perrier, and this my husband," she said; "come on. +The letter was here only an hour ago; but all is ready. Come on; come +on." + +She put her hand through my arm, and took hold of Minima's hand, as if +claiming both of us. A dead silence had fallen upon the little crowd, as +if they were trying to catch the meaning of the English words. But as +she pushed on, with us both in her hands, a titter for the first time +ran from lip to lip. I glanced back, and saw Monsieur Perrier, the +_avocat_, hurriedly putting our luggage on a wheelbarrow, and preparing +to follow us with it along the dark streets. + +I was too bewildered yet to feel any astonishment. We were in France, in +a remote part of France, and I did not know what Frenchmen would or +would not do. Madame Perrier, exhausted with her effort at speaking +English, had ceased speaking to me, and contented herself with guiding +us along the strange streets. We stopped at last opposite the large, +handsome house, which stood in the front of the photograph I had seen in +London. I could just recognize it in the darkness; and behind lay the +garden and the second range of building. Not a glimmer of light shone in +any of the windows. + +"It is midnight nearly," said Madame Perrier, as we came to a +stand-still and waited for her husband, the _avocat_. + +Even when he came up with the luggage there seemed some difficulty in +effecting an entrance. He passed through the garden-gate, and +disappeared round the corner of the house, walking softly, as if careful +not to disturb the household. How long the waiting seemed! For we were +hungry, sleepy, and cold--strangers in a very strange land. I heard +Minima sigh weariedly. + +At last he reappeared round the corner, carrying a candle, which +flickered in the wind. Not a word was spoken by him or his wife as the +latter conducted us toward him. We were to enter by the back-door, that +was evident. But I did not care what door we entered by, so that we +might soon find rest and food. She led us into a dimly-lighted room, +where I could just make out what appeared to be a carpenter's bench, +with a heap of wood-shavings lying under it. But I was too weary to be +certain about any thing. + +"It is a leetle cabinet of work of my husband," said Madame Perrier; +"our chamber is above, and the chamber for you and leetle mees is there +also. But the school is not there. Will you go to bed? Will you sleep? +Come on, mees." + +"But we are very hungry," I remonstrated; "we have had nothing to eat +since noon. We could not sleep without food." + +"Bah! that is true," she said. "Well, come on. The food is at the +school. Come on." + +That must be the house at the back. We went down the broad gravel walk, +with the pretty garden at the side of us, where a fountain was tinkling +and splashing busily in the quiet night. But we passed the front of the +house behind it without stopping, at the door. Madame led us through a +cart-shed into a low, long, vaulted passage, with doors opening on each +side; a black, villanous-looking place, with the feeble, flickering +light of the candle throwing on to the damp walls a sinister gleam. +Minima pressed very close to me, and I felt a strange quiver of +apprehension: but the thought that there was no escape from it, and no +help at hand, nerved me to follow quietly to the end. + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. + +AT SCHOOL IN FRANCE. + + +The end brought us out into a mean, poor street, narrow even where the +best streets were narrow. A small house, the exterior of which I +discovered afterward to be neglected and almost dilapidated, stood +before us; and madame unlocked the door with a key from her pocket. We +were conducted into a small kitchen, where a fire had been burning +lately, though it was now out, and only a little warmth lingered about +the stove. Minima was set upon a chair opposite to it, with her feet in +the oven, and I was invited to do the same. I assented mechanically, and +looked furtively about me, while madame was busy in cutting a huge hunch +or two of black bread, and spreading upon them a thin scraping of rancid +butter. + +There was an oil-lamp here, burning with a clear, bright blaze. Madame's +face was illuminated by it. It was a coarse, sullen face, with an +expression of low cunning about it. There was not a trace of refinement +or culture about her, not even the proverbial taste of a Frenchwoman in +dress. The kitchen was a picture of squalid dirt and neglect; the walls +and ceiling black with smoke, and the floor so crusted over with unswept +refuse and litter that I thought it was not quarried. The few +cooking-utensils were scattered about in disorder. The stove before +which we sat was rusty. Could I be dreaming of this filthy dwelling and +this slovenly woman? No; it was all too real for me to doubt their +existence for an instant. + +She was pouring out some cold tea into two little cups, when Monsieur +Perrier made his appearance, his face begrimed and his shaggy hair +uncombed. I had been used to the sight of rough men in Adelaide, on our +sheep-farm, but I had never seen one more boorish. He stood in the +doorway, rubbing his hands, and gazing at us unflinchingly with the hard +stare of a Norman peasant, while he spoke in rapid, uncouth tones to his +wife. I turned away my head, and shut my eyes to this unwelcome sight. + +"Eat, mees," said the woman, bringing us our food. "There is tea. We +give our pupils and instructresses tea for supper at six o'clock: after +that there is no more to eat." + +I took a mouthful of the food, but I could hardly swallow it, exhausted +as I was from hunger. The bread was sour and the butter rancid; the tea +tasted of garlic. Minima ate hers ravenously, without uttering a word. +The child had not spoken since we entered these new scenes: her careworn +face was puckered, and her sharp eyes were glancing about her more +openly than mine. As soon as she had finished her hunch of black bread, +I signified to Madame Perrier that we were ready to go to our bedroom. + +We had the same vaulted passage and cart-shed to traverse on our way +back to the other house. There we were ushered into a room containing +only two beds and our two boxes. I helped Minima to undress, and tucked +her up in bed, trying not to see the thin little face and sharp eyes +which wanted to meet mine, and look into them. She put her arm round my +neck, and drew down my head to whisper cautiously into my ear. + +"They're cheats," she said, earnestly, "dreadful cheats. This isn't a +splendid place at all. Oh! whatever shall I do? Shall I have to stay +here four years?" + +"Hush, Minima!" I answered. "Perhaps it is better than we think now. We +are tired. To-morrow we shall see the place better, and it may be +splendid after all. Kiss me, and go to sleep." + +But it was too much for me, far too much. The long, long journey; the +hunger the total destruction of all my hopes; the dreary prospect that +stretched before me. I laid my aching head on my pillow, and cried +myself to sleep like a child. + +I was awakened, while it was yet quite dark, by the sound of a +carpenter's tool in the room below me. Almost immediately a loud knock +came at my door, and the harsh voice of madame called to us. + +"Get up, mees, get up, and come on," she said; "you make your toilet at +the school. Come on, quick!" + +Minima was more dexterous than I in dressing herself in the dark; but we +were not long in getting ready. The air was raw and foggy when we turned +out-of-doors, and it was so dark still that we could scarcely discern +the outline of the walls and houses. But madame was waiting to conduct +us once more to the other house, and as she did so she volunteered an +explanation of their somewhat singular arrangement of dwelling in two +houses. The school, she informed me, was registered in the name of her +head governess, not in her own; and as the laws of France prohibited any +man dwelling under the same roof with a school of girls, except the +husband of the proprietor, they were compelled to rent two dwellings. + +"How many pupils have you, madame?" I inquired. + +"We have six, mees," she replied. "They are here; see them." + +We had reached the house, and she opened the door of a long, low room. +There was an open hearth, with a few logs of green wood upon it, but +they were not kindled. A table ran almost the whole length of the room, +with forms on each side. A high chair or two stood about. All was +comfortless, dreary, and squalid. + +But the girls who were sitting on the hard benches by the table were +still more squalid and dreary-looking. Their faces were pinched, and +just now blue with cold, and their hands were swollen and red with +chilblains. They had a cowed and frightened expression, and peeped +askance at us as we went in behind madame. Minima pressed closely to me, +and clasped my hand tightly in her little fingers. We were both entering +upon the routine of a new life, and the first introduction to it was +disheartening. + +"Three are English," said madame, "and three are French. The English are +_frileuses_; they are always sheever, sheever, sheever. Behold, how they +have fingers red and big! Bah! it is disgusting." + +She rapped one of the swollen hands which lay upon the table, and the +girl dropped it out of sight upon her lap, with a frightened glance at +the woman. Minima's fingers tightened upon mine. The head governess, a +Frenchwoman of about thirty, with a number of little black papillotes +circling about her head, was now introduced to me; and an animated +conversation followed between her and madame. + +"You comprehend the French?" asked the latter, turning with a suspicious +look to me. + +"No," I answered; "I know very little of it yet." + +"Good!" she replied. "We will eat breakfast." + +"But I have not made my toilet," I objected; "there was neither +washingstand nor dressing-table in my room." + +"Bah!" she said, scornfully; "there are no gentlemans here. No person +will see you. You make your toilet before the promenade; not at this +moment." + +It was evident that uncomplaining submission was expected, and no +remonstrance would be of avail. Breakfast was being brought in by one of +the pupils. It consisted of a teacupful of coffee at the bottom of a big +basin, which was placed before each of us, a large tablespoon to feed +ourselves with; and a heaped plateful of hunches of bread, similar to +those I had turned from last night. But I could fast no longer. I sat +down with the rest at the long table, and ate my food with a sinking and +sorrowful heart. + +Minima drank her scanty allowance of coffee thirstily, and then asked, +in a timid voice, if she could have a little more. Madame's eyes glared +upon her, and her voice snapped out an answer; while the English girls +looked frightened, and drew in their bony shoulders, as if such temerity +made them shudder. As soon as madame was gone, the child flung her arms +around me, and hid her face in my bosom. + +"Oh!" she cried, "don't you leave me; don't forsake me! I have to stay +here four years, and it will kill me. I shall die if you go away and +leave me." + +I soothed her as best I could, without promising to remain in this trap. +Would it not be possible in some way to release her as well as myself? I +sat thinking through the long cold morning, with the monotonous hum of +lessons in my ears. There was nothing for me to do, and I found that I +could not return to the house where I had slept, and where my luggage +was, until night came again. I sat all the morning in the chilly room, +with Minima on the floor at my feet, clinging to me for protection and +warmth, such as I could give. + +But what could I do either for her or myself? My store of money was +almost all gone, for our joint expenses had cost more than I had +anticipated, and I could very well see that I must not expect Madame +Perrier to refund Minima's fare. There was perhaps enough left to carry +me back to England, and just land me on its shores. But what then? Where +was I to go then? Penniless, friendless; without character, without a +name--but an assumed one--what was to become of me? I began to wonder +vaguely whether I should be forced to make myself known to my husband; +whether fate would not drive me back to him. No; that should never be. I +would face and endure any hardship rather than return to my former life. +A hundred times better this squalid, wretched, foreign school, than the +degradation of heart and soul I had suffered with him. + +I could do no more for Minima than for myself, for I dared not even +write to Mrs. Wilkinson, who was either an accomplice or a dupe of +these Perriers. My letter might fall into the hands of Richard Foster, +or the woman living with him, and so they would track me out, and I +should have no means of escape. I dared not run that risk. The only +thing I could do for her was to stay with her, and as far as possible +shield her from the privations and distress that threatened us both. I +was safe here; no one was likely to come across me, in this remote +place, who could by any chance know me. I had at least a roof over my +head; I had food to eat. Elsewhere I was not sure of either. There +seemed to be no other choice given me than to remain in the trap. + +"We must make the best of it, Minima," I whispered to the child, through +the hum of lessons. Her shrewd little face brightened with a smile that +smoothed all the wrinkles out of it. + +"That's what father said!" she cried; "he said, 'Courage, Minima. God +will take care of my little daughter.' God has sent you to take care of +me. Suppose I'd come all the way alone, and found it such a horrid +place!" + + + + +CHAPTER THE NINTH. + +A FRENCH AVOCAT. + + +December came in with intense severity. Icicles a yard long hung to the +eaves, and the snow lay unmelted for days together on the roofs. More +often than not we were without wood for our fire, and when we had it, it +was green and unseasoned, and only smouldered away with a smoke that +stung and irritated our eyes. Our insufficient and unwholesome food +supplied us with no inward warmth. Coal in that remote district cost too +much for any but the wealthiest people, Now and then I caught a glimpse +of a blazing fire in the houses I had to pass, to get to our chamber +over Monsieur Perrier's workshop; and in an evening the dainty, savory +smell of dinner, cooking in the kitchen adjoining, sometimes filled the +frosty air. Both sight and scent were tantalizing, and my dreams at +night were generally of pleasant food and warm firesides. + +At times the pangs of hunger grew too strong for us both, and forced me +to spend a little of the money I was nursing so carefully. As soon as I +could make myself understood, I went out occasionally after dark, to buy +bread-and-milk. + +Noireau was a curious town, the streets everywhere steep and narrow, and +the houses, pell-mell, rich and poor, large and small huddled together +without order. Almost opposite the handsome dwelling, the photograph of +which had misled me, stood a little house where I could buy rich, creamy +milk. It was sold by a Mademoiselle Rosalie, an old maid, whom I +generally found solitarily reading a _Journal pour Tous_ with her feet +upon a _chaufferette_, and no light save that of her little oil-lamp. +She had never sat by a fire in her life, she told me, burning her face +and spoiling her _teint_. Her dwelling consisted of a single room, with +a shed opening out of it, where she kept her milkpans. She was the only +person I spoke to out of Madame Perrier's own household. + +"Is Monsieur Perrier an avocat?" I asked her one day, as soon as I could +understand what she might say in reply. There was very little doubt in +my mind as to what her answer would be. + +"An avocat, mademoiselle?" She repeated, shrugging her shoulders; "who +has told you that? Are the avocats in England like Emile? He is my +relation, and you see me! He is a bailiff; do you understand? If I go in +debt, he comes and takes possession of my goods, you see. It is very +simple. One need not be very learned to do that. Emile Perrier an +avocat? Bah!" + +"What is an avocat?" I inquired. + +"An avocat is even higher than a notaire," she answered; "he gives +counsel; he pleads before the judges. It is a high _rôle_. One must be +very learned, very eloquent, to be an avocat." + +"I suppose he must be a gentleman," I remarked. + +"A gentleman, mademoiselle?" she said; "I do not understand you. There +is equality in France. We are all messieurs and mesdames. There is +monsieur the bailiff, and monsieur the duke; and there is madame the +washer-woman, and madame the duchess. We are all gentlemen, all ladies. +It is not the same in your country." + +"Not at all," I answered. + +"Did my little Emile tell you he was an avocat, mademoiselle?" she +asked. + +"No," I said. I was on my guard, even if I had known French well enough +to explain the deception practised upon me. She looked as if she did not +believe me, but smiled and nodded with imperturbable politeness, as I +carried off my jug of milk. + +So Monsieur Perrier was nothing higher than a bailiff, and with very +little to do even in that line of the law! He took off his tasselled cap +to me as I passed his workshop, and went up-stairs with the milk to +Minima, who was already gone to bed for the sake of warmth. The +discovery did not affect me with surprise. If he had been an avocat, my +astonishment at French barristers would have been extreme. + +Yet there was something galling in the idea of being under the roof of a +man and woman of that class, in some sort in their power and under their +control. The low, vulgar cunning of their nature appeared more clearly +to me. There was no chance of success in any contest with them, for they +were too boorish to be reached by any weapon I could use. All I could do +was to keep as far aloof from them as possible. + +This was not difficult to do, for neither of them interfered with the +affairs of the school, and we saw them only at meal times, when they +watched every mouthful we ate with keen eyes. + +I found that I had no duties to perform as a teacher, for none of the +three French pupils desired to learn English. English girls, who had +been decoyed into the same snare by the same false photograph and +prospectus which had entrapped me, were all of families too poor to be +able to forfeit the money which had been paid in advance for their +French education. Two of them, however, completed their term at +Christmas, and returned home weak and ill; the third was to leave in the +spring. I did not hear that any more pupils were expected, and why +Madame Perrier should have engaged any English teacher became a problem +to me. The premium I had paid was too small to cover my expenses for a +year, though we were living at so scanty a cost. It was not long before +I understood my engagement better. + +I studied the language diligently. I felt myself among foreigners and +foes, and I was helpless till I could comprehend what they were saying +in my presence. Having no other occupation, I made rapid progress, +though Mademoiselle Morel, the head governess, gave me very little +assistance. + +She was a dull, heavy, yet crafty-looking woman, who had taken a +first-class diploma as a teacher; yet, as far as I could judge, knew +very much less than most English governesses who are uncertificated. So +far from there being any professors attending the school, I could not +discover that there were any in the town. It was a cotton-manufacturing +town, with a population of six thousand, most of them hand-loom weavers. +There were three or four small factories, built on the banks of the +river, where the hands were at work from six in the morning till ten at +night, Sundays included. There was not much intellectual life here; a +professor would have little chance of making a living. + +At first Minima, and I took long walks together into the country +surrounding Noireau, a beautiful country, even in November. Once out of +the vapor lying in the valley, at the bottom of which the town was +built, the atmosphere showed itself as exquisitely clear, with no smoke +in it, except the fine blue smoke of wood-fire. We could distinguish the +shapes of trees standing out against the horizon, miles and miles away; +while between us and it lay slopes of brown woodland and green pastures, +with long rows of slim poplars, the yellow leaves clinging to them +still, and winding round them, like garlands on a May-pole. But this +pleasure was a costly one, for it awoke pangs of hunger, which I was +compelled to appease by drawing upon my rapidly-emptying purse. We +learned that it was necessary to stay in-doors, and cultivate a small +appetite. + +"Am I getting very thin?" asked Minima one day, as she held up her +transparent hand against the light; "how thin do you think I could get +without dying, Aunt Nelly?" + +"Oh! a great deal thinner, my darling," I said, kissing the little +fingers, My heart was bound up in the child. I had been so lonely +without her, that now her constant companionship, her half-womanly, +half-babyish prattle seemed necessary to me. There was no longer any +question in my mind as to whether I could leave her. I only wondered +what I should do when my year was run out, and only one of those four of +hers, for which these wretches had received the payment. + +"Some people can get very thin indeed," she went on, with her shrewd, +quaint smile; "I've heard the boys at school talk about it. One of them +had seen a living skeleton, that was all skin and bone, and no flesh. I +shouldn't like to be a living skeleton, and be made a show of. Do you +think I ever shall be, if I stay here four years? Perhaps they'd take me +about as a show." + +"Why, you are talking nonsense, Minima," I answered. + +"Am I?" she said, wistfully, as if the idea really troubled her; "I +dream of it often and often. I can feel all my bones now, and count +them, when I'm in bed. Some of them are getting very sharp. The boys +used to say they'd get as sharp as knives sometimes, and cut through the +skin. But father said it was only boys' talk." + +"Your father was right," I answered; "you must think of what he said, +not the boys' talk." + +"But," she continued, "the boys said sometimes people get so hungry they +bite pieces out of their arms. I don't think I could ever be so hungry +as that; do you?" + +"Minima," I said, starting up, "let us run to Mademoiselle Rosalie's for +some bread-and-milk." + +"You're afraid of me beginning to eat myself!" she cried, with a little +laugh. But she was the first to reach Mademoiselle Rosalie's door; and I +watched her devouring her bread-and-milk with the eagerness of a +ravenous appetite. + +Very fast melted away my money. I could not see the child pining with +hunger, though every sou I spent made our return to England more +difficult. Madame Perrier put no hinderance in my way, for the more food +we purchased ourselves, the less we ate at her table. The bitter cold +and the coarse food told upon Minima's delicate little frame. Yet what +could I do? I dared not write to Mrs. Wilkinson, and I very much doubted +if there would be any benefit to be hoped for if I ran the risk. Minima +did not know the address of any one of the persons who had subscribed +for her education and board; to her they were only the fathers and +mothers of the boys of whom she talked so much. She was as friendless as +I was in the world. + +So far away were Dr. Martin Dobrée and Tardif, that I dared not count +them as friends who could have any power to help me. Better for Dr. +Martin Dobrée if he could altogether forget me, and return to his cousin +Julia. Perhaps he had done so already. + +How long was this loneliness, this friendlessness to be my lot? I was so +young yet, that my life seemed endless as it stretched before me. Poor, +desolate, hunted, I shrank from life as an evil thing, and longed +impatiently to be rid of it. Yet how could I escape even from its +present phase? + + + +CHAPTER THE TENTH. + +A MISFORTUNE WITHOUT PARALLEL. + +My escape was nearer than I expected, and was forced upon me in a manner +I could never have foreseen. + +Toward the middle of February, Mademoiselle Morel appeared often in +tears. Madame Perrier's coarse face was always overcast, and monsieur +seemed gloomy, too gloomy to retain even French politeness of manner +toward any of us. The household was under a cloud, but I could not +discover why. What little discipline and work there had been in the +school was quite at an end. Every one was left to do as she chose. + +Early one morning, long before daybreak, I was startled out of my sleep +by a hurried knock at my door. I cried out, "Who is there?" and a +voice, indistinct with sobbing, replied, "C'est moi." + +The "moi" proved to be Mademoiselle Morel. I opened the door for her, +and she appeared in her bonnet and walking-dress, carrying a lamp in her +hand, which lit up her weary and tear-stained face. She took a seat at +the foot of my bed, and buried her face in her handkerchief. + +"Mademoiselle," she said, "here is a grand misfortune, a misfortune +without parallel. Monsieur and madame are gone." + +"Gone!" I repeated; "where are they gone?" + +"I do not know, mademoiselle," she answered; "I know nothing at all. +They are gone away. The poor good people were in debt, and their +creditors are as hard as stone. They wished to take every sou, and they +talked of throwing monsieur into prison, you understand. That is +intolerable. They are gone, and I have no means to carry on the +establishment. The school is finished." + +"But I am to stay here twelve months," I cried, in dismay, "and Minima +was to stay four years. The money has been paid to them for it. What is +to become of us?" + +"I cannot say, mademoiselle; I am desolated myself," she replied, with a +fresh burst of tears; "all is finished here. If you have not money +enough to take you back to England, you must write to your friends. I'm +going to return to Bordeaux. I detest Normandy; it is so cold and +_triste_." + +"But what is to be done with the other pupils?" I inquired, still lost +in amazement, and too bewildered to realize my own position. + +"The English pupil goes with me to Paris," she answered; "she has her +friends there. The French demoiselles are not far from their own homes, +and they return to-day by the omnibus to Granville. It is a misfortune +without parallel, mademoiselle--a misfortune quite without parallel." + +By the way she repeated this phrase, it was evidently a great +consolation to her--as phrases seem to be to all classes of the French +people. But both the tone of her voice, and the expression of her face, +impressed upon me the conviction that it was not her only consolation. +In answer to my urgent questions, she informed me that, without doubt, +the goods left in the two houses would be seized, as soon as the flight +of madame and monsieur became known. + +To crown all, she was going to start immediately by the omnibus to +Falaise, and on by rail to Paris, not waiting for the storm to burst. +She kissed me on both cheeks, bade me adieu, and was gone, leaving me in +utter darkness, before I fairly comprehended the rapid French in which +she conveyed her intention. I groped to the window, and saw the +glimmering of her lamp, as she turned into the cart-shed, on her way to +the other house. Before I could dress and follow her, she would be gone. + +I had seen my last of Monsieur and Madame Perrier, and of Mademoiselle +Morel. + +I had time to recover from my consternation, and to see my position +clearly, before the dawn came. Leagues of land, and leagues of sea, lay +between me and England. Ten shillings was all that was left of my money. +Besides this, I had Minima dependent upon me, for it was impossible to +abandon her to the charity of foreigners. I had not the means of sending +her back to Mrs. Wilkinson, and I rejected the mere thought of doing so, +partly because I dared not run the risk, and partly because I could not +harden myself against the appeals the child would make against such a +destiny. But then what was to become of us? + +I dressed myself as soon as the first faint light came, and hurried to +the other house. The key was in the lock, as mademoiselle had left it. A +fire was burning in the school-room, and the fragments of a meal were +scattered about the table. The pupils up-stairs were preparing for their +own departure, and were chattering too volubly to one another for me to +catch the meaning of their words. They seemed to know very well how to +manage their own affairs, and they informed me their places were taken +in the omnibus, and a porter was hired to fetch their luggage. + +All I had to do was to see for myself and Minima. + +I carried our breakfast back with me, when I returned to Minima. Her +wan and womanly face was turned toward the window, and the light made it +look more pinched and worn than usual. She sat up in bed to eat her +scanty breakfast--the last meal we should have in this shelter of +ours--and I wrapped a shawl about her thin shoulders. + +"I wish I'd been born a boy," she said, plaintively; "they can get their +own living sooner than girls, and better. How soon do you think I could +get my own living? I could be a little nurse-maid now, you know; and I'd +eat very little." + +"What makes you talk about getting your living?" I asked. + +"How pale you look!" she answered, nodding her little head; "why, I +heard something of what mademoiselle said. They've all run away, and +left us to do what we can. We shall both have to get our own living. +I've been thinking how nice it would be if you could get a place as +housemaid and me nurse, in the same house. Wouldn't that be first-rate? +You're very poor, aren't you, Aunt Nelly?" + +"Very poor!" I repeated, hiding my face on her pillow, while hot tears +forced themselves through my eyelids. + +"Oh! this will never do," said the childish voice; "we mustn't cry, you +know. The boys always said it was like a baby to cry; and father used to +say, 'Courage, Minima!' Perhaps, when all our money is gone, we shall +find a great big purse full of gold; or else a beautiful French prince +will see you, and fall in love with you, and take us both to his palace, +and make you his princess; and we shall all grow up till we die." + +I laughed at the oddity of this childish climax in spite of the +heaviness of my heart and the springing of my tears. Minima's fresh +young fancies were too droll to resist, especially in combination with +her shrewd, old-womanish knowledge of many things of which I was +ignorant. + +"I should know exactly what to do if we were in London," she resumed; +"we could take our things to the pawnbroker's, and get lots of money for +them. That is what poor people do. Mrs. Foster has pawned all her rings +and brooches. It is quite easy to do, you know; but perhaps there are no +pawn-shops in France." + +This incidental mention of Mrs. Foster had sent my thoughts and fears +fluttering toward a deep, unutterable dread, which was lurking under all +my other cares. Should I be driven by the mere stress of utter poverty +to return to my husband? There must be something wrong in a law which +bound me captive, body and soul, to a man whose very name had become a +terror to me, and to escape whom I was willing to face any difficulties, +any distresses. But all my knowledge of the law came from his lips, and +he would gladly deceive me. It might be that I was suffering all these +troubles quite needlessly. Across the darkness of my prospects flushed a +thought that seemed like an angel of light. Why should I not try to make +my way to Mrs. Dobrée, Martin's mother, to whom I could tell my whole +history, and on whose friendship and protection I could rely implicitly? +She would learn for me how far the law would protect me. By this time +Kate Daltrey would have quitted the Channel Islands, satisfied that I +had eluded her pursuit. The route to the Channel Islands was neither +long nor difficult, for at Granville a vessel sailed directly for +Jersey, and we were not more than thirty miles from Granville. It was a +distance that we could almost walk. If Mrs. Dobrée could not help me, +Tardif would take Minima into his house for a time, and the child could +not have a happier home. I could count upon my good Tardif doing that. +These plans were taking shape in my brain, when I heard a voice calling +softly under the window. I opened the casement, and, leaning out, saw +the welcome face of Rosalie, the milk-woman. + +"Will you permit me to come in?" she inquired. + +"Yes, yes, come in," I said, eagerly. + +She entered, and saluted us both with much ceremony. Her clumsy wooden +_sabots_ clattered over the bare boards, and the wings of her high +Norman cap flapped against her sallow cheeks. No figure could have +impressed upon me more forcibly the unwelcome fact that I was in great +straits in a foreign land. I regarded her with a vague kind of fear. + +"So my little Emile and his spouse are gone, mademoiselle," she said, in +a mysterious whisper. "I have been saying to myself, 'What will my +little English lady do?' That is why I am here. Behold me." + +"I do not know what to do," I answered. + +"If mademoiselle is not difficult," she said, "she and the little one +could rest with me for a day or two. My bed is clean and soft--bah! ten +times softer than these paillasses. I would ask only a franc a night for +it. That is much less than at the hotels, where they charge for light +and attendance. Mademoiselle could write to her friends, if she has not +enough money to carry her and the little one back to their own country." + +"I have no friends," I said, despondently. + +"No friends! no relations!" she exclaimed. + +"Not one," I replied. + +"But that is terrible!" she said. "Has mademoiselle plenty of money?" + +"Only twelve francs," I answered. + +Rosalie's face grew long and grave. This was an abyss of misfortune she +had not dreamed of. She looked at us both critically, and did not open +her lips again for a minute or two. + +"Is the little one your relation?" she inquired, after this pause. + +"No," I replied; "I did not know her till I brought her here. She does +not know of any friends or relations belonging to her." + +"There is the convent for her," she said; "the good sisters would take a +little girl like her, and make a true Christian of her. She might become +a saint some day--" + +"No, no," I interrupted, hastily; "I could not leave her in a convent." + +Mademoiselle Rosalie was very much offended; her sallow face flushed a +dull red, and the wings of her cap flapped as if she were about to take +flight, and leave me in my difficulties. She had kindliness of feeling, +but it was not proof against my poverty and my covert slight of her +religion. I caught her hand in mine to prevent her going. + +"Let us come to your house for to-day," I entreated: "to-morrow we will +go. I have money enough to pay you." + +I was only too glad to get a shelter for Minima and myself for another +night. She explained to me the French system of borrowing money upon +articles left in pledge and offered to accompany me to the _mont de +piété_ with those things that we could spare. But, upon packing up our +few possessions, I remembered that only a few days before Madame Perrier +had borrowed from me my seal-skin mantle, the only valuable thing I had +remaining. I had lent it reluctantly, and in spite of myself; and it had +never been returned. Minima's wardrobe was still poorer than my own. All +the money we could raise was less than two napoleons; and with this we +had to make our way to Granville, and thence to Guernsey. We could not +travel luxuriously. + +The next morning we left Noireau on foot. + + + + +CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. + +LOST AT NIGHTFALL. + + +It was a soft spring morning, with an exhilarating, jubilant lightness +in the air, such as only comes in the very early spring, or at sunrise +on a dewy summer-day. A few gray clouds lay low along the horizon, but +overhead the sky was a deep, rich blue, with fine, filmy streaks of +white vapor floating slowly across it. The branches of the trees were +still bare, showing the blue through their delicate net-work; but the +ends of the twigs were thickening, and the leaf-buds swelling under the +rind. The shoots of the hazel-bushes wore a purple bloom, with yellow +catkins already hanging in tassels about them. The white buds of the +chestnut-trees shone with silvery lustre. In the orchards, though the +tangled boughs of the apple-trees were still thickly covered with gray +lichens, small specks of green among the gray gave a promise of early +blossom. Thrushes were singing from every thorn-bush; and the larks, +lost in the blue heights above us, flung down their triumphant carols, +careless whether our ears caught them or no. A long, straight road +stretched before us, and seemed to end upon the skyline in the far +distance. Below us, when we looked back, lay the valley and the town; +and all around us a vast sweep of country, rising up to the low floor of +clouds from which the bright dome of the sky was springing. + +We strolled on as if we were walking on air, and could feel no fatigue; +Minima with a flush upon her pale cheeks, and chattering incessantly +about the boys, whose memories were her constant companions. I too had +my companions; faces and voices were about me, which no eye or ear but +mine could perceive. + +During the night, while my brain had been between waking and sleeping, I +had been busy with the new idea that had taken possession of it. The +more I pondered upon the subject, the more impossible it appeared that +the laws of any Christian country should doom me, and deliver me up +against my will, to a bondage more degrading and more cruel than slavery +itself. If every man, I had said to myself, were proved to be good and +chivalrous, of high and steadfast honor, it might be possible to place +another soul, more frail and less wise, into his charge unchallenged. +But the law is made for evil men, not for good. I began to believe it +incredible that it should subject me to the tyranny of a husband who +made my home a hell, and gave me no companionship but that of the +vicious. Should the law make me forfeit all else, it would at least +recognize my right to myself. Once free from the necessity of hiding, I +did not fear to face any difficulty. Surely he had been deceiving me, +and playing upon my ignorance, when he told me I belonged to him as a +chattel! + +Every step which carried us nearer to Granville brought new hope to me. +The face of Martin's mother came often to my mind, looking at me, as she +had done in Sark, with a mournful yet tender smile--a smile behind which +lay many tears. If I could but lay my head upon her lap, and tell her +all, all which I had never breathed into any ear, I should feel secure +and happy. "Courage!" I said to myself; "every hour brings you nearer to +her." + +Now and then, whenever we came to a pleasant place, where a fallen tree, +or the step under a cross, offered us a resting-place by the roadside, +we sat down, scarcely from weariness, but rather for enjoyment. I had +full directions as to our route, and I carried a letter from Rosalie to +a cousin of hers, who lived in a convent about twelve miles from +Noirean; where, she assured me, they would take us in gladly for a +night, and perhaps send us on part of our way in their conveyance, in +the morning. Twelve miles only had to be accomplished this first day, +and we could saunter as we chose, making our dinner of the little loaves +which we had bought hot from the oven, as we quitted the town, and +drinking of the clear little rills, which were gurgling merrily under +the brown hedge-rows. If we reached the convent before six o'clock we +should find the doors open, and should gain admission. + +But in the afternoon the sky changed. The low floor of clouds rose +gradually, and began to spread themselves, growing grayer and thicker as +they crept higher into the sky. The blue became paler and colder. The +wind changed a point or two from the south, and a breath from the east +blew, with a chilly touch, over the wide open plain we were now +crossing. + +Insensibly our high spirits sank. Minima ceased to prattle; and I began +to shiver a little, more from an inward dread of the utterly unknown +future, than from any chill of the easterly wind. The road was very +desolate. Not a creature had we seen for an hour or two, from whom I +could inquire if we were on the high-road to Granville. About noon we +had passed a roadside cross, standing where three ways met, and below it +a board had pointed toward Granville. I had followed its direction in +confidence, but now I began to feel somewhat anxious. This road, along +which the grass was growing, was strangely solitary and dreary. + +It brought us after a while to the edge of a common, stretching before +us, drear and brown, as far as my eye could reach. A wild, weird-looking +flat, with no sign of cultivation; and the road running across it lying +in deep ruts, where moss and grass were springing. As far as I could +guess, it was drawing near to five o'clock; and, if we had wandered out +of our way, the right road took an opposite direction some miles behind +us. There was no gleam of sunshine now, no vision of blue overhead. All +there was gray, gloomy, and threatening. The horizon was rapidly +becoming invisible; a thin, cold, clinging vapor shut it from us. Every +few minutes a fold of this mist overtook us, and wrapped itself about +us, until the moaning wind drifted it away. Minima was quite silent now, +and her weary feet dragged along the rough road. The hand which rested +upon my wrist felt hot, as it clasped it closely. The child was worn +out, and was suffering more than I did, though in uncomplaining +patience. + +"Are you very tired, my Minima?" I asked. + +"It will be so nice to go to bed, when we reach the convent," she said, +looking up with a smile. "I can't imagine why the prince has not come +yet." + +"Perhaps he is coming all the time," I answered, "and he'll find us when +we want him worst." + +We plodded on after that, looking for the convent, or for any dwelling +where we could stay till morning. But none came in sight, or any person +from whom we could learn where we were wandering. I was growing +frightened, dismayed. What would become of us both, if we could find no +shelter from the cold of a February night? + +There were unshed tears in my eyes--for I would not let Minima know my +fears--when I saw dimly, through the mist, a high cross standing in the +midst of a small grove of yews and cypresses, planted formally about it. +There were three tiers of steps at its foot, the lowest partly screened +from the gathering rain by the trees. The shaft of the cross, with a +serpent twining about its base, rose high above the cypresses; and the +image of the Christ hanging upon its crossbeams fronted the east, which +was now heavy with clouds. The half-closed eyes seemed to be gazing over +the vast wintry plain, lying in the brown desolateness of a February +evening. The face was full of an unutterable and complete agony, and +there was the helpless languor of dying in the limbs. The rain was +beating against it, and the wind sobbing in the trees surrounding it. It +seemed so sad, so forsaken, that it drew us to it. Without speaking the +child and I crept to the shelter at its foot, and sat down to rest +there, as if we were companions to it in its loneliness. + +There was no sound to listen to save the sighing of the east wind +through the fine needle-like leaflets of the yew-trees; and the mist was +rapidly shutting out every sight but the awful, pathetic form above us. +Evening had closed in, night was coming gradually, yet swiftly. Every +minute was drawing the darkness more densely about us. If we did not +bestir ourselves soon, and hasten along, it would overtake us, and find +us without resource. Yet I felt as if I had no heart to abandon that +gray figure, with the rain-drops beating heavily against it. I forgot +myself, forgot Minima, forgot all the world, while looking up to the +face, growing more dim to me through my own tears. + +"Hush! hush!" cried Minima, though I was neither moving nor speaking, +and the stillness was profound; "hark! I hear something coming along the +road, only very far off." + +I listened for a minute or two, and there reached my ears a faint +tinkling, which drew nearer and nearer every moment. At last it was +plainly the sound of bells on a horse's collar; and presently I could +distinguish the beat of a horse's hoofs coming slowly along the road. In +a few minutes some person would be passing by, who would be able to help +us; and no one could be so inhuman as to leave us in our distress. + +It was too dark now to see far along the road, but as we waited and +watched there came into sight a rude sort of covered carriage, like a +market-cart, drawn by a horse with a blue sheep-skin hanging round his +neck. The pace at which he was going was not above a jog-trot, and he +came almost to a stand-still opposite the cross, as if it was customary +to pause there. + +This was the instant to appeal for aid. I darted forward in front of the +_char à bancs_, and stretched out my hands to the driver. + +"Help us," I cried; we have lost our way, and the night is come. "Help +us, for the love of Christ!" I could see now that the driver was a +burly, red-faced, cleanshaven Norman peasant, wearing a white cotton +cap, with a tassel over his forehead, who stared at me, and at Minima +dragging herself weariedly to my side, as if we had both dropped from +the clouds. He crossed himself hurriedly, and glanced at the grove of +dark, solemn trees from which we had come. But by his side sat a priest, +in his cassock and broad-brimmed hat fastened up at the sides, who +alighted almost before I had finished speaking, and stood before us +bareheaded, and bowing profoundly. + +"Madame," he said, in a bland tone, "to what town are you going?" + +"We are going to Granville," I answered, "but I am afraid I have lost +the way. We are very tired, this little child and I. We can walk no +more, monsieur. Take care of us, I pray you." + +I spoke brokenly, for in an extremity like this it was difficult to put +my request into French. The priest appeared perplexed, but he went back +to the _char à bancs_, and held a short, earnest conversation with the +driver, in a subdued voice. + +"Madame," he said, returning to me, "I am Francis Laurentie, the curé of +Ville-en-bois. It is quite a small village about a league from here, and +we are on the road to it; but the route to Granville is two leagues +behind us, and it is still farther to the first village. There is not +time to return with you this evening. Will you, then, go with us to +Ville-en-bois, and to-morrow we will send you on to Granville?" + +He spoke very slowly and distinctly, with a clear, cordial voice, which +filled me with confidence. I could hardly distinguish his features, but +his hair was silvery white, and shone in the gloom, as he still stood +bareheaded before me, though the rain was falling fast. + +"Take care of us, monsieur?" I replied, putting my hand in his; "we will +go with you." + +"Make haste then, my children," he said, cheerfully; "the rain will hurt +you. Let me lift the _mignonne_ into the _char à bancs_. Bah! How little +she is! _Voilà!_ Now, madame, permit me." + +There was a seat in the back of the _char à bancs_ which we reached by +climbing over the front bench, assisted by the driver. There we were +well sheltered from the driving wind and rain, with our feet resting +upon a sack of potatoes, and the two strange figures of the Norman +peasant in his blouse and white cotton cap, and the curé in his hat and +cassock, filling up the front of the car before us. + +It was so unlike any thing I had foreseen, that I could scarcely believe +that it was real. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. + +THE CURÉ OF VILLE-EN-BOIS. + + +"They are not Frenchwomen, Monsieur le Curé," observed the driver, after +a short pause. We were travelling slowly, for the curé would not allow +the peasant to whip on the shaggy cart-horse. We were, moreover, going +up-hill, along roads as rough as any about my father's sheep-walk, with +large round stones deeply bedded in the soil. + +"No, no, my good Jean," was the curé's answer; "by their tongue I should +say they are English. Englishwomen are extremely intrepid, and voyage +about all the world quite alone, like this. It is only a marvel to me +that we have never encountered one of them before to-day." + +"But, Monsieur le Curé, are they Christian?" inquired Jean, with a +backward glance at us. Evidently he had not altogether recovered from +the fright we had given him, when we appeared suddenly from out of the +gloomy shadows of the cypresses. + +"The English nation is Protestant," replied the curé, with a sigh. + +"But, monsieur," exclaimed Jean, "if they are Protestants they cannot be +Christians! Is it not true that all the Protestants go to hell on the +back of that bad king who had six wives all at one time?" + +"Not all at one time, my good Jean," the curé answered mildly; "no, no, +surely they do not all go to perdition. If they know any thing of the +love of Christ, they must be Christians, however feeble and ignorant. He +does not quench the smoking flax, Jean. Did you not hear madame say, +'Help me, for the love of Christ?' Good! There is the smoking flax, +which may burn into a flame brighter than yours or mine some day, my +poor friend. We must make her and the _mignonne_ as welcome as if they +were good Catholics. She is very poor, cela saute aux yeux--" + +"Monsieur," I interrupted, feeling almost guilty in having listened so +far, "I understand French very well, though I speak it badly." + +"Pardon, madame!" he replied, "I hope you will not be grieved by the +foolish words we have been speaking one to the other." + +After that all was still again for some time, except the tinkling of the +bells, and the pad-pad of the horse's feet upon the steep and rugged +road. Hills rose on each side of us, which were thickly planted with +trees. Even the figures of the curé and driver were no longer well +defined in the denser darkness. Minima had laid her head on my shoulder, +and seemed to be asleep. By-and-by a village clock striking echoed +faintly down the valley; and the curé turned round and addressed me +again. + +"There is my village, madame," he said, stretching forth his hand to +point it out, though we could not see a yard beyond the _char à bancs_; +"it is very small, and my parish contains but four hundred and +twenty-two souls, some of them very little ones. They all know me, and +regard me as a father. They love me, though I have some rebel sons.--Is +it not so, Jean? Rebel sons, but not many rebel daughters. Here we are!" + +We entered a narrow and roughly-paved village-street. The houses, as I +saw afterward, were all huddled together, with a small church at the +point farthest from the entrance; and the road ended at its porch, as if +there were no other place in the world beyond it. + +As we clattered along the dogs barked, and the cottage-doors flew open. +Children toddled to the thresholds, and called after us, in shrill +notes, "Good-evening, and a good-night, Monsieur le Curé!" Men's voices, +deeper and slower, echoed the salutation. The curé was busy greeting +each one in return: "Good-night, my little rogue," "Good-night, my +lamb." "Good-night to all of you, my friends;" his cordial voice making +each word sound as if it came from his very heart. I felt that we were +perfectly secure in his keeping. + +Never, as long as I live, shall I smell the pungent, pleasant scent of +wood burning without recalling to my memory that darksome entrance into +Ville-en-bois. + +"We drove at last into a square courtyard, paved with pebbles. Almost +before the horse could stop I saw a stream of light shining from an open +door across a causeway, and the voice of a woman, whom I could not see, +spoke eagerly as soon as the horse's hoofs had ceased to scrape upon the +pebbles. + +"Hast thou brought a doctor with thee, my brother?" she asked. + +"I have brought no doctor except thy brother, my sister," answered +Monsieur Laurentie, "also a treasure which I found at the foot of the +Calvary down yonder." + +He had alighted while saying this, and the rest of the conversation was +carried on in whispers. There was some one ill in the house, and our +arrival was ill-timed, that was quite clear. Whoever the woman was that +had come to the door, she did not advance to speak to me, but retreated +as soon as the conversation was over; while the curé returned to the +side of the _char à bancs_, and asked me to remain where I was, with +Minima, for a few minutes. + +The horse was taken out by Jean, and led away to the stable, the shafts +of the _char à bancs_ being supported by two props put under them. Then +the place grew profoundly quiet. I leaned forward to look at the +presbytery, which I supposed this house to be. It was a low, large +building of two stories, with eaves projecting two or three feet over +the upper one. At the end of it rose the belfry of the church--an open +belfry, with one bell hanging underneath a little square roof of tiles. +The church itself was quite hidden by the surrounding walls and roofs. +All was dark, except a feeble glimmering in four upper casements, which +seemed to belong to one large room. The church-clock chimed a quarter, +then half-past, and must have been near upon the three-quarters; but yet +there was no sign that we were remembered. Minima was still asleep. I +was growing cold, depressed, and anxious, when the house-door opened +once more, and the curé appeared carrying a lamp, which he placed on the +low stone wall surrounding the court. + +"Pardon, madame," he said, approaching us, "but my sister is too much +occupied with a sick person to do herself the honor of attending upon +you. Permit me to fill her place, and excuse her, I pray you. Give me +the poor _mignonne_; I will lift her down first, and then assist you to +descend." + +His politeness did not seem studied; it had too kindly a tone to be +artificial. I lifted Minima over the front seat, and sprang down myself, +glad to be released from my stiff position, and hardly availing myself +of his proffered help. He did not conduct us through the open door, but +led us round the angle of the presbytery to a small outhouse, opening on +to the court, and with no other entrance. It was a building lying +between the porch and belfry of the church and his own dwelling place. +But it looked comfortable and inviting. A fire had been hastily kindled +on an open hearth, and a heap of wood lay beside it. A table stood close +by, in the light and warmth, on which were steaming two basins of soup, +and an omelette fresh from the frying-pan; with fruit and wine for a +second course. Two beds were in this room: one with hangings over the +head, and a large, tall cross at the foot-board; the other a low, narrow +pallet, lying along the foot of it. A crucifix hung upon the wall, and +the wood-work of the high window also formed a cross. It seemed a +strange goal to reach after our day's wanderings. + +Monsieur Laurentie put the lamp down on the table, and drew the logs of +wood together on the hearth. He was an old man, as I then thought, over +sixty. He looked round upon us with a benevolent smile. + +"Madame," he said, "our hospitality is rude and simple, but you are very +welcome guests. My sister is desolated that she must leave you to my +cares. But if there be any thing you have need of, tell me, I pray you." + +"There is nothing, monsieur," I answered; "you are too good to us, too +good." + +"No, no, madame," he said, "be content. To-morrow I will send you to +Granville under the charge of my good Jean. Sleep well, my children, and +fear nothing. The good God will protect you." + +He closed the door after him as he spoke, but opened it again to call my +attention to a thick wooden bar, with which I might fasten it inside if +I chose; and to tell me not to alarm myself when I heard the bell +overhead toll for matins, at half-past five in the morning. I listened +to his receding footsteps, and then turned eagerly to the food, which I +began to want greatly. + +But Minima had thrown herself upon the low pallet-bed, and I could not +persuade her to swallow more than a few spoonfuls of soup. I toot off +her damp clothes, and laid her down comfortably to rest. Her eyes were +dull and heavy, and she said her head was aching; but she looked up at +me with a faint smile. + +"I told you how nice it would be to be in bed," she whispered. + +"It was not long before I was also sleeping soundly the deep, dreamless +sleep which comes to any one as strong as I was, after unusual physical +exertion. Once or twice a vague impression forced itself upon me that +Minima was talking a great deal in her dreams. It was the clang of the +bell for matins which fully roused me at last, but it was a minute or +two before I could make out where I was. Through the uncurtained window, +high in the opposite wall, I could see a dim, pallid moon sinking slowly +into the west. The thick beams of the cross were strongly delineated +against its pale light. For a moment I fancied that Minima and I had +passed the night under the shelter of the solitary image, which we had +left alone in the dark and rainy evening. I knew better immediately, and +lay still, listening to the tramp of the wooden _sabots_ hurrying past +the door into the church-porch. Then Minima began to talk. + +"How funny that is!" she said, "there the boys run, and I can't catch +one of them. Father, Temple Secundus is pulling faces at me, and all the +boys are laughing." "Well! it doesn't matter, does it? Only we are so +poor, Aunt Nelly and all. We're so poor--so poor--so poor!" + +Her voice fell into a murmur too low for me to hear what she was saying, +though she went on talking rapidly, and laughing and sobbing at times. I +called to her, but she did not answer. + +What could ail the child? I went to her, and took her hands in +mine--burning little hands. I said, "Minima! and she turned to me with +a caressing gesture, raising her hot fingers to stroke my face. + +"Yes, Aunt Nelly. How poor we are, you and me! I am so tired, and the +prince never comes!" + +There was hardly room for me in the narrow bed, but I managed to lie +down beside her, and took her into my arms to soothe her. She rested +there quietly enough; but her head was wandering, and all her whispered +chatter was about the boys, and the dominie, her father, and the happy +days at home in the school in Epping Forest. As soon as it was light I +dressed myself in haste, and opened my door to see if I could find any +one to send to Monsieur Laurentie. + +The first person I saw was himself, coming in my direction. I had not +fairly looked at him before, for I had seen him only by twilight and +firelight. His cassock was old and threadbare, and his hat brown. His +hair fell in rather long locks below his hat, and was beautifully white. +His face was healthy-looking, like that of a man who lived much +out-of-doors, and his clear, quick eyes shone with a kindly light. I +ran impulsively to meet him, with outstretched hands, which he took into +his own with a pleasant smile. + +"Oh, come, monsieur," I cried; "make haste! She is ill, my poor Minima!" + +The smile faded away from his face in an instant, and he did not utter a +word. He followed me quickly to the side of the little bed, laid his +hand softly on the child's forehead, and felt her pulse. He lifted up +her head gently, and, opening her mouth, looked at her tongue and +throat. He shook his head as he turned to me with a grave and perplexed +expression, and he spoke with a low, solemn accent. + +"Madame," he said, "it is the fever." + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. + +A FEVER-HOSPITAL. + + +The fever! What fever? Was it any thing more than some childish malady +brought on by exhaustion? I stood silent, in amazement at his solemn +manner, and looking from him to the delirious child. He was the first to +speak again. + +"It will be impossible for you to go to-day," he said; "the child cannot +be removed. I must tell Jean to put up the horse and _char à bancs_ +again. I shall return in an instant to you, madame." + +He left me, and I sank down on a chair, half stupefied by this new +disaster. It would be necessary to stay where we were until Minima +recovered; yet I had no means to pay these people for the trouble we +should give them, and the expense we should be to them. Monsieur le Curé +had all the appearance of a poor parish priest, with a very small +income. I had not time to decide upon any course, however, before he +returned and brought with him his sister. + +Mademoiselle Thérèse was a tall, plain, elderly woman, but with the same +pleasant expression of open friendliness as that of her brother. She +went through precisely the same examination of Minima as he had done. + +"The fever!" she ejaculated, in much the same tone as his. They looked +significantly at each other, and then held a hurried consultation +together outside the door, after which the curé returned alone. + +"Madame," he said, "this child is not your own, as I supposed last +night. My sister says you are too young to be her mother. Is she your +sister?" + +"No, monsieur," I answered. + +"I called you madame because you were travelling alone," he continued, +smiling; "French demoiselles never travel alone before they are married. +You are mademoiselle, no doubt?" + +An awkward question, for he paused as if it were a question. I look into +his kind, keen face and honest eyes. + +"No, monsieur," I said, frankly, "I am married." + +"Where, then, is your husband?" he inquired. + +"He is in London," I answered. "Monsieur, it is difficult for me to +explain it; I cannot speak your language well enough. I think in +English, and I cannot find the right French words. I am very unhappy, +but I am not wicked." + +"Good," he said, smiling again, "very good, my child; I believe you. You +will learn my language quickly; then you shall tell me all, if you +remain with us. But you said the _mignonne_ is not your sister." + +"No; she is not my relative at all," I replied; "we were both in a +school at Noireau, the school of Monsieur Emile Perrier. Perhaps you +know it, monsieur?" + +"Certainly, madame," he said. + +"He has failed and run away," I continued; "all the pupils are +dispersed. Minima and I were returning through Granville."' + +"Bien! I understand, madame," he responded; "but it is villanous, this +affair! Listen, my child. I have much to say to you. Do I speak gently +and slowly enough for you?" + +"Yes," I answered; "I understand you perfectly."' + +"We have had the fever in Ville-en-bois for some weeks," he went on; "it +is now bad, very bad. Yesterday I went to Noireau to seek a doctor, but +I could only hear of one, who is in Paris at present, and cannot come +immediately. When you prayed me for succor last night, I did not know +what to do. I could not leave you by the way-side, with the night coming +on, and I could not take you to my own house. At present we have made my +house into a hospital for the sick. My people bring their sick to me, +and we do our best, and put our trust in God. I said to myself and to +Jean, 'We cannot receive these children into the presbytery, lest they +should take the fever.' But this little house has been kept free from +all infection, and you would be safe here for one night, so I hoped. The +_mignonne_ must have caught the fever some days ago. There is no blame, +therefore, resting upon me, you understand. Now I must carry her into my +little hospital. But you, madame, what am I to do with you? Do you wish +to go on to Granville, and leave the _mignonne_ with me? We will take +care of her as a little angel of God. What shall I do with you, my +child?" + +"Monsieur," I exclaimed, speaking so eagerly that I could scarcely bring +my sentences into any kind of order, "take me into your hospital too. +Let me take care of Minima and your other sick people. I am very strong, +and in good health; I am never ill, never, never. I will do all you say +to me. Let me stay, dear monsieur." + +"But your husband, your friends--" he said. + +"I have no friends," I interrupted, "and my husband does not love me. If +I have the fever, and die--good! very good! I am not wicked; I am a +Christian, I hope. Only let me stay with Minima, and do all I can in the +hospital." + +He stood looking at me scrutinizingly, trying to read, I fancied, if +there were any sign of wickedness in my face. I felt it flush, but I +would not let my eyes sink before his. I think he saw in them, in my +steadfast, tearful eyes, that I might be unfortunate, but that I was not +wicked. A pleasant gleam came across his features. + +"Be content, my child," he said, "you shall stay with us." + +I felt a sudden sense of contentment take possession of me; for here was +work for me to do, as well as a refuge. Neither should I be compelled to +leave Minima. I wrapped her up warmly in the blankets, and Monsieur +Laurentie lifted her carefully and tenderly from the low bed. He told me +to accompany him, and we crossed the court, and entered the house by the +door I had seen the night before. A staircase of red quarries led up to +the second story, and the first door we came to was a long, low room, +with a quarried floor, which had been turned into a hastily-fitted-up +fever-ward for women and children. There were already nine beds in it, of +different sizes, brought with the patients who now occupied them. But +one of these was empty. + +I learned afterward that the girl to whom the bed belonged had died the +day before, during the curé's absence, and was going to be buried that +morning, in a cemetery lying in a field on the side of the valley. +Mademoiselle Thérèse was making up the bed with homespun linen, scented +with rosemary and lavender, and the curé laid Minima down upon it with +all the skill of a woman. In this home-like ward I took up my work as +nurse. + +It was work that seemed to come naturally to me, as if I had a special +gift for it. I remembered how some of the older shepherds on the station +at home used to praise my mother's skill as a nurse. I felt as if I knew +by instinct the wants of my little patients, when they could not put +them into coherent words for themselves. They were mostly children, or +quite young girls; for the older people who were stricken by the fever +generally clung to their own homes, and the curé visited them there with +the regularity of a physician. I liked to find for these suffering +children a more comfortable position when they were weary; or to bathe +their burning heads with some cool lotion; or to give the parched lips +the _titane_ Mademoiselle Thérèse prepared. Even the delirium of these +little creatures was but a babbling about playthings, and _fétes_, and +games. Minima, whose fever took faster hold of her day after day, +prattled of the same things in English, only with sad alternations of +moaning over our poverty. + +It was probably these lamentations of Minima which made me sometimes +look forward with dread to the time when this season of my life should +be ended. I knew it could be only for a little while, an interlude, a +brief, passing term, which must run quickly to its conclusion, and bring +me face to face again with the terrible poverty which the child bemoaned +in words no one could understand but myself. Already my own appearance +was changing, as Mademoiselle Thérèse supplied the place of my clothing, +which wore out with my constant work, replacing it with the homely +costume of the Norman village. I could not expect to remain here when my +task was done. The presbytery was too poor to offer me a shelter when I +could be nothing but a burden in it. This good curé, who was growing +fonder of me every day, and whom I had learned to love and honor, could +not be a father to me as he was to his own people. Sooner or later there +would come an hour when we must say adieu to one another, and I must go +out once again to confront the uncertain future. + +But for the present these fears were very much in the background, and I +only felt that they were lurking there, ready for any moment of +depression. I was kept too busy with the duties of the hour to attend to +them. Some of the children died, and I grieved over them; some recovered +sufficiently to be removed to a farm on the brow of the hill, where the +air was fresher than in the valley. There was plenty to do and to think +of from day to day. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. + +OUTCAST PARISHIONERS. + + +"Madame." said Monsieur Laurentie; one morning, the eighth that I had +been in the fever-smitten village, "you did not take a promenade +yesterday." + +"Not yesterday, monsieur." + +"Nor the day before yesterday?" he continued. + +"No, monsieur," I answered; "I dare not leave Minima, I fear she is +going to die." + +My voice failed me as I spoke to him. I was sitting down for a few +minutes on a low seat, between Minima's bed and one where a little boy +of six years of age lay. Both were delirious. He was the little son of +Jean, our driver, and the sacristan of the church; and his father had +brought him into the ward the evening of the day after Minima had been +taken ill. Jean had besought me with tears to be good to his child. The +two had engrossed nearly all my time and thoughts, and I was losing +heart and hope every hour. + +Monsieur Laurentie raised me gently from my low chair, and seated +himself upon it, with a smile, as he looked up at me. + +"_Voilà_, madame," he said, "I promise not to quit the chamber till you +return. My sister has a little commission for you to do. Confide the +_mignonne_ to me, and make your promenade in peace. It is necessary, +madame; you must obey me." + +The commission for mademoiselle was to carry some food and medicine to a +cottage lower down the valley; and Jean's eldest son, Pierre, was +appointed to be my guide. Both the curé and his sister gave me a strict +charge as to what we were to do; neither of us was upon any account to +go near or enter the dwelling; but after the basket was deposited upon a +flat stone, which Pierre was to point out to me, he was to ring a small +hand-bell which he carried with him for that purpose. Then we were to +turn our backs and begin our retreat, before any person came out of the +infected house. + +I set out with Pierre, a solemn-looking boy of about twelve years of +age, who cast upon me sidelong glances of silent scrutiny. We passed +down the village street, with its closely-packed houses forming a very +nest for fever, until we reached the road by which I had first entered +Ville-en-bois. Now that I could see it by daylight, the valley was +extremely narrow, and the hills on each side so high that, though the +sun had risen nearly three hours ago, it had but just climbed above the +brow of the eastern slope. There was a luxurious and dank growth of +trees, with a tangle of underwood and boggy soil beneath them. A vapor +was shining in rainbow colors against the brightening sky. In the depth +of the valley, but hidden by the thicket, ran a noisy stream--too noisy +to be any thing else than shallow. There had been no frost since the +sharp and keen wintry weather in December, and the heavy rains which had +fallen since had flooded the stream, and made the lowlands soft and oozy +with undrained moisture. My guide and I trudged along in silence for +almost a kilometre. + +"Are you a pagan, madame?" inquired Pierre, at last, with eager +solemnity of face and voice. His blue eyes were fastened upon me +pityingly. + +"No, Pierre," I replied. + +"But you are a heretic," he pursued. + +"I suppose so," I said. + +"Pagans and heretics are the same," he rejoined, dogmatically; "you are +a heretic, therefore you are a pagan, madame." + +"I am not a pagan," I persisted; "I am a Christian like you." + +"Does Monsieur le Curé say you are a Christian?" he inquired. + +"You can ask him, Pierre," I replied. + +"He will know," he said, in a confident tone; "he knows every thing. +There is no curé like monsieur between Ville-en-bois and Paris. All the +world must acknowledge that. He is our priest, our doctor, our _juge de +paix_, our school-master. Did you ever know a curé like him before, +madame?" + +"I never knew any curé before," I replied. + +"Never knew any cure!" he repeated slowly; "then, madame, you must be a +pagan. Did you never confess? Were you never prepared for your first +communion? Oh! it is certain, madame, you are a true pagan." + +We had not any more time to discuss my religion, for we were drawing +near the end of our expedition. Above the tops of the trees appeared a +tall chimney, and a sudden turn in the by-road we had taken brought us +full in sight of a small cotton-mill, built on the banks of the noisy +stream. It was an ugly, formal building, as all factories are, with +straight rows of window-frames; but both walls and roof were mouldering +into ruin, and looked as though they must before long sink into the +brawling waters that were sapping the foundations. A more +mournfully-dilapidated place I had never seen. A blight seemed to have +fallen upon it; some solemn curse might be brooding over it, and slowly +working out its total destruction. + +In the yard adjoining this deserted factory stood a miserable cottage, +with a thatched roof, and eaves projecting some feet from the walls, and +reaching nearly to the ground, except where the door was. The small +casements of the upper story, if there were any, were completely hidden. +A row of _fleur-de-lis_ was springing up, green and glossy, along the +peak of the brown thatch; this and the picturesque eaves forming its +only beauty. The thatch looked old and rotten, and was beginning to +steam in the warm sunshine. The unpaved yard about it was a slough of +mire and mud. There were mould and mildew upon all the wood-work. The +place bore the aspect of a pest-house, shunned by all the inmates of the +neighboring village. Pierre led me to a large flat stone, which had once +been a horse-block, standing at a safe distance from this hovel, and I +laid down my basket upon it. Then he rang his hand-bell noisily, and the +next instant was scampering back along the road. + +But I could not run away. The desolate, plague-stricken place had a +dismal fascination for me. I wondered what manner of persons could dwell +in it; and, as I lingered, I saw the low door opened, and a thin, +spectral figure standing in the gloom within, but delaying to cross the +mouldering door-sill as long as I remained in sight. In another minute +Pierre had rushed back for me, and dragged me away with all his boyish +strength and energy. + +"Madame," he said, in angry remonstrance, "you are disobeying Monsieur +le Curé. If you catch the fever, and die while you are a pagan, it will +be impossible for you to go to heaven. It would be a hundred times +better for me to die, who have taken my first communion." + +"But who lives there?" I asked. + +"They are very wicked people," he answered, emphatically; "no one goes +near them, except Monsieur le Curé, and he would go and nurse the devil +himself, if he had the fever in his parish. They became wicked before my +time, and Monsieur le Curé has forbidden us to speak of them with +rancor, so we do not speak of them at all." + +I walked back in sadness, wondering at this misery and solitariness by +the side of the healthy, simple society of the lonely village, with its +interwoven family interests. As I passed through the street again, I +heard the click of the hand-looms in most of the dwellings, and saw the +pale-faced weavers, in their white and tasselled caps, here a man and +there a woman, look after me, while they suspended their work for a +moment. Every door was open; the children ran in and out of any house, +playing together as if they were of one family; the women were knitting +in companies under the eaves. Who were these pariahs, whose name even +was banished from every tongue? I must ask the curé himself. + +But I had no opportunity that day. When I returned to the sick-ward, I +found Monsieur Laurentie pacing slowly up and down the long room, with +Jean's little son in his arms, to whom he was singing in a low, soft +voice, scarcely louder than a whisper. His eyes, when they met mine, +were glistening with tears, and he shook his head mournfully. + +I went on to look at Minima. She was lying quiet, too weak and exhausted +to be violent, but chattering all the time in rapid, childish sentences. +I could do nothing for her, and I went back to the hearth, where the +curé was now standing, looking sadly at the child in his arms. He bade +me sit down on a tabouret that stood there, and laid his little burden +on my lap. + +"The child has no mother, madame," he said; "let him die in a woman's +arms." + +I had never seen any one die, not even my father, and I shrank from +seeing it. But the small white face rested helplessly against my arm, +and the blue eyes unclosed for a moment, and gazed into mine, almost +with a smile. Monsieur Laurentie called in Jean and Pierre, and they +knelt before us in silence, broken only by sobs. In the room there were +children's voices talking about their toys, and calling to one another +in shrill, feverish accents. How many deaths such as this was I to +witness? + +"Monsieur le Curé!" murmured the failing voice of the little child. + +"What is it, my little one?" he said, stooping over him. + +"Shall I play sometimes with the little child Jesus?" + +The words fell one by one from the feeble lips. + +"Yes, _mon chéri_, yes. The holy child Jesus knows what little children +need," answered the curé. + +"He is always good and wise," whispered the dying child; "so good, so +wise." + +How quickly it was over after that! + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. + +A TACITURN FRENCHWOMAN. + + +Minima was so much worse that night, that Monsieur Laurentie gave me +permission to sit up with Mademoiselle Thérèse, to watch beside her. +There was a kindly and unselfish disposition about Monsieur le Curé +which it was impossible to resist, or even gainsay. His own share of the +trouble, anxiety, and grief, was so large, that he seemed to stand above +us all, and be naturally our director and ruler. But to-night, when I +begged to stay with Minima, he conceded the point without a word. + +Mademoiselle Thérèse was the most silent woman I ever met. She could +pass a whole day without uttering a word, and did not seem to suffer any +_ennui_ from her silence. In the house she wore always, like the other +inhabitants of the village, men and women, soundless felt socks, which +slipped readily into the wooden _sabots_ used for walking out-of-doors. +I was beginning to learn to walk in _sabots_ myself, for the time was +drawing rapidly near when otherwise I should be barefoot. + +With this taciturn Frenchwoman I entered upon my night-watch by Minima, +whose raving no one could understand but myself. The long, dark hours +seemed interminable. Mademoiselle sat knitting a pair of gray stockings +in the intervals of attendance upon our patients. The subdued glimmer +of the night-lamp, the ticking of the clock, the chimes every quarter of +an hour from the church-tower, all conspired to make me restless and +almost nervous. + +"Mademoiselle," I said, at last, "talk to me. I cannot bear this +tranquillity. Tell me something." + +"What can I tell you, madame?" she inquired, in a pleasant tone. + +"Tell me about those people I saw this morning," I answered. + +"It is a long history," she said, her face kindling, as if this were a +topic that excited her; and she rolled up her knitting, as though she +could not trust herself to continue that while she was talking; "all the +world knows it here, and we never talk of it now. Bat you are a +stranger; shall I tell it you?" + +I had hit upon the only subject that could unlock her lips. It was the +night-time too. At night one is naturally more communicative than in the +broad light of day. + +"Madame," she said, in an agitated voice, "you have observed already +that my brother is not like other curés. He has his own ideas, his own +sentiments. Everybody knows him at this moment as the good Curé of +Ville-en-bois; but when he came here first, thirty years ago, all the +world called him infidel, heretic, atheist. It was because he would make +many changes in the church and parish. The church had been famous for +miracles; but Francis did not believe in them, and he would not +encourage them. There used to be pilgrimages to it from all the country +round; and crowds of pilgrims, who spend much money. There was a great +number of crutches left at the shrine of the Virgin by cripples who had +come here by their help, but walked away without them. He cleared them +all away, and called them rubbish. So every one said he was an +infidel--you understand?" + +"I understand it very well," I said. + +"Bien! At that time there was one family richer than all the others. +They were the proprietors of the factory down yonder, and everybody +submitted to them. There was a daughter not married, but very dévote. I +have been dévote, myself. I was coquette till I was thirty-five, then I +became dévote. It is easier than being a simple Christian, like my +brother the curé. Mademoiselle Pineau was accustomed to have visions, +ecstasies. Sometimes the angels lifted her from the ground into the air +when she was at her prayers. Francis did not like that. He was young, +and she came very often to the confessional, and told him of these +visions and ecstasies. He discouraged them, and enjoined penances upon +her. Bref! she grew to detest him, and she was quite like a female curé +in the parish. She set everybody against him. At last, when he removed +all the plaster images of the saints, and would have none but wood or +stone, she had him cited to answer for it to his bishop." + +"But what did he do that for?" I asked, seeing no difference between +plaster images, and those of wood or stone. + +"Madame, these Normans are ignorant and very superstitious," she +replied; "they thought a little powder from one of the saints would cure +any malady. Some of the images were half-worn away with having powder +scraped off them. My brother would not hold with such follies, and his +bishop told him he might fight the battle out, if he could. No one +thought he could; but they did not know Francis. It was a terrible +battle, madame. Nobody would come to the confessional, and every month +or so, he was compelled to have a vicaire from some other parish to +receive the confessions of his people. Mademoiselle Pineau fanned the +flame, and she had the reputation of a saint." + +"But how did it end?" I inquired. Mademoiselle's face was all aglow, and +her voice rose and fell in her excitement; yet she lingered over the +story as if reluctant to lose the rare pleasure of telling it. + +"In brief, madame," she resumed, "there was a terrible conflagration in +the village. You perceive that all our houses are covered with tiles? In +those days the roofs were of thatch, very old and very dry, and there +was much timber in the walls. How the fire began, the good God alone +knows. It was a sultry day in July; the river was almost dry, and there +was no hope of extinguishing the flames. They ran like lightning from +roof to roof. All that could be done was to save life, and a little +property. My brother threw off his cassock, and worked like Hercules. + +"The Pineaux lived then close by the presbytery, in a house half of +wood, which blazed like tinder; there was nothing comparable to it in +all the village. A domestic suddenly cried out that mademoiselle was in +her oratory, probably in a trance. Not a soul dares venture through the +flames to save her, though she is a saint. Monsieur le Curé hears the +rumor of it; he steps in through the doorway through which the smoke is +rolling; walks in as tranquilly as if he were going to make a visit as +pastor; he is lost to their sight; not a man stirs to look after his own +house. Bref! he comes back to the day, his brown hair all singed and his +face black, carrying mademoiselle in his arms. Good: The battle is +finished. All the world adores him." + +"Continue, mademoiselle, I pray you," I said, eagerly; "do not leave off +there." + +"Bien! Monsieur le Curé and his unworthy sister had a small fortune +which was spent, for the people. He begged for them; he worked with +them; he learned to do many things to help them. He lives for them and +them only. He has refused to leave them for better positions. They are +not ungrateful; they love him, they lean upon him." + +"But the Pineaux?" I suggested. + +"Bah! I had forgotten them. Their factory was burnt at the same time. It +is more than a kilometre from here; but who can say how far the burning +thatch might be carried on the wind? It was insured for a large sum in a +bureau in Paris. But there were suspicions raised and questions asked. +Our sacristan, Jean, who was then a young boy, affirmed that he had seen +some one carrying a lighted torch around the building, after the +work-people had all fled to see after their own houses. The bureau +refused to pay, except by a process of law; and the Pineaux never began +their process. They worked the factory a few years on borrowed money; +but they became poor, very poor. Mademoiselle ceased to be dévote, and +did not come near the church or the confessional again. Now they are +despised and destitute. Not a person goes near them, except my good +brother, whom they hate still. There remain but three of them, the old +monsieur, who is very aged, a son, and mademoiselle, who is as old as +myself. The son has the fever, and Francis visits him almost every day." + +"It is a wretched, dreadful place," I said, shuddering at the +remembrance of it. + +"They will die there probably," she remarked, in a quiet voice, and with +an expression of some weariness now the tale was told; "my brother +refuses to let me go to see them. Mademoiselle hates me, because in some +part I have taken her place. Francis says there is work enough for me at +home. Madame, I believe the good God sent you here to help us." + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH. + +SENT BY GOD. + + +I discovered that mademoiselle's opinion was shared by all the people in +Ville-en-bois, and Monsieur Laurentie favored the universal impression. +I had been sent to them by a special providence. There was something +satisfactory and consolatory to them all in my freedom from personal +anxieties and cares like their own. I had neither parent, nor husband, +nor child to be attacked by the prevailing infection. As soon as Minima +had passed safely through the most dangerous stages of the fever, I was +at leisure to listen to and sympathize with each one of them. Possibly +there was something in the difficulty I still experienced in expressing +myself fluently which made me a better listener, and so won them to pour +out their troubles into my attentive ear. Jean and Pierre especially +were devoted to me, since the child that had belonged to them had died +upon my lap. + +Through March, April, and May, the fever had its fling, though we were +not very long without a doctor. Monsieur Laurentie found one who came +and, I suppose, did all he could for the sick; but he could not do much. +I was kept too busily occupied to brood much either upon the past or the +future, of my own life. Not a thought crossed my mind of deserting the +little Norman village where I could be of use. Besides, Minima gained +strength very slowly, too slowly to be removed from the place, or to +encounter any fresh privations. + +When June came there were no new cases in the village, though the +summer-heat kept our patients languid. The last person who died of the +fever was Mademoiselle Pineau, in the mill-cottage. The old man and his +son had died before her, the former of old age, the latter of fever. Who +was the heir to the ruined factory and the empty cottage no one as yet +knew, but, until he appeared, every thing had to be left as it was. The +curé kept the key of the dwelling, though there was no danger of any one +trespassing upon the premises, as all the villagers regarded it as an +accursed place. Of the four hundred and twenty-two souls which had +formed the total of Monsieur le Curé's flock, he had lost thirty-one. + +In July the doctor left us, saying there was no fear of the fever +breaking out again at present. His departure seemed the signal for mine. +Monsieur Laurentie was not rich enough to feed two idle mouths, like +mine and Minima's, and there was little for me to do but sit still in +the uncarpeted, barely-furnished _salon_ of the presbytery, listening to +the whirr of mademoiselle's spinning-wheel, and the drowsy, sing-song +hum of the village children at school, in a shed against the walls of +the house. Every thing seemed falling back into the pleasant monotony of +a peaceful country life, pleasant after the terror and grief of the past +months. The hay-harvest was over, and the cherry-gathering; the corn and +the apples were ripening fast in the heat of the sun. In this lull, this +pause, my heart grew busy again with itself. + +"My child," said the curé to me, one evening, when his long day's work +was over, "your face is _triste_. What are you thinking of?" + +I was seated under a thick-leaved sycamore, a few paces from the +church-porch. Vespers were just ended; the low chant had reached my +ears, and I missed the soothing undertone. The women, in their high +white caps, and the men, in their blue blouses, were sauntering slowly +homeward. The children were playing all down the village street, and not +far away a few girls and young men were beginning to dance to the piping +of a flute. Over the whole was creeping the golden twilight of a summer +evening. + +"I am very _triste_" I replied; "I am thinking that it is time for me to +go away from you all. I cannot stay in this tranquil place." + +"But wherefore must you leave us?" he asked, sitting down on the bench +beside me; "I found two little stray lambs, wandering without fold or +shepherd, and I brought them to my own house. What compels them to go +into the wide world again?" + +"Monsieur, we are poor," I answered, "and you are not rich. We should be +a burden to you, and we have no claim upon you." + +"You have a great claim," he said; "there is not a heart in the parish +that does not love you already. Have not our children died in your arms? +Have you not watched over them? spent sleepless nights and watchful days +for them? How could we endure to see you go away? Remain with us, +madame; live with us, you and my _mignonne_, whose face is white yet." + +Could I stay then? It was a very calm, very secure refuge. There was no +danger of discovery. Yet there was a restlessness in my spirit at war +with the half-mournful, half-joyous serenity of the place, where I had +seen so many people die, and where there were so many new graves in the +little cemetery up the hill. If I could go away for a while, I might +return, and learn to be content amid this tranquillity. + +"Madame," said the pleasant tones of Monsieur Laurentie, "do you know +our language well enough to tell me your history now? You need not prove +to me that you are not wicked; tell me how you are unfortunate. Where +were you wandering to that night when I found you at the foot of the +Calvary?" + +There, in the cool, deepening twilight, I told him my story, little by +little; sometimes at a loss for words, and always compelled to speak in +the simplest and most direct phrases. He listened, with no other +interruption than to supply me occasionally with an expression when I +hesitated. He appeared to understand me almost by intuition. It was +quite dark before I had finished, and the deep blue of the sky above us +was bright with stars. A glow-worm was moving among the tufts of grass +growing between the roots of the tree; and I watched it almost as +intently as if I had nothing else to think of. + +"Speak to me as if I were your daughter," I said. "Have I done right or +wrong? Would you give me up to him, if he came to claim me?" + +"I am thinking of thee as my daughter," he answered, leaning his hands +and his white head above them, upon the top of the stick he was holding, +and sitting so for some moments in silent thought. "Thy voice is not the +voice of passion," he continued; "it is the voice of conviction, +profound and confirmed. Thou mayst have fled from him in a paroxysm of +wrath, but thy judgment and conscience acquit thee of wrong. In my eyes +it is a sacrament which thou hast broken; yet he had profaned it first. +My daughter, if thy husband returned to thee, penitent, converted, +confessing his offences against thee, couldst thou forgive him?" + +"Yes," I answered, "yes! I could forgive him." + +"Thou wouldst return to him?" he said, in calm, penetrating accents, but +so low as to seem almost the voice of my own heart; "thou wouldst be +subject to him as the Church is subject to Christ? He would be thy head; +wouldst thou submit thyself unto him as unto the Lord?" + +"I shivered with dread as the quiet, solemn tones fell upon my ear, +poignantly, as if they must penetrate to my heart. I could not keep +myself from sobbing. His face was turned toward me in the dusk, and I +covered mine with my hands. + +"Not now," I cried; "I cannot, I cannot. I was so young, monsieur; I did +not know what I was promising. I could never return to him, never." + +"My daughter," pursued the inexorable voice beside me, "is it because +there is any one whom thou lovest more?" + +"Oh!" I cried, almost involuntarily, and speaking now in my own +language, "I do not know. I could have loved Martin dearly--dearly." + +"I do not understand thy words," said Monsieur Laurentie, "but I +understand thy tears and sighs. Thou must stay here, my daughter, with +me, and these poor, simple people who love thee. I will not let thee go +into temptation. Courage; thou wilt be happy among us, when thou hast +conquered this evil. As for the rest, I must think about it. Let us go +in now. The lamp has been lit and supper served this half-hour. There is +my sister looking out at us. Come, madame. You are in my charge, and I +will take care of you." + +A few days after this, the whole community was thrown into a tumult by +the news that their curé was about to undertake the perils of a voyage +to England, and would be absent a whole fortnight. He said it was to +obtain some information as to the English system of drainage in +agricultural districts, which might make their own valley more healthy +and less liable to fever. But it struck me that he was about to make +some inquiries concerning my husband, and perhaps about Minima, whose +desolate position had touched him deeply. I ventured to tell him what +danger might arise to me if any clew to my hiding-place fell into +Richard Foster's hands. + +"My poor child," he said, "why art thou so fearful? There is not a man +here who would not protect thee. He would be obliged to prove his +identity, and thine, before he could establish his first right to claim +thee. Then we would enter a _procés_. Be content. I am going to consult +some lawyers of my own country and thine." + +He bade us farewell, with as many directions and injunctions as a father +might leave to a large family of sons and daughters. Half the village +followed his _char-à-banc_ as far as the cross where he had found Minima +and me, six miles on his road to Noireau. His sister and I, who had +ridden with him so far, left him there, and walked home up the steep, +long road, in the midst of that enthusiastic crowd of his parishioners. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. + +A MOMENT OF TRIUMPH. + + +The afternoon of that day was unusually sultry and oppressive. The blue +of the sky was almost livid. I was weary with the long walk in the +morning, and after our mid-day meal I stole away from mademoiselle and +Minima in the _salon_, and betook myself to the cool shelter of the +church, where the stone walls three feet thick, and the narrow casements +covered with vine-leaves, kept out the heat more effectually than the +half-timber walls of the presbytery. A _vicaire_ from a neighboring +parish was to arrive in time for vespers, and Jean and Pierre were +polishing up the interior of the church, with an eye to their own +credit. It was a very plain, simple building, with but few images in it, +and only two or three votive pictures, very ugly, hanging between the +low Norman arches of the windows. A shrine occupied one transept, and +before it the offerings of flowers were daily renewed by the unmarried +girls of the village. + +I sat down upon a bench just within the door, and the transept was not +in sight, but I could hear Pierre busy at his task of polishing the +oaken floor, by skating over it with brushes fastened to his feet. Jean +was bustling in and out of the sacristy, and about the high altar in the +chancel. There was a faint scent yet of the incense which had been +burned at the mass celebrated before the curé's departure, enough to +make the air heavy and to deepen the drowsiness and languor which were +stealing over me. I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes, +with a pleasant sense of sleep coming softly toward me, when suddenly a +hand was laid upon my arm, with a firm, close, silent gripe. + +I do not know why terror always strikes me dumb and motionless. I did +not stir or speak, but looked steadily, with a fascinated gaze, into my +husband's face--a worn, white, emaciated face, with eyes peering cruelly +into mine. It was an awful look; one of dark triumph, of sneering, +cunning exultation. Neither of us spoke. Pierre I could hear still busy +in the transept, and Jean, though he had disappeared into the sacristy, +was within call. Yet I felt hopelessly and helplessly alone under the +cruel stare of those eyes. It seemed as if he and I were the only beings +in the whole world, and there was none to help, none to rescue. In the +voiceless depths of my spirit I cried, "O God!" + +He sank down on the seat beside me, with an air of exhaustion, yet with +a low, fiendish laugh which sounded hideously loud in my ears. His +fingers were still about my arm, but he had to wait to recover from the +first shock of his success--for it had been a shock. His face was bathed +with perspiration, and his breath came and went fitfully. I thought I +could even hear the heavy throbbing of his heart. He spoke after a time, +while my eyes were still fastened upon him, and my ears listening to +catch the first words he uttered. + +"I've found you," he said, his hand tightening its hold, and at the +first sound of his voice the spell which bound me snapped; "I've tracked +you out at last to this cursed hole. The game is up, my little lady. By +Heaven! you'll repent of this. You are mine, and no man on earth shall +come between us." + +"I don't understand you," I muttered. He had spoken in an undertone, and +I could not raise my voice above a whisper, so parched and dry my throat +was. + +"Understand?" he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I know all about +Dr. Martin Dobrée. You understand that well enough. I am here to take +charge of you, to carry you home with me as my wife, and neither man nor +woman can interfere with me in that. It will be best for you to come +with me quietly." + +"I will not go with you," I answered, in the same hoarse whisper; "I am +living here in the presbytery, and you cannot force me away. I will not +go." + +He laughed a little once more, and looked down upon me contemptuously in +silence, as if there were no notice to be taken of words so foolish. + +"Listen to me," I continued. "When I refused to sign away the money my +father left me, it was because I said to myself it was wrong to throw +away his life's toil and skill upon pursuits like yours. He had worked, +and saved, and denied himself for me, not for a man like you. His money +should not be flung away at gambling-tables. But now I know he would +rather a thousand times you had the money and left me free. Take it +then. You shall have it all. We are both poor as it is, but if you will +let me be free of you, you may have it all--all that I can part with." + +"I prefer having the money and you," he replied, with his frightful +smile. "Why should I not prize what other people covet? You are my wife; +nothing can set that aside. Your money is mine, and you are mine; why +should I forfeit either?" + +"No," I said, growing calmer; "I do not belong to you. No laws on earth +can give you the ownership you claim over me. Richard, you might have +won me, if you had been a good man. But you are evil and selfish, and +you have lost me forever." + +"The silly raving of an ignorant girl!" he sneered; "the law will compel +you to return to me. I will take the law into my own hands, and compel +you to go with me at once. If there is no conveyance to be hired in this +confounded hole, we will walk down the road together, like two lovers, +and wait for the omnibus. Come, Olivia." + +Our voices had not risen much above their undertones yet, but these last +words he spoke more loudly. Jean opened the door of the sacristy and +looked out, and Pierre skated down to the corner of the transept to see +who was speaking. I lifted the hand Richard was not holding, and +beckoned Jean to me. + +"Jean," I said, in a low tone still, "this man is my enemy. Monsieur le +Curé knows all about him; but he is not here. You must protect me." + +"Certainly, madame," he replied, his eyes more roundly open than +ordinarily.--"Monsieur, have the goodness to release madame." + +"She is my wife," retorted Richard Foster. + +"I have told all to Monsieur le Curé," I said. + +"_Bon!_" ejaculated Jean. Monsieur le Curé is gone to England; it is +necessary to wait till his return, Monsieur Englishman." + +"Fool!" said Richard in a passion, "she is my wife, I tell you." + +"_Bon!_" he replied phlegmatically, "but it is my affair to protect +madame. There is no resource but to wait till Monsieur le Curé returns +from his voyage. If madame does not say, 'This is my husband,' how can I +believe you? She says, 'He is my enemy.' I cannot confide madame to a +stranger." + +"I will not leave her," he exclaimed with an oath, spoken in English, +which Jean could not understand. + +"Good! very good! Pardon, monsieur," responded Jean, laying his iron +fingers upon the hand that held me, and loosening its grip as easily as +if it had been the hand of a child.--"_Voilà_! madame, you are free. +Leave Monsieur the Englishman to me, and go away into the house, if you +please." + +I did not wait to hear any further altercation, but fled as quickly as I +could into the presbytery. Up into my own chamber I ran, drew a heavy +chest against the door, and fell down trembling and nerveless upon the +floor beside it. + +But there was no time to lose in womanish terrors; my difficulty and +danger were too great. The curé was gone, and would be away at least a +fortnight. How did I know what French law might do with me, in that +time? I dragged myself to the window, and, with my face just above the +sill, looked down the street, to see if my husband were in sight. He was +nowhere to be seen, but loitering at one of the doors was the +letter-carrier, whose daily work it was to meet the afternoon omnibus +returning from Noireau to Granville. Why should I not write to Tardif? +He had promised to come to my help whenever and wherever I might summon +him. I ran down to Mademoiselle Thérèse for the materials for a letter, +and in a few minutes it was written, and on the way to Sark. + +I was still watching intently from my own casement, when I saw Richard +Foster come round the corner of the church, and turn down the street. +Many of the women were at their doors, and he stopped to speak to first +one and then another. I guessed what he wanted. There was no inn in the +valley, and he was trying to hire a lodging for the night. But Jean was +following him closely, and from every house he was turned away, baffled +and disappointed. He looked weary and bent, and he leaned heavily upon +the strong stick he carried. At last he passed slowly out of sight, and +once more I could breathe freely. + +But I could not bring myself to venture downstairs, where the +uncurtained windows were level with the court, and the unfastened door +opened to my hand. The night fell while I was still alone, unnerved by +the terror I had undergone. Here and there a light glimmered in a +lattice-window, but a deep silence reigned, with no other sound than the +brilliant song of a nightingale amid the trees which girdled the +village. Suddenly there was the noisy rattle of wheels over the rough +pavement--the baying of dogs--an indistinct shout from the few men who +were still smoking their pipes under the broad eaves of their houses. A +horrible dread took hold of me. Was it possible that he returned, with +some force--I knew not what--which should drag me away from my refuge, +and give me up to him? What would Jean and the villagers do? What could +they do against a body of _gendarmes_? + +I gazed shrinkingly into the darkness. The conveyance looked, as far as +I could make out of its shape, very like the _char-à-banc_, which was +not to return from Noireau till the next day. But there was only the +gleam of the lantern it carried on a pole rising above its roof, and +throwing crossbeams of light upon the walls and windows on each side of +the street. It came on rapidly, and passed quickly out of my sight round +the angle of the presbytery. My heart scarcely beat, and my ear was +strained to catch every sound in the house below. + +I heard hurried footsteps and joyous voices. A minute or two afterward, +Minima beat against my barricaded door, and shouted gleefully through +the key-hole: + +"Come down in a minute, Aunt Nelly," she cried; "Monsieur Laurentie is +come home again!" + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. + +PIERRE'S SECRET. + + +I felt as if some strong hand had lifted me out of a whirl of troubled +waters, and set me safely upon a rock. I ran down into the _salon_, +where Monsieur Laurentie was seated, as tranquilly as if he had never +been away, in his high-backed arm-chair, smiling quietly at Minima's +gambols of delight, which ended in her sitting down on a _tabouret_ at +his feet. Jean stood just within the door, his hands behind his back, +holding his white cotton cap in them: he had been making his report of +the day's events. Monsieur held out his hand to me, and I ran to him, +caught it in both of mine, bent down my face upon it, and burst into a +passion of weeping, in spite of myself. + +"Come, come, madame!" he said, his own voice faltering a little, "I am +here, my child; behold me! There is no place for fear now. I am king in +Ville-en-bois.--Is it not so, my good Jean?" + +"Monsieur le Curé, you are emperor," replied Jean. + +"If that is the case," he continued, "madame is perfectly secure in my +castle. You do not ask me what brings me back again so soon. But I will +tell you, madame. At Noireau, the proprietor of the omnibus to Granville +told me that an Englishman had gone that morning to visit my little +parish. Good! We do not have that honor every day. I ask him to have the +goodness to tell me the Englishman's name. It is written in the book at +the bureau. Monsieur Fostère. I remember that name well, very well. That +is the name of the husband of my little English daughter. Fostère! I see +in a moment it will not do to proceed, on my voyage. But I find that my +good Jacques has taken on the _char-à-banc_ a league or two beyond +Noireau, and I am compelled to await his return. There is the reason +that I return so late." + +"O monsieur!" I exclaimed, "how good you are--" + +"Pardon, madame," he interrupted, "let me hear the end of Jean's +history." + +Jean continued his report in his usual phlegmatic tone, and concluded +with the assurance that he had seen the Englishman safe out of the +village, and returning by the road he came. + +"I could have wished," said the curé, regretfully, "that we might have +shown him some hospitality in Ville-en-bois; but you did what was very +good, Jean. Yet we did not encounter any stranger along the route." + +"Not possible, monsieur," replied Jean; "it was four o'clock when he +returned on his steps, and it is now after nine. He would pass the +Calvary before six. After that, Monsieur le Curé, he might take any +route which pleased him." + +"That is true, Jean," he said, mildly; "you have done well. You may go +now. Where is Monsieur the Vicaire?" + +"He sleeps, monsieur, in the guest's chamber, as usual." + +"_Bien_! Good-evening, Jean, and a good-night." + +"Good-night, Monsieur le Curé, and all the company," said Jean. + +"And you also, my child," continued Monsieur Laurentie, when Jean was +gone, "you have great need of rest. So has this baby, who is very +sleepy." + +"I am not sleepy," protested Minima, "and I am not a baby." + +"You are a baby," said the curé, laughing, "to make such rejoicing over +an old papa like me. But go now, my children. There is no danger for +you. Sleep well and have pleasant dreams." + +I slept well, but I had no pleasant dreams, for I did not dream at all. +The curé's return, and his presence under the same roof, gave me such a +sense of security as was favorable to profound, unbroken slumber. When +the chirping of the birds awoke me in the morning, I could not at first +believe that the events of the day before were not themselves a dream. +The bell rang for matins at five o'clock now, to give the laborers the +cool of the morning for their work in the fields, after they were over. +I could not sleep again, for the coming hours must be full of suspense +and agitation to me. So at the first toll of the deep-toned bell, I +dressed myself, and went out into the dewy freshness of the new day. + +Matins were ended, and the villagers were scattered about their farms +and households, when I noticed Pierre loitering stealthily about the +presbytery, as if anxious not to be seen. He made me a sign as soon as +he caught my eye, to follow him out of sight, round the corner of the +church. It was a mysterious sign, and I obeyed it quickly. + +"I know a secret, madame," he said, in a troubled tone, and with an +apprehensive air--"that monsieur who came yesterday has not left the +valley. My father bade me stay in the church, at my work; but I could +not, madame, I could not. Not possible, you know. I wished to see your +enemy again. I shall have to confess it to Monsieur le Curé, and he will +give me a penance, perhaps a very great penance. But it was not possible +to rest tranquil, not at all. I followed monsieur, your enemy, _à la +dérobée_. He did not go far away." + +"But where is he, then?" I asked, looking down the street, with a +thrill of fear. + +"Madame," whispered Pierre, "he is a stranger to this place, and the +people would not receive him into their houses--not one of them. My +father only said, 'He is an enemy to our dear English madame,' and all +the women turned the back upon him. I stole after him, you know, behind +the trees and the hedges. He marched very slowly, like a man very weary, +down the road, till he came in sight of the factory of the late Pineaux. +He turned aside into the court there. I saw him knock at the door of the +house, try to lift the latch, and peep through the windows. Bien! After +that, he goes into the factory; there is a door from it into the house. +He passed through. I dared not follow him, but in one short half-hour I +saw smoke coming out of the chimney. Bon! The smoke is there again this +morning. The Englishman has sojourned there all the night." + +"But, Pierre," I said, shivering, though the sun was already shining +hotly--"Pierre, the house is like a lazaretto. No one has been in it +since Mademoiselle Pineau died. Monsieur le Curé locked it up, and +brought away the key." + +"That is true, madame," answered the boy; "no one in the village would +go near the accursed place; but I never thought of that. Perhaps +monsieur your enemy will take the fever, and perish." + +"Run, Pierre, run," I cried; "Monsieur Laurentie is in the sacristy, +with the strange vicaire. Tell him I must speak to him this very moment. +There is no time to be lost." + +I dragged myself to the seat under the sycamore-tree, and hid my face in +my hands, while shudder after shudder quivered through me. I seemed to +be watching him again, as he strode weariedly down the street, leaning, +with bent shoulders, on his stick, and turned away from every door at +which he asked for rest and shelter for the night. Oh! that the time +could but come back again, that I might send Jean to find some safe +place for him where he could sleep! Back to my memory rushed the old +days, when he screened me from the unkindness of my step-mother, and +when he seemed to love me. For the sake of those times, would to God +the evening that was gone, and the sultry, breathless night, could only +come back again! + + + + +CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH. + +SUSPENSE. + + +I felt as if I had passed through an immeasurable spell, both of memory +and anguish, before Monsieur Laurentie came to me, though he had +responded to my summons immediately. I told him, in hurried, broken +sentences, what Pierre had confessed to me. His face grew overcast and +troubled; yet he did not utter a word of his apprehensions to me. + +"Madame," he said, "permit me to take my breakfast first; then I will +seek Monsieur Foster without delay. I will carry with me some food for +him. We will arrange this affair before I return; Jean shall bring the +_char à bancs_ to the factory, and take him back to Noireau." + +"But the fever, monsieur? Can he pass a night there without taking it?" + +"He is in the hands of his Creator," he answered; "we can know nothing +till I have seen him. We cannot call back the past." + +"Ought I not to go with you?" I asked. + +"Wherefore, my child?" + +"He is my husband," I said, falteringly; "if he is ill, I will nurse +him." + +"Good! my poor child," he replied, "leave all this affair to me; leave +even thy duty to me. I will take care there shall be no failure in it, +on thy part." + +We were not many minutes over our frugal breakfast of bread-and-milk, +and then we set out together, for he gave me permission to go with him, +until we came within sight of the factory and the cottage. We walked +quickly and in foreboding silence. He told me, as soon as he saw the +place, that I might stay on the spot where he left me, till the +church-clock struck eight; and then, if he had not returned to me, I +must go back to the village, and send Jean with the _char à bancs_. I +sat down on the felled trunk of a tree, and watched him, in his old +threadbare cassock, and sunburnt hat, crossing the baked, cracked soil +of the court, till he reached the door, and turned round to lift his hat +to me with a kindly gesture of farewell. He fitted the key into the +lock, passed out of my sight; but I could not withdraw my eyes from the +deep, thatched eaves, and glossy _fleur-de-lis_ growing along the roof. + +How interminable seemed his absence! I sat so still that the crickets +and grasshoppers in the tufted grass about me kept up their ceaseless +chirruping, and leaped about my feet, unaware that I could crush their +merry life out of them by a single movement. The birds in the dusky +branches overhead whistled their wild wood-notes, as gayly as if no one +were near their haunts. Now and then there came a pause, when the +silence deepened until I could hear the cones, in the fir-trees close at +hand, snapping open their polished scales, and setting free the winged +seeds, which fluttered softly down to the ground. The rustle of a +swiftly--gliding snake through the fallen leaves caught my ear, and I +saw the blunted head and glittering eyes lifted up to look at me for a +moment; but I did not stir. All my fear and feeling, my whole life, were +centred upon the fever-cottage yonder. + +There was not the faintest line of smoke from the chimney, when we first +came in sight of it. Was it not quite possible that Pierre might have +been mistaken? And if he had made a mistake in thinking he saw smoke +this morning, why not last night also? Yet the curé was lingering there +too long for it to be merely an empty place. Something detained him, or +why did he not come back to me? Presently a thin blue smoke curled +upward into the still air. Monsieur Laurentie was kindling a fire on the +hearth. _He_ was there then. + +What would be the end of it all? My heart contracted, and my spirit +shrank from the answer that was ready to flash upon my mind. I refused +to think of the end. If Richard were ill, why, I would nurse him, as I +should have nursed him if he had always been tender and true to me. That +at least was a clear duty. What lay beyond that need not be decided +upon now. Monsieur Laurentie would tell me what I ought to do. + +He came, after a long, long suspense, and opened the door, looking out +as if to make sure that I was still at my post. I sprang to my feet, and +was running forward, when he beckoned me to remain where I was. He came +across to the middle of the court, but no nearer; and he spoke to me at +that distance, in his clear, deliberate, penetrating voice. + +"My child," he said, "monsieur is ill! attacked, I am afraid, by the +fever. He is not delirious at present, and we have been talking together +of many things. But the fever has taken hold upon him, I think. I shall +remain with him all the day. You must bring us what we have need of, and +leave it on the stone there, as it used to be." + +"But cannot he be removed at once?" I asked. + +"My dear," he answered, "what can I do? The village is free from +sickness now; how can I run the risk of carrying the fever there again? +It is too far to send monsieur to Noireau. If he is ill of it, it is +best for us all that he should remain here. I will not abandon him; no, +no. Obey me, my child, and leave him to me and to God. Cannot you +confide in me yet?" + +"Yes," I said, weeping, "I trust you with all my heart." + +"Go, then, and do what I bid you," he replied. "Tell my sister and Jean, +tell all my people, that no one must intrude upon me, no one must come +nearer this house than the appointed place. Monsieur le Vicaire must +remain in Ville-en-bois, and officiate for me, as though I were pursuing +my journey to England. You must think of me as one absent, yet close at +hand: that is the difference. I am here, in the path of my duty. Go, and +fulfil yours." + +"Ought you not to let me share your work and your danger?" I ventured to +ask. + +"If there be any need, you shall share both," he answered, in a tranquil +tone, "though your life should be the penalty. Life is nothing in +comparison with duty. When it is thy duty, my daughter, to be beside thy +husband, I will call thee without fail." + +Slowly I retraced my steps to the village. The news had already spread, +from Pierre--for no one else knew it--that the Englishman, who had been +turned away from their doors the day before, had spent the night in the +infected dwelling. A group of weavers, of farmers, of women from their +household work, stopped me as I entered the street. I delivered to them +their curé's message, and they received it with sobs and cries, as +though it bore in it the prediction of a great calamity. They followed +me up the street to the presbytery, and crowded the little court in +front of it. + +When mademoiselle had collected the things Monsieur Laurentie had sent +me for--a mattress, a chair, food, and medicine--every person in the +crowd wished to carry some small portion of them. We returned in a troop +to the factory, and stood beyond the stone, a group of sorrowful, almost +despairing people. In a few minutes we saw the curé open the door, close +it behind him, and stand before the proscribed dwelling. His voice came +across the space between us and him in distinct and cheerful tones. + +"My good children," he said, "I, your priest, forbid any one of you to +come a single step nearer to this house. It may be but for a day or two, +but let no one venture to disobey me. Think of me as though I had gone +to England, and should be back again among you in a few days. God is +here, as near to me under this roof, as when I stand before him and you +at his altar." + +He lifted up his hands to give them his benediction, and we all knelt to +receive it. Then, with unquestioning obedience, but with many +lamentations, the people returned to their daily work. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. + +A MALIGNANT CASE. + + +For three days, morning after morning, while the dew lay still upon the +grass, I went down, with a heavy and foreboding heart, to the place +where I could watch the cottage, through the long, sultry hours of the +summer-day. The first thing I saw always was Monsieur Laurentie, who +came to the door to satisfy me that he was himself in good health, and +to tell me how Richard Foster had passed the night. After that I caught +from time to time a momentary glimpse of his white head, as he passed +the dusky window. He would not listen to my entreaties to be allowed to +join him in his task. It was a malignant case, he said, and as my +husband was unconscious, I could do him no good by running the risk of +being near him. + +An invisible line encircled the pestilential place, which none of us +dare break through without the permission of the curé, though any one of +the villagers would have rejoiced if he had summoned them to his aid. A +perpetual intercession was offered up day and night, before the high +altar, by the people, and there was no lack of eager candidates ready to +take up the prayer when the one who had been praying grew weary. On the +third morning I felt that they were beginning to look at me with altered +faces, and speak to me in colder accents. If I were the means of +bringing upon them the loss of their curé, they would curse the day he +found me and brought me to his home. I left the village street half +broken-hearted, and wandered hopelessly down to my chosen post. + +I thought I was alone, but as I sat with my head bowed down upon my +hands, I felt a child's hand laid upon my neck, and Minima's voice spoke +plaintively in my ear. + +"What is the matter, Aunt Nelly?" she asked. "Everybody is in trouble, +and mademoiselle says it is because your husband is come, and Monsieur +Laurentie is going to die for his sake. She began to cry when she said +that, and she said, 'What shall we all do if my brother dies? My God! +what will become of all the people in Ville-en-bois?' Is it true? Is +your husband really come, and is he going to die?" + +"He is come," I said, in a low voice; "I do not know whether he is going +to die." + +"Is he so poor that he will die?" she asked again. "Why does God let +people be so poor that they must die?". + +"It is not because he is so poor that he is ill," I answered. + +"But my father died because he was so poor," she said; "the doctors told +him he could get well if he had only enough money. Perhaps your husband +would not have died if he had not been very poor." + +"No, no," I cried, vehemently, "he is not dying through poverty." + +Yet the child's words had a sting in them, for I knew he had been poor, +in consequence of my act. I thought of the close, unwholesome house in +London, where he had been living. I could not help thinking of it, and +wondering whether any loss of vital strength, born of poverty, had +caused him to fall more easily a prey to this fever. My brain was +burdened with sorrowful questions and doubts. + +I sent Minima back to the village before the morning-heat grew strong, +and then I was alone, watching the cottage through the fine haze of heat +which hung tremulously about it. The song of every bird was hushed; the +shouts of the harvest-men to their oxen ceased; and the only sound that +stirred the still air was the monotonous striking of the clock in the +church-tower. I had not seen Monsieur Laurentie since his first greeting +of me in the early morning. A panic fear seized upon me. Suppose he +should have been stricken suddenly by this deadly malady! I called +softly at first, then loudly, but no answer came to comfort me. If this +old man, worn out and exhausted, had actually given his life for +Richard's, what would become of me? what would become of all of us? + +Step by step, pausing often, yet urged on by my growing fears, I stole +down the parched and beaten track toward the house, then called once +more to the oppressive silence. + +Here in the open sunshine, with the hot walls of the mill casting its +rays back again, the heat was intense, though the white cap I wore +protected my head from it. My eyes were dazzled, and I felt ready to +faint. No wonder if Monsieur Laurentie should have sunk under it, and +the long strain upon his energies, which would have overtaxed a younger +and stronger man. I had passed the invisible line which his will had +drawn about the place, and had half crossed the court, when I heard +footsteps close behind me, and a large, brown, rough hand suddenly +caught mine. + +"Mam'zelle'" cried a voice I knew well, "is this you!" + +"O Tardif! Tardif!" I exclaimed. I rested my beating head against him, +and sobbed violently, while he surrounded me with his strong arm, and +laid his hand upon my head, as if to assure me of his help and +protection. + +"Hush; hush! mam'zelle," he said; "it is Tardif, your friend, my little +mam'zelle; your servant, you know. I am here. What shall I do for you? +Is there any person in yonder house who frightens you, my poor little +mam'zelle? Tell me what I can do?" + +He had drawn me back into the green shade of the trees, and set me down +upon the felled tree where I had been sitting before. I told him all +quickly, briefly--all that had happened since I had written to him. I +saw the tears start to his eyes. + +"Thank God I am here!" he said; "I lost no time, mam'zelle, after your +letter reached me. I will save Monsieur le Curé; I will save them both, +if I can. _Ma foi!_ he is a good man, this curé, and we must not let him +perish. He has no authority over me, and I will go this moment and force +my way in, if the door is fastened. Adieu, my dear little mam'zelle." + +He was gone before I could speak a word, striding with quick, energetic +tread across the court. The closed door under the eaves opened readily. +In an instant the white head of Monsieur Laurentie passed the casement, +and I could hear the hum of an earnest altercation, though I could not +catch a syllable of it. But presently Tardif appeared again in the +doorway, waving his cap in token of having gained his point. + +I went back to the village at once to carry the good news, for it was +the loneliness of the curé that had weighed so heavily on every heart, +though none among them dare brave his displeasure by setting aside his +command. The quarantine was observed as rigidly as ever, but fresh hope +and confidence beamed upon every face, and I felt that they no longer +avoided me, as they had begun to do before Tardif's arrival. Now +Monsieur Laurentie could leave his patient, and sit under the sheltering +eaves in the cool of the morning or evening, while his people could +satisfy themselves from a distance that he was still in health. + +The physician whom Jean fetched from Noireau spoke vaguely of Richard's +case. It was very malignant, he said, full of danger, and apparently his +whole constitution had been weakened by some protracted and grave +malady. We must hope, he added. + +Whether it was in hope or fear I awaited the issue, I scarcely know. I +dared not glance beyond the passing hour; dared not conjecture what the +end would be. The past was dead; the future yet unborn. For the moment +my whole being was concentrated upon the conflict between life and +death, which was witnessed only by the curé and Tardif. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. + +THE LAST DEATH. + + +It seemed to me almost as if time had been standing still since that +first morning when Monsieur Laurentie had left my side, and passed out +of my sight to seek for my husband in the fever-smitten dwelling. Yet it +was the tenth day after that when, as I took up my weary watch soon +after daybreak, I saw him crossing the court again, and coming toward +me. + +"What had he to say? What could impel him to break through the strict +rule which had interdicted all dangerous contact with himself? His face +was pale, and his eyes were heavy as if with want of rest, but they +looked into mine as if they could read my inmost soul. + +"My daughter," he said, "I bade you leave even your duty in my keeping. +Now I summon you to fulfil it. Your duty lies yonder, by your husband's +side in his agony of death." + +"I will go," I whispered, my lips scarcely moving to pronounce the +words, so stiff and cold they felt. + +"Stay one moment," he said, pityingly. "You have been taught to judge +of your duty for yourself, not to leave it to a priest. I ought to let +you judge now. Your husband is dying, but he is conscious, and is asking +to see you. He does not believe us that death is near; he says none but +you will tell him the truth. You cannot go to him without running a +great risk. Your danger will be greater than ours, who have been with +him all the time. You see, madame, he does not understand me, and he +refuses to believe in Tardif. Yet you cannot save him; you can only +receive his last adieu. Think well, my child. Your life may be the +forfeit." + +"I must go," I answered, more firmly; "I will go. He is my husband." + +"Good!" he said, "you have chosen the better part. Come, then. The good +God will protect you." + +He drew my hand through his arm, and led me to the low doorway. The +inner room was very dark with the overhanging eaves, and my eyes, +dilated by the strong sunlight, could discern but little in the gloom. +Tardif was kneeling beside a low bed, bathing my husband's forehead. He +made way for me, and I felt him touch my hand with his lips as I took +his place. But no one spoke. Richard's face, sunken, haggard, dying, +with filmy eyes, dawned gradually out of the dim twilight, line after +line, until it lay sharp and distinct under my gaze. I could not turn +away from it for an instant, even to glance at Tardif or Monsieur +Laurentie. The poor, miserable face! the restless, dreary, dying eyes! + +"Where is Olivia?" he muttered, in a hoarse and labored voice. + +"I am here, Richard," I answered, falling on my knees where Tardif had +been kneeling, and putting my hand on his; "look at me. I am Olivia." + +"You are mine, you know," he said, his fingers closing round my wrist +with a grasp as weak as a very young child's.--"She is my wife, Monsieur +le Curé." + +"Yes," I sobbed, "I am your wife, Richard." + +"Do they hear it?" he asked, in a whisper. + +"We hear it," answered Tardif. + +A strange, spasmodic smile flitted across his ghastly face, a look of +triumph and success. His fingers tightened over my hand, and I left it +passively in their clasp. + +"Mine!" he murmured. + +"Olivia," he said, after a long pause, and in a stronger voice, "you +always spoke the truth to me. This priest and his follower have been +trying to frighten me into repentance, as if I were an old woman. They +say I am near dying. Tell me, is it true?" + +The last words he had spoken painfully, dragging them one after another, +as if the very utterance of them was hateful to him. He looked at me +with his cold, glittering eyes, which seemed almost mocking at me, even +then. + +"Richard," I said, "it is true." + +"Good God!" he cried. + +His lips closed after that cry, and seemed as if they would never open +again. He shut his eyes weariedly. Feebly and fitfully came his gasps +for breath, and he moaned at times. But still his fingers held me fast, +though the slightest effort of mine would have set me free. I left my +hand in his cold grasp, and spoke to him whenever he moaned. + +"Martin," he breathed between his set teeth, though so low that only my +ear could catch the words, "Martin--could--have saved--me." + +There was another long silence. I could hear the chirping of the +sparrows in the thatched roof, but no other sound broke the deep +stillness. Monsieur Laurentie and Tardif stood at the foot of the bed, +looking down upon us both, but I only saw their shadows falling across +us. My eyes were fastened upon the face I should soon see no more. The +little light there was seemed to be fading away from it, leaving it all +dark and blank; eyelids closed, lips almost breathless; an unutterable +emptiness and confusion creeping over every feature. + +"Olivia!" he cried, once again, in a tone of mingled anger and +entreaty. + +"I am here," I answered, laying my other hand upon his, which was at +last relaxing its hold, and falling away helplessly. But where was he? +Where was the voice which half a minute ago called Olivia? Where was +the life gone that had grasped my hand? He had not heard my answer, or +felt my touch upon his cold fingers. + +Tardif lifted me gently from my place beside him, and carried me away +into the open air, under the overshadowing eaves. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. + +FREE. + + +The rest of that day passed by like a dream. Jean had come down with the +daily supply of food, and I heard Monsieur Laurentie call to him to +accompany me back to the presbytery, and to warn every one to keep away +from me, until I could take every precaution against spreading +infection. He gave me minute directions what to do, and I obeyed them +automatically and mechanically. I spent the whole day in my room alone. + +At night, after all the village was silent, with the moon shining +brilliantly down upon the deserted streets, the sound of stealthy +footsteps came to me through my window. I pulled the casement open and +looked out. There marched four men, with measured steps, bearing a +coffin on their shoulders, while Monsieur Laurentie followed them +bareheaded. It was my husband's funeral; and I sank upon my knees, and +remained kneeling till I heard them return from the little cemetery up +the valley, where so many of the curé's flock had been buried. I prayed +with all my heart that no other life would be forfeited to this +pestilence, which had seemed to have passed away from us. + +But I was worn out myself with anxiety and watching. For three or four +days I was ill with a low, nervous fever--altogether unlike the terrible +typhoid, yet such as to keep me to my room. Minima and Mademoiselle +Thérèse were my only companions. Mademoiselle, after talking that one +night as much as she generally talked in twelve months, had relapsed +into deeper taciturnity than before. But her muteness tranquillized me. +Minima's simple talk brought me back to the level of common life. My own +nervous weeping, which I could not control, served to soothe me. My +casement, almost covered by broad, clustering vine-leaves, preserved a +cool, dim obscurity in my room. The village children seemed all at once +to have forgotten how to scream and shout, and no sound from the street +disturbed me. Even the morning and evening bell rang with a deep, +muffled tone, which scarcely stirred the silence. I heard afterward that +Jean had swathed the bell in a piece of sackcloth, and that the children +had been sent off early every morning into the woods. + +But I could not remain long in that idle seclusion. I felt all my +strength returning, both of body and mind. I began to smile at Minima, +and to answer her childish prattle, with none of the feeling of utter +weariness which had at first prostrated me. + +"Are we going to stay here forever and ever?" she asked me, one day, +when I felt that the solitary peace of my own chamber was growing too +monotonous for me. + +"Should you like to stay, Minima?" I inquired in reply. It was a +question I must face, that of what I was going to do in the future. + +"I don't know altogether," she said, reflectively. "The boys here are +not so nice as they used to be at home. Pierre says I'm a little pagan, +and that's not nice, Aunt Nelly. He says I must be baptized by Monsieur +Laurentie, and be prepared for my first communion, before I can be as +good as he is. The boys at home used to think me quite as good as them, +and better. I asked Monsieur Laurentie if I ought to be baptized over +again, and he only smiled, and said I must be as good a little girl as I +could be, and it did not much matter. But Pierre, and all the rest, +think I'm not as good as them, and I don't like it." + +I could not help laughing, like Monsieur Laurentie, at Minima's +distress. Yet it was not without foundation. Here we were heretics amid +the orthodox, and I felt it myself. Though Monsieur le Curé never +alluded to it in the most distant manner, there was a difference between +us and the simple village-folk in Ville-en-bois which would always mark +us as strangers in blood and creed. + +"I think," continued Minima, with a shrewd expression on her face, +which was beginning to fill up and grow round in its outlines, "I think, +when you are quite well again, we'd better be going on somewhere to try +our fortunes. It never does, you know, to stop too long in the same +place. I'm quite sure we shall never meet the prince here, and I don't +think we shall find any treasure. Besides, if we began to dig they'd all +know, and want to go shares. I shouldn't mind going shares with Monsieur +Laurentie, but I would not go shares with Pierre. Of course when we've +made our fortunes we'll come back, and we'll build Monsieur Laurentie a +palace of marble, and put Turkey carpets on all the floors, and have +fountains and statues, and all sorts of things, and give him a cook to +cook splendid dinners. But we wouldn't stay here always if we were very, +very rich; would you, Aunt Nelly?" + +"Has anybody told you that I am rich?" I asked, with a passing feeling +of vexation. + +"Oh, no," she said, laughing heartily, "I should know better than that. +You're very poor, my darling auntie, but I love you all the same. We +shall be rich some day, of course. It's all coming right, by-and-by." + +Her hand was stroking my face, and I drew it to my lips and kissed it +tenderly. I had scarcely realized before what a change had come over my +circumstances. + +"But I am not poor any longer, my little girl," I said; "I am rich +now.". + +"Very rich?" she asked, eagerly. + +"Very rich," I repeated. + +"And we shall never have to go walking, walking, till our feet are sore +and tired? And we shall not be hungry, and be afraid of spending our +money? And we shall buy new clothes as soon as the old ones are worn +out? O Aunt Nelly, is it true? is it quite true?" + +"It is quite true, my poor Minima," I answered. + +She looked at me wistfully, with the color coming and going on her face. +Then she climbed up, and lay down beside me, with her arm over me and +her face close to mine. + +"O Aunt Nelly!" she cried, "if this had only come while my father was +alive!" + +"Minima," I said, after her sobs and tears were ended, "you will always +be my little girl. You shall come and live with me wherever I live." + +"Of course," she answered, with the simple trustfulness of a child, "we +are going to live together till we die. You won't send me to school, +will you? You know what school is like now, and you wouldn't like me to +send you to school, would you? If I were a rich, grown-up lady, and you +were a little girl like me, I know what I should do." + +"What would you do?" I inquired, laughing. + +"I should give you lots of dolls and things," she said, quite seriously, +her brows puckered with anxiety, "and I should let you have +strawberry-jam every day, and I should make every thing as nice as +possible. Of course I should make you learn lessons, whether you liked +it or not, but I should teach you myself, and then I should know nobody +was unkind to you. That's what I should do, Aunt Nelly." + +"And that's what I shall do, Minima," I repeated. + +We had many things to settle that morning, making our preliminary +arrangements for the spending of my fortune upon many dolls and much +jam. But the conviction was forced upon me that I must be setting about +more important plans. Tardif was still staying in Ville-en-bois, +delaying his departure till I was well enough to see him. I resolved to +get up that evening, as soon as the heat of the day was past, and have a +conversation with him and Monsieur Laurentie. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD. + +A YEAR'S NEWS. + + +In the cool of the evening, while the chanting of vespers in the church +close by was faintly audible, I went downstairs into the _salon_. All +the household were gone to the service; but I saw Tardif sitting outside +in my own favorite seat under the sycamore-tree. I sent Minima to call +him to me, bidding her stay out-of-doors herself; and he came in +hurriedly, with a glad light in his deep, honest eyes. + +"Thank God, mam'zelle, thank God!" he said. + +"Yes," I answered, "I am well again now. I have not been really ill, I +know, but I felt weary and sick at heart. My good Tardif, how much I owe +you!" + +"You owe me, nothing, mam'zelle," he said, dropping my hand, and +carrying the curé's high-backed chair to the open window, for me to sit +in it, and have all the freshness there was in the air. "Dear +mam'zelle," he added, "if you only think of me as your friend, that is +enough." + +"You are my truest friend," I replied. + +"No, no. You have another as true," he answered, "and you have this good +Monsieur le Curé into the bargain. If the curés were all like him I +should be thinking of becoming a good Catholic myself, and you know how +far I am from being that." + +"No one can say a word too much in his praise," I said. + +"Except," continued Tardif, "that he desires to keep our little mam'zelle +in his village. 'Why must she leave me?' he says; 'never do I say a word +contrary to her religion, or that of the _mignonne_. Let them stay in +Ville-en-bois.' But Dr. Martin, says: 'No, she must not remain here. The +air is not good for her; the village is not drained, and it is +unhealthy. There will always be fever here.' Dr. Martin was almost angry +with Monsieur le Curé." + +"Dr. Martin?" I said, in a tone of wonder and inquiry. + +"Dr. Martin, mam'zelle. I sent a message to him by telegraph. It was +altered somehow in the offices, and he did not know who was dead. He +started off at once, travelled without stopping, and reached this place +two nights ago." + +"Is he here now?" I asked, while a troubled feeling stirred the +tranquillity which had but just returned to me. I shrank from seeing him +just then. + +"No, mam'zelle. He went away this morning, as soon as he was sure you +would recover without his help. He said that to see him might do you +more harm, trouble you more, than he could do you good by his medicines. +He and Monsieur le Curé parted good friends, though they were not of the +same mind about you. 'Let her stay here,' says Monsieur le Curé. 'She +must return to England,' says Dr. Martin. 'Mam'zelle must be free to +choose for herself,' I said. They both smiled, and said yes, I was +right. You must be free." + +"Why did no one tell me he was here? Why did Minima keep it a secret?" I +asked. + +"He forbade us to tell you. He did not wish to disquiet you. He said to +me: 'If she ever wishes to see me, I would come gladly from London to +Ville-en-bois', only to hear her say, 'Good-morning, Dr. Martin.' 'But I +will not see her now, unless she is seriously ill.' I felt that he was +right, Dr. Martin is always right." + +I did not speak when Tardif paused, as if to hear what I had to say. I +heard him sigh as softly as a woman sighs. + +"If you could only come back to my poor little house!" he said; "but +that is impossible. My poor mother died in the spring, and I am living +alone. It is desolate, but I am not unhappy. I have my boat and the sea, +where I am never solitary. But why should I talk of myself? We were +speaking of what you are to do." + +"I don't know what to do," I said, despondently; "you see Tardif, I have +not a single friend I could go to in England. I shall have to stay here +in Ville-en-bois." + +"No," he answered; "Dr. Martin has some plan for you, I know, though he +did not tell me what it is. He said you would have a home offered to +you, such as you would accept gladly. I think it is in Guernsey." + +"With his mother, perhaps," I suggested. + +"His mother, mam'zelle!" he repeated; "alas! no. His mother is dead; she +died only a few weeks after you left Sark." + +I felt as if I had lost an old friend whom I had known for a long time, +though I had only seen her once. In my greatest difficulty I had thought +of making my way to her, and telling her all my history. I did not know +what other home could open for me, if she were dead. + +"Dr. Dobrée married a second wife only three months after," pursued +Tardif, "and Dr. Martin left Guernsey altogether, and went to London, +to be a partner with his friend, Dr. Senior." + +"Dr. John Senior?" I said. + +"Yes, mam'zelle," he answered. + +"Why! I know him," I exclaimed; "I recollect his face well. He is +handsomer than Dr. Martin. But whom did Dr. Dobrée marry?" + +"I do not know whether he is handsomer than Dr. Martin," said Tardif, in +a grieved tone. "Who did Dr. Dobrée marry? Oh! a foreigner. No Guernsey +lady would have married him so soon after Mrs. Dobrée's death. She was a +great friend of Miss Julia Dobrée. Her name was Daltrey." + +"Kate Daltrey!" I ejaculated. My brain seemed to whirl with the +recollections, the associations, the rapid mingling and odd readjustment +of ideas forced upon me by Tardif's words. What would have become of me +if I had found my way to Guernsey, seeking Mrs. Dobrée, and discovered +in her Kate Daltrey? I had not time to realize this before Tardif went +on in his narration. + +"Dr. Martin was heart-broken," he said; "we had lost you, and his mother +was dead. He had no one to turn to for comfort. His cousin Julia, who +was to have been his wife, was married to Captain Carey three weeks ago. +You recollect Captain Carey, mam'zelle?" + +Here was more news, and a fresh rearranging of the persons who peopled +my world. Kate Daltrey become Dr. Dobrée's second wife; Julia Dobrée +married to Captain Carey; and Dr. Martin living in London, the partner +of Dr. Senior! How could I put them all into their places in a moment? +Tardif, too, was dwelling alone, now, solitarily, in a very solitary +place. + +"I am very sorry for you," I said, in a low tone. + +"Why, mam'zelle?" he asked. + +"Because you have lost your mother," I answered. + +"Yes, mam'zelle," he said, simply; "she was a great loss to me, though +she was always fretting about my inheriting the land. That is the law of +the island, and no one can set it aside. The eldest son inherits the +land, and I was not her own son, though I did my best to be like a real +son to her. She died happier in thinking that her son, or grandson, +would follow me when I am gone, and I was glad she had that to comfort +her, poor woman." + +"But you may marry again some day, my good Tardif," I said; "how I wish +you would!" + +"No, mam'zelle, no," he answered, with a strange quivering tone in his +voice; "my mother knew why before she died, and it was a great comfort +to her. Do not think I am not happy alone. There are some memories that +are better company than most folks. Yes, there are some things I can +think of that are more and better than any wife could be to me." + +Why we were both silent after that I scarcely knew. Both of us had many +things to think about, no doubt, and the ideas were tumbling over one +another in my poor brain till I wished I could cease to think for a few +hours. + +Vespers ended, and the villagers began to disperse stealthily. Not a +wooden _sabot_ clattered on the stones. Mademoiselle and Monsieur +Laurentie came in, with a tread as soft as if they were afraid of waking +a child out of a light slumber. + +"Mademoiselle," I cried, "monsieur, behold me; I am here." + +My voice and my greeting seemed to transport them with delight. +Mademoiselle embraced me, and kissed me on both cheeks. Monsieur le Curé +blessed me, in a tremulously joyous accent, and insisted upon my keeping +his arm-chair. We sat down to supper together, by the light of a +brilliant little lamp, and Pierre, who was passing the uncurtained +window, saw me there, and carried the news into the village. + +The next day Tardif bade me farewell, and Monsieur Laurentie drove him +to Granville on his way home to Sark. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH. + +FAREWELL TO VILLE-EN-BOIS. + + +The unbroken monotony of Ville-en-bois closed over me again. The tolling +of the morning bell; the hum of matins; the frugal breakfast in the +sunlit _salon_; the long, hot day; vespers again; then an hour's chat by +twilight with the drowsy curé and his sister, whose words were so rare. +Before six such days had passed, I felt as if they were to last my +lifetime. Then the fretting of my uneasy woman's heart began. There was +no sign that I had any friends in England. What ought I to do? How must +I set about the intricate business of my affairs? Must I write to my +trustees in Melbourne, giving them the information of my husband's +death, and wait till I could receive from them instructions, and +credentials to prove my identity, without which it was useless, if it +were practicable, to return to London? Was there ever any one as +friendless as I was? Monsieur Laurentie could give me no counsel, except +to keep myself tranquil; but how difficult it was to keep tranquil amid +such profound repose! I had often found it easier to be calm amid many +provocations and numerous difficulties. + +A week has glided by; a full week. The letter-carrier has brought me no +letter. I am seated at the window of the _salon_, gasping in these +simmering dog-days for a breath of fresh air; such a cool, balmy breeze +as blows over the summer sea to the cliffs of Sark. Monsieur Laurentie, +under the shelter of a huge red umbrella, is choosing the ripest cluster +of grapes for our supper this evening. All the street is as still as at +midnight. Suddenly there breaks upon us the harsh, metallic clang of +well-shod horse-hoofs upon the stony roadway--the cracking of a +postilion's whip--the clatter of an approaching carriage. + +It proves to be a carriage with a pair of horses. + +Pierre, who has been basking idly under the window, jumps to his feet, +shouting, "It is Monsieur the Bishop!" Minima claps her hands, and +cries, "The prince, Aunt Nelly, the prince!" + +Monsieur Laurentie walks slowly down to the gate, his cotton umbrella +spread over him, like a giant fungus. It is certainly not the prince; +for an elderly, white-haired man, older than Monsieur Laurentie, but +with a more imposing and stately presence, steps out of the carriage, +and they salute one another with great ceremony. If that be Monsieur the +Bishop, he has very much the air of an Englishman. + +In a few minutes my doubt as to the bishop's nationality was solved. The +two white-headed men, the one in a glossy and handsome suit of black, +the other in his brown and worn-out cassock, came up the path together, +under the red umbrella. They entered the house, and came directly to the +_salon_. I was making my escape by another door, not being sure how I +ought to encounter a bishop, when Monsieur Laurentie called to me. + +"Behold a friend for you madame," he said, "a friend from +England.--Monsieur, this is my beloved English child." + +I turned back, and met the eyes of both, fixed upon me with that +peculiar half-tender, half-regretful expression, with which so many old +men look upon women as young as I. A smile came across my face, and I +held out my hand involuntarily to the stranger. + +"You do not know who I am, my dear!" he said. The English voice and +words went straight to my heart. How many months it was since I had +heard my own language spoken thus! Tardif had been too glad to speak in +his own _patois_, now I understood it so well; and Minima's prattle had +not sounded to me like those few syllables in the deep, cultivated voice +which uttered them. + +"No," I answered, "but you are come to me from Dr. Martin Dobrée." + +"Very true," he said, "I am his friend's father--Dr. John Senior's +father. Martin has sent me to you. He wished Miss Johanna Carey to +accompany me, but we were afraid of the fever for her. I am an old +physician, and feel at home with disease and contagion. But we cannot +allow you to remain in this unhealthy village; that is out of the +question. I am come to carry you away, in spite of this old curé." + +Monsieur Laurentie was listening eagerly, and watching Dr. Senior's +lips, as if he could catch the meaning of his words by sight, if not by +hearing. + +"But where am I to go?" I asked. "I have no money, and cannot get any +until I have written to Melbourne, and have an answer. I have no means +of proving who I am." + +"Leave all that to us, my dear girl," answered Dr. Senior, cordially. "I +have already spoken of your affairs to an old friend of mine, who is an +excellent lawyer. I am come to offer myself to you in place of your +guardians on the other side of the world. You will do me a very great +favor by frankly accepting a home in my house for the present. I have +neither wife nor daughter; but Miss Carey is already there, preparing +rooms for you and your little charge. We have made inquiries about the +little girl, and find she has no friends living. I will take care of her +future. Do you think you could trust yourself and her to me?" + +"Oh, yes!" I replied, but I moved a little nearer to Monsieur Laurentie, +and put my hand through his arm. He folded his own thin, brown hand over +it caressingly, and looked down at me, with something like tears +glistening in his eyes. + +"Is it all settled?" he asked, "is monsieur come to rob me of my English +daughter? She will go away now to her own island, and forget +Ville-en-bois and her poor old French father!" + +"Never! never!" I answered vehemently, "I shall not forget you as long +as I live. Besides, I mean to come back very often; every year if I can. +I almost wish I could stay here altogether; but you know that is +impossible, monsieur. Is it not quite impossible?" + +"Quite impossible!" he repeated, somewhat sadly, "madame is too rich +now; she will have many good friends." + +"Not one better than you," I said, "not one more dear than you. Yes, I +am rich; and I have been planning something to do for Ville-en-bois. +Would you like the church enlarged and beautified, Monsieur le Curé?" + +"It is large enough and fine enough already," he answered. + +"Shall I put some painted windows and marble images into it?" I asked. + +"No, no, madame," he replied, "let it remain as it is during my short +lifetime." + +"I thought so," I said, "but I believe I have discovered what Monsieur +le Curé would approve. It is truly English. There is no sentiment, no +romance about it. Cannot you guess what it is, my wise and learned +monsieur?" + +"No, no, madame," he answered, smiling in spite of his sadness. + +"Listen, dear monsieur," I continued: "if this village is unhealthy for +me, it is unhealthy for you and your people. Dr. Martin told Tardif +there would always be fever here, as long as there are no drains and no +pure water. Very well; now I am rich I shall have it drained, precisely +like the best English town; and there shall be a fountain in the middle +of the village, where all the people can go to draw good water. I shall +come back next year to see how it has been done, _Voilà_, monsieur! +There is my secret plan for Ville-en-bois." + +Nothing could have been more effectual for turning away Monsieur +Laurentie's thoughts from the mournful topic of our near separation. +After vespers, and before supper, he, Dr. Senior, and I made the tour of +Ville-en-bois, investigating the close, dark cottages, and discussing +plans for rendering them more wholesome. The next day, and the day +following, the same subject continued to occupy him and Dr. Senior; and +thus the pain of our departure was counterbalanced by his pleasure in +anticipating the advantages to be obtained by a thorough drainage of his +village, and more ventilation and light in the dwellings. + +The evening before we were to set out on our return to England, while +the whole population, including Dr. Senior, were assisting at vespers, I +turned my feet toward the little cemetery on the hill-side, which I had +never yet visited.--The sun had sunk below the tops of the +pollard-trees, which grew along the brow of the hill in grotesque and +fantastic shapes; but a few stray beams glimmered through the branches, +and fell here and there in spots of dancing light. The small square +enclosure was crowded with little hillocks, at the head of which stood +simple crosses of wood; crosses so light and little as to seem +significant emblems of the difference between our sorrows, and those +borne for our sakes upon Calvary. Wreaths of immortelles hung upon most +of them. Below me lay the valley and the homes where the dead at my feet +had lived; the sunshine lingered yet about the spire, with its cross, +which towered above the belfry; but all else was in shadow, which was +slowly deepening into night. In the west the sky was flushing and +throbbing with transparent tints of amber and purple and green, with +flecks of cloud floating across it of a pale gold. Eastward it was still +blue, but fading into a faint gray. The dusky green of the cypresses +looked black, as I turned my splendor-dazzled eyes toward them. + +I strolled to and fro among the grassy mounds, not consciously seeking +one of them; though, very deep down in my inmost spirit, there must have +been an impulse which unwittingly directed me. I did not stay my feet, +or turn away from the village burial-place, until I came upon a grave, +the latest made among them. It was solitary, unmarked; with no cross to +throw its shadow along it, as the sun was setting. I knew then that I +had come to seek it, to bid farewell to it, to leave it behind me for +evermore. + +The next morning Monsieur Laurentie accompanied us on our journey, as +far as the cross at the entrance to the valley. He parted with us there; +and when I stood up in the carriage to look back once more at him, I saw +his black-robed figure kneeling on the white steps of the Calvary, and +the sun shining upon his silvery head. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH. + +TOO HIGHLY CIVILIZED. + + +For the third time I landed in England. When I set foot upon its shores +first I was worse than friendless, with foes of my own household +surrounding me; the second time I was utterly alone, in daily terror, in +poverty, with a dreary, life-long future stretching before me. Now every +want of mine was anticipated, every step directed, as if I were a child +again, and my father himself was caring for me. How many friends, good +and tried and true, could I count! All the rough paths were made smooth +for me. + +It was dusk before we reached London; but before the train stopped at +the platform, a man's hand was laid upon the carriage-door, and a +handsome face was smiling over it upon us. I scarcely dared look who it +was; but the voice that reached my ears was not Martin Dobrée's. + +"I am here in Martin's place," said Dr. John Senior, as soon as he could +make himself heard; "he has been hindered by a wretch of a +patient.--Welcome home, Miss Martineau!" + +"She is not Miss Martineau, John," remarked Dr. Senior. There was a +tinge of stateliness about him, bordering upon formality, which had kept +me a little in awe of him all the journey through. His son laughed, with +a pleasant audacity. + +"Welcome home. Olivia, then!" he said, clasping my hand warmly. "Martin +and I never call you by any other name." + +A carriage was waiting for us, and Dr. John took Minima beside him, +chattering with her as the child loved to chatter. As for me, I felt a +little anxious and uneasy. Once more I was about to enter upon an +entirely new life; upon the untried ways of a wealthy, conventional, +punctilious English household. Hitherto my mode of life had been almost +as wandering and free as that of a gypsy. Even at home, during my +pleasant childhood, our customs had been those of an Australian +sheep-farm, exempt from all the usages of any thing like fashion. Dr. +John's kid gloves, which fitted his hand to perfection, made me +uncomfortable. + +I felt still more abashed and oppressed when we reached Dr. Senior's +house, and a footman ran down to the carriage, to open the door and to +carry in my poor little portmanteau. It looked miserably poor and out of +place in the large, brilliantly-lit hall. Minima kept close beside me, +silent, but gazing upon this new abode with wide-open eyes. + +Why was not Martin here? He had known me in Sark, in Tardif's cottage, +and he would understand how strange and how unlike home all this was to +me. + +A trim maid was summoned to show us to our rooms, and she eyed us with +silent criticism. She conducted us to a large and lofty apartment, +daintily and luxuriously fitted up, with a hundred knick-knacks about +it, of which I could not even guess the use. A smaller room communicated +with it which had been evidently furnished for Minima. The child +squeezed my hand tightly as we gazed into it. I felt as if we were +gypsies, suddenly caught, and caged in a splendid captivity. + +"Isn't it awful?" asked Minima, in a whisper; "it frightens me." + +It almost frightened me too. I was disconcerted also by my own +reflection in the long mirror before me. A rustic, homely peasant-girl, +with a brown face and rough hands, looked back at me from the shining +surface, wearing a half-Norman dress, for I had not had time to buy more +than a bonnet and shawl as we passed through Falaise. What would Miss +Carey think of me? How should I look in Dr. John's fastidious eyes? +Would not Martin be disappointed and shocked when he saw me again? + +I could not make any change in my costume, and the maid carried off +Minima to do what she could with her. There came a gentle knock at my +door, and Miss Carey entered. Here was the fitting personage to dwell in +a house like this. A delicate gray-silk dress, a dainty lace cap, a +perfect self-possession, a dignified presence. My heart sank low. But +she kissed me affectionately, and smiled as I looked anxiously into her +face. + +"My dear," she said, "I hope you will like your room. John and Martin +have ransacked London for pretty things for it. See, there is a +painting of Tardifs cottage in Sark. Julia has painted it for you. And +here is a portrait of my dear friend, Martin's mother; he hung it there +himself only this morning. I hope you will soon feel quite at home with +us, Olivia." + +Before I could answer, a gong sounded through the house, with a sudden +clang that startled me. + +We went down to the drawing-room, where Dr. Senior gave me his arm, and +led me ceremoniously to dinner. At this very hour my dear Monsieur +Laurentie and mademoiselle were taking their simple supper at the little +round table, white as wood could be made by scrubbing, but with no cloth +upon it. My chair and Minima's would be standing back against the wall. +The tears smarted under my eyelids, and I answered at random to the +remarks made to me. How I longed to be alone for a little while, until I +could realize all the change that had come into my life! + +We had been in the drawing-room again only a few minutes, when we heard +the hall-door opened, and a voice speaking. By common consent, as it +were, every one fell into silence to listen. I looked up for a moment, +and saw that all three of them had turned their eyes upon me; friendly +eyes they were, but their scrutiny was intolerable. Dr. Senior began to +talk busily with Miss Carey. + +"Hush!" cried Minima, who was standing beside Dr. John, "hush! I believe +it is--yes, I am sure it is Dr. Martin!" + +She sprang to the door just as it was opened, and flung her arms round +him in a transport of delight. I did not dare to lift my eyes again, to +see them all smiling at me. He could not come at once to speak to me, +while that child was clinging to him and kissing him. + +"I'm so glad," she said, almost sobbing; "come and see my auntie, who +was so ill when you were in Ville-en-bois. You did not see her, you +know; but she is quite well now, and very, very rich. We are never going +to be poor again. Come; she is here. Auntie, this is that nice Dr. +Martin, who made me promise not to tell you he was at Ville-en-bois, +while you were so ill." + +She dragged him eagerly toward me, and I put my hand in his; but I did +not look at him. That I did some minutes afterward, when he was talking +to Miss Carey. It was many months since I had seen him last in Sark. +There was a great change in his face, and he looked several years older. +It was grave, and almost mournful, as if he did not smile very often, +and his voice was lower in tone than it had been then. Dr. John, who was +standing beside him, was certainly much gayer and handsomer than he was. +He caught my eye, and came back to me, sitting near enough to talk with +me in an undertone. + +"Are you satisfied with the arrangements we have made for you?" he +inquired. + +"Quite," I said, not daring either to thank him, or to tell him how +oppressed I was by my sudden change. Both of us spoke as quietly, and +with as much outward calm, as if we were in the habit of seeing each +other every day. A chill came across me. + +"At one time," he continued, "I asked Johanna to open her home to you; +but that was when I thought you would be safer and happier in a quiet +place like hers than anywhere else. Now you are your own mistress, and +can choose your own residence. But you could not have a better home than +this. It would not be well for you, so young and friendless, to live in +a house of your own." + +"No," I said, somewhat sadly. + +"Dr. Senior is delighted to have you here," he went on; "you will see +very good society in this house, and that is what you should do. You +ought to see more and better people than you have yet known. Does it +seem strange to you that we have assumed a sort of authority over you +and your affairs? You do not yet know how we have been involved in +them." + +"How?" I asked, looking up into his face with a growing curiosity. + +"Olivia," he said, "Foster was my patient for some months, and I knew +all his affairs intimately. He had married that person--" + +"Married her!" I ejaculated. + +"Yes. You want to know how he could do that? Well, he produced two +papers, one a medical certificate of your death, the other a letter +purporting to be from some clergyman. He had, too, a few lines in your +own handwriting, which stated you had sent him your ring, the only +valuable thing left to you, as you had sufficient for your last +necessities. Even I believed for a few hours that you were dead. But I +must tell you all about it another time." + +"Did he believe it?" I asked, in a trembling voice. + +"I do not know," he answered; "I cannot tell, even now, whether he knew +them to be forgeries or not. But I have no doubt, myself, that they were +forged by Mrs. Foster's brother and his partner, Scott and Brown." + +"But for what reason?" I asked again. + +"What reason!" he repeated; "you were too rich a prize for them to allow +Foster to risk losing any part of his claim upon you, if he found you. +You and all you had were his property on certain defined conditions. You +do not understand our marriage laws; it is as well for you not to +understand them. Mrs. Foster gave up to me to-day all his papers, and +the letters and credentials from your trustees in Melbourne to your +bankers here. There will be very little trouble for you now. Thank God! +all your life lies clear and fair before you." + +I had still many questions to ask, but my lips trembled so much that I +could not speak readily. He was himself silent, probably because he also +had so much to say. All the others were sitting a little apart from us +at a chess-table, where Dr. Senior and Miss Carey were playing, while +Dr. John sat by holding Minima in his arm, though she was gazing +wistfully across to Martin and me. + +"You are tired, Olivia," said Martin, after a time, "tired and sad. Your +eyes are full of tears. I must be your doctor again for this evening, +and send you to bed at once. It is eleven o'clock already; but these +people will sit up till after midnight. You need not say good-night to +them.--Minima, come here." + +She did not wait for a second word, or a louder summons; but she slipped +under Dr. John's arm, and rushed across to us, being caught by Martin +before she could throw herself upon me. He sat still, talking to her for +a few minutes, and listening to her account of our journey, and how +frightened we were at the grandeur about us. His face lit up with a +smile as his eyes fell upon me, as if for the first time he noticed how +out of keeping I was with the place. Then he led us quietly away, and +up-stairs to my bedroom-door. + +"Good-night, Olivia," he said; "sleep soundly, both of you, for you are +at home. I will send one of the maids up to you." + +"No, no," I cried hastily, "they despise us already." + +"Ah!" he said, "to-night you are the Olivia I knew first, in Sark. In a +week's time I shall find you a fine lady." + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH. + +SEEING SOCIETY. + + +Whether or no I was transformed into a finer lady than Martin +anticipated, I could not tell, but certainly after that first evening he +held himself aloof from me. I soon learned to laugh at the dismay which +had filled me upon my entrance into my new sphere. It would have been +difficult to resist the cordiality with which I was adopted into the +household. Dr. Senior treated me as his daughter; Dr. John was as much +at home with me as if I had been his sister. We often rode together, for +I was always fond of riding as a child, and he was a thorough horseman. +He said Martin could ride better than himself; but Martin never asked me +to go out with him. + +Minima, too, became perfectly reconciled to her new position; though for +a time she was anxious lest we were spending our riches too lavishly. I +heard her one day soundly rating Dr. John, who seldom came to his +father's house without bringing some trinket, or bouquet, or toy, for +one or other of us. + +"You are wasting all your money," she said, with that anxious little +pucker of her eyebrows, which was gradually being smoothed away +altogether, "you're just like the boys after the holidays. They would +buy lots of things every time the cake-woman came--and she came every +day--till they'd spent all their money. You can't always have cakes, you +know, and then you'll miss them." + +"But I shall have cakes always." answered Dr. John. + +"Nobody has them always," she said, in an authoritative tone, "and you +won't like being poor. We were so poor we daren't buy as much as we +could eat; and our boots wore out at the toes. You like to have nice +boots, and gloves, and things, so you must learn to take care of your +money, and not waste it like this." + +"I'm not wasting my money, little woman," he replied, "when I buy pretty +things for you and Olivia." + +"Why doesn't Dr. Martin do it then?" she asked; "he never spends his +money in that sort of way. Why doesn't he give auntie as many things as +you do?" + +Martin had been listening to Minima's rebukes with a smile upon his +face; but now it clouded a little, and I knew he glanced across to me. I +appeared deeply absorbed in the book I held in my hand, and he did not +see that I was listening and watching attentively. + +"Minima," he said, in a low tone, as if he did not care that even she +should hear, "I gave her all I had worth giving when I saw her first." + +"That's just how it will be with you, Dr. John," exclaimed Minima, +triumphantly, "you'll give us every thing you have, and then you'll have +nothing left for yourself." + +But still, unless Martin had taken back what he gave to me so long ago, +his conduct was very mysterious to me. He did not come to Fulham half +as often as Dr. John did; and when he came he spent most of the time in +long, professional discussions with Dr. Senior. They told me he was +devoted to his profession, and it really seemed as if he had not time to +think of any thing else. + +Neither had I very much time for brooding over any subject, for guests +began to frequent the house, which became much gayer, Dr. Senior said, +now there was a young hostess in it. The quiet evenings of autumn and +winter were gone, and instead of them our engagements accumulated on our +hands, until I very rarely met Martin except at some entertainment, +where we were surrounded by strangers. Martin was certainly at a +disadvantage among a crowd of mere acquaintances, where Dr. John was +quite at home. He was not as handsome, and he did not possess the same +ease and animation. So he was a little apt to get into corners with Dr. +Senior's scientific friends, and to be somewhat awkward and dull if he +were forced into gayer society. Dr. John called him glum. + +But he was not glum; I resented that, till Dr. John begged my pardon. +Martin did not smile as quickly as Dr. John, he was not forever ready +with a simper, but when he did smile it had ten times more expression. I +liked to watch for it, for the light that came into his eyes now and +then, breaking through his gravity as the sun breaks through the clouds +on a dull day. + +Perhaps he thought I liked to be free. Yes, free from tyranny, but not +free from love. It is a poor thing to have no one's love encircling you, +a poor freedom that. A little clew came to my hand one day, the other +end of which might lead me to the secret of Martin's reserve and gloom. +He and Dr. Senior were talking together, as they paced to and fro about +the lawn, coming up the walk from the river-side to the house, and then +back again. I was seated just within the drawing-room window, which was +open. They knew I was there, but they did not guess how keen my hearing +was for any thing that Martin said. It was only a word or two here and +there that I caught. + +"If you were not in the way," said Dr. Senior, "John would have a good +chance, and there is no one in the world I would sooner welcome as a +daughter." + +"They are like one another," answered Martin; "have you never seen it?" + +What more they said I did not hear, but it seemed a little clearer to me +after that why Martin kept aloof from me, and left me to ride, and talk, +and laugh with his friend Jack. Why, they did not know that I was +happier silent beside Martin, than laughing most merrily with Dr. John. +So little did they understand me! + +Just before Lent, which was a busy season with him, Monsieur Laurentie +paid us his promised visit, and brought us news from Ville-en-bois. The +money that had been lying in the bank, which I could not touch, whatever +my necessities were, had accumulated to more than three thousand pounds, +and out of this sum were to come the funds for making Ville-en-bois the +best-drained parish in Normandy. Nothing could exceed Monsieur +Laurentie's happiness in choosing a design for a village fountain, and +in examining plans for a village hospital. For, in case any serious +illness should break out again among them, a simple little hospital was +to be built upon the brow of the hill, where the wind sweeps across +leagues of meadow-land and heather. + +"I am too happy, madame," said the curé; "my people will die no more of +fever, and we will teach them many English ways. When will you come +again, and see what you have done for us?" + +"I will come in the autumn," I answered. + +"And you will come alone?" he continued. + +"Yes, quite alone," I answered, "or with Minima only." + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH. + +BREAKING THE ICE. + + +Yet while I told Monsieur Laurentie seriously that I should go alone to +Ville-en-bois in the autumn, I did not altogether believe it. We often +speak in half-falsehoods, even to ourselves. + +Dr. Senior's lawn, in which he takes great pride, slopes gently down to +the river, and ends with a stone parapet, over which it is exceedingly +pleasant to lean, and watch idly the flowing of the water, which seems +to loiter almost reluctantly before passing on to Westminster, and the +wharves and docks of the city. On the opposite bank grows a cluster of +cedars, with rich, dark-green branches, showing nearly black against the +pale blue of the sky. In our own lawn there stand three fine elms, a +colony for song-birds, under which the turf is carefully kept as smooth +and soft as velvet; and seats are set beneath their shadow, where one +can linger for hours, seeing the steamers and pleasure-boats passing to +and fro, and catching now and then a burst of music or laughter, +softened a little by the distance. My childhood had trained me to be +fond of living out-of-doors; and, when the spring came, I spent most of +my days under these elm-trees, in the fitful sunshine and showers of an +English April and May, such as I had never known before. + +From one of these trees I could see very well any one who went in or out +through the gate. But it was not often that I cared to sit there, for +Martin came only in an evening, when his day's work was done, and even +then his coming was an uncertainty. Dr. John seldom missed visiting us, +but Martin was often absent for days. That made me watch all the more +eagerly for his coming, and feel how cruelly fast the time fled when he +was with us. + +But one Sunday afternoon in April I chose my seat there, behind the tree +where I could see the gate, without being too plainly seen myself. +Martin had promised Dr. Senior he would come down to Fulham with Dr. +John that afternoon, if possible. The river was quieter than on other +days, and all the world seemed calmer. It was such a day as the one in +Sark, two years ago, when I slipped from the cliffs, and Tardif was +obliged to go across to Guernsey to fetch a doctor for me. I wondered if +Martin ever thought of it on such a day as this. But men do not remember +little things like these as women do. + +I heard the click of the gate at last, and, looking round the great +trunk of the tree, I saw them come in together, Dr. John and Martin. He +had kept his promise then! Minima was gone out somewhere with Dr. +Senior, or she would have run to meet them, and so brought them to the +place where I was half-hidden. + +However, they might see my dress if they chose. They ought to see it. I +was not going to stand up and show myself. If they were anxious to find +me, and come to me, it was quite simple enough. + +But my heart sank when Martin marched straight on, and entered the house +alone, while Dr. John came as direct as an arrow toward me. They knew I +was there, then! Yet Martin avoided me, and left his friend to chatter +and laugh the time away. I was in no mood for laughing; I could rather +have wept bitter tears of vexation and disappointment. But Dr. John was +near enough now for me to discern a singular gravity upon his usually +gay face. + +"Is there any thing the matter?" I exclaimed, starting to my feet and +hastening to meet him. He led me back again silently to my seat, and sat +down beside me, still in silence. Strange conduct in Dr. John! + +"Tell me what is the matter," I said, not doubting now that there was +some trouble at hand. Dr. John's face flushed, and he threw his hat down +on the grass, and pushed his hair back from his forehead. Then he laid +his hand upon mine, for a moment only. + +"Olivia," he said, very seriously, "do you love me?" + +The question came upon me like a shock from a galvanic battery. He and I +had been very frank and friendly together; a pleasant friendship, which +had seemed to me as safe as that of a brother. Besides, he knew all that +Martin had done and borne for my sake. With my disappointment there was +mingled a feeling of indignation against his treachery toward his +friend. I sat watching the glistening of the water through the pillars +of the parapet till my eyes were dazzled. + +"I scarcely understand what you say," I answered, after a long pause; +"you know I care for you all. If you mean, do I love you as I love your +father and Monsieur Laurentie, why, yes, I do." + +"Very good, Olivia," he said. + +That was so odd of him, that I turned and looked steadily into his face. +It was not half as grave as before, and there was a twinkle in his eyes +as if another half minute would make him as gay and light-hearted as +ever. + +"Whatever did you come and ask me such a question for?" I inquired, +rather pettishly. + +"Was there any harm in it?" he rejoined. + +"Yes, there was harm in it," I answered; "it has made me very +uncomfortable. I thought you were going out of your mind. If you meant +nothing but to make me say I liked you, you should have expressed +yourself differently. Of course, I love you all, and all alike." + +"Very good," he said again. + +I felt so angry that I was about to get up, and go away to my own room; +but he caught my dress, and implored me to stay a little longer. + +"I'll make a clean breast of it," he said; "I promised that dear old +dolt Martin to come straight to you, and ask you if you loved me, in so +many words. Well, I've kept my promise; and now I'll go and tell him you +say you love us all, and all alike." + +"No," I answered, "you shall not go and tell him that. What could put it +into Dr. Martin's head that I was in love with you?" + +"Why shouldn't you be in love with me?" retorted Dr. John; "Martin +assures me that I am much handsomer than he is--a more eligible _parti_ +in every respect. I suppose I shall have an income, apart from our +practice, at least ten times larger than his. I am much more sought +after generally; one cannot help seeing that. Why should you not be in +love with me?" + +I did not deign to reply to him, and Jack leaned forward a little to +look into my face. + +"Olivia," he continued, "that is part of what Martin says. We have just +been speaking of you as we came down to Fulham--never before. He +maintains he is bound in honor to leave you as free as possible to make +your choice, not merely between us, but from the number of fellows who +have found their way down here, since you came. You made one fatal +mistake, he says, through your complete ignorance of the world; and it +is his duty to take care that you do not make a second mistake, through +any gratitude you might feel toward him. He would not be satisfied with +gratitude. Besides, he has discovered that he is not so great a prize as +he fancied, as long as he lived in Guernsey; and you are a richer prize +than you seemed to be then. With your fortune you ought to make a much +better match than with a young physician, who has to push his way among +a host of competitors. Lastly, Martin said, for I'm merely repeating his +own arguments to you: 'Do you think I can put her happiness and mine +into a balance, and coolly calculate which has the greater weight? If I +had to choose for her, I should not hesitate between you and me.' Now I +have told you the sum of our conversation, Olivia." + +Every word Dr. John had spoken had thrown clearer light upon Martin's +conduct. He had been afraid I should feel myself bound to him; and the +very fact that he had once told me he loved me, had made it more +difficult to him to say so a second time. He would not have any love +from me as a duty. If I did not love him fully, with my whole heart, +choosing him after knowing others with whom I could compare him, he +would not receive any lesser gift from me. + +"What will you do, my dear Olivia?" asked Dr. John. + +"What can I do?" I said. + +"Go to him," he urged; "he is alone. I saw him a moment ago, looking out +at us from the drawing-room window. The old fellow is making up his mind +to see you and me happy together, and to conceal his own sorrow. God +bless him! Olivia, my dear girl, go to him." + +"O Jack!" I cried, "I cannot." + +"I don't see why you cannot," he answered, gayly. "You are trembling, +and your face goes from white to red, and then white again; but you have +not lost the use of your limbs, or your tongue. If you take my arm, it +will not be very difficult to cross the lawn. Come; he is the best +fellow living, and worth walking a dozen yards for." + +Jack drew my hand through his arm, and led me across the smooth lawn. We +caught a glimpse of Martin looking out at us; but he turned away in an +instant, and I could not see the expression of his face. Would he think +we were coming to tell him that he had wasted all his love upon a girl +not worthy of a tenth part of it? + +The glass doors, which opened upon the lawn, had been thrown back all +day, and we could see distinctly into the room. Martin was standing at +the other end of it, apparently absorbed in examining a painting, which +he must have seen a thousand times. The doors creaked a little as I +passed through them, but he did not turn round. Jack gave my hand a +parting squeeze, and left me there in the open doorway, scarcely knowing +whether to go on, and speak to Martin, or run away to my room, and leave +him to take his own time. + +I believe I should have run away, but I heard Minima's voice behind me, +calling shrilly to Dr. John, and I could not bear to face him again. +Taking my courage in both hands, I stepped quickly across the floor, for +if I had hesitated longer my heart would have failed me. Scarcely a +moment had passed since Jack left me, and Martin had not turned his +head, yet it seemed an age. + +"Martin," I whispered, as I stood close behind him, "how could you be so +foolish as to send Dr. John to me?" + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH. + +PALMY DAYS. + + +We were married as soon as the season was over, when Martin's +fashionable patients were all going away from town. Ours was a very +quiet wedding, for I had no friends on my side, and Martin's cousin +Julia could not come, for she had a baby not a month old, and Captain +Carey could not leave them. Johanna Carey and Minima were my +bridesmaids, and Jack was Martin's groomsman. + +On our way home from Switzerland, in the early autumn, we went down from +Paris to Falaise, and through Noireau to Ville-en-bois. From Falaise +every part of the road was full of associations to me. This was the +long, weary journey which Minima and I had taken, alone, in a dark +November night; and here were the narrow and dirty streets of Noireau, +which we had so often trodden, cold, and hungry, and friendless. Martin +said little about it, but I knew by his face, and by the tender care he +lavished upon me, that his mind was as full of it as mine was. + +There was no reason for us to stay even a day in Noireau, and we hurried +through it on our way to Ville-en-bois. This road was still more +memorable to me, for we had traversed it on foot. + +"See, Martin!" I cried, "there is the trunk of the tree still, where +Minima and I sat down to rest. I am glad the tree is there yet. If we +were not in a hurry, you and I would sit there now; it is so lonely and +still, and scarcely a creature passes this way. It is delicious to be +lonely sometimes. How foot-sore and famished we were, walking along this +rough part of the road! Martin, I almost wish our little Minima were +with us. There is the common! If you will look steadily, you can just +see the top of the cross, against the black line of fir-trees, on the +far side." + +I was getting so excited that I could speak no longer; but Martin held +my hand in his, and I clasped it more and more tightly as we drew nearer +to the cross, where Minima and I had sat down at the foot, forlorn and +lost, in the dark shadows of the coming night. Was it possible that I +was the same Olivia? + +But as we came in sight of the little grove of cypresses and yews, we +could discern a crowd of women, in their snow-white caps, and of men and +boys, in blue blouses. The hollow beat of a drum reached our ears afar +off, and after it the shrill notes of a violin and fife playing a merry +tune. Monsieur Laurentie appeared in the foreground of the multitude, +bareheaded, long before we reached the spot. + +"O Martin!" I said, "let us get out, and send the carriage back, and +walk up with them to the village." + +"And my wife's luggage?" he answered, "and all the toys and presents she +has brought from Paris?" + +It was true that the carriage was inconveniently full of parcels, for I +do not think that I had forgotten one of Monsieur Laurentie's people. +But it would not be possible to ride among them, while they were +walking. + +"Every man will carry something," I said. "Martin, I must get out." + +It was Monsieur Laurentie who opened the carriage-door for me; but the +people did not give him time for a ceremonious salutation. They thronged +about us with _vivats_ as hearty as an English hurrah. + +"All the world is here to meet us, monsieur," I said. + +"Madame, I have also the honor of presenting to you two strangers from +England," answered Monsieur Laurentie, while the people fell back to +make way for them. Jack and Minima! both wild with delight. We learned +afterward, as we marched up the valley to Ville-en-bois, that Dr. Senior +had taken Jack's place in Brook Street, and insisted upon him and Minima +giving us this surprise. Our procession, headed by the drum, the fife, +and the violin, passed through the village street, from every window of +which a little flag fluttered gayly, and stopped before the presbytery, +where Monsieur Laurentie dismissed it, after a last _vivat_. + +The next stage of our homeward journey was made in Monsieur Laurentie's +_char à bancs_, from Ville-en-bois to Granville--Jack and Minima had +returned direct to England, but we were to visit Guernsey on the way. +Captain Carey and Julia made it a point that we should go to see them, +and their baby, before settling down in our London home. Martin was +welcomed with almost as much enthusiasm in St. Peter-Port as I had been +in little Ville-en-bois. + +From our room in Captain Carey's house I could look at Sark lying along +the sea, with a belt of foam encircling it. At times, early in the +morning, or when the sunset light fell upon it, I could distinguish the +old windmill, and the church breaking the level line of the summit; and +I could even see the brow of the knoll behind Tardifs cottage. But day +after day the sea between us was rough, and the westerly breeze blew +across the Atlantic, driving the waves before it. There was no steamer +going across, and Captain Carey's yacht could not brave the winds. I +began to be afraid that Martin and I would not visit the place, which of +all others in this half of the world was dearest to me. + +"To-morrow," said Martin one night, after scanning the sunset, the sky, +and the storm-glass, "if you can be up at five o'clock, we will cross to +Sark." + +I was up at four, in the first gray dawn of a September morning. We had +the yacht to ourselves, for Captain Carey declined running the risk of +being weather-bound on the island--a risk which we were willing to +chance. The Havre Gosselin was still in morning shadow when we ran into +it; but the water between us and Guernsey was sparkling and dancing in +the early light, as we slowly climbed the rough path of the cliff. My +eyes were dazzled with the sunshine, and dim with tears, when I first +caught sight of the little cottage of Tardif, who was stretching out his +nets, on the stone causeway under the windows. Martin called to him, and +he flung down his nets and ran to meet us. + +"We are come to spend the day with you, Tardif," I cried, when he was +within hearing of my voice. + +"It will be a day from heaven," he said, taking off his fisherman's cap, +and looking round at the blue sky with its scattered clouds, and the sea +with its scattered islets. + +It was like a day from heaven. We wandered about the cliffs, visiting +every spot which was most memorable to either of us, and Tardif rowed us +in his boat past the entrance of the Gouliot Caves. He was very quiet, +but he listened to our free talk together, for I could not think of good +old Tardif as any stranger; and he seemed to watch us both, with a +far-off, faithful, quiet look upon his face. Sometimes I fancied he did +not bear what we were saying, and again his eyes would brighten with a +sudden gleam, as if his whole soul and heart shone through them upon us. +It was the last day of our holiday, for in the morning we were about to +return to London, and to work; but it was such a perfect day as I had +never known before. + +"You are quite happy, Mrs. Martin Dobrée?" said Tardif to me, when we +were parting from him. + +"I did not know I could ever be so happy," I answered. + +"We saw him to the last moment standing on the cliff, and waving his hat +to us high above his head. Now and then there came a shout across the +water. Before we were quite beyond ear-shot, we heard Tardif's voice +calling amid the splashing of the waves: + +"God be with you, my friends. Adieu, mam'zelle!" + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH. + +A POSTSCRIPT BY MARTIN DOBRÉE. + + +You may describe to a second person, with the most minute and exact +fidelity in your power, the leading and critical events in your life, +and you will find that some trifle of his own experience is ten times +more vivid to his mind. You narrate to your friend, whom you have not +met for many years, the incident that has turned the whole current of +your existence; and after a minute or two of musing, he asks you, "Do +you remember the day we two went bird-nesting on Gull's Cliff?" That day +of boyish daring and of narrow escapes is more real to him than your +deepest troubles or keenest joys. The brain receives but slightly +second-hand impressions. + +I had told Olivia faithfully all my dilemmas with regard to Julia and +the Careys; and she had seemed to listen with intense interest. +Certainly it was during those four bewildering and enchanted months +immediately preceding our marriage, and no doubt the narrative was +interwoven with many a topic of quite a different character. However +that might be, I was surprised to find that Olivia was not half as +nervous and anxious as I felt, when we were nearing Guernsey on our +visit to Julia and Captain Carey. Julia had seen her but once, and that +for a few minutes only in Sark. On her account she had suffered the +severest mortification a woman can undergo. How would she receive my +wife? + +Olivia did not know, though I did, that Julia was somewhat frigid and +distant in her manner, even while thoroughly hospitable in her welcome. +Olivia felt the hospitality; I felt the frigidity. Julia called her +"Mrs. Dobrée." It was the first time she had been addressed by that +name; and her blush and smile were exquisite to me, but they did not +thaw Julia in the least. I began to fear that there would be between +them that strange, uncomfortable, east-wind coolness, which so often +exists between the two women a man most loves. + +It was the baby that did it. Nothing on earth could be more charming, or +more winning, than Olivia's delight over that child. It was the first +baby she had ever had in her arms, she told us; and to see her sitting +in the low rocking-chair, with her head bent over it, and to watch her +dainty way of handling it, was quite a picture. Captain Carey had an +artist's eye, and was in raptures; Julia had a mother's eye, and was so +won by Olivia's admiration of her baby, that the thin crust of ice +melted from her like the arctic snows before a Greenland summer. + +I was not in the least surprised when, two days or so before we left +Guernsey, Julia spoke to us with some solemnity of tone and expression. + +"My dear, Olivia," she said, "and you, Martin, Arnold and I would +consider it a token of your friendship for us both, if you two would +stand as sponsors for our child." + +"With the greatest pleasure, Julia," I replied; and Olivia crossed the +hearth to kiss her, and sat down on the sofa at her side. + +"We have decided upon calling her Olivia," continued Julia, stroking my +wife's hand with a caressing touch--"Olivia Carey! That sounds extremely +well, and is quite new in the island. I think it sounds even better than +Olivia Dobrée." + +As we all agreed that no name could sound better, or be newer in +Guernsey, that question was immediately settled. There was no time for +delay, and the next morning we carried the child to church to be +christened. As we were returning homeward, Julia, whose face had worn +its softest expression, pressed my arm with a clasp which made me look +down upon her questioningly. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her +mouth quivered. Olivia and Captain Carey were walking on in front, at a +more rapid pace than ours, so that we were in fact alone. + +"What is the matter?" I asked, hastily. + +"O Martin!" she exclaimed, "we are both so happy, after all! I wish my +poor, darling aunt could only have foreseen this! but, don't you think, +as we are both so happy, we might just go and see my poor uncle? Kate +Daltrey is away in Jersey, I know that for certain, and he is alone. It +would give him so much pleasure. Surely you can forgive him now." + +"By all means let us go," I answered. I had not heard even his name +mentioned before, by any one of my old friends in Guernsey. But, as +Julia said, I was so happy, that I was ready to forgive and forget all +ancient grievances. Olivia and Captain Carey were already out of sight; +and we turned into a street leading to Vauvert Road. + +"They live in lodgings now," remarked Julia, as we went slowly up the +steep street, "and nobody visits them; not one of my uncle's old +friends. They have plenty to live upon, but it is all her money. I do +not mean to let them got upon visiting terms with me--at least, not Kate +Daltrey. You know the house, Martin?" + +I knew nearly every house in St. Peter-Port, but this I remembered +particularly as being the one where Mrs. Foster had lodged when she was +in Guernsey. Upon inquiring for Dr. Dobrée, we were ushered at once, +without warning, into his presence. + +Even I should scarcely have recognized him. His figure was sunken and +bent, and his clothes, which were shabby, sat in wrinkles upon him. His +crisp white hair had grown thin and limp, and hung untidily about his +face. He had not shaved for a week. His waistcoat was sprinkled over +with snuff, in which he had indulged but sparingly in former years. +There was not a trace of his old jauntiness and display. This was a +rusty, dejected old man, with the crow's-feet very plainly marked upon +his features. + +"Father!" I said. + +"Uncle!" cried Julia, running to him, and giving him a kiss, which she +had not meant to do, I am sure, when we entered the house. + +He shed a few tears at the sight of us, in a maudlin manner; and he +continued languid and sluggish all through the interview. It struck me +more forcibly than any other change could have done, that he never once +appeared to pluck up any spirit, or attempted to recall a spark of his +ancient sprightliness. He spoke more to Julia than to me. + +"My love," he said, "I believed I knew a good deal about women, but I've +lived to find out my mistake. You and your beloved aunt were angels. +This one never lets me have a penny of my own: and she locks up my best +suit when she goes from home. That is to prevent me going among my own +friends. She is in Jersey now; but she would not hear a word of me going +with her, not one word. The Bible says: 'Jealousy is cruel as the grave; +the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.' +Kate is jealous of me. I get nothing but black looks and cold shoulders. +There never lived a cat and dog that did not lead a more comfortable +life than Kate leads me." + +"You shall come and see Arnold and me sometimes, uncle," said Julia. + +"She won't let me," he replied, with fresh tears; "she won't let me +mention your name, or go past your house. I should very much like to see +Martin's wife--a very pretty creature they say she is--but I dare not. O +Julia! how little a man knows what is before him!" + +We did not prolong our visit, for it was no pleasure to any one of us. +Dr. Dobrée himself seemed relieved when we spoke of going away. He and I +shook hands with one another gravely; it was the first time we had done +so since he had announced his intention of marrying Kate Daltrey. + +"My son," he said, "if ever you should find yourself a widower, be very +careful how you select your second wife." + +These were his parting words--words which chafed me sorely as a young +husband in his honeymoon. I looked round when we were out of the house, +and caught a glimpse of his withered face, and ragged white hair, as he +peeped from behind the curtain at us. Julia and I walked on in silence +till we reached her threshold. + +"Yet I am not sorry we went, Martin," she observed, in a tone as if she +thus summed up a discussion with herself. Nor was I sorry. + +A few days after our return to London, as I was going home to dinner, I +met, about half-war along Brook Street, Mrs. Foster. For the first time +since my marriage I was glad to be alone; I would not have had Olivia +with me on any account. But the woman was coming away from our house, +and a sudden fear flashed across me. Could she have been annoying my +Olivia? + +"Have you been to see me?" I asked her, abruptly. + +"Why should I come to see you?" she retorted. + +"Nor my wife?" I said. + +"Why shouldn't I go to see Mrs. Dobrée?" she asked again. + +I felt that it was necessary to secure Olivia, and to gain this end I +must be firm. But the poor creature looked miserable and unhappy, and I +could not be harsh toward her. + +"Come, Mrs. Foster," I said, "let us talk reasonably together. You know +as as well as I do you have no claim upon my wife; and I cannot have her +disturbed and distressed by seeing you; I wish her to forget all the +past. Did I not fulfil my promise to Foster? Did I not do all I could +for him?" + +"Yes," she answered, sobbing, "I know you did all you could to save my +husband's life." + +"Without fee?" I said. + +"Certainly. We were too poor to pay you." + +"Give me my fee now, then," I replied. "Promise me to leave Olivia +alone. Keep away from this street, and do not thrust yourself upon her +at any time. If you meet by accident, that will be no fault of yours. I +can trust you to keep your promise." + +She stood silent and irresolute for a minute. Then she clasped my hand, +with a strong grip for a woman's fingers. + +"I promise," she said, "for you were very good to him." + +She had taken a step or two into the dusk of the evening, when I ran +after her for one more word. + +"Mrs. Foster," I said, "are you in want?" + +"I can always keep myself," she answered, proudly; "I earned his living +and my own, for months together. Good-by, Martin Dobrée." + +"Good-by," I said. She turned quickly from me round a corner near to us; +and have not seen her again from that day to this. + +Dr. Senior would not consent to part with Minima, even to Olivia. She +promises fair to take the reins of the household at a very early age, +and to hold them with a tight hand. Already Jack is under her authority, +and yields to it with a very droll submission. She is so old for her +years, and he is so young for his, that--who can tell? Olivia predicts +that Jack Senior will always be a bachelor. + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Doctor's Dilemma, by Hesba Stretton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA *** + +***** This file should be named 14454-8.txt or 14454-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/4/5/14454/ + +Produced by Steven Gibbs and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Doctor's Dilemma + +Author: Hesba Stretton + +Release Date: December 24, 2004 [EBook #14454] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA *** + + + + +Produced by Steven Gibbs and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA</h1> + +<h3><i>A NOVEL</i></h3> + +<h2>BY HESBA STRETTON</h2> + + +<span style='margin-left: 2.5em;'>NEW YORK:</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2.5em;'>D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2.5em;'>549 & 551 BROADWAY.</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2.5em;'>1872.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> + +<center> +<IMG src="images/frontispiece.jpg" alt="She shook her clinched hand in my face" +title="She shook her clinched hand in my face" width=419 height=546> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<a href='#PART_THE_FIRST'><b>PART THE FIRST.</b></a><br /><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_THE_FIRST'><b>CHAPTER THE FIRST.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_THE_SECOND'><b>CHAPTER THE SECOND.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_THE_THIRD'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRD.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_THE_FOURTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FOURTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_THE_FIFTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FIFTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_THE_SIXTH'><b>CHAPTER THE SIXTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_THE_SEVENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_THE_EIGHTH'><b>CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.</b></a><br /><br /><br /> + <a href='#PART_THE_SECOND'><b>PART THE SECOND.</b></a><br /><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FIRST'><b>CHAPTER THE FIRST.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_SECOND'><b>CHAPTER THE SECOND.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_THIRD'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRD.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FOURTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FOURTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FIFTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FIFTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_SIXTH'><b>CHAPTER THE SIXTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_SEVENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_EIGHTH'><b>CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_NINTH'><b>CHAPTER THE NINTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_TENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_ELEVENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_TWELFTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FOURTEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FIFTEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_SIXTEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_SEVENTEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_EIGHTEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_NINETEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTIETH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_FIRST'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_SECOND'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_THIRD'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_FOURTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_FIFTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_SIXTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_SEVENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_EIGHTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_NINTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTIETH'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_FIRST'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_SECOND'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_THIRD'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_FOURTH'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_FIFTH'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_SIXTH'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SIXTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_SEVENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SEVENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_EIGHTH'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_NINTH'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-NINTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FORTIETH'><b>CHAPTER THE FORTIETH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_FIRST'><b>CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIRST.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_SECOND'><b>CHAPTER THE FORTY-SECOND.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_THIRD'><b>CHAPTER THE FORTY-THIRD.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_FOURTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FORTY-FOURTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_FIFTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIFTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_SIXTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FORTY-SIXTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_SEVENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FORTY-SEVENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_EIGHTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FORTY-EIGHTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_NINTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FORTY-NINTH.</b></a><br /><br /><br /> + <a href='#PART_THE_THIRD'><b>PART THE THIRD.</b></a><br /><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_FIRST'><b>CHAPTER THE FIRST.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_SECOND'><b>CHAPTER THE SECOND.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_THIRD'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRD.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_FOURTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FOURTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_FIFTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FIFTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_SIXTH'><b>CHAPTER THE SIXTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_SEVENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_EIGHTH'><b>CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_NINTH'><b>CHAPTER THE NINTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_ELEVENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_TWELFTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_THIRTEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_FOURTEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_FIFTEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_SIXTEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_SEVENTEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_EIGHTEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_NINETEENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTIETH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_FIRST'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_SECOND'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_THIRD'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_FOURTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_FIFTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_SIXTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_SEVENTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_EIGHTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_NINTH'><b>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH.</b></a><br /> + +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='PART_THE_FIRST'></a><h2>PART THE FIRST.</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='CHAPTER_THE_FIRST'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FIRST.</h2> + +<p>AN OPEN DOOR.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I think I was as nearly mad as I could be; nearer madness, I believe, +than I shall ever be again, thank God! Three weeks of it had driven me +to the very verge of desperation. I cannot say here what had brought me +to this pass, for I do not know into whose hands these pages may fall; +but I had made up my mind to persist in a certain line of conduct which +I firmly believed to be right, while those who had authority over me, +and were stronger than I was, were resolutely bent upon making me submit +to their will. The conflict had been going on, more or less violently, +for months; now I had come very near the end of it. I felt that I must +either yield or go mad. There was no chance of my dying; I was too +strong for that. There was no other alternative than subjection or +insanity.</p> + +<p>It had been raining all the day long, in a ceaseless, driving torrent, +which had kept the streets clear of passengers. I could see nothing but +wet flag-stones, with little pools of water lodging in every hollow, in +which the rain-drops splashed heavily whenever the storm grew more in +earnest. Now and then a tradesman's cart, or a cab, with their drivers +wrapped in mackintoshes, dashed past; and I watched them till they were +out of my sight. It had been the dreariest of days. My eyes had followed +the course of solitary drops rolling down the window-panes, until my +head ached. Toward nightfall I could distinguish a low, wailing tone, +moaning through the air; a quiet prelude to a coming change in the +weather, which was foretold also by little rents in the thick mantle of +cloud, which had shrouded the sky all day. The storm of rain was about +to be succeeded by a storm of wind. Any change would be acceptable to +me.</p> + +<p>There was nothing within my room less dreary than without. I was in +London, but in what part of London I did not know. The house was one of +those desirable family residences, advertised in the <i>Times</i> as to be +let furnished, and promising all the comforts and refinements of a home. +It was situated in a highly-respectable, though not altogether +fashionable quarter; as I judged by the gloomy, monotonous rows of +buildings which I could see from my windows: none of which were shops, +but all private dwellings. The people who passed up and down the streets +on line days were all of one stamp, well-to-do persons, who could afford +to wear good and handsome clothes; but who were infinitely less +interesting than the dear, picturesque beggars of Italian towns, or the +sprightly, well-dressed peasantry of French cities. The rooms on the +third floor—my rooms, which I had not been allowed to leave since we +entered the house, three weeks before—were very badly furnished, +indeed, with comfortless, high horse-hair-seated chairs, and a sofa of +the same uncomfortable material, cold and slippery, on which it was +impossible to rest. The carpet was nearly threadbare, and the curtains +of dark-red moreen were very dingy; the mirror over the chimney-piece +seemed to have been made purposely to distort my features, and produce +in me a feeling of depression. My bedroom, which communicated with this +agreeable sitting-room by folding-doors, was still smaller and gloomier; +and opened upon a dismal back-yard, where a dog in a kennel howled +dejectedly from time to time, and rattled his chain, as if to remind me +that I was a prisoner like himself. I had no books, no work, no music. +It was a dreary place to pass a dreary time in; and my only resource was +to pace to and fro—to and fro from one end to another of those wretched +rooms.</p> + +<p>I watched the day grow dusk, and then dark. The rifts in the driving +clouds were growing larger, and the edges were torn. I left off roaming +up and down my room, like some entrapped creature, and sank down on the +floor by the window, looking out for the pale, sad blue of the sky which +gleamed now and then through the clouds, till the night had quite set +in. I did not cry, for I am not given to overmuch weeping, and my heart +was too sore to be healed by tears; neither did I tremble, for I held +out my hand and arm to make sure they were steady; but still I felt as +if I were sinking down—down into an awful, profound despondency, from +which I should never rally; it was all over with me. I had nothing +before me but to give up, and own myself overmatched and conquered. I +have a half-remembrance that as I crouched there in the darkness I +sobbed once, and cried under my breath, "God help me!"</p> + +<p>A very slight sound grated on my ear, and a fresh thrill of strong, +resentful feeling quivered all through me; it was the hateful click of +the key turning in the lock. It gave me force enough to carry out my +defiance a little longer. Before the door could be opened I sprang to my +feet, and stood erect, and outwardly very calm, gazing through the +window, with my face turned away from the persons who were coming in; I +was so placed that I could see them reflected in the mirror over the +fireplace. A servant came first, carrying in a tray, upon which were a +lamp and my tea—such a meal as might be prepared for a school-girl in +disgrace.</p> + +<p>She came up to me, as if to draw down the blinds and close the shutters.</p> + +<p>"Leave them," I said; "I will do it myself by-and-by."</p> + +<p>"He's not coming home to-night," said a woman's voice behind me, in a +scoffing tone.</p> + +<p>I could see her too without turning round. A handsome woman, with bold +black eyes, and a rouged face, which showed coarsely in the ugly +looking-glass. She was extravagantly dressed, and wore a profusion of +ornaments—tawdry ones, mostly, but one or two I recognized as my own. +She was not many years older than myself. I took no notice whatever of +her, or her words, or her presence; but continued to gaze out steadily +at the lamp-lit streets and stormy sky. Her voice grew hoarse with +passion, and I knew well how her face would burn and flush under the +rouge.</p> + +<p>"It will be no better for you when he is at home," she said, fiercely. +"He hates you; he swears so a hundred times a day, and he is determined +to break your proud spirit for you. We shall force you to knock under +sooner or later; and I warn you it will be best for you to be sooner +rather than later. What friends have you got anywhere to take your side? +If you'd made friends with me, my fine lady, you'd have found it good +for yourself; but you've chosen to make me your enemy, and I'll make him +your enemy. You know, as well as I do, he can't hear the sight of your +long, puling face."</p> + +<p>Still I did not answer by word or sign. I set my teeth together, and +gave no indication that I had heard one of her taunting speeches. My +silence only served to fan her fury.</p> + +<p>"Upon my soul, madam," she almost shrieked, "you are enough to drive me +to murder! I could beat you, standing there so dumb, as if I was not +worthy to speak a word to. Ay! and I would, but for him. So, then, three +weeks of this hasn't broken you down yet! but you are only making it the +worse for yourself; we shall try other means to-morrow."</p> + +<p>She had no idea how nearly my spirit was broken, for I gave her no +reply. She came up to where I stood, and shook her clinched hand in my +face—a large, well-shaped hand, with bejewelled fingers, that could +have given me a heavy blow. Her face was dark with passion; yet she was +maintaining some control over herself, though with great difficulty. She +had never struck me yet, but I trembled and shrank from her, and was +thankful when she flung herself out of the room, pulling the door +violently after her, and locking it noisily, as if the harsh, jarring +sounds would be more terrifying than the tones of her own voice.</p> + +<p>Left to myself I turned round to the light, catching a fresh glimpse of +my face in the mirror—a pale and sadder and more forlorn face than +before. I almost hated myself in that glass. But I was hungry, for I was +young, and my health and appetite were very good; and I sat down to my +plain fare, and ate it heartily. I felt stronger and in better spirits +by the time I had finished the meal; I resolved to brave it out a little +longer. The house was very quiet; for at present there was no one in it +except the woman and the servant who had been up to my room. The servant +was a poor London drudge, who was left in charge by the owners of the +house, and who had been forbidden to speak to me. After a while I heard +her heavy, shambling footsteps coming slowly up the staircase, and +passing my door on her way to the attics above; they sounded louder than +usual, and I turned my head round involuntarily. A thin, fine streak of +light, no thicker than a thread, shone for an instant in the dark corner +of the wall close by the door-post, but it died away almost before I saw +it. My heart stood still for a moment, and then beat like a hammer. I +stole very softly to the door, and discovered that the bolt had slipped +beyond the hoop of the lock; probably in the sharp bang with which it +had been closed. The door was open for me!</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='CHAPTER_THE_SECOND'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SECOND.</h2> + +<p>TO SOUTHAMPTON.</p> +<br /> + +<p>There was not a moment to be lost. When the servant came downstairs +again from her room in the attics, she would be sure to call for the +tea-tray, in order to save herself another journey; how long she would +be up-stairs was quite uncertain. If she was gone to "clean" herself, as +she called it, the process might be a very long one, and a good hour +might be at my disposal; but I could not count upon that. In the +drawing-room below sat my jailer and enemy, who might take a whim into +her head, and come up to see her prisoner at any instant. It was +necessary to be very quick, very decisive, and very silent.</p> + +<p>I had been on the alert for such a chance ever since my imprisonment +began. My seal-skin hat and jacket lay ready to my hand in a drawer; but +I could find no gloves; I could not wait for gloves. Already there were +ominous sounds overhead, as if the servant had dispatched her brief +business there, and was about to come down. I had not time to put on +thicker boots; and it was perhaps essential to the success of my flight +to steal down the stairs in the soft, velvet slippers I was wearing. I +stepped as lightly as I could—lightly but very swiftly, for the servant +was at the top of the upper flight, while I had two to descend. I crept +past the drawing-room door. The heavy house-door opened with a grating +of the hinges; but I stood outside it, in the shelter of the portico; +free, but with the rain and wind of a stormy night in October beating +against me, and with no light save the glimmer of the feeble +street-lamps flickering across the wet pavement.</p> + +<p>I knew very well that my escape was almost hopeless, for the success of +it depended very much upon which road of the three lying before me I +should happen to take. I had no idea of the direction of any one of +them, for I had never been out of the house since the night I was +brought to it. The strong, quick running of the servant, and the +passionate fury of the woman, would overtake me if we were to have a +long race; and if they overtook me they would force me back. I had no +right to seek freedom in this wild way, yet it was the only way. Even +while I hesitated in the portico of the house that ought to have been my +home, I heard the shrill scream of the girl within when she found my +door open, and my room empty. If I did not decide instantaneously, and +decide aright, it would have been better for me never to have tried this +chance of escape.</p> + +<p>But I did not linger another moment. I could almost believe an angel +took me by the hand, and led me. I darted straight across the muddy +road, getting my thin slippers wet through at once, ran for a few yards, +and then turned sharply round a corner into a street at the end of which +I saw the cheery light of shop-windows, all in a glow in spite of the +rain. On I fled breathlessly, unhindered by any passer-by, for the rain +was still falling, though more lightly. As I drew nearer to the +shop-windows, an omnibus-driver, seeing me run toward him, pulled up his +horses in expectation of a passenger. The conductor shouted some name +which I did not hear, but I sprang in, caring very little where it might +carry me, so that I could get quickly enough and far enough out of the +reach of my pursuers. There had been no time to lose, and none was lost. +The omnibus drove on again quickly, and no trace was left of me.</p> + +<p>I sat quite still in the farthest corner of the omnibus, hardly able to +recover my breath after my rapid running. I was a little frightened at +the notice the two or three other passengers appeared to take of me, and +I did my best to seem calm and collected. My ungloved hands gave me some +trouble, and I hid them as well as I could in the folds of my dress; for +there was something remarkable about the want of gloves in any one as +well dressed as I was. But nobody spoke to me, and one after another +they left the omnibus, and fresh persons took their places, who did not +know where I had got in. I did not stir, for I determined to go as far +as I could in this conveyance. But all the while I was wondering what I +should do with myself, and where I could go, when it readied its +destination.</p> + +<p>There was one trifling difficulty immediately ahead of me. When the +omnibus stopped I should have no small change for paying my fare. There +was an Australian sovereign fastened to my watch-chain which I could +take off, but it would be difficult to detach it while we were jolting +on. Besides, I dreaded to attract attention to myself. Yet what else +could I do?</p> + +<p>Before I had settled this question, which occupied me so fully that I +forgot other and more serious difficulties, the omnibus drove into a +station-yard, and every passenger, inside and out, prepared to alight. I +lingered till the last, and sat still till I had unfastened my +gold-piece. The wind drove across the open space in a strong gust as I +stepped down upon the pavement. A man had just descended from the roof, +and was paying the conductor: a tall, burly man, wearing a thick +water-proof coat, and a seaman's hat of oil-skin, with a long flap lying +over the back of his neck. His face was brown and weather-beaten, but he +had kindly-looking eyes, which glanced at me as I stood waiting to pay +my fare.</p> + +<p>"Going down to Southampton?" said the conductor to him.</p> + +<p>"Ay, and beyond Southampton," he answered.</p> + +<p>"You'll have a rough night of it," said the conductor.—"Sixpence, if +you please, miss."</p> + +<p>I offered him my Australian sovereign, which he turned over curiously, +asking me if I had no smaller change. He grumbled when I answered no, +and the stranger, who had not passed on, but was listening to what was +said, turned pleasantly to me.</p> + +<p>"You have no change, mam'zelle?" he asked, speaking rather slowly, as if +English was not his ordinary speech. "Very well! are you going to +Southampton?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, by the next train," I answered, deciding upon that course without +hesitation.</p> + +<p>"So am I, mam'zelle," he said, raising his hand to his oil-skin cap; "I +will pay this sixpence, and you can give it me again, when you buy your +ticket in the office."</p> + +<p>I smiled quickly, gladly; and he smiled back upon me, but gravely, as if +his face was not used to a smile. I passed on into the station, where a +train was standing, and people hurrying about the platform, choosing +their carriages. At the ticket-office they changed my Australian +gold-piece without a word; and I sought out my seaman friend to return +the sixpence he had paid to me. He had done me a greater kindness than +he could ever know, and I thanked him heartily. His honest, deep-set, +blue eyes glistened under their shaggy eyebrows as they looked down upon +me.</p> + +<p>"Can I do nothing more for you, mam'zelle?" he asked. "Shall I see after +your luggage?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! that will be all right, thank you," I replied, "but is this the +train for Southampton, and how soon will it start?"</p> + +<p>I was watching anxiously the stream of people going to and fro, lest I +should see some person who knew me. Yet who was there in London who +could know me?</p> + +<p>"It will be off in five minutes," answered the seaman. "Shall I look out +a carriage for you?"</p> + +<p>He was somewhat careful in making his selection; finally he put me into +a compartment where there were only two ladies, and he stood in front of +the door, but with his back turned toward it, until the train was about +to start. Then he touched his hat again with a gesture of farewell, and +ran away to a second-class carriage.</p> + +<p>I sighed with satisfaction as the train rushed swiftly through the +dimly-lighted suburbs of London, and entered upon the open country. A +wan, watery line of light lay under the brooding clouds in the west, +tinged with a lurid hue; and all the great field of sky stretching above +the level landscape was overcast with storm-wrack, fleeing swiftly +before the wind. At times the train seemed to shake with the Wast, when +it was passing oyer any embankment more than ordinarily exposed; but it +sped across the country almost as rapidly as the clouds across the sky. +No one in the carriage spoke. Then came over me that weird feeling +familiar to all travellers, that one has been doomed to travel thus +through many years, and has not half accomplished the time. I felt as if +I had been fleeing from my home, and those who should have been my +friends, for a long and weary while; yet it was scarcely an hour since I +had made my escape.</p> + +<p>In about two hours or more—but exactly what time I did not know, for my +watch had stopped—my fellow-passengers, who had scarcely condescended +to glance at me, alighted at a large, half-deserted station, where only +a few lamps were burning. Through the window I could see that very few +other persons were leaving the train, and I concluded we had not yet +reached the terminus. A porter came up to me as I leaned my head through +the window.</p> + +<p>"Going on, miss?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" I answered, shrinking back into my corner-seat. He remained +upon the step, with his arm over the window-frame, while the train moved +on at a slackened pace for a few minutes, and then pulled up, but at no +station. Before me lay a dim, dark, indistinct scene, with little specks +of light twinkling here and there in the night, but whether on sea or +shore I could not tell. Immediately opposite the train stood the black +hulls and masts and funnels of two steamers, with a glimmer of lanterns +on their decks, and up and down their shrouds. The porter opened the +door for me.</p> + +<p>"You've only to go on board, miss," he said, "your luggage will be seen +to all right." And he hurried away to open the doors of the other +carriages.</p> + +<p>I stood still, utterly bewildered, for a minute or two, with the wind +tossing my hair about, and the rain beating in sharp, stinging drops +like hailstones upon my face and hands. It must have been close upon +midnight, and there was no light but the dim, glow-worm glimmer of the +lanterns on deck. Every one was hurrying past me. I began almost to +repent of the desperate step I had taken; but I had learned already that +there is no possibility of retracing one's steps. At the gangways of the +two vessels there were men shouting hoarsely. "This way for the Channel +Islands!" "This way for Havre and Paris!" To which boat should I trust +myself and my fate? There was nothing to guide me. Yet once more that +night the moment had come when I was compelled to make a prompt, +decisive, urgent choice. It was almost a question of life and death to +me: a leap in the dark that must be taken. My great terror was lest my +place of refuge should be discovered, and I be forced back again. Where +was I to go? To Paris, or to the Channel Islands?</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='CHAPTER_THE_THIRD'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRD.</h2> + +<p>A ROUGH NIGHT AT SEA.</p> +<br /> + +<p>A mere accident decided it. Near the fore-part of the train I saw the +broad, tall figure of my new friend, the seaman, making his way across +to the boat for the Channel Islands; and almost involuntarily I made up +my mind to go on board the same steamer, for I had an instinctive +feeling that he would prove a real friend, if I had need of one. He did +not see me following; no doubt he supposed I had left the train at +Southampton, having only taken my ticket so far; though how I had missed +Southampton I could not tell. The deck was wet and slippery, and the +confusion upon it was very great. I was too much at home upon a steamer +to need any directions; and I went down immediately into the ladies' +cabin, which was almost empty, and chose a berth for myself in the +darkest corner. It was not far from the door, and presently two other +ladies came down, with a gentleman and the captain, and held an anxious +parley close to me. I listened absently and mechanically, as indifferent +to the subject as if it could be of no consequence to me.</p> + +<p>"Is there any danger?" asked one of the ladies.</p> + +<p>"Well, I cannot say positively there will be no danger," answered the +captain; "there's not danger enough to keep me and the crew in port; but +it will be a very dirty night in the Channel. If there's no actual +necessity for crossing to-night I should advise you to wait, and see how +it will be to-morrow. Of course we shall use extra caution, and all that +sort of thing. No; I cannot say I expect any great danger."</p> + +<p>"But it will be awfully rough?" said the gentleman.</p> + +<p>The captain answered only by a sound between a groan and a whistle, as +if he could not trust himself to think of words that would describe the +roughness. There could be no doubt of his meaning. The ladies hastily +determined to drive back to their hotel, and gathered up their small +packages and wrappings quickly. I fancied they were regarding me +somewhat curiously, but I kept my face away from them carefully. They +could only see my seal-skin jacket and hat, and my rough hair; and they +did not speak to me.</p> + +<p>"You are going to venture, miss?" said the captain, stepping into the +cabin as the ladies retreated up the steps.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," I answered. "I am obliged to go, and I am not in the least +afraid."</p> + +<p>"You needn't be," he replied, in a hearty voice. "We shall do our best, +for our own sakes, and you would be our first care if there was any +mishap. Women and children first always. I will send the stewardess to +you; she goes, of course."</p> + +<p>I sat down on one of the couches, listening for a few minutes to the +noises about me. The masts were groaning, and the planks creaking under +the heavy tramp of the sailors, as they got ready to start, with shrill +cries to one another. Then the steam-engine began to throb like a pulse +through all the vessel from stem to stern. Presently the stewardess came +down, and recommended me to lie down in my berth at once, which I did +very obediently, but silently, for I did not wish to enter into +conversation with the woman, who seemed inclined to be talkative. She +covered me up well with several blankets, and there I lay with my face +turned from the light of the swinging lamp, and scarcely moved hand or +foot throughout the dismal and stormy night.</p> + +<p>For it was very stormy and dismal as soon as we were out of Southampton +waters, and in the rush and swirl of the Channel. I did not fall asleep +for an instant. I do not suppose I should have slept had the Channel +been, as it is sometimes, smooth as a mill-pond, and there had been no +clamorous hissing and booming of waves against the frail planks, which I +could touch with my hand. I could see nothing of the storm, but I could +hear it: and the boat seemed tossed, like a mere cockle-shell, to and +fro upon the rough sea. It did not alarm me so much as it distracted my +thoughts, and kept them from dwelling upon possibilities far more +perilous to me than the danger of death by shipwreck. A short suffering +such a death would be.</p> + +<p>My escape and flight had been so unexpected, so unhoped for, that it had +bewildered me, and it was almost a pleasure to lie still and listen to +the din and uproar of the sea and the swoop of the wind rushing down +upon it. Was I myself or no? Was this nothing more than a very coherent, +very vivid dream, from which I should awake by-and-by to find myself a +prisoner still, a creature as wretched and friendless as any that the +streets of London contained? My flight had been too extraordinary a +success, so far, for my mind to be able to dwell upon it calmly.</p> + +<p>I watched the dawn break through a little port-hole opening upon my +berth, which had been washed and beaten by the water all the night long. +The level light shone across the troubled and leaden-colored surface of +the sea, which seemed to grow a little quieter under its touch. I had +fancied during the night that the waves were running mountains high; but +now I could see them, they only rolled to and fro in round, swelling +hillocks, dull green against the eastern sky, with deep, sullen troughs +of a livid purple between them. But the fury of the storm had spent +itself, that was evident, and the steamer was making way steadily now.</p> + +<p>The stewardess had gone away early in the night, being frightened to +death, she said, to seek more genial companionship than mine. So I was +alone, with the blending light of the early dawn and that of the lamp +burning feebly from the ceiling. I sat up in my berth and cautiously +unstitched the lining in the breast of my jacket. Here, months ago, when +I first began to foresee this emergency, and while I was still allowed +the use of my money, I had concealed one by one a few five-pound notes +of the Bank of England. I counted them over, eight of them; forty pounds +in all, my sole fortune, my only means of living. True, I had besides +these a diamond ring, presented to me under circumstances which made it +of no value to me, except for its worth in money, and a watch and chain +given to me years ago by my father. A jeweller had told me that the ring +was worth sixty pounds, and the watch and chain forty; but how difficult +and dangerous it would be for me to sell either of them! Practically my +means were limited to the eight bank-notes of five pounds each. I kept +out one for the payment of my passage, and then replaced the rest, and +carefully pinned them into the unstitched lining.</p> + +<p>Then I began to wonder what my destination was. I knew nothing whatever +of the Channel Islands, except the names which I had learned at +school—Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, and Sark. I repeated these over and +over again to myself; but which of them we were bound for, or if we were +about to call at each one of them, I did not know. I should have been +more at home had I gone to Paris.</p> + +<p>As the light grew I became restless, and at last I left my berth and +ventured to climb the cabin-steps. The fresh air smote upon me almost +painfully. There was no rain falling, and the wind had been lulling +since the dawn. The sea itself was growing brighter, and glittered here +and there in spots where the sunlight fell upon it. All the sailors +looked beaten and worn out with the night's toil, and the few passengers +who had braved the passage, and were now well enough to come on deck, +were weary and sallow-looking. There was still no land in sight, for the +clouds hung low on the horizon, and overhead the sky was often overcast +and gloomy. It was so cold that, in spite of my warm mantle, I shivered +from head to foot.</p> + +<p>But I could not bear to go back to the close, ill-smelling cabin, which +had been shut up all night. I stayed on deck in the biting wind, leaning +over the wet bulwarks and gazing across the desolate sea till my spirits +sank like lead. The reaction upon the violent strain on my nerves was +coming, and I had no power to resist its influence. I could feel the +tears rolling down my cheeks and falling on my hands without caring to +wipe them away; the more so as there was no one to see them. What did my +tears signify to any one? I was cold, and hungry, and miserable. How +lonely I was! how poor! with neither a home nor a friend in the +world!—a mere castaway upon the waves of this troublous life!</p> + +<p>"Mam'zelle is a brave sailor," said a voice behind me, which I +recognized as my seaman of the night before, whom I had wellnigh +forgotten; "but the storm is over now, and we shall be in port only an +hour or two behind time."</p> + +<p>"What port shall we reach?" I asked, not caring to turn round lest he +should see my wet eyes and cheeks.</p> + +<p>"St. Peter-Port," he answered. "Mam'zelle, then, does not know our +islands?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said. "Where is St. Peter-Port?"</p> + +<p>"In Guernsey," he replied. "Is mam'zelle going to Guernsey or Jersey? +Jersey is about two hours' sail from Guernsey. If you were going to land +at St. Peter-Port, I might be of some service to you."</p> + +<p>I turned round then, and looked at him steadily. His voice was a very +pleasant one, full of tones that went straight to my heart and filled me +with confidence. His face did not give the lie to it, or cause me any +disappointment. He was no gentleman, that was plain; his face was +bronzed and weather-beaten, as if he often encountered rough weather. +But his deep-set eyes had a steadfast, quiet power in them, and his +mouth, although it was almost hidden by hair, had a pleasant curve about +it. I could not guess how old he was; he looked a middle-aged man to me. +His great, rough hands, which had never worn gloves, were stained and +hard with labor; and he had evidently been taking a share in the toil of +the night, for his close-fitting, woven blue jacket was wet through, and +his hair was damp and rough with the wind and rain. He raised his cap as +my eyes looked straight into his, and a faint smile flitted across his +grave face.</p> + +<p>"I want," I said, suddenly, "to find a place where I can live very +cheaply. I have not much money, and I must make it last a long time. I +do not mind how quiet the place, or how poor; the quieter the better for +me. Can you tell me of such a place?"</p> + +<p>"You would want a place fit for a lady?" he said, in a half-questioning +tone, and with a glance at my silk dress.</p> + +<p>"No," I answered, eagerly. "I mean such a cottage as you would live in. +I would do all my own work, for I am very poor, and I do not know yet +how I can get my living. I must be very careful of my money till I find +out what I can do. What sort of a place do you and your wife live in?"</p> + +<p>His face was clouded a little, I thought; and he did not answer me till +after a short silence.</p> + +<p>"My poor little wife is dead," he answered, "and I do not live in +Guernsey or Jersey. We live in Sark, my mother and I. I am a fisherman, +but I have also a little farm, for with us the land goes from the father +to the eldest son, and I was the eldest. It is true we have one room to +spare, which might do for mam'zelle; but the island is far away, and +very <i>triste</i>. Jersey is gay, and so is Guernsey, but in the winter Sark +is too mournful."</p> + +<p>"It will be just the place I want," I said, eagerly; "it would suit me +exactly. Can you let me go there at once? Will you take me with you?"</p> + +<p>"Mam'zelle," he replied, smiling, "the room must be made ready for you, +and I must speak to my mother. Besides, Sark is six miles from Guernsey, +and to-day the passage would be too rough for you. If God sends us fair +weather I will come back to St. Peter-Port for you in three days. My +name is Tardif. You can ask the people in Peter-Port what sort of a man +Tardif of the Havre Gosselin is."</p> + +<p>"I do not want any one to tell me what sort of a man you are," I said, +holding out my hand, red and cold with the keen air. He took it into his +large, rough palm, looking down upon me with an air of friendly +protection.</p> + +<p>"What is your name, mam'zelle?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Oh! my name is Olivia," I said; then I stopped abruptly, for there +flashed across me the necessity for concealing it. Tardif did not seem +to notice my embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"There are some Olliviers in St. Peter-Port," he said. "Is mam'zelle of +the same family? But no, that is not probable."</p> + +<p>"I have no relations," I answered, "not even in England. I have very few +friends, and they are all far away in Australia. I was born there, and +lived there till I was seventeen."'</p> + +<p>The tears sprang to my eyes again, and my new friend saw them, but said +nothing. He moved off at once to the far end of the dock, to help one of +the crew in some heavy piece of work. He did not come hack until the +rain began to return—a fine, drizzling rain, which came in scuds across +the sea.</p> + +<p>"Mam'zelle," he said, "you ought to go below; and I will tell you when +we are in sight of Guernsey."</p> + +<p>I went below, inexpressibly more satisfied and comforted. What it was in +this man that won my complete, unquestioning confidence, I did not know; +but his very presence, and the sight of his good, trustworthy face, gave +me a sense of security such as I have never felt before or since. Surely +God had sent him to me in my great extremity.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='CHAPTER_THE_FOURTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FOURTH.</h2> + +<p>A SAFE HAVEN.</p> +<br /> + +<p>We were two hours after time at St. Peter-Port; and then all was hurry +and confusion, for goods and passengers had to be landed and embarked +for Jersey. Tardif, who was afraid of losing the cutter which would +convey him to Sark, had only time to give me the address of a person +with whom I could lodge until he came to fetch me to his island, and +then he hastened away to a distant part of the quay. I was not sorry +that he should miss finding out that I had no luggage of any kind with +me.</p> + +<p>I was busy enough during the next three days, for I had every thing to +buy. The widow with whom I was lodging came to the conclusion that I had +lost all my luggage, and I did not try to remove the false impression. +Through her assistance I was able to procure all I required, without +exciting more notice and curiosity. My purchases, though they were as +simple and cheap as I could make them, drew largely upon my small store +of money, and as I saw it dwindling away, while I grudged every shilling +I was obliged to part with, my spirits sank lower and lower. I had never +known the dread of being short of money, and the new experience was, +perhaps, the more terrible to me. There was no chance of disposing of +the costly dress in which I had journeyed, without arousing too much +attention and running too great a risk. I stayed in-doors as much as +possible, and, as the weather continued cold and gloomy, I did not meet +many persons when I ventured out into the narrow, foreign-looking +streets of the town.</p> + +<p>But on the third day, when I looked out from my window, I saw that the +sky had cleared, and the sun was shining joyously. It was one of those +lovely days which come as a lull sometimes in the midst of the +equinoctial gales, as if they were weary of the havoc they had made, and +were resting with folded wings. For the first time I saw the little +island of Sark lying against the eastern sky. The whole length of it was +visible, from north to south, with the waves beating against its +headlands, and a fringe of silvery foam girdling it. The sky was of a +pale blue, as though the rains had washed it as well as the earth, and a +few filmy clouds were still lingering about it. The sea beneath was a +deeper blue, with streaks almost like a hoar frost upon it, with here +and there tints of green, like that of the sky at sunset. A boat with +three white sails, which were reflected in the water, was tacking about +to enter the harbor, and a second, with amber sails, was a little way +behind, but following quickly in its wake. I watched them for a long +time. Was either of them Tardif's boat?</p> + +<p>That question was answered in about two hours' time by Tardif's +appearance at the house. He lifted my little box on to his broad +shoulders, and marched away with it, trying vainly to reduce his long +strides into steps that would suit me, as I walked beside him. I felt +overjoyed that he was come. So long as I was in Guernsey, when every +morning I could see the arrival of the packet that had brought me, I +could not shake off the fear that it was bringing some one in pursuit of +me; but in Sark that would be all different. Besides, I felt +instinctively that this man would protect me, and take my part to the +very utmost, should any circumstances arise that compelled me to appeal +to him and trust him with my secret. I knew nothing of him, but his face +was stamped with God's seal of trustworthiness, if ever a human face +was.</p> + +<p>A second man was in the boat when we reached it, and it looked well +laden. Tardif made a comfortable seat for me amid the packages, and then +the sails were unfurled, and we were off quickly out of the harbor and +on the open sea.</p> + +<p>A low, westerly wind was blowing, and fell upon the sails with a strong +and equal pressure. We rode before it rapidly, skimming over the low, +crested waves almost without a motion. Never before had I felt so +perfectly secure upon the water. Now I could breathe freely, with the +sense of assured safety growing stronger every moment as the coast of +Guernsey receded on the horizon, and the rocky little island grew +nearer. As we approached it no landing-place was to be seen, no beach or +strand. An iron-bound coast of sharp and rugged crags confronted us, +which it seemed impossible to scale. At last we cast anchor at the foot +of a great cliff, rising sheer out of the sea, where a ladder hung down +the face of the rock for a few feet. A wilder or lonelier place I had +never seen. Nobody could pursue and surprise me here.</p> + +<p>The boatman who was with us climbed up the ladder, and, kneeling down, +stretched out his hand to help me, while Tardif stood waiting to hold me +steadily on the damp and slippery rungs. For a moment I hesitated, and +looked round at the crags, and the tossing, restless sea.</p> + +<p>"I could carry you through the water, mam'zelle," said Tardif, pointing +to a hand's breadth of shingle lying between the rocks, "but you will +get wet. It will be better for you to mount up here."</p> + +<p>I fastened both of my hands tightly round one of the upper rungs, before +lifting my feet from the unsteady prow of the boat. But the ladder once +climbed, the rest of the ascent was easy. I walked on up a zigzag path, +cut in the face of the cliff, until I gained the summit, and sat down to +wait for Tardif and his comrade. I could not have fled to a securer +hiding-place. So long as my money held out, I might live as peacefully +and safely as any fugitive had ever lived.</p> + +<p>For a little while I sat looking out at the wild and beautiful scene +before me, which no words can tell and no fancy picture to those who +have never seen it. The white foam of the waves was so near, that I +could see the rainbow colors playing through the bubbles as the sun +shone on them. Below the clear water lay a girdle of sunken rocks, +pointed as needles, and with edges as sharp as swords, about which the +waves fretted ceaselessly, drawing silvery lines about their notched and +dented ridges. The cliffs ran up precipitously from the sea, carved +grotesquely over their whole surface into strange and fantastic shapes; +while the golden and gray lichens embroidered them richly, and bright +sea-flowers, and stray tufts of grass, lent them the most vivid and +gorgeous hues. Beyond the channel, against the clear western sky, lay +the island of Guernsey, rising like a purple mountain out of the opal +sea, which lay like a lake between us, sparkling and changing every +minute under the light of the afternoon sun.</p> + +<p>But there was scarcely time for the exquisite beauty of this scene to +sink deeply into my heart just then. Before long I heard the tramp of +Tardif and his comrade following me; their heavy tread sent down the +loose stones on the path plunging into the sea. They were both laden +with part of the boat's cargo. They stopped to rest for a minute or two +at the spot where I had sat down, and the other boatman began talking +earnestly to Tardif in his <i>patois</i>, of which I did not understand a +word. Tardif's face was very grave and sad, indescribably so; and, +before he turned to me and spoke, I knew it was some sorrowful +catastrophe he had to tell.</p> + +<p>"You see how smooth it is, mam'zelle," he said—"how clear and +beautiful—down below us, where the waves are at play like little white +children? I love them, but they are cruel and treacherous. While I was +away there was an accident down yonder, just beyond these rocks. Our +doctor, and two gentlemen, and a sailor went out from our little bay +below, and shortly after there came on a thick darkness, with heavy +rain, and they were all lost, every one of them! Poor Renouf! he was a +good friend of mine. And our doctor, too! If I had been here, maybe I +might have persuaded them not to brave it."</p> + +<p>It was a sad story to hear, yet just then I did not pay much attention +to it. I was too much engrossed in my own difficulties and trouble. So +far as my experience goes, I believe the heart is more open to other +people's sorrows when it is free from burdens of its own. I was glad +when Tardif took up his load again and turned his back upon the sea.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='CHAPTER_THE_FIFTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FIFTH.</h2> + +<p>WILL IT DO?</p> +<br /> + +<p>Tardif walked on before me to a low, thatched cottage, standing at the +back of a small farm-yard. There was no other dwelling in sight, and +even the sea was not visible from it. It was sheltered by the steep +slope of a hill rising behind it, and looked upon another slope covered +with gorse-bushes; a very deep and narrow ravine ran down from it to the +hand-breadth of shingle which I had seen from the boat. A more solitary +place I could not have imagined; no sign of human life, or its +neighborhood, betrayed itself; overhead was a vast dome of sky, with a +few white-winged sea-gulls flitting across it, and uttering their low, +wailing cry. The roof of sky and the two round outlines of the little +hills, and the deep, dark ravine, the end of which was unseen, formed +the whole of the view before me.</p> + +<p>I felt chilled a little as I followed Tardif down into the dell. He +glanced back, with grave, searching eyes, scanning my face carefully. I +tried to smile, with a very faint, wan smile, I suppose, for the +lightness had fled from my spirits, and my heart was heavy enough, God +knows.</p> + +<p>"Will it not do, mam'zelle?" he asked, anxiously, and with his slow, +solemn utterance; "it is not a place that will do for a young lady like +you, is it? I should have counselled you to go on to Jersey, where there +is more life and gayety; it is my home, but for you it will be nothing +but a dull prison."</p> + +<p>"No, no!" I answered, as the recollection of the prison I had fled from +flashed across me; "it is a very pretty place and very safe; by-and-by I +shall like it as much as you do, Tardif."</p> + +<p>The house was a low, picturesque building, with thick walls of stone and +a thatched roof, which had two little dormer-windows in it; but at the +most sheltered end, farthest from the ravine that led down to the sea, +there had been built a small, square room of brick-work. As we entered +the fold-yard, Tardif pointed this room out to me as mine.</p> + +<p>"I built it," he said, softly, "for my poor little wife; I brought the +bricks over from Guernsey in my own boat, and laid nearly every one of +them with my own hands; she died in it, mam'zelle. Please God, you will +be both happy and safe there!"</p> + +<p>We stepped directly from the stone causeway of the yard into the +farm-house kitchen—the only sitting-room in the house except my own. It +was exquisitely clean, with that spotless and scrupulous cleanliness +which appears impossible in houses where there are carpets and curtains, +and papered walls. An old woman, very little and bent, and dressed in an +odd and ugly costume, met us at the door, dropping a courtesy to me, and +looking at me with dim, watery eyes. I was about to speak to her, when +Tardif bent down his head, and put his mouth to her ear, shouting to her +with a loud voice, but in their peculiar jargon, of which I could not +make out a single word.</p> + +<p>"My poor mother is deaf," he said to me, "very deaf; neither can she +speak English. Most of the young people in Sark can talk in English a +little, but she is old and too deaf to learn. She has only once been +off the island."</p> + +<p>I looked at her, wondering for a moment what she could have to think of, +but, with an intelligible gesture of welcome, she beckoned me into my +own room. The aspect of it was somewhat dreary; the walls were of bare +plaster, but dazzlingly white, with one little black <i>silhouette</i> of a +woman's head hanging in a common black frame over the low, open hearth, +on which a fire of seaweed was smouldering, with a quantity of gray +ashes round the small centre of smoking embers. There was a little round +table, uncovered, but as white as snow, and two chairs, one of them an +arm-chair, and furnished with cushions. A four-post bedstead, with +curtains of blue and white check, occupied the larger portion of the +floor.</p> + +<p>It was not a luxurious apartment; and for an instant I could hardly +realize the fact that it was to be my home for an indefinite period. +Some efforts had evidently been made to give it a look of welcome, +homely as it was. A pretty china tea cup and saucer, with a plate or two +to match, were set out on the deal table, and the cushioned arm-chair +had been drawn forward to the hearth. I sat down in it, and buried my +face in my hands, thinking, till Tardif knocked at the door, and carried +in my trunk.</p> + +<p>"Will it do, mam'zelle?" he asked, "will it do?"</p> + +<p>"It will do very nicely, Tardif," I answered; "but how ever am I to talk +to your mother if she does not know English?"</p> + +<p>"Mam'zelle," he said, as he uncorded my trunk, "you must order me as you +would a servant. Through the winter I shall always be at hand; and you +will soon be used to us and our ways, and we shall be used to you and +your ways. I will do my best for you, mam'zelle; trust me, I will study +to do my best, and make you very happy here. I will be ready to take you +away whenever you desire to go. Look upon me as your hired servant."</p> + +<p>He waited upon me all the evening, but with a quick attention to my +wants, which I had never met with in any hired servant. It was not +unfamiliar to me, for in my own country I had often been served only by +men; and especially during my girlhood, when I had lived far away in the +country, upon my father's sheep-walk. I knew it was Tardif who fried the +fish which came in with my tea; and, when the night closed in, it was he +who trimmed the oil-lamp and brought it in, and drew the check curtains +across the low casement, as if there were prying eyes to see me on the +opposite bank. Then a deep, deep stillness crept over the solitary +place—a stillness strangely deeper than that even of the daytime. The +wail of the sea-gulls died away, and the few busy cries of the farm-yard +ceased; the only sound that broke the silence was a muffled, hollow boom +which came up the ravine from the sea.</p> + +<p>Before nine o'clock Tardif and his mother had gone up-stairs to their +rooms in the thatch; and I lay wearied but sleepless in my bed, +listening to these dull, faint, ceaseless murmurs, as a child listens to +the sound of the sea in a shell. Was it possible that it was I, myself, +the Olivia who had been so loved and cherished in her girlhood, and so +hated and tortured in later years, who was come to live under a +fisherman's roof, in an island, the name of which I barely knew four +days ago?</p> + +<p>I fell asleep at last, yet I awoke early; but not so early that the +other inmates of the cottage were not up, and about their day's work. It +was my wish to wait upon myself, and so diminish the cost of living with +these secluded people; but I found it was not to be so; Tardif waited +upon me assiduously, as well as his deaf mother. The old woman would not +suffer me to do any work in my own room, but put me quietly upon one +side when I began to make my bed. Fortunately I had plenty of sewing to +employ myself in; for I had taken care not to waste my money by buying +ready-made clothes. The equinoctial gales came on again fiercely the day +after I had reached Sark; and I stitched away from morning till night, +trying to fix my thoughts upon my mechanical work.</p> + +<p>When the first week was over, Tardif's mother came to me at a time when +her son was away out-of-doors, with a purse in her fingers, and by very +plain signs made me understand that it was time I paid the first +instalment of my debt to her for board and lodgings. I was anxious about +my money. No agreement had been made between us as to what I was to pay. +I laid a sovereign down upon the table, and the old woman looked at it +carefully, and with a pleased expression; but she put it in her purse, +and walked away with it, giving me no change. Not that I altogether +expected any change; they provided me with every thing I needed, and +waited upon me with very careful service; yet now I could calculate +exactly how long I should be safe in this refuge, and the calculation +gave me great uneasiness. In a few months I should find myself still in +need of refuge, but without the means of paying for it. What would +become of me then?</p> + +<p>Very slowly the winter wore on. How shall I describe the peaceful +monotony, the dull, lonely safety of those dark days and long nights? I +had been violently tossed from a life of extreme trouble and peril into +a profound, unbroken, sleepy security. At first the sudden change +stupefied me; but after a while there came over me an uneasy +restlessness, a longing to get away from the silence and solitude, even +if it were into insecurity and danger. I began to wonder how the world +beyond the little island was going on. No news reached us from without. +Sometimes for weeks together it was impossible for an open boat to cross +over to Guernsey; even when a cutter accomplished its voyage out and in, +no letters could arrive for me. The season was so far advanced when I +went to Sark, that those visitors who had been spending a portion of the +summer there had already taken their departure, leaving the islanders to +themselves. They were sufficient for themselves; they and their own +affairs formed the world. Tardif would bring home almost daily little +scraps of news about the other families scattered about Sark; but of the +greater affairs of life in other countries he could tell me nothing.</p> + +<p>Yet why should I call these greater affairs? Each to himself is the +centre of the world. It was a more important thing to me that I was +safe, than that the freedom of England itself should be secure.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='CHAPTER_THE_SIXTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SIXTH.</h2> + +<p>TOO MUCH ALONE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Yet looking back upon that time, now it is past, and has "rounded itself +into that perfect star I saw not when I dwelt therein," it would be +untrue to represent myself as in any way unhappy. At times I wished +earnestly that I had been born among these people, and could live +forever among them.</p> + +<p>By degrees I discovered that Tardif led a somewhat solitary life +himself, even in this solitary island, with its scanty population. There +was an ugly church standing in as central and prominent a situation as +possible, but Tardif and his mother did not frequent it. They belonged +to a little knot of dissenters, who met for worship in a small room, +when Tardif generally took the lead. For this reason a sort of coldness +existed between him and the larger portion of his fellow-islanders. But +there was a second and more important cause for a slight estrangement. +He had married an Englishwoman many years ago, much to the astonishment +and disappointment of his neighbors; and since her death he had held +himself aloof from all the good women who would have been glad enough to +undertake the task of consoling him for her loss. Tardif, therefore, was +left very much to himself in his isolated cottage, and his mother's +deafness caused her also to be no very great favorite with any of the +gossips of the island. It was so difficult to make her understand any +thing that could not be expressed by signs, that no one except her son +attempted to tell her the small topics of the day.</p> + +<p>All this told upon me, and my standing among them. At first I met a few +curious glances as I roamed about the island; but my dress was as poor +and plain as any of theirs, and I suppose there was nothing in my +appearance, setting aside my dress, which could attract them. I learned +afterward that Tardif had told those who asked him that my name was +Ollivier, and they jumped to the conclusion that I belonged to a family +of that name in Guernsey; this shielded me from the curiosity that might +otherwise have been troublesome and dangerous. I was nobody but a poor +young woman from Guernsey, who was lodging in the spare room of Tardif's +cottage.</p> + +<p>I set myself to grow used to their mode of life, and if possible to +become so useful to them that, when my money was all spent, they might +be willing to keep me with them; for I shrank from the thought of the +time when I must be thrust out of this nest, lonely and silent as it +was. As the long, dismal nights of winter set in, with the wind sweeping +across the island for several days together with a dreary, monotonous +moan which never ceased, I generally sat by their fire, for I had nobody +but Tardif to talk to; and now and then there arose an urgent need +within me to listen to some friendly voice, and to hear my own speaking +in reply. There were only two books in the house, the Bible and the +"Pilgrim's Progress," both of them in French; and I had not learned +French beyond the few phrases necessary for travelling. But Tardif began +to teach me that, and also to mend fishing-nets, which I persevered in, +though the twine cut my fingers. Could I by any means make myself useful +to them?</p> + +<p>As the spring came on, half my dullness vanished. Sark was more +beautiful in its cliff scenery than any thing I had ever seen, or could +have imagined. Why cannot I describe it to you? I have but to close my +eyes, and my memory paints it for me in my brain, with its innumerable +islets engirdling it, as if to ward off its busy, indefatigable enemy, +the sea. The long, sunken reefs, lying below the water at high tide, but +at the ebb stretching like fortifications about it, as if to make of it +a sure stronghold in the sea. The strange architecture and carving of +the rocks, with faces and crowned heads but half obliterated upon them; +the lofty arches, with columns of fretwork bearing them; the pinnacles, +and sharp spires; the fallen masses heaped against the base of the +cliffs, covered with seaweed, and worn out of all form, yet looking like +the fragments of some great temple, with its treasures of sculpture; and +about them all the clear, lucid water swelling and tossing, throwing +over them sparkling sheets of foam. And the brilliant tone of the golden +and saffron lichens, and the delicate tint of the gray and silvery ones, +stealing about the bosses and angles and curves of the rocks, as if the +rain and the wind and the frost had spent their whole power there to +produce artistic effects. I say my memory paints it again for me; but it +is only a memory, a shadow that my mind sees; and how can I describe to +you a shadow? When words are but phantoms themselves, how can I use them +to set forth a phantom?</p> + +<p>Whenever the grandeur of the cliffs had wearied me, as one grows weary +sometimes of too long and too close a study of what is great, there was +a little, enclosed, quiet graveyard that lay in the very lap of the +island, where I could go for rest. It was a small patch of ground, a +God's acre, shut in on every side by high hedge-rows, which hid every +view from sight except that of the heavens brooding over it. Nothing was +to be seen but the long mossy mounds above the dead, and the great, +warm, sunny dome rising above them. Even the church was not there, for +it was built in another spot, and had a few graves of its own scattered +about it.</p> + +<p>I was sitting there one evening in the early spring, after the sun had +dipped below the line of the high hedge-row, though it was still shining +in level rays through it. No sound had disturbed the deep silence for a +long time, except the twittering of birds among the branches; for up +here even the sea could not be heard when it was calm. I suppose my face +was sad, as most human faces are apt to be when the spirit is busy in +its citadel, and has left the outworks of the eyes and mouth to +themselves. So I was sitting quiet, with my hands clasped about my +knees, and my face bent down, when a grave, low voice at my side +startled me back to consciousness. Tardif was standing beside me, and +looking down upon me with a world of watchful anxiety in his deep eyes.</p> + +<p>"You are sad, mam'zelle," he said; "too sad for one so young as you +are."</p> + +<p>"Oh! everybody is sad, Tardif," I answered; "there is a great deal of +trouble for every one in this world. You are often very sad indeed."</p> + +<p>"Ah! but I have a cause," he said. "Mam'zelle does not know that she is +sitting on the grave of my little wife."</p> + +<p>He knelt down beside it as he spoke, and laid his hand gently on the +green turf. I would have risen, but he would not let me.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "sit still, mam'zelle. Yes, you would have loved her, +poor little soul! She was an Englishwoman, like you, only not a lady; a +pretty little English girl, so little I could carry her like a baby. +None of my people took to her, and she was very lonely, like you again; +and she pined and faded away, just quietly, never saying one word +against them. No, no, mam'zelle, I like to see you here. This is a +favorite place with you, and it gives me pleasure. I ask myself a +hundred times a day, 'Is there any thing I can do to make my young lady +happy? Tell me what I can do more than I have done."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing, Tardif," I answered, "nothing whatever. If you see me +sad sometimes, take no notice of it, for you can do no more for me than +you are doing. As it is, you are almost the only friend, perhaps the +only true friend, I have in the world."</p> + +<p>"May God be true to me only as I am true to you!" he said, solemnly, +while his dark skin flushed and his eyes kindled. I looked at him +closely. A more honest face one could never see, and his keen blue eyes +met my gaze steadfastly. Heavy-hearted as I was just then, I could not +help but smile, and all his face brightened, as the sea at its dullest +brightens suddenly tinder a stray gleam of sunshine. Without another +word we both rose to our feet, and stood side by side for a minute, +looking down on the little grave beneath us. I would have gladly changed +places then with the lonely English girl, who had pined away in this +remote island.</p> + +<p>After that short, silent pause, we went slowly homeward along the quiet, +almost solitary lanes. Twice we met a fisherman, with his creel and nets +across his shoulders, who bade us good-night; but no one else crossed +our path.</p> + +<p>It was a profound monotony, a seclusion I should not have had courage to +face wittingly. But I had been led into it, and I dared not quit it. How +long was it to last?</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='CHAPTER_THE_SEVENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.</h2> + +<p>A FALSE STEP.</p> +<br /> + +<p>A day came after the winter storms, early, in March, with all the +strength and sweetness of spring in it; though there was sharpness +enough in the air to make my veins tingle. The sun was shining with so +much heat in it, that I might be out-of-doors all day under the shelter +of the rocks, in the warm, southern nooks where the daisies were +growing. The birds sang more blithely than they had ever done before; a +lark overhead, flinging down his triumphant notes; a thrush whistling +clearly in a hawthorn-bush hanging over the cliff; and the cry of the +gulls flitting about the rocks; I could hear them all at the same +moment, with the deep, quiet tone of the sea sounding below their gay +music. Tardif was going out to fish, and I had helped him to pack his +basket. From my niche in the rocks I could see him getting out of the +harbor, and he had caught a glimpse of me, and stood up in his boat, +bareheaded, bidding me good-by. I began to sing before he was quite out +of hearing, for he paused upon his oars listening, and had given me a +joyous shout, and waved his hat round his head, when he was sure it was +I who was singing. Nothing could be plainer than that he had gone away +more glad at heart than he had been all the winter, simply because he +believed that I was growing lighter-hearted. I could not help laughing, +yet being touched and softened at the thought of his pleasure. What a +good fellow he was! I had proved him by this time, and knew him to be +one of the truest, bravest, most unselfish men on God's earth. How good +a thing it was that I had met with him that wild night last October, +when I had fled like one fleeing from a bitter slavery! For a few +minutes my thoughts hovered about that old, miserable, evil time; but I +did not care to ponder over past troubles. It was easy to forget them +to-day, and I would forget them. I plucked the daisies, and listened +almost drowsily to the birds and the sea, and felt all through me the +delicious light and heat of the sun. Now and then I lifted up my eyes, +to watch Tardif tacking about on the water. There were several boats +out, but I kept his in sight, by the help of a queer-shaped patch upon +one of the sails. I wished lazily for a book, but I should not have read +it if I had had one. I was taking into my heart the loveliness of the +spring day.</p> + +<p>By twelve o'clock I knew my dinner would be ready, and I had been out in +the fresh air long enough to be quite ready for it. Old Mrs. Tardif +would be looking out for me impatiently, that she might get the meal +over, and the things cleared away, and order restored in her dwelling. +So I quitted my warm nook with a feeling of regret, though I knew I +could return to it in an hour.</p> + +<p>But one can never return to any thing that is once left. When we look +for it again, even though the place may remain, something has vanished +from it which can never come back. I never returned to my spring-day +upon the cliffs of Sark.</p> + +<p>A little crumbling path led round the rock and along the edge of the +ravine. I chose it because from it I could see all the fantastic shore, +bending in a semicircle toward the isle of Breckhou, with tiny, +untrodden bays, covered at this hour with only glittering ripples, and +with all the soft and tender shadows of the headlands falling across +them. I had but to look straight below me, and I could see long tresses +of glossy seaweed floating under the surface of the sea. Both my head +and my footing were steady, for I had grown accustomed to giddy heights +and venturesome climbing. I walked on slowly, casting many a reluctant +glance behind me at the calm waters, with the boats gliding to and fro +among the islets. I was just giving my last look to them when the loose +stones on the crumbling path gave way under my tread, and before I could +recover my foothold I found myself slipping down the almost +perpendicular face of the cliff, and vainly clutching at every bramble +and tuft of grass growing in its clefts.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='CHAPTER_THE_EIGHTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.</h2> + +<p>AN ISLAND WITHOUT A DOCTOR.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I had not time to feel any fear, for, almost before I could realize the +fact that I was falling, I touched the ground. The point from which I +had slipped was above the reach of the water, but I fell upon the +shingly beach so heavily that I was hardly conscious for a few minutes. +When I came to my senses again, I lay still for a little while, trying +to make out where I was, and how I came there. I was stunned and +bewildered. Underneath me were the smooth, round pebbles, which lie +above the line of the tide on a shore covered with shingles. Above me +rose a dark, frowning rock, the chilly shadow of which lay across me. +Without lifting my head I could see the water on a level with me, but it +did not look on a level; its bright crested waves seemed swelling upward +to the sky, ready to pour over me and bury me beneath them. I was very +faint, and sick, and giddy. The ground felt as if it were about to sink +under me. My eyelids closed languidly when I did not keep them open by +an effort; and my head ached, and my brain swam with confused fancies.</p> + +<p>After some time, and with some difficulty, I comprehended what had +happened to me, and recollected that it was already past mid-day, and +Mrs. Tardif would be waiting for me. I attempted to stand up, but an +acute pain in my foot compelled me to desist. I tried to turn myself +upon the pebbles, and my left arm refused to help me. I could not check +a sharp cry of suffering as my left hand fell back upon the stones on +which I was lying. My fall had cost me something more than a few +minutes' insensibility and an aching head. I had no more power to move +than one who is bound hand and foot.</p> + +<p>After a few vain efforts I lay quite still again, trying to deliberate +as well as I could for the pain which racked me. I reckoned up, after +many attempts in which first my memory failed me, and then my faculty of +calculation, what the time of the high tide would be, and how soon +Tardif would come home. As nearly as I could make out, it would be high +water in about two hours. Tardif had set off at low water, as his boat +had been anchored at the foot of the rock, where the ladder hung; but +before starting he had said something about returning at high tide, and +running up his boat on the beach of our little bay. If he did that, he +must pass close by me. It was Saturday morning, and he was not in the +habit of staying out late on Saturdays, that he might prepare for the +services of the next day. I might count, then, upon the prospect of him +running the boat into the bay, and finding me there in about two hours' +time.</p> + +<p>It took me a very long time to make out all this, for every now and then +my brain seemed to lose its power for a while, and every thing whirled +about me. Especially there was that awful sensation of sinking down, +down through the pebbles into some chasm that was bottomless. I had +never either felt pain or fainted before, and all this alarmed me.</p> + +<p>Presently I began to listen to the rustle of the pebbles, as the rising +tide flowed over them and fell back again, leaving them all ajar and +grating against one another—strange, gurgling, jangling sound that +seemed to have some meaning. It was very cold, and a creeping moisture +was oozing up from the water. A vague wonder took hold of me as to +whether I was really above the line of the tide, for, now the March +tides were come, I did not know how high their flood was. But I thought +of it without any active feeling of terror or pain. I was numbed in body +and mind. The ceaseless chime of the waves, and the regularity of the +rustling play of the pebbles, seemed to lull and soothe me, almost in +spite of myself. Cold I was, and in sharp pain, but my mind had not +energy enough either for fear or effort. What appeared to me most +terrible was the sensation, coming back time after time, of sinking, +sinking into the fancied chasm beneath me.</p> + +<p>I remember also watching a spray of ivy, far above my head, swaying and +waving about in the wind; and a little bird, darting here and there with +a brisk flutter of its tiny wings, and a chirping note of satisfaction; +and the cloud drifting in soft, small cloudlets across the sky. These +things I saw, not as if they were real, but rather as if they were +memories of things that had passed before my eyes many years before.</p> + +<p>At last—- whether years or hours only had gone by, I could not then +have told you—I heard the regular and careful beat of oars upon the +water, and presently the grating of a boat's keel upon the shingle, with +the rattle of a chain cast out with the grapnel. I could not turn round +or raise my head, but I was sure it was Tardif, and that he did not yet +see me, for he was whistling softly to himself. I had never heard him +whistle before.</p> + +<p>"Tardif!" I cried, attempting to shout, but my voice sounded very weak +in my own ears, and the other sounds about me seemed very loud. He went +on with his unlading, half whistling and half humming his tune, as he +landed the nets and creel on the beach.</p> + +<p>"Tardif!" I called again, summoning all my strength, and raising my head +an inch or two from the hard pebbles which had been its resting-place.</p> + +<p>He paused then, and stood quite still, listening. I knew it, though I +could not see him. I ran the fingers of my right hand through the loose +pebbles about me, and his ear caught the slight noise. In a moment I +heard his strong feet coming across them toward me.</p> + +<p>"Mon Dieu! mam'zelle," he exclaimed, "what has happened to you?"</p> + +<p>I tried to smile as his honest, brown face bent over me, full of alarm. +It was so great a relief to see a face like his after that long, weary +agony, for it had been agony to me, who did not know what bodily pain +was like. But in trying to smile I felt my lips drawn, and my eyes +blinded with tears.</p> + +<p>"I've fallen down the cliff," I said, feebly, "and I am hurt."</p> + +<p>"Mon Dieu!" he cried again. The strong man shook, and his hand trembled +as he stooped down and laid it under my head to lift it up a little. His +agitation touched me to the heart, even then, and I did my best to speak +more calmly.</p> + +<p>"Tardif," I whispered, "it is not very much, and I might have been +killed. I think my foot is hurt, and I am quite sure my arm is broken."</p> + +<p>Speaking made me feel giddy and faint again, so I said no more. He +lifted me in his arms as easily and tenderly as a mother lifts up her +child, and carried me gently, taking slow and measured strides up the +steep slope which led homeward. I closed my eyes, glad to leave myself +wholly in his charge, and to have nothing further to dread; yet moaning +a little, involuntarily, whenever a fresh pang of pain shot through me. +Then he would cry again, "Mon Dieu!" in a beseeching tone, and pause for +an instant as if to give me rest. It seemed a long time before we +reached the farm-yard gate, and he shouted, with a tremendous voice, to +his mother to come and open it. Fortunately she was in sight, and came +toward us quickly.</p> + +<p>He carried me into the house, and laid me down on the <i>lit de +fouaille</i>—a wooden frame forming a sort of couch, and filled with dried +fern, which forms the principal piece of furniture in every farm-house +kitchen in the Channel Islands. Then he cut away the boot from my +swollen ankle, with a steady but careful touch, speaking now and then a +word of encouragement, as if I were a child whom he was tending. His +mother stood by, looking on helplessly and in bewilderment, for he had +not had time to explain my accident to her.</p> + +<p>But for my arm, which hung helplessly at my side, and gave me +excruciating pain when he touched it, it was quite evident he could do +nothing.</p> + +<p>"Is there nobody who could set it?" I asked, striving very hard to keep +calm.</p> + +<p>"We have no doctor in Sark now," he answered. "There is no one but +Mother Renouf. I will fetch her."</p> + +<p>But when she came she declared herself unable to set a broken limb. They +all three held a consultation over it in their own dialect; but I saw by +the solemn shaking of their heads, and Tardif's troubled expression, +that it was entirely beyond her skill to set it right. She would +undertake my sprained ankle, for she was famous for the cure of sprains +and bruises, but my arm was past her? The pain I was enduring bathed my +face with perspiration, but very little could be done to alleviate it. +Tardif's expression grew more and more distressed.</p> + +<p>"Mam'zelle knows," he said, stooping down to speak the more softly to +me, "there is no doctor nearer than Guernsey, and the night is not far +off. What are we to do?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Tardif," I answered, resolving to be brave; "let the women +help me into bed, and perhaps I shall be able to sleep. We must wait +till morning."</p> + +<p>It was more easily said than done. The two old women did their best, but +their touch was clumsy and their help slight, compared to Tardif's. I +was thoroughly worn out before I was in bed. But it was a great deal to +find myself there, safe and warm, instead of on the cold, hard pebbles +on the beach. Mother Renouf put my arm to rest upon a pillow, and bathed +and fomented my ankle till it felt much easier.</p> + +<p>Never, never shall I forget that night. I could not sleep; but I suppose +my mind wandered a little. Hundreds of times I felt myself down on the +shore, lying helplessly, while great green waves curled themselves over, +and fell just within reach of me, ready to swallow me up, yet always +missing me. Then I was back again in my own home in Adelaide, on my +father's sheep-farm, and he was still alive, and with no thought but how +to make every thing bright and gladsome for me; and hundreds of times I +saw the woman who was afterward to be my step-mother, stealing up to the +door and trying to get in to him and me. Sometimes I caught myself +sobbing aloud, and then Tardif's voice, whispering at the door to ask +how mam'zelle was, brought me back to consciousness. Now and then I +looked round, fancying I heard my mother's voice speaking to me, and I +saw only the wrinkled, yellow face of his mother, nodding drowsily in +her seat by the fire. Twice Tardif brought me a cup of tea, freshly +made. I could not distinctly made out who he was, or where I was, but I +tried to speak loudly enough for him to hear me thank him.</p> + +<p>I was very thankful when the first gleam of daylight shone into my room. +It seemed to bring clearness to my brain.</p> + +<p>"Mam'zelle," said Tardif, coming to my side very early in his +fisherman's dress, "I am going to fetch a doctor."</p> + +<p>"But it is Sunday," I answered faintly. I knew that no boatman put out +to sea willingly on a Sunday from Sark; and the last fatal accident, +being on a Sunday, had deepened their reluctance.</p> + +<p>"It will be right, mam'zelle," he answered, with glowing eyes. "I have +no fear."</p> + +<p>"Do not be long away, Tardif," I said, sobbing.</p> + +<p>"Not one moment longer than I can help," he replied.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='PART_THE_SECOND'></a><h2>PART THE SECOND.</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FIRST'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FIRST.</h2> + +<p>DR. MARTIN DOBRÉE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>My name is Martin Dobrée. Martin or Doctor Martin I was called +throughout Guernsey. It will be necessary to state a few particulars +about my family and position, before I proceed with my part of this +narrative.</p> + +<p>My father was Dr. Dobrée. He belonged to one of the oldest families in +the island—a family of distinguished <i>pur sang</i>; but our branch of it +had been growing poorer instead of richer during the last three or four +generations. We had been gravitating steadily downward.</p> + +<p>My father lived ostensibly by his profession, but actually upon the +income of my cousin, Julia Dobrée, who had been his ward from her +childhood. The house we dwelt in, a pleasant one in the Grange, belonged +to Julia; and fully half of the year's household expenses were defrayed +by her. Our practice, which he and I shared between us, was not a large +one, though for its extent it was lucrative enough. But there always is +an immense number of medical men in Guernsey in proportion to its +population, and the island is healthy. There was small chance for any of +us to make a fortune.</p> + +<p>Then how was it that I, a young man, still under thirty, was wasting my +time, and skill, and professional training, by remaining there, a sort +of half pensioner on my cousin's bounty? The thickest rope that holds a +vessel, weighing scores of tons, safely to the pier-head is made up of +strands so slight that almost a breath will break them.</p> + +<p>First, then—and the strength of two-thirds of the strands lay +there—was my mother. I could never remember the time when she had not +been delicate and ailing, even when I was a rough school-boy at +Elizabeth College. It was that infirmity of the body which occasionally +betrays the wounds of a soul. I did not comprehend it while I was a boy; +then it was headache only. As I grew older I discovered that it was +heartache. The gnawing of a perpetual disappointment, worse than a +sudden and violent calamity, had slowly eaten away the very foundation +of healthy life. No hand could administer any medicine for this disease +except mine, and, as soon as I was sure of that, I felt what my first +duty was.</p> + +<p>I knew where the blame of this lay, if any blame there were. I had found +it out years ago by my mother's silence, her white cheeks, and her +feeble tone of health. My father was never openly unkind or careless, +but there was always visible in his manner a weariness of her, an utter +disregard for her feelings. He continued to like young and pretty women, +just as he had liked her because she was young and pretty. He remained +at the very point he was at when they began their married life. There +was nothing patently criminal in it, God forbid!—nothing to create an +open and a grave scandal on our little island. But it told upon my +mother; it was the one drop of water falling day by day. "A continual +dropping in a very rainy day and a contentious woman are alike," says +the book of Proverbs. My father's small infidelities were much the same +to my mother. She was thrown altogether upon me for sympathy, and +support, and love.</p> + +<p>When I first fathomed this mystery, my heart rose in very undutiful +bitterness against Dr. Dobrée; but by-and-by I found that it resulted +less from a want of fidelity to her than from a radical infirmity in his +temperament. It was almost as impossible for him to avoid or conceal his +preference for younger and more attractive women, as for my mother to +conquer the fretting vexation this preference caused to her.</p> + +<p>Next to my mother, came Julia, my cousin, five years older than I, who +had coldly looked down upon me, and snubbed me like a sister, as a boy; +watched my progress through Elizabeth College, and through Guy's +Hospital; and perceived at last that I was a young man whom it was no +disgrace to call cousin. To crown all, she fell in love with me; so at +least my mother told me, taking me into her confidence, and speaking +with a depth of pleading in her sunken eyes, which were worn with much +weeping. Poor mother! I knew very well what unspoken wish was in her +heart. Julia had grown up under her care as I had done, and she stood +second to me in her affection.</p> + +<p>It is not difficult to love any woman who has a moderate share of +attractions—at least I did not find it so then. I was really fond of +Julia, too—very fond. I knew her as intimately as any brother knows his +sister. She had kept up a correspondence with me all the time I was at +Guy's, and her letters had been more interesting and amusing than her +conversation generally was. Some women, most cultivated women, can write +charming letters; and Julia was a highly-cultivated woman. I came back +from Guy's with a very greatly-increased regard and admiration for my +cousin Julia.</p> + +<p>So, when my mother, with her pleading, wistful eyes, spoke day after day +of Julia, of her dutiful love toward her, and her growing love for me, I +drifted, almost without an effort of my own volition, into an engagement +with her. You see there was no counter-balance. I was acquainted with +every girl on the island of my own class; pretty girls were many of +them, but there was after all not one that I preferred to my cousin. My +old dreams and romances about love, common to every young fellow, had +all faded into a very commonplace, everyday vision of having a +comfortable house of my own, and a wife as good as most other men's +wives. Just in the same way, my ambitious plans of rising to the very +top of the tree in my profession had dwindled down to satisfaction with +the very limited practice of one of our island doctors. I found myself +chained to this rock in the sea; all my future life would probably be +spent there; and Fate offered me Julia as the companion fittest for me. +I was contented with my fate, and laughed off my boyish fancy that I +ought to be ready to barter the world for love.</p> + +<p>Added to these two strong ties keeping me in Guernsey, there were the +hundred, the thousand small associations which made that island, and my +people living upon it, dearer than any other place, or any other people, +in the world. Taking the strength of the rope which held me to the +pier-head as represented by one hundred, then my love for my mother +would stand at sixty-six and a half, my engagement to Julia at about +twenty and the remainder may go toward my old associations. That is +pretty nearly the sum of it.</p> + +<p>My engagement to Julia came about so easily and naturally that, as I +said, I was perfectly contented with it. We had been engaged since the +previous Christmas, and were to be married in the early summer, as soon +as a trip through Switzerland would be agreeable. We were to set up +housekeeping for ourselves; that was a point Julia was bent upon. A +suitable house had fallen vacant in one of the higher streets of St. +Peter-Port, which commanded a noble view of the sea and the surrounding +islands. We had taken it, though it was farther from the Grange and my +mother than I should have chosen my home to be. She and Julia were busy, +pleasantly busy, about the furnishing of it. Never had I seen my mother +look so happy, or so young. Even my father paid her a compliment or two, +which had the effect of bringing a pretty pink flush to her white +cheeks, and of making her sunken eyes shine. As to myself, I was quietly +happy, without a doubt. Julia was a good girl, everybody said that, and +Julia loved me devotedly. I was on the point of becoming master of a +house and owner of a considerable income; for Julia would not hear of +there being any marriage settlements which would secure to her the +property she was bringing to me. I found that making love, even to my +cousin, who was like a sister to me, was upon the whole a pleasurable +occupation. Every thing was going on smoothly.</p> + +<p>That was till about the middle of March. I had been to church one Sunday +morning with these two women, both devoted to me, and centring all their +love and hopes in me, when, as we entered the house on our return, I +heard my father calling "Martin! Martin!" as loudly as he could from his +consulting-room. I answered the call instantly, and whom should I see +but a very old friend of mine, Tardif of the Havre Gosselin. He was +standing near the door, as if in too great a hurry to sit down. His +handsome but weather-beaten face betrayed great anxiety, and his shaggy +mustache rose and fell, as if the mouth below it was tremulously at +work. My father looked chagrined and irresolute.</p> + +<p>"Here's a pretty piece of work, Martin," he said; "Tardif wants one of +us to go back with him to Sark, to see a woman who has fallen from the +cliffs and broken her arm, confound it!"</p> + +<p>"For the sake of the good God, Dr. Martin," cried Tardif, excitedly, and +of course speaking in the Sark dialect, "I beg of you to come this +instant even. She has been lying in anguish since mid-day +yesterday—twenty-four hours now, sir. I started at dawn this morning, +but both wind and tide were against me, and I have been waiting here +some time. Be quick, doctor. Mon Dieu! if she should be dead!"</p> + +<p>The poor fellow's voice faltered, and his eyes met mine imploringly. He +and I had been fast friends in my boyhood, when all my holidays were +spent in Sark, though he was some years older than I; and our friendship +was still firm and true, though it had slackened a little from absence. +I shook his hand heartily, giving it a good hard grip in token of my +unaltered friendship—a grip which he returned with his fingers of iron +till my own tingled again.</p> + +<p>"I knew you'd come," he gasped.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I'll go, Tardif," I said; "only I must get a snatch of something to +eat while Dr. Dobrée puts up what I shall have need of. I'll be ready in +half an hour. Go into the kitchen, and get some dinner yourself."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Dr. Martin," he answered, his voice still unsteady, and his +mustache quivering; "but I can eat nothing. I'll go down and have the +boat ready. You'll waste no time?"</p> + +<p>"Not a moment," I promised.</p> + +<p>I left my father to put up the things I should require, supposing he had +heard all the particulars of the accident from Tardif. He was inclined +to grumble a little at me for going; but I asked him what else I could +have done. As he had no answer ready to that question, I walked away to +the dining-room, where my mother and Julia were waiting; for dinner was +ready, as we dined early on Sundays on account of the servants. Julia +was suffering from the beginning of a bilious attack, to which she was +subject, and her eyes were heavy and dull. I told them hastily where I +was going, and what a hurry I was in.</p> + +<p>"You are never going across to Sark to-day!" Julia exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" I asked, taking my seat and helping myself quickly.</p> + +<p>"Because I am sure bad weather is coming," she answered, looking +anxiously through a window facing the west. "I could see the coast of +France this morning as plainly as Sark, and the gulls are keeping close +to the shore, and the sunset last night was threatening. I will go and +look at the storm-glass."</p> + +<p>She went away, but came back again very soon, with an increase of +anxiety in her face. "Don't go, dear Martin," she said, with her hand +upon my shoulder; "the storm-glass is as troubled as it can be, and the +wind is veering round to the west. You know what that foretells at this +time of the year. There is a storm at hand; take my word for it, and do +not venture across to Sark to-day."</p> + +<p>"And what is to become of the poor woman?" I remonstrated. "Tardif says +she has been suffering the pain of a broken limb these twenty-four +hours. It would be my duty to go even if the storm were here, unless the +risk was exceedingly great. Come, Julia, remember you are to be a +doctor's wife, and don't be a coward."</p> + +<p>"Don't go!" she reiterated, "for my sake and your mother's. I am certain +some trouble will come of it. We shall be frightened to death; and this +woman is only a stranger to you. Oh, I cannot bear to let you go!"</p> + +<p>I did not attempt to reason with her, for I knew of old that when Julia +was bilious and nervous she was quite deaf to reason. I only stroked the +hand that lay on my shoulder, and went on with my dinner as if my life +depended upon the speed with which I dispatched it.</p> + +<p>"Uncle," she said, as my father came in with a small portmanteau in his +hand, "tell Martin he must not go. There is sure to be a storm +to-night."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! pooh!" he answered. "I should be glad enough for Martin to stay +at home, but there's no help for it, I suppose. There will be no storm +at present, and they'll run across quickly. It will be the coming back +that will be difficult. You'll scarcely get home again to-night, +Martin."</p> + +<p>"No," I said. "I'll stop at Gavey's, and come back in the Sark cutter if +it has begun to ply. If not, Tardif must bring me over in the morning."</p> + +<p>"Don't go," persisted Julia, as I thrust myself into my rough +pilot-coat, and then bent down to kiss her cheek. Julia always presented +me her cheek, and my lips had never met hers yet. My mother was standing +by and looking tearful, but she did not say a word; she knew there was +no question about what I ought to do. Julia followed me to the door and +held me fast with both hands round my arm, sobbing out hysterically, +"Don't go!" Even when I had released myself and was running down the +drive, I could hear her still calling, "O Martin, don't go!"</p> + +<p>I was glad to get out of hearing. I felt sorry for her, yet there was a +considerable amount of pleasure in being the object of so much tender +solicitude. I thought of her for a minute or two as I hurried along the +steep streets leading down to the quay. But the prospect before me +caught my eye. Opposite lay Sark, bathed in sunlight, and the sea +between was calm enough at present. A ride across, with a westerly +breeze filling the sails, and the boat dancing lightly over the waves, +would not be a bad exchange for a dull Sunday afternoon, with Julia at +the Sunday-school and my mother asleep. Besides, it was the path of duty +which was leading me across the quiet gray sea before me.</p> + +<p>Tardif was waiting, with his sails set and oars in the rowlocks, ready +for clearing the harbor. I took one of them, and bent myself willingly +to the light task. There was less wind than I had expected, but what +there was blew in our favor. We were very quickly beyond the pier-head, +where a group of idlers was always gathered, who sent after us a few +warning shouts. Nothing could be more exhilarating than our onward +progress. I felt as if I had been a prisoner, with, chains which had +pressed heavily yet insensibly upon me, and that now I was free. I drew +into my lungs the fresh, bracing, salt air of the sea, with a deep sigh +of delight.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_SECOND'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SECOND.</h2> + +<p>A PATIENT IN SARK.</p> +<br /> + +<p>It struck me after a while that my friend Tardif was unusually silent. +The shifting of the sails appeared to give him plenty to do; and to my +surprise, instead of keeping to the ordinary course, he ran recklessly +as it seemed across the <i>grunes</i>, which lie all about the bed of the +channel between Guernsey and Sark. These <i>grunes</i> are reefs, rising a +little above low water, but, as the tide was about half-flood, they were +a few feet below it; yet at times there was scarcely enough depth to +float us over them, while the brown seaweed torn from their edges lay in +our wake, something like the swaths of grass in a meadow after the +scythe has swept through it. Now and then came a bump and a scrape of +the keel against their sharp ridges. The sweat stood in beads upon +Tardif's face, and his thick hair fell forward over his forehead, where +the great veins in the temples were purple and swollen. I spoke to him +after a heavier bump over the <i>grunes</i> than any we had yet come to.</p> + +<p>"Tardif," I said, "we are shaving the weeds a little too close, aren't +we?"</p> + +<p>"Look behind you, Dr. Martin," he answered, shifting the sails a +little.</p> + +<p>I did not look behind us. We were more than half-way over the channel, +and Guernsey lay four miles or so west of us; but instead of the clear +outline of the island standing out against the sky, I could see nothing +but a bank of white fog. The afternoon sun was shining brightly over it, +but before long it would dip into its dense folds. The fogs about our +islands are peculiar. You may see them form apparently thick blocks of +blanched vapor, with a distinct line between the atmosphere where the +haze is and where it is not. To be overtaken by a fog like this, which +would almost hide Tardif at one end of the boat from me at the other, +would be no laughing matter in a sea lined with sunken reefs. The wind +had almost gone, but a little breeze still caught us from the north of +the fog-bank. Without a word I took the oars again, while Tardif devoted +himself to the sails and the helm.</p> + +<p>"A mile nearer home," he said, "and I could row my boat as easily in the +dark as you could ride your horse along a lane."</p> + +<p>My face was westward now, and I kept my eye upon the fog-bank creeping +stealthily after us. I thought of my mother and Julia, and the fright +they would be in. Moreover a fog like this was pretty often succeeded by +a squall, especially at this season; and when a westerly gale blew up +from the Atlantic in the month of March, no one could foretell when it +would cease. I had been weather-bound in Sark, when I was a boy, for +three weeks at one time, when our provisions ran short, and it was +almost impossible to buy a loaf of bread. I could not help laughing at +the recollection, but I kept an anxious lookout toward the west. Three +weeks' imprisonment in Sark now would be a bore.</p> + +<p>But the fog remained almost stationary in the front of Guernsey, and the +round red eyeball of the sun glared after us as we ran nearer and nearer +to Sark. The tide was with us, and carried us on it buoyantly. We +anchored at the fisherman's landing-place below the cliff of the Havre +Gosselin, and I climbed readily up the rough ladder which leads to the +path. Tardif made his boat secure, and followed me; he passed me, and +strode on up the steep track to the summit of the cliff, as if impatient +to reach his home. It was then that I gave my first serious thought to +the woman who had met with the accident.</p> + +<p>"Tardif, who is this person that is hurt?" I asked, "and whereabout did +she fall?"</p> + +<p>"She fell down yonder," he answered, with an odd quaver in his voice, as +he pointed to a rough and rather high portion of the cliff running +inland; "the stones rolled from under her feet, so," he added, crushing +down a quantity of the loose gravel with his foot, "and she slipped. She +lay on the shingle underneath for two hours before I found her; two +hours, Dr. Martin!"</p> + +<p>"That was bad," I said, for the good fellow's voice failed him—"very +bad. A fall like that might have killed her."</p> + +<p>We went on, he carrying his oars, and I my little portmanteau. I heard +Tardif muttering. "Killed her!" in a tone of terror; but his face +brightened a little when we reached the gate of the farm-yard. He laid +down the oars noiselessly upon the narrow stone causeway before the +door, and lifted the latch as cautiously as if he were afraid to disturb +some sleeping baby.</p> + +<p>He had given me no information with regard to my patient; and the sole +idea I had formed of her was of a strong, sturdy Sark woman, whose +constitution would be tough, and her temperament of a stolid, phlegmatic +tone. There was not ordinarily much sickness among them, and this case +was evidently one of pure accident. I expected to find a nut-brown, +sunburnt woman, with a rustic face, who would very probably be impatient +and unreasonable under the pain I should be compelled to inflict upon +her.</p> + +<p>It had been my theory that a medical man, being admitted to the highest +degree of intimacy with his patients, was bound to be as insensible as +an anchorite to any beauty or homeliness in those whom he was attending +professionally; he should have eyes only for the malady he came to +consider and relieve. Dr. Dobrée had often sneered and made merry at my +high-flown notions of honor and duty; but in our practice at home he had +given me no opportunities of trying them. He had attended all our +younger and more attractive patients himself, and had handed over to my +care all the old people and children—on Julia's account, he had said, +laughing.</p> + +<p>Tardif's mother came to us as we entered the house. She was a little, +ugly woman, stone deaf, as I knew of old. Yet in some mysterious way she +could make out her son's deep voice, when he shouted into her ear. He +did not speak now, however, but made dumb signs as if to ask how all was +going on. She answered by a silent nod, and beckoned me to follow her +into an inner room, which opened out of the kitchen.</p> + +<p>It was a small, crowded room, with a ceiling so low, it seemed to rest +upon the four posts of the bedstead. There were of course none of the +little dainty luxuries about it with which I was familiar in my mother's +bedroom. A long, low window opposite the head of the bed threw a strong +light upon it. There were check curtains drawn round it, and a +patchwork-quilt, and rough, homespun linen. Every thing was clean, but +coarse and frugal—such as I expected to find about my Sark patient, in +the home of a fisherman.</p> + +<p>But when my eye fell upon the face resting on the rough pillow I paused +involuntarily, only just controlling an explanation of surprise. There +was absolutely nothing in the surroundings to mark her as a lady, yet I +felt in a moment that she was one. There lay a delicate, refined face, +white as the linen, with beautiful lips almost as white; and a mass of +light, shining, silky hair tossed about the pillow; and large dark-gray +eyes gazing at me beseechingly, with an expression that made my heart +leap as it had never leaped before.</p> + +<p>That was what I saw, and could not forbear seeing. I tried to recall my +theory, and to close my eyes to the pathetic beauty of the face before +me; but it was altogether in vain. If I had seen her before, or if I had +been prepared to see any one like her, I might have succeeded; but I was +completely thrown off my guard. There the charming face lay: the eyes +gleaming, the white forehead tinted, and the delicate mouth contracting +with pain: the bright, silky curls tossed about in confusion. I see it +now just as I saw it then.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_THIRD'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRD.</h2> + +<p>WITHOUT RESOURCES.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I suppose I did not stand still more than five seconds, yet during that +pause a host of questions had flashed through my brain. Who was this +beautiful creature? Where had she come from? How did it happen that she +was in Tardif's house? and so on. But I recalled myself sharply to my +senses; I was here as her physician, and common-sense and duty demanded +of me to keep my head clear. I advanced to her side, and took the small, +blue-veined hand in mine, and felt her pulse with my fingers. It beat +under them a low but fast measure; too fast by a great deal. I could see +that the general condition of her health was perfect, a great charm in +itself to me; but she had been bearing acute pain for over twenty-eight +hours, and she was becoming exhausted. A shudder ran through me at the +thought of that long spell of suffering.</p> + +<p>"You are in very great pain, I fear," I said, lowering my voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes," her white lips answered, and she tried to smile a patient though +a dreary smile, as she looked up into my face, "my arm is broken. Are +you a doctor?"</p> + +<p>"I am Dr. Martin Dobrée," I said, passing my hand softly down her arm. +The fracture was above the elbow, and was of a kind to make the setting +of it give her considerable pain. I could see she was scarce fit to bear +any further suffering just then; but what was to be done? She was not +likely to get much rest till the bone was set.</p> + +<p>"Have you had much sleep since your fall?" I asked, looking at the +weariness visible in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Not any," she replied; "not one moment's sleep."</p> + +<p>"Did you have no sleep all night?" I inquired again.</p> + +<p>"No." she said, "I could not fall asleep."</p> + +<p>There were two things I could do—give her an opiate, and strengthen her +a little with sleep beforehand, or administer chloroform to her before +the operation. I hesitated between the two. A natural sleep would have +done her a world of good, but there was a gleam in her eyes, and a +feverish throb in her pulse, which gave me no hope of that. Perhaps the +chloroform, if she had no objection to it, would be the best.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever take chloroform?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No: I never needed it," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Should you object to taking it?"</p> + +<p>"Any thing." she replied, passively. "I will do any thing you wish."</p> + +<p>I went back into the kitchen and opened the portmanteau my father had +put up for me. Splints and bandages were there in abundance, enough to +set half the arms in the island, but neither chloroform nor any thing in +the shape of an opiate could I find. I might almost as well have come to +Sark altogether unprepared for my case.</p> + +<p>What could I do? There are no shops in Sark, and drugs of any kind were +out of the question. There was not a chance of getting what I needed to +calm and soothe a highly-nervous and finely-strung temperament like my +patient's. A few minutes ago I had hesitated about using chloroform. Now +I would have given half of every thing I possessed in the world for an +ounce of it.</p> + +<p>I said nothing to Tardif, who was watching me with his deep-set eyes, as +closely as if I were meddling with some precious possession of his own. +I laid the bundle of splints and rolls of linen down on the table with a +professional air, while I was inwardly execrating my father's +negligence. I emptied the portmanteau in the hope of finding some small +phial or box. Any opiate would have been welcome to me, that would have +dulled the overwrought nerves of the girl in the room within. But the +practice of using any thing of the kind was not in favor with us +generally in the Channel Islands, and my father had probably concluded +that a Sark woman would not consent to use them. At any rate, there they +were not.</p> + +<p>I stood for a few minutes, deep in thought. The daylight was going, and +it was useless to waste time; yet I found myself shrinking oddly from +the duty before me. Tardif could not help but see my chagrin and +hesitation.</p> + +<p>"Doctor," he cried, "she is not going to die?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," I answered, calling back my wandering thoughts and energies; +"there is not the smallest danger of that. I must go and set her arm at +once, and then she will sleep."</p> + +<p>I returned to the room, and raised her as gently and painlessly as I +could, motioning to the old woman to sit beside her on the bed and hold +her steadily. I thought once of calling in Tardif to support her with +his strong frame, but I did not. She moaned, though very softly, when I +moved her, and she tried to smile again as her eyes met mine looking +anxiously at her. That smile made me feel like a child. If she did it +again, I knew my hands would be unsteady, and her pain would be tenfold +greater.</p> + +<p>"I would rather you cried out or shouted," I said. "Don't try to control +yourself when I hurt you. You need not be afraid of seeming impatient, +and a loud scream or two would do you good."</p> + +<p>But I knew quite well as I spoke that she would never scream aloud. +There was the self-control of culture about her. A woman of the lower +class might shriek and cry, but this girl would try to smile at the +moment when the pain was keenest. The white, round arm under my hands +was cold, and the muscles were soft and unstrung. I felt the ends of the +broken bone grating together as I drew the fragments into their right +places, and the sensation went through and through me. I had set scores +of broken limbs before with no feeling like this, which was so near +unnerving me. But I kept my hands steady, and my attention fixed upon my +work. I felt like two persons—a surgeon who had a simple, scientific +operation to perform, and a mother who feels in her own person every +pang her child has to suffer.</p> + +<p>All the time the girl's white face and firmly-set lips lay under my +gaze, with the wide-open, unflinching eyes looking straight at me: a +mournful, silent, appealing face, which betrayed the pain I made her +suffer ten times more than any cries or shrieks could have done. I +thanked God in my heart when it was over, and I could lay her down +again. I smoothed the coarse pillows for her to lie more comfortably +upon them, and I spread my cambric handkerchief in a double fold between +her cheek and the rough linen—too rough for a soft cheek like hers.</p> + +<p>"Lie quite still," I said. "Do not stir, but go to sleep as fast as you +can."</p> + +<p>She was not smiling now, and she did not speak; but the gleam in her +eyes was growing wilder, and she looked at me with a wandering +expression. If sleep did not come very soon, there would be mischief. I +drew the curtains across the window to shut out the twilight, and +motioned to the old woman to sit quietly by the side of our patient.</p> + +<p>Then I went out to Tardif.</p> + +<p>He had not stirred from the place and position in which I had left him. +I am sure no sound could have reached him from the inner room, for we +had been so still that during the whole time I could hear the beat of +the sea dashing up between the high cliffs of the Havre Gosselin. Up and +down went Tardif's shaggy mustache, the surest indication of emotion +with him, and he fetched his breath almost with a sob.</p> + +<p>"Well, Dr. Martin?" was all he said.</p> + +<p>"The arm is set," I answered, "and now she must get some sleep. There is +not the least danger, Tardif; only we will keep the house as quiet as +possible."</p> + +<p>"I must go and bring in the boat," he replied, bestirring himself as if +some spell was at an end. "There will be a storm to-night, and I should +sleep the sounder if she was safe ashore."</p> + +<p>"I'll come with you," I said, glad to get away from the seaweed fire.</p> + +<p>It was not quite dark, and the cliffs stood out against the sky in odder +and more grotesque shapes than by daylight. A host of seamews were +fluttering about and uttering the most unearthly hootings, but the sea +was as yet quite calm, save where it broke in wavering, serpentine lines +over the submerged reefs which encircle the island. The tidal current +was pouring rapidly through the very narrow channel between Sark and the +little isle of Breckhou, and its eddies stretching to us made it rather +an arduous task to get Tardif's boat on shore safely. But the work was +pleasant just then. It kept our minds away from useless anxieties about +the girl. An hour passed quickly, and up the ravine, in the deep gloom +of the overhanging rocks, we made our way homeward.</p> + +<p>"You will not quit the island to-morrow," said Tardif, standing at his +door, and scanning the sky with his keen, weather-wise eyes.</p> + +<p>"I must," I answered; "I must indeed, old fellow. You are no +land-lubber, and you will run me over in the morning."</p> + +<p>"No boat will leave Sark to-morrow," said Tardif, shaking his head.</p> + +<p>We went in, and he threw off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, +preparatory to frying some fish for supper. I was beginning to feel +ravenously hungry, for I had eaten nothing since dinner, and as far as I +knew Tardif had had nothing since his early breakfast, but as a +fisherman he was used to long spells of fasting. While he was busy +cooking I stole quietly into the inner room to look after my patient.</p> + +<p>The feeble light entering by the door, which I left open, showed me the +old woman comfortably asleep in her chair, but not so the girl. I had +told her when I laid her down that she must lie quite still, and she was +obeying me implicitly. Her cheek still rested upon my handkerchief, and +the broken arm remained undisturbed upon the pillow which I had placed +under it. But her eyes were wide open and shining in the dimness, and I +fancied I could see her lips moving incessantly, though soundlessly. I +laid my hand across her eyes, and felt the long lashes brush against the +palm, but the eyelids did not remain closed.</p> + +<p>"You must go to sleep," I said, speaking distinctly and authoritatively; +wondering at the time how much power my will would have over her. Did I +possess any of that magnetic, tranquillizing influence about which Jack +Senior and I had so often laughed incredulously at Guy's? Her lips +moved fast; for now my eyes had grown used to the dim light I could see +her face plainly, but I could not catch a syllable of what she was +whispering so busily to herself.</p> + +<p>Never had I felt so helpless and disconcerted in the presence of a +patient. I could positively do nothing for her. The case was not beyond +my skill, but all medicinal resources were beyond my reach. Sleep she +must have, yet how was I to administer it to her?</p> + +<p>I returned, troubled and irritable, to search once more my empty +portmanteau. Empty it was, except of the current number of <i>Punch</i>, +which my father had considerately packed among the splints for my +Sunday-evening reading. I flung it and the bag across the kitchen, with +an ejaculation not at all flattering to Dr. Dobrée, nor in accordance +with the fifth commandment.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, doctor?" inquired Tardif.</p> + +<p>I told him in a few sharp words what I wanted to soothe my patient. In +an instant he left his cooking and thrust his arms into his blue jacket +again.</p> + +<p>"You can finish it yourself, Dr. Martin," he said, hurriedly; "I'll run +over to old Mother Renouf; she'll have some herbs or something to send +mam'zelle to sleep."</p> + +<p>"Bring her back with you," I shouted after him as he sped across the +yard. Mother Renouf was no stranger to me. While I was a boy she had +charmed my warts away, and healed the bruises which were the inevitable +consequences of cliff-climbing. I scarcely liked her coming in to fill +up my deficiencies, and I knew our application to her for help would be +inexpressibly gratifying. But I had no other resource than to call her +in as a fellow-practitioner, and I knew she would make a first-rate +nurse, for which Suzanne Tardif was unfitted by her deafness.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FOURTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FOURTH.</h2> + +<p>A RIVAL PRACTITIONER.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Mother Renouf arrived from the other end of the island in an incredibly +short time, borne along by Tardif as if he were a whirlwind and she a +leaf caught in its current. She was a short, squat old woman, with a +skin tanned like leather, and kindly little blue eyes, twinkling with +delight and pride. Yes, there they are, photographed somewhere in my +brain, the wrinkled, yellow, withered faces of the two old women, their +watery eyes and toothless mouths, with figures as shapeless as the +bowlders on the beach, watching beside the bed where lay the white but +tenderly beautiful face of the young girl, with her curls of glossy hair +tossed about the pillow, and her long, tremulous eyelashes making a +shadow on her rounded cheek.</p> + +<p>Mother Renouf gave me a hearty tap on the shoulder, and chuckled as +merrily as the shortness of her breath after her rapid course would +permit. The few English phrases she knew fell far short of expressing +her triumph and exultation; but I was resolved to confer with her +affably. My patient's case was too serious for me to stand upon my +dignity.</p> + +<p>"Mother," I said, "have you any simples to send this poor girl to sleep? +Tardif told me you had taken her sprained ankle under your charge. I +find I have nothing with me to induce sleep, and you can help us if any +one can."</p> + +<p>"Leave her to me, my dear little doctor," she answered, a laugh gurgling +in her thick throat; "leave her to me. You have done your part with the +bones. I have no touch at all for broken limbs, though my father, good +man, could handle them with any doctor in all the islands. But I'll send +her to sleep for you, never fear."</p> + +<p>"You will stay with us all night?" I said, coaxingly. "Suzanne is deaf, +and ears are of use in a sick-room, you know. I intended to go to +Gavey's, but I shall throw myself down here on the fern bed, and you can +call me at any moment, if there is need."</p> + +<p>"There will be no need," she replied, in a tone of confidence. "My +little mam'zelle will be sound asleep in ten minutes after she has taken +my draught."</p> + +<p>I went into the room with her to have a look at our patient. She had not +stirred yet, but was precisely in the position in which I placed her +after the operation was ended. There was something peculiar about this +which distressed me. I asked Mother Renouf to move her gently and bring +her face more toward me. The burning eyes opened widely as soon as she +felt the old woman's arm under her, and she looked up, with a flash of +intelligence, into my face. I stooped down to catch the whisper with +which her lips were moving.</p> + +<p>"You told me not to stir," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said; "but you are not to lie still till you are cramped and +stiff. Are you in much pain now?"</p> + +<p>"He told me not to stir," muttered the parched lips again, "not to stir. +I must lie quite still, quite still, quite still!"</p> + +<p>The feeble voice died away as she whispered the last words, but her lips +went on moving, as if she was repeating them to herself still. Certainly +there was mischief here. My last order, given just before her mind began +to wander, had taken possession of her brain, and retained authority +over her will. There was a pathetic obedience in her perfect immobility, +united with the shifting, restless glance of her eyes, and the ceaseless +ripple of movement about her mouth, which made me trebly anxious and +uneasy. A dominant idea had taken hold upon her which might prove +dangerous. I was glad when Mother Renouf had finished stewing her +decoction of poppy-heads, and brought the nauseous draught for the girl +to drink.</p> + +<p>But whether the poppy-heads had lost their virtue, or our patient's +nervous condition had become too critical, too full of excitement and +disturbance, I cannot tell. It is certain that she was not sleeping in +ten minutes' or in an hour's time. Old Dame Tardif went off to her +bedroom, and Mother Renouf took her place by the girl's side. Tardif +could not be persuaded to leave the kitchen, though he appeared to be +falling asleep heavily, waking up at intervals, and starting with terror +at the least sound. For myself I scarcely slept at all, though I found +the fern bed a tolerably comfortable resting-place.</p> + +<p>The gale that Tardif had foretold came with great violence about the +middle of the night. The wind howled up the long, narrow ravine like a +pack of wolves; mighty storms of hail and rain beat in torrents against +the windows, and the sea lifted up its voice with unmistakable energy. +Now and again a stronger gust than the others appeared to threaten to +carry off the thatched roof bodily, and leave us exposed to the tempest +with only the thick stone walls about us; and the latch of the outer +door rattled as if some one outside was striving to enter. I am not +fanciful, but just then the notion came across me that if that door +opened we should see the grim skeleton, Death, on the threshold, with +his bleached, unclad bones dripping with the storm. I laughed at the +ghastly fancy, and told it to Tardif in one of his waking intervals, but +he was so terrified and troubled by it that it grew to have some little +importance in my own eyes. So the night wore slowly away, the tall clock +in the corner ticking out the seconds and striking the hours with a +fidelity to its duty, which helped to keep me awake. Twice or thrice I +crept, with quite unnecessary caution, into the room of my patient.</p> + +<p>No, there was no symptom of sleep there. The pulse grew more rapid, the +temples throbbed, and the fever gained ground. Mother Renouf was ready +to weep with vexation. The girl herself sobbed and shuddered at the loud +sounds of the tempest without; but yet, by a firm, supreme effort of her +will, which was exhausting her strength dangerously, she kept herself +quite still. I would have given up a year or two of my life to be able +to set her free from the bondage of my own command.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FIFTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FIFTH.</h2> + +<p>LOCKS OF HAIR.</p> +<br /> + +<p>The westerly gale, rising every few hours into a squall, gave me no +chance of leaving Sark the next day, nor for some days afterward; but I +was not at all put out by my captivity. All my interest—my whole +being, in fact—was absorbed in the care of this girl, stranger as she +was. I thought and moved, lived and breathed, only to fight step by step +against delirium and death, and to fight without my accustomed weapons. +Sometimes I could do nothing but watch the onset and inroads of the +fever most helplessly. There was no possibility of aid. The stormy +waters which beat against that little rock in the sea came swelling and +rolling in from the vast plain of the Atlantic, and broke in tempestuous +surf against the island. The wind howled, and the rain and hail beat +across us almost incessantly for two days, and Tardif himself was kept a +prisoner in the house, except when he went to look after his live-stock. +No doubt it would have been practicable for me to get as far as the +hotel, but to what good? It would be quite deserted, for there were no +visitors to Sark at this season, and I did not give it a second thought. +I was entirely engrossed in my patient, and I learned for the first time +what their task is who hour after hour watch the progress of disease in +the person, of one dear to them.</p> + +<p>Tardif occupied himself with mending his nets, pausing frequently with +his solemn eyes fixed upon the door of the girl's room, very much as a +patient mastiff watches the spot where he knows his master is near to +him, though out of sight. His mother went about her household work +ploddingly, and Mother Renouf kept manfully to her post, in turn with +me, as sentinel over the sickbed. There the young girl lay whispering +from morning till night, and from night till morning again—always +whispering. The fever gained ground from hour to hour. I had no data by +which to calculate her chances of getting through it; but my hopes were +very low at times.</p> + +<p>On the Tuesday afternoon, in a temporary lull of the hail and wind, I +started off on a walk across the island. The wind was still blowing from +the southwest, and filling all the narrow sea between us and Guernsey +with boiling surge. Very angry looked the masses of foam whirling about +the sunken reefs, and very ominous the low-lying, hard blocks of clouds +all along the horizon. I strolled as far as the Coupée, that giddy +pathway between Great and Little Sark, where one can see the seething of +the waves at the feet of the cliffs on both sides, three hundred feet +below one. Something like a panic seized me. My nerves were too far +unstrung for me to venture across the long, narrow isthmus. I turned +abruptly again, and hurried as fast as my legs would carry me back to +Tardif's cottage.</p> + +<p>I had been away less than an hour, but an advantage had been taken of my +absence. I found Tardif seated at the table, with a tangle of silky, +shining hair lying before him. A tear or two had fallen upon it from his +eyes. I understood at a glance what it meant. Mother Renouf had cut off +my patient's pretty curls as soon as I was out of the house. I could not +be angry with her, though I did not suppose it would do much good, and I +felt a sort of resentment, such as a mother would feel, at this +sacrifice of a natural beauty. They were all disordered and ravelled. +Tardif's great hand caressed them tenderly, and I drew out one long, +glossy tress and wound it about my fingers, with a heavy heart.</p> + +<p>"It is like the pretty feathers of a bird that has been wounded," said +Tardif, sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>Just then there came a knock at the door and a sharp click of the latch, +loud enough to penetrate Dame Tardif's deaf ears, or to arouse our +patient, if she had been sleeping. Before either of us could move, the +door was thrust open, and two young ladies appeared upon the door-sill.</p> + +<p>They were—it flashed across me in an instant—old school-fellows and +friends of Julia's. I declare to you honestly, I had scarcely had one +thought of Julia till now. My mother I had wished for, to take her place +by this poor girl's side, but Julia had hardly crossed my mind. Why, in +Heaven's name, should the appearance of these friends of hers be so +distasteful to me just now? I had known them all my life, and liked them +as well as any girls I knew; but at this moment the very sight of them +was annoying. They stood in the doorway, as much astonished and +thunderstricken as I was, glaring at me, so it seemed to me, with that +soft, bright-brown lock of hair curling and clinging round my finger. +Never had I felt so foolish or guilty.</p> + +<p>"Martin Dobrée!" ejaculated both in one breath.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mesdemoiselles," I said, uncoiling the tress of hair as if it had +been a serpent, and going forward to greet them; "are you surprised to +see me?"</p> + +<p>"Surprised!" echoed the elder. "No; we are amazed—petrified! However +did you get here? When did you come?"</p> + +<p>"Quite easily," I replied. "I came on Sunday, and Tardif fetched me in +his own boat. If the weather had permitted, I should have paid you a +call; but you know what it has been."</p> + +<p>"To be sure," answered Emma; "and how is dear Julia? She will be very +anxious about you."</p> + +<p>"She was on the verge of a bilious attack when I left her," I said; +"that will tend to increase her anxiety."</p> + +<p>"Poor, dear girl," she replied, sympathetically. "But, Martin, is this +young woman here so very ill? We have heard from the Renoufs she had had +a dangerous fall. To think of your being in Sark ever since Sunday, and +we never heard a word of it!"</p> + +<p>No, thanks to Tardif's quiet tongue, and Mother Renouf's assiduous +attendance upon mam'zelle, my sojourn in the island had been kept a +secret; now that was at an end.</p> + +<p>"Is that the young woman's hair?" asked Emma, as Tardif gathered +together the scattered tresses and tied them up quickly in a little +white handkerchief, out of their sight and mine. I saw them again +afterward. The handkerchief had been his wife's—white, with a border of +pink roses.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied to her question, "it was necessary to cut it off. She +is dangerously ill with fever."</p> + +<p>Both of them shrank a little toward the door. A sudden temptation +assailed me, and took me so much by surprise that I had yielded before I +knew I was attacked. It was their shrinking movement that did it. My +answer was almost as automatic and involuntary as their retreat.</p> + +<p>"You see it would not be wise for any of us to go about," I said. "A +fever breaking out in the island, especially now you have no resident +doctor, would be very serious. I think it will be best to isolate this +case till we see the nature of the fever. You will do me a favor by +warning the people away from us at present. The storm has saved us so +far, but now we must take other precautions."</p> + +<p>This I said with a grave tone and face, knowing all the while that there +was no fear whatever for the people of Sark. Was there a propensity in +me, not hitherto developed, to make the worst of a case?</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Martin, good-by," cried Emma, backing out through the open +door. "Come away, Maria. We have run no risk yet, Martin, have we? Do +not come any nearer to us. We have touched nothing, except shaking hands +with you. Are we quite safe?"</p> + +<p>"Is the young woman so very ill?" inquired Maria from a safe distance +outside the house.</p> + +<p>I shook my head in silence, and pointed to the door of the inner room, +intimating to them that she was no farther away than there. An +expression of horror came over both their faces. Scarcely waiting to +bestow upon me a gesture of farewell, they fled, and I saw them hurrying +with unusual rapidity across the fold.</p> + +<p>I had at least secured isolation for myself and my patient. But why had +I been eager to do so? I could not answer that question to myself, and I +did not ponder over it many minutes. I was impatient, yet strangely +reluctant, to look at the sick girl again, after the loss of her +beautiful hair. It was still daylight. The change in her appearance +struck me as singular. Her face before had a look of suffering and +trouble, making it almost old, charming as it was; now she had the +aspect of quite a young girl, scarcely touching upon womanhood. Her hair +had not been shorn off closely—the woman could not manage that—and +short, wavy tresses, like those of a young child, were curling about her +exquisitely-shaped head. The white temples, with their blue, throbbing +veins, were more visible, with the small, delicately-shaped ears. I +should have guessed her age now as barely fifteen—almost that of a +child. Thus changed, I felt more myself in her presence, more as I +should have been in attendance upon any child. I scanned her face +narrowly, and it struck me that there was a perceptible alteration; an +expression of exhaustion or repose was creeping over it. The crisis of +the fever was at hand. The repose of death or the wholesome sleep of +returning health was not far off. Mother Renouf saw it as well as +myself.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_SIXTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SIXTH.</h2> + +<p>WHO IS SHE?</p> +<br /> + +<p>We sat up again together that night, Tardif and I. He would not smoke, +lest the scent of the tobacco should get in through the crevices of the +door, and lessen the girl's chance of sleep; but he held his pipe +between his teeth, taking an imaginary puff now and then, that he might +keep himself wide awake. We talked to one another in whispers.</p> + +<p>"Tell me all you know about mam'zelle," I said. He had been chary of his +knowledge before, but his heart seemed open at this moment. Most hearts +are more open at midnight than at any other hour.</p> + +<p>"There's not much to tell, doctor," he answered. "Her name is Ollivier, +as I said to you; but she does not think she is any kin to the Olliviers +of Guernsey. She is poor, though she does not look as if she had been +born poor, does she?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least degree," I said. "If she is not a lady of birth, she +is one of the first specimens of Nature's gentlefolks I have ever come +across."</p> + +<p>"Ah, there is a difference!" he said, sighing. "I feel it, doctor, in +every word I speak to her, and every step I walk with her eyes upon me. +Why cannot I be like her, or like you? You'll be on a level with her, +and I am down far below her."</p> + +<p>I looked at him curiously. The slouching figure—well shaped as it +was—the rough, knotted hands, the unkempt mass of hair about his head +and face, marked him for what he was—a toiler on the sea as well as on +the land. He understood my scrutiny, and colored under it like a girl.</p> + +<p>"You are a better fellow than I am, Tardif," I said; "but that has +nothing to do with our talk. I think we ought to communicate with the +young lady's friends, whoever they may be, as soon as there are any +means of communicating with the rest of the world. We should be in a fix +if any thing should happen to her. Have you no clew to her friends?"</p> + +<p>"She is not going to die!" he cried. "No, no, doctor. God must hear my +prayers for her. I have never ceased to lift up my voice to Him in my +heart since I found her on the shingle. She will not die!"</p> + +<p>"I am not so sure," I said; "but in any case we should write to her +friends. Has she written to any one since she came here?"</p> + +<p>"Not to a soul," he answered, eagerly. "She told me she has no friends +nearer than Australia. That is a great way off."</p> + +<p>"And has she had no letters?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Not one," he replied. "She has neither written nor received a single +letter."</p> + +<p>"But how did you come across her?" I inquired. "She did not fall from +the skies, I suppose. How was it she came to live in this +out-of-the-world place with you?"</p> + +<p>Tardif smoked his imaginary pipe with great perseverance for some +minutes, his face overcast with thought. But presently it cleared, and +he turned to me with a frank smile.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you all about it, Dr. Martin," he said. "You know the +Seigneur was in London last autumn, and there was a little difficulty in +the Court of Chefs Plaids here, about an ordonnance we could not agree +over, and I went across to London to see the Seigneur for myself. It was +in coming back I met with Mam'zelle Ollivier. I was paying my fare at +Waterloo station—the omnibus-fare, I mean—and I was turning away, when +I heard the man speak grumblingly. I thought it was at me, and I looked +back, and there she stood before him, looking scared and frightened at +his rough words. Doctor, I never could bear to see any soft, tender, +young thing in trouble. If it's nothing but a little bird that has +fallen out of its warm nest, or a lamb slipped down among the cliffs, I +feel as if I could risk my life to put them back again in some safe +place. Yes, and I have done it scores of times, when I dared not let my +poor mother know. Well, there stood mam'zelle, pale and trembling, with +the tears ready to fall in her eyes; just such a soft, poor, tender soul +as my little wife used to be. You remember my little wife, Dr. Martin?"</p> + +<p>I only nodded as he looked at me.</p> + +<p>"Just such another," he went on; "only this one was a lady, and less +able to take care of herself. Her trouble was nothing but the +omnibus-fare, and she had no change, nothing but an Australian +sovereign; so I paid it for her. I kept pretty near her about the +station while she was buying her ticket, for I overheard two young men, +who were roaming up and down, say as they looked at her, 'Pas de gants, +et des souliers de velours!' That was true; she had no gloves on her +hands, and her little feet had nothing on but some velvet slippers, all +wet and muddy with the dirty streets. So I walked up to her, as if I +had been her servant, you understand, and put her into a carriage, and +stood at the door of it, keeping off any young men who wished to get +in—for she was such a pretty young thing—till the train was ready to +start, and then I got into the nearest second-class carriage there was +to her."</p> + +<p>"Well, Tardif?" I said, impatiently, as he paused, looking absently into +the dull embers of the seaweed fire.</p> + +<p>"I turned it over in my own mind then," he continued, "and I've turned +it over in my own mind since, and I can make no sort of an account of +it—a young lady travelling without any friends in a dress like that, as +if she had not had a minute to spare in getting ready for her journey. +It was a bad night for a journey too. Could she be going to see some +friend who was dying? At every station I looked out to see if my young +lady left the train; but no, not even at Southampton. Was she going on +to France? 'I must look out for her at the pier-head,' I said to myself. +But when we stopped at the pier I did not want her to think I was +watching her, only I stood well in the light, that she might see me when +she looked round. I saw her stand as if she was considering, and I moved +away very slowly to our boat, to give her the chance of speaking to me, +if she wished. But she only followed me very quietly, as if she did not +want me to see her, and she went down into the ladies' cabin in a +moment, out of sight. Then I thought, 'She is running away from some +one, or from something.' She had no shawls, or umbrellas, or baskets, +such as ladies are always cumbered with, and that looked strange."</p> + +<p>"How was she dressed?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"She wore a soft, bright-brown jacket," he answered—"a seal-skin they +call it, though I never saw a seal with a skin like that—and a hat like +it, and a blue-silk gown, and her little muddy velvet slippers. It was a +strange dress for travelling, wasn't it, doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Very strange indeed," I repeated. An idea was buzzing about my brain +that I had heard a description exactly similar before, but I could not +for the life of me recall where. I could not wait to hunt it out then, +for Tardif was in a full flow of confidence.</p> + +<p>"But my heart yearned to her," he said, "more than ever it did over any +bird fallen from its nest, or any lamb that had slipped down the cliffs. +All the softness and all the helplessness of every poor little creature +I had ever seen in my life seemed about her; all the hunted creatures +and all the trapped creatures came to my mind. I can hardly tell you +about it, doctor. I could have risked my life a hundred times over for +her. It was a rough night, and I kept seeing her pale, hunted-looking +face before me, though there was not half the danger I've often been in +round our islands. I couldn't keep myself from fancying we were all +going down to the bottom of the sea, and that poor young thing, running +away from one trouble, was going to meet a worse—if it is worse to die +than to live in great trouble. Dr. Martin, they tell me all the bed of +the sea out yonder under the Atlantic is a smooth, smooth floor, with no +currents, or tides, or streams, but a great calm; and there is no life +down there of any kind. Well, that night I seemed to see the dead who +have perished by sea lying there calm and quiet with their hands folded +across their breasts. A great company it was, and a great graveyard, +strewed over with sleeping shapes, all at rest and quiet, waiting till +they hear the trumpet of the archangel sounding so that even the dead +will hear and live again. It was a solemn sight to see, doctor. Somehow +I came to think it would not be altogether a bad thing for the poor +young troubled creature to go down there among them and be at rest. +There are some people who seem too tender and delicate for this world. +Yet if there had come a chance I'd have laid down my life for hers, even +then, when I knew nothing much about her."</p> + +<p>"Tardif," I said, "I did not know what a good fellow you are, though I +ought to have known it by this time."</p> + +<p>"No," he answered, "it is not in me; it's something in her. You feel +something of it yourself, doctor, or how could you stay in a poor little +house like this, thinking of nothing but her, and not caring about the +weather keeping you away from home? But let me go on. In the morning +she came on deck, and talked to me about the islands, and where she +could live cheaply, and it ended in her coming home here to lodge in our +little spare room. There was another curious thing—she had not any +luggage with her, not a box nor a bag of any kind. She never knew that I +knew, for that would have troubled her. It is my belief that she has run +away."</p> + +<p>"But who can she have run away from, Tardif?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"God knows," he answered, "but the girl has suffered; you can see that +by her face. Whoever or whatever she has run away from, her cheeks are +white from it, and her heart sorrowful. I know nothing of her secret; +but this I do know: she is as good, and true, and sweet a little soul as +my poor little wife was. She has been here all winter, doctor, living +under my eye, and I've waited on her as her servant, though a rough +servant I am for one like her. She has tried to make herself cheerful +and contented with our poor ways. See, she mended me that bit of net; +those are her meshes, though her pretty white fingers were made sore by +the twine. She would mend it, sitting where you are now in the +chimney-corner. No; if mam'zelle should die, it will be a great grief of +heart to me. If I could offer my life to God in place of hers, I'd do it +willingly."</p> + +<p>"No, she will not die. Look there, Tardif!" I said, pointing to the +door-sill of the inner room. A white card had been slipped under the +door noiselessly—a signal agreed upon between Mother Renouf and me, to +inform me that my patient had at last fallen into a profound slumber, +which seemed likely to continue some hours. She had slept perhaps a few +minutes at a time before, but not a refreshing, wholesome sleep. Tardif +understood the silent signal as well as I did, and a more solemn +expression settled on his face. After a while he put away his pipe, and, +stepping barefoot across the floor without a sound, he stopped the +clock, and brought back to the table, where an oil-lamp was burning, a +large old Bible. Throughout the long night, whenever I awoke, for I +threw myself on the fern bed and slept fitfully, I saw his handsome +face, with its rough, unkempt hair falling across his forehead as it was +bent over the book, while his mouth moved silently as he read to himself +chapter after chapter, and turned softly the pages before him.</p> + +<p>I fell into a heavy slumber just before daybreak, and when I awoke two +or three hours after I found that the house had been put in order, just +as usual, though no sound had disturbed me. I glanced anxiously at the +closed door. That it was closed, and the white card still on the sill, +proved to me that our charge had no more been disturbed than myself. The +thought struck me that the morning light would shine full upon the weak +and weary eyelids of the sleeper; but upon going out into the fold to +look at her casement, I discovered that Tardif had been before me and +covered it with an old sail. The room within was sufficiently darkened.</p> + +<p>The morning was more than half gone before Mother Renouf opened the door +and came out to us, her old face looking more haggard than ever, but her +little eyes twinkling with satisfaction. She gave me a patronizing nod, +but she went up to Tardif, laid a hand on each of his broad shoulders, +and looked him keenly in the face.</p> + +<p>"All goes well, my friend," she said, significantly. "Your little +mam'zelle does not think of going to the good God yet."</p> + +<p>I did not stay to watch how Tardif received this news, for I was +impatient myself to see how she was going on. Thank Heaven, the fever +was gone, the delirium at an end. The dark-gray eyes, opening languidly +as my fingers touched her wrist, were calm and intelligent. She was as +weak as a kitten, but that did not trouble me much. I was sure her +natural health was good, and she would soon recover her lost strength. I +had to stoop down to hear what she was saying.</p> + +<p>"Have I kept quite still, doctor?" she asked, faintly.</p> + +<p>I must own that my eyes smarted, and my voice was not to be trusted. I +had never felt so overjoyed in my life as at that moment. But what a +singular wish to be obedient possessed this girl! What a wonderful +power of submissive self-control! she had cast aside authority and +broken away from it, as she had done apparently, there must have been +some great provocation before a nature like hers could venture to assert +its own independence.</p> + +<p>I had ample time for turning over this reflection, for Mother Renouf was +worn out and needed rest, and Suzanne Tardif was of little use in the +sick-room. I scarcely left my patient all that day, for the rumor I had +set afloat the day before was sufficient to make it a difficult task to +procure another nurse. The almost childish face grew visibly better +before my eyes, and when night came I had to acknowledge somewhat +reluctantly that as soon as a boat could leave the island it would be my +bounden duty to return to Guernsey.</p> + +<p>"I should like to see Tardif," murmured the girl to me that night, after +she had awakened from a second long and peaceful sleep.</p> + +<p>I called him, and he came in barefoot, his broad, burly frame seeming to +fill up all the little room. She could not lift up her head, but her +face was turned toward us, and she held out her small, wasted hand to +him, smiling faintly. He fell on his knees before he took it into his +great, horny palm, and looked down upon it as he held it very carefully +with, tears standing in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why, it is like an egg-shell," he said. "God bless you, mam'zelle, God +bless you for getting well again!"</p> + +<p>She laughed at his words—a feeble though merry laugh, like a +child's—and she seemed delighted with the sight of his hearty face, +glowing as it was with happiness. It was a strange chance that had +thrown these two together. I could not allow Tardif to remain long; but +after that she kept devising little messages to send to him through me +whenever I was about to leave her. Her intercourse with Mother Renouf +was extremely limited, as the old woman's knowledge of English was +slight; and with Suzanne she could hold no conversation at all. It +happened, in consequence, that I was the only person who could talk or +listen to her through the long and dreary hours.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_SEVENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.</h2> + +<p>WHO ARE HER FRIENDS?</p> +<br /> + +<p>At another time I might have recognized the danger of my post; but my +patient had become so childish-looking, and her mind, enfeebled by +delirium, was in so childish a condition, that it seemed to me I little +more than tending some young girl whose age was far below my own. I did +not trouble myself, moreover, with any exact introspection. There was an +under-current of satisfaction and happiness running through the hours +which I was not inclined to fathom. The winds continued against me, and +I had nothing to do but to devote myself to mam'zelle, as I called her +in common with the people about me. She was still so far in a precarious +state that, if she had been living in Guernsey, it would have been my +duty to pay to her unflagging attention.</p> + +<p>But upon Friday afternoon Tardif, who had been down to the Creux Harbor, +brought back the information that one of the Sark cutters was about to +venture to make the passage across the Channel the next morning, to +attend the Saturday market, if the wind did not rise again in the night. +It was clear as day what I must do. I must bid farewell to my patient, +however reluctant I might be, with a very uncertain prospect of seeing +her again. A patient in Sark could not have many visits from a doctor in +Guernsey.</p> + +<p>She was recovering with the wonderful elasticity of a thoroughly sound +constitution; but I had not considered it advisable for her even to sit +up yet, with her broken arm and sprained ankle. I took my seat beside +her for the last time, her fair, sweet face lying upon the pillow as it +had done when I first saw it, only the look of suffering was gone. I had +made up my mind to learn something of the mystery that surrounded her; +and the child, as I called her to myself, was so submissive to me that +she would answer my questions readily.</p> + +<p>"Mam'zelle," I said, "I am going away to-night. You will be sorry to +lose me?"</p> + +<p>"Very, very sorry," she answered, in her low, touching voice. "Are you +obliged to go?"</p> + +<p>If I had not been obliged to go, I should then and there have made a +solemn vow to remain with her till she was well again.</p> + +<p>"I must go," I said, shaking off the ridiculous and troublesome idea. "I +have been away nearly six days. Six days is a long holiday for a +doctor."</p> + +<p>"It has not been a holiday for you," she whispered, her eyes fastened +upon mine, and shining like clear stars.</p> + +<p>"Well," I repeated, "I must go. Before I go I wish to write to your +friends for you. You will not be strong enough to write yourself for +some days, and it is quite time they knew what danger you have been in. +I have brought a pen and paper, and I will post the letter as soon as I +reach Guernsey."</p> + +<p>A faint flush colored her face, and she turned her eyes away from me.</p> + +<p>"Why do you think I ought to write?" she asked at length.</p> + +<p>"Because you have been very near death." I answered. "If you had died, +not one of us would have known whom to communicate with, unless you had +left some direction in that box of yours, which is not very likely."</p> + +<p>"No," she said, "you would find nothing there. I suppose if I had died +nobody would ever have known who I am. How curious that would have +been!"</p> + +<p>Was she amused, or was she saddened by the thought? I could not tell.</p> + +<p>"It would have been very painful to Tardif and to me," I said. "It must +be very painful to your friends, whoever they are, not to know what has +become of you. Give me permission to write to them. There can scarcely +be reasons sufficient for you to separate yourself from them like this. +Besides, you cannot go on living in a fisherman's cottage; you were not +born to it—"</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" she asked, quickly, with a sharp tone in her voice.</p> + +<p>It was somewhat difficult to answer that question. There was nothing to +indicate what position she had been used to. I had seen no token of +wealth about her room, which was as homely as any other cottage chamber. +Her conversation had been the simple, childish talk of an invalid +recovering from a serious illness, and had scarcely proved her to be an +educated person. Yet there was something in her face and tones and +manner which, as plainly to Tardif as to me, stamped this runaway girl +as a lady.</p> + +<p>"Let me write to your friends," I urged, waiving the question. "It is +not fit for you to remain here. I beg of you to allow me to communicate +with them."</p> + +<p>Her face quivered like a child's when it is partly frightened and partly +grieved.</p> + +<p>"I have no friends," she said; "not one real friend in the world."</p> + +<p>An almost irresistible inclination assailed me to fall on my knees +beside her, as I had seen Tardif do, and take a solemn oath to be her +faithful servant and friend as long as my life should last. This, of +course, I did not do; but the sound of the words so plaintively spoken, +and the sight of her quivering face, rendered her a hundredfold more +interesting to me.</p> + +<p>"Mam'zelle," I said, taking her hand in mine, "if ever you should need a +friend, you may count upon Martin Dobrée as one as true as any you could +wish to have. Tardif is another. Never say again you have no friends."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she answered, simply. "I will count you and Tardif as my +friends. But I have no others, so you need not write to anybody."</p> + +<p>"But what if you had died?" I persisted.</p> + +<p>"You would have buried me quietly up there," she answered, "in the +pleasant graveyard, where the birds sing all day long, and I should have +been forgotten soon. Am I likely to die, Dr. Martin?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," I replied, hastily; "nothing of the kind. You are going +to get well and strong again. But I must bid you good-by, now, since you +have no friends to write to. Can I do any thing for you in Guernsey? I +can send you any thing you fancy."</p> + +<p>"I do not want any thing," she said.</p> + +<p>"You want a great number of things," I said; "medicines, of course—what +is the good of a doctor who sends no medicine?—and books. You will have +to keep yourself quiet a long time. You would like some books?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have longed for books," she said, sighing; "but don't buy any; +lend me some of your own."</p> + +<p>"Mine would be very unsuitable for a young lady," I answered, laughing +at the thought of my private library. "May I ask why I am not to buy +any?"</p> + +<p>"Because I have no money to spend in books," she said.</p> + +<p>"Well," I replied, "I will borrow some for you from the ladies I know. +We will not waste our money, neither you nor I."</p> + +<p>I stood looking at her, finding it harder to go away than I had +supposed. So closely had I watched the changes upon her face, that every +line of it was deeply engraved upon my memory. Other and more familiar +faces seemed to have faded in proportion to that distinctness of +impression. Julia's features, for instance, had become blurred and +obscure, like a painting which has lost its original clearness of tone.</p> + +<p>"How soon will you come back again?" asked the faint, plaintive voice.</p> + +<p>Clearly it did not occur to her that I could not pay her a visit without +great difficulty. I knew how it was next to an impossibility to get over +to Sark, for some time at least; but I felt ready to combat even +impossibilities.</p> + +<p>"I will come back," I said—"yes, I promise to come back in a week's +time. Make haste and get well before then, mam'zelle. Good-by, now; +good-by."</p> + +<p>I was going to sleep at Vaudin's Inn, near to Creux Harbor, from which +the cutter would sail almost before the dawn. At five o'clock we started +on oar passage—a boat-load of fishermen bound for the market. The cold +was sharp, for it was still early in March, and the easterly wind +pierced the skin like a myriad of fine needles. A waning moon was +hanging in the sky over Guernsey, and the east was growing gray with the +coming morning. By the time the sun was fairly up out of its bed of +low-lying clouds, we had rounded the southern point of Sark, and were in +sight of the Havre Gosselin. But Tardif's cottage was screened by the +cliffs, and I could catch no glimpse of it, though, as we rowed onward, +I saw a fine, thin column of white smoke blown toward us. It was from +his hearth, I knew, and, at this moment, he was preparing an early +breakfast for my invalid. I watched it till all the coast became an +indistinct outline against the sky.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_EIGHTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.</h2> + +<p>THE SIXTIES OF GUERNSEY.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I was more than half-numb with cold by the time we landed at the quay, +opposite the Sark office. The place was all alive, seeming the more busy +and animated to me for the solitary six days I had been spending since +last Sunday. The arrival of our boat, and especially my appearance in +it, created quite a stir among the loungers who are always hanging about +the pier. By this time every individual in St. Peter-Port knew that Dr. +Martin Dobrée had been missing for several days, having gone out in a +fisherman's boat to Sark the Sunday before. I had seen myself in the +glass before leaving my chamber at Vaudin's, and to some extent I +presented the haggard appearance of a shipwrecked man. A score of voices +greeted me; some welcoming, some chaffing. "Glad to see you again, old +fellow!" "What news from Sark?" "Been in quod for a week?" "His hair is +not cut short!" "No; he has tarried in Sark till his beard be grown!" +There was a circling laugh at this last jest at my appearance, which had +been uttered by a good-tempered, jovial clergyman, who was passing by on +his way to the town church. I did my best to laugh and banter in return, +but it was like a bear dancing with a sore head. I felt gloomy and +uncomfortable. A change had come over me since I left home, for my +return was by no means an unmixed pleasure.</p> + +<p>As I was proceeding along the quay, with a train of sympathizing +attendants, a man, who was driving a large cart piled with packages in +cases, as if they had come in from England by the steamer, touched his +hat to me, and stopped the horse. It was in order to inform me that he +was conveying furniture which we—that is, Julia and I—had ordered, up +to our new house, the windows of which I could see glistening in the +morning sun. My spirits did not rise, even at this cheerful information. +I looked coldly at the cases, bade the man go on, and shook off my train +by taking an abrupt turn up a flight of steps, leading directly into the +Haute Rue.</p> + +<p>I had chosen instinctively the nearest by-way homeward, but, once in the +Haute Rue, I did not pursue it. I turned again upon a sudden thought +toward the Market Square, to see if I could pick up any dainties to +tempt the delicate appetite of my Sark patient. Every step I took +brought me into contact with some friend or acquaintance, whom I would +have avoided gladly. The market was sure to be full of them, for the +ladies of Guernsey, like Frenchwomen, would be there in shoals, with +their maidservants behind them to carry their purchases. Yet I turned +toward it, as I said, braving both congratulations and curiosity, to +see what I could buy for Tardif's "mam'zelle."</p> + +<p>The square had all the peculiar animation of an early market where +ladies do their own bargaining. As I had known beforehand, most of my +acquaintances were there; for in Guernsey the feminine element +predominates terribly, and most of my acquaintances were ladies. The +peasant-women behind the stalls also knew me. Most of them nodded to me +as I strolled slowly through the crowd, but they were much too busy to +suspend their purchases in order to catechise me just then, being sure +of me at a future time. I had not done badly in choosing the busiest +street for my way home.</p> + +<p>But as I left the Market Square I came suddenly upon Julia, face to +face. It had all the effect of a shock upon me. Like many other women, +she seldom looked well out-of-doors. The prevailing fashion never suited +her, however the bonnets were worn, whether hanging down the neck or +slouched over the forehead, rising spoon-shaped toward the sky, or lying +like a flat plate on the crown. Julia's bonnet always looked as if it +had been made for somebody else. She was fond of wearing a shawl, which +hung ungracefully about her, and made her figure look squarer and her +shoulders higher than they really were. Her face struck sharply upon my +brain, as if I had never seen it distinctly before; not a bad face, but +unmistakably plain, and just now with a frown upon it, and her heavy +eyebrows knitted forbiddingly. A pretty little basket was in her hand, +and her mind was full of the bargains she was bent upon. She was even +more surprised and startled by our encounter than I was, and her manner, +when taken by surprise, was apt to be abrupt.</p> + +<p>"Why, Martin!" she ejaculated.</p> + +<p>"Well, Julia!" I said.</p> + +<p>We stood looking at one another much in the same way as we used to do +years before, when she had detected me in some boyish prank, and assumed +the mentor while I felt a culprit. How really I felt a culprit at that +moment she could not guess.</p> + +<p>"I told you just how it would be," she said, in her mentor voice. "I +knew there was a storm coming, and I begged and entreated of you not to +go. Your mother has been ill all the week, and your father has been as +cross as—as—"</p> + +<p>"As two sticks," I suggested, precisely as I might have done when I was +thirteen.</p> + +<p>"It is nothing to laugh at," said Julia, severely. "I shall say nothing +about myself and my own feelings, though they have been most acute, the +wind blowing a hurricane for twenty-four hours together, and we not sure +that you had even reached Sark in safety. Your mother and I wanted to +charter the Rescue, and send her over to fetch you home as soon as the +worst of the storm was over, but my uncle pooh-poohed it."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad he did," I replied, involuntarily.</p> + +<p>"He said you would be more than ready to come back in the first cutter +that sailed," she went on. "I suppose you have just come in?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said, "and I'm half numbed with cold, and nearly famished with +hunger. You don't give me as good a welcome as the Prodigal Son got, +Julia."</p> + +<p>"No," she answered, softening a little; "but I'm not sorry to see you +safe again. I would turn back with you, but I like to do the marketing +myself, for the servants will buy any thing. Martin, a whole cartload of +our furniture is come in. You will find the invoice inside my davenport. +We must go down this afternoon and superintend the unpacking."</p> + +<p>"Very well," I said; "but I cannot stay longer now."</p> + +<p>I did not go on with any lighter heart than before this meeting with +Julia. I had scrutinized her face, voice, and manner, with unwonted +criticism. As a rule, a face that has been before us all our days is as +seldom an object of criticism as any family portrait which has hung +against the same place on the wall all our lifetime. The latter fills up +a space which would otherwise be blank; the former does very little +else. It never strikes you; it is almost invisible to you. There would +be a blank space left if it disappeared, and you could not fill it up +from memory. A phantom has been living, breathing, moving beside you, +with vanishing features and no very real presence.</p> + +<p>I had, therefore, for the first time criticised my future wife. It was a +good, honest, plain, sensible face, with some fine, insidious lines +about the corners of the eyes and lips, and across the forehead. They +could hardly be called wrinkles yet, but they were the first faint +sketch of them, and it is impossible to obliterate the slightest touch +etched by Time. She was five years older than I—thirty-three last +birthday. There was no more chance for our Guernsey girls to conceal +their age than for the unhappy daughters of peers, whose dates are +faithfully kept, and recorded in the Peerage. The upper classes of the +island, who were linked together by endless and intricate ramifications +of relationship, formed a kind of large family, with some of its +advantages and many of its drawbacks. In one sense we had many things in +common; our family histories were public property, as also our private +characters and circumstances. For instance, my own engagement to Julia, +and our approaching marriage, gave almost as much interest to the island +as though we were members of each household.</p> + +<p>I have looked out a passage in the standard work upon the Channel +Islands. They are the words of an Englishman who was studying us more +philosophically than we imagined. Unknown to ourselves we had been under +his microscope. "At a period not very distant, society in Guernsey +grouped itself into two divisions—one, including those families who +prided themselves on ancient descent and landed estates, and who +regarded themselves as the <i>pur sang</i>; and the other, those whose +fortunes had chiefly been made during the late war or in trade. The +former were called <i>Sixties</i>, the latter were the <i>Forties</i>."</p> + +<p>Now Julia and I belonged emphatically to the Sixties. We had never been +debased by trade, and a <i>mésalliance</i> was not known in our family. To be +sure, my father had lost a fortune instead of making one in any way; but +that did not alter his position or mine. We belonged to the aristocracy +of Guernsey, and <i>noblesse oblige</i>. As for my marriage with Julia, it +was so much the more interesting as the number of marriageable men was +extremely limited; and she was considered favored indeed by Fate, which +had provided for her a cousin willing to settle down for life in the +island.</p> + +<p>Still more greetings, more inquiries, more jokes, as I wended my way +homeward. I had become very weary of them before I turned into our own +drive. My father was just starting off on horseback. He looked +exceedingly well on horseback, being a very handsome man, and in +excellent preservation. His hair, as white as snow, was thick and well +curled, and his face almost without a wrinkle. He had married young, and +was not more than twenty-five years older than myself. He stopped, and +extended two fingers to me.</p> + +<p>"So you are back, Martin?" he said. "It has been a confounded nuisance, +you being out of the way; and such weather for a man of my years! I had +to ride out three miles to lance a baby's gums, confound it! in all that +storm on Tuesday. Mrs. Durande has been very ill too; all your patients +have been troublesome. But it must have been awfully dull work for you +out yonder. What did you do with yourself, eh? Make love to some of the +pretty Sark girls behind Julia's back, eh?"</p> + +<p>My father kept himself young, as he was very fond of stating; his style +of conversation was eminently so. It jarred upon my ears more than ever +after Tardif's grave and solemn words, and often deep thoughts. I was on +the point of answering sharply, but I checked myself.</p> + +<p>"The weather has been awful," I said. "How did my mother bear it?"</p> + +<p>"She has been like an old hen clucking after her duckling in the water," +he replied. "She has been fretting and fuming after you all the week. If +it had been me out in Sark, she would have slept soundly and ate +heartily; as it was you, she has neither slept nor ate. You are quite an +old woman's pet, Martin. As for me, there is no love lost between old +women and me."</p> + +<p>"Good-morning, sir," I said, turning away, and hurrying on to the house. +I heard him laugh lightly, and hum an opera-air as he rode off, sitting +his horse with the easy seat of a thorough horseman. He would never set +up a carriage as long as he could ride like that. I watched him out of +sight, and then went in to seek my poor mother.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_NINTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE NINTH.</h2> + +<p>A CLEW TO THE SECRET.</p> +<br /> + +<p>She was lying on the sofa in the breakfast-room, with the Venetian +blinds down to darken the morning sunshine. Her eyes wore closed, though +she held in her hands the prayer-hook, from which she had been reading +as usual the Psalms for the day. I had time to take note of the extreme +fragility of her appearance, which, doubtless I noticed the more plainly +for my short absence. Her hands were very thin, and her cheeks hollow. A +few silver threads were growing among her brown hair, and a line or two +between her eyebrows were becoming deeper. But while I was looking at +her, though I made no sort of sound or movement, she seemed to feel that +I was there; and after looking up she started from her sofa, and flung +her arms about me, pressing closer and closer to me.</p> + +<p>"O Martin, my boy! my darling!" she sobbed, "thank God you are come back +safe! Oh, I have been very rebellious, very unbelieving. I ought to have +known that you would be safe. Oh, I am thankful!"</p> + +<p>"So am I, mother," I said, kissing her, "and very hungry into the +bargain."</p> + +<p>I knew that would check her hysterical excitement. She looked up at me +with smiles and tears on her face; but the smiles won the day.</p> + +<p>"That is so like you, Martin," she said; "I believe your ghost would say +those very words. You are always hungry when you come home. Well, my +boy shall have the best breakfast in Guernsey. Sit down, then, and let +me wait upon you."</p> + +<p>That was just what pleased her most whenever I came in from some ride +into the country. She was a woman with fondling, caressing little ways, +such as Julia could no more perform gracefully than an elephant could +waltz. My mother enjoyed fetching my slippers, and warming them herself +by the fire, and carrying away my boots when I took them off. No servant +was permitted to do any of these little offices for me—that is, when my +father was out of the way. If he was there, my mother sat still, and +left me to wait on myself, or ring for a servant, Never in my +recollection had she done any thing of the kind for my father. Had she +watched and waited upon him thus in the early days of their married +life, until some neglect or unfaithfulness of his had cooled her love +for him? I sat down as she bade me, and had my slippers brought, and +felt her fingers passed fondly through my hair.</p> + +<p>"You have come back like a barbarian," she said, "rougher than Tardif +himself. How have you managed, my boy? You must tell me all about it as +soon as your hunger is satisfied."</p> + +<p>"As soon as I have had my breakfast, mother, I must put up a few things +in a hamper to go back by the Sark cutter," I answered.</p> + +<p>"What sort of things?" she asked. "Tell me, and I will be getting them +ready for you."</p> + +<p>"Well, there will be some physic, of course," I said; "you cannot help +me in that. But you can find things suitable for a delicate appetite; +jelly, you know, and jams, and marmalade; any thing nice that comes to +hand. And some good port-wine, and a few amusing books."</p> + +<p>"Books!" echoed my mother.</p> + +<p>I recollected at once that the books she might select, as being suited +to a Sark peasant, would hardly prove interesting to my patient. I could +not do better than go down to Barbet's circulating library, and look out +some good works there.</p> + +<p>"Well, no," I said; "never mind the books. If you will look out the +other things, those can wait."</p> + +<p>"Whom are they for?" asked my mother.</p> + +<p>"For my patient," I replied, devoting myself to the breakfast before me.</p> + +<p>"What sort of a patient, Martin?" she inquired again.</p> + +<p>"Her name is Ollivier," I said. "A common name. Our postmaster's name +is Ollivier."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," she answered; "I know several families of Olliviers. I dare +say I should know this person if you could tell me her Christian name. +Is it Jane, or Martha, or Rachel?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," I said; "I did not ask."</p> + +<p>Should I tell my mother about my mysterious patient? I hesitated for a +minute or two. But to what good? It was not my habit to talk about my +patients and their ailments. I left them all behind me when I crossed +the threshold of home. My mother's brief curiosity had been satisfied +with the name of Ollivier, and she made no further inquiries about her. +But to expedite me in my purpose, she rang, and gave orders for old +Pellet, our only man-servant, to find a strong hamper, and told the cook +to look out some jars of preserve.</p> + +<p>The packing of that hamper interested me wonderfully; and my mother, +rather amazed at my taking the superintendence of it in person, stood by +me in her store-closet, letting me help myself liberally. There was a +good space left after I had taken sufficient to supply Miss Ollivier +with good things for some weeks to come. If my mother had not been by, I +should have filled it up with books.</p> + +<p>"Give me a loaf or two of white bread," I said; "the bread at Tardif's +is coarse and hard, as I know after eating it for a week. A loaf, if you +please, dear mother."</p> + +<p>"Whatever are you doing here, Martin?" exclaimed Julia's unwelcome voice +behind me. Her bilious attack had not quite passed away, and her tones +were somewhat sharp and raspy.</p> + +<p>"He has been living on Tardif's coarse fare for a week," answered my +mother; "so now he has compassion enough for his Sark patient to pack up +some dainties for her. If you could only give him one or two of your bad +headaches, he would have more sympathy for you."</p> + +<p>"Have you had one of your headaches, Julia?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"The worst I ever had," she answered. "It was partly your going off in +that rash way, and the storm that came on after, and the fright we were +in. You must not think of going again, Martin. I shall take care you +don't go after we are married."</p> + +<p>Julia had been used to speak out as calmly about our marriage as if it +was no more than going to a picnic. It grated upon me just then; though +it had been much the same with myself. There was no delightful agitation +about the future that lay before us. We were going to set up +housekeeping by ourselves, and that was all. There was no mystery in it; +no problem to be solved; no discovery to be made on either side. There +would be no Blue Beard's chamber in our dwelling. We had grown up +together; now we had agreed to grow old together. That was the sum total +of marriage to Julia and me.</p> + +<p>I finished packing the hamper, and sent Pellet with it to the Sark +office, having addressed it to Tardif, who had engaged to be down at the +Creux Harbor to receive it when the cutter returned. Then I made a short +and hurried toilet, which by this time had become essential to my +reappearance in civilized society. But I was in haste to secure a parcel +of books before the cutter should start home again, with its courageous +little knot of market-people. I ran down to Barbet's, scarcely heeding +the greetings which were flung after mo by every passer-by. I looked +through the library-shelves with growing dissatisfaction, until I hit +upon two of Mrs. Gaskell's novels, "Pride and Prejudice," by Jane +Austin, and "David Copperfield." Besides these, I chose a book for +Sunday reading, as my observations upon my mother and Julia had taught +me that my patient could not read a novel on a Sunday with a quiet +conscience.</p> + +<p>Barbet brought half a sheet of an old <i>Times</i> to form the first cover of +my parcel. The shop was crowded with market-people, and, as he was busy, +I undertook to pack them myself, the more willingly as I had no wish for +him to know what direction I wrote upon them. I was about to fold the +newspaper round them, when my eye was caught by an advertisement at the +top of one of the columns, the first line of which was printed in +capitals. I recollected in an instant that I had seen it and read it +before. This was what I had tried in vain to recall while Tardif was +describing Miss Ollivier to me. "Strayed from her home in London, on the +20th inst., a young lady with bright-brown hair, gray eyes, and delicate +features; age twenty one. She is believed to have been alone. Was +dressed in a blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat. Fifty pounds +reward is offered to any person giving such information as will lead to +her restoration to her friends. Apply to Messrs. Scott and Brown, Gray's +Inn Road, E.C."</p> + +<p>I stood perfectly still for some seconds, staring blankly at the very +simple, direct advertisement under my eyes. There was not the slightest +doubt in my mind that it had a direct reference to my pretty patient in +Sark. I had a reason for recollecting the date of Tardif's return from +London, the very day after the mournful disaster off the Havre Gosselin, +when four gentlemen and a boatman had been lost during a squall. But I +had no time for deliberation then, and I tore off a large corner of the +<i>Times</i> containing that and other advertisements, and thrust it unseen +into my pocket. After that I went on with my work, and succeeded in +turning out a creditable-looking parcel, which I carried down to the +Sark cutter.</p> + +<p>Before I returned home I made two or three half-professional calls upon +patients whom my father had visited during my absence. Everywhere I had +to submit to numerous questions as to my adventures and pursuits during +my week's exile. At each place curiosity seemed to be quite satisfied +with the information that the young woman who had been hurt by a fall +from the cliffs was an Ollivier. With that freedom and familiarity which +exists among us, I was rallied for my evident absence and preoccupation +of mind, which were pleasantly ascribed to the well-known fact that a +large quantity of furniture for our new house had arrived from England +while I was away. These friends of mine could tell me the colors of the +curtains, and the patterns of the carpets, and the style of my chairs +and tables; so engrossingly interesting to all our circle was our +approaching marriage.</p> + +<p>In the mean time, I had no leisure to study and ponder over the +advertisement, which by so odd a chance had come into my hands. That +must be reserved till I was alone at night.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_TENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TENTH.</h2> + +<p>JULIA'S WEDDING-DRESS.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Yet I found my attention wandering, and my wits wool-gathering, even in +the afternoon, when I had gone down with Julia and my mother to the new +house, to see after the unpacking of that load of furniture. I can +imagine circumstances in which nothing could be more delightful than the +care with which a man prepares a home for his future wife. The very tint +of the walls, and the way the light falls in through the windows, would +become matters of grave importance. In what pleasant spot shall her +favorite chair be placed? And what picture shall hang opposite it to +catch her eye the oftenest? Where is her piano to stand? What china, and +glass, and silver, is she to use? Where are the softest carpets to be +found for her feet to tread? In short, where is the very best and +daintiest of every thing to be had, for the best and daintiest little +bride the sun ever shone on?</p> + +<p>There was not the slightest flavor of this sentiment in our furnishing +of our new house. It was really more Julia's business than mine. We had +had dozens of furnishing lists to peruse from the principal houses in +London and Paris, as if even there it was a well-understood thing that +Julia and I were going to be married. We had toiled through these +catalogues, making pencil-marks in them, as though they were catalogues +of an art exhibition. We had prudently settled the precise sum (of +Julia's money) which we were to lay out. Julia's taste did not often +agree with mine, as she had no eye for the harmonies of color—a +singular deficiency among us, as most of the Guernsey women are born +artists. We were constantly compelled to come to a compromise, each +yielding some point; not without a secret misgiving on my part that the +new house would have many an eyesore about it for me. But then it was +Julia's money that was doing it, and after all she was more anxious to +please me than I deserved.</p> + +<p>That afternoon Pellet and I, like two assistants in a furnishing-house, +unrolled carpets and stretched them along the floors before the critical +gaze of my mother and Julia. We unpacked chairs and tables, scanning +anxiously for damages on the polished wood, and setting them one after +another in a row against the walls. I went about as in some dream. The +house commanded a splendid view of the whole group of the Channel +Islands, and the rocky islets innumerable strewed about the sea. The +afternoon sun was shining full upon Sark, and whenever I looked through +the window I could see the cliffs of the Havre Gosselin, purple in the +distance, with a silver thread of foam at their foot. No wonder that my +thoughts wandered, and the words my mother and Julia were speaking went +in at one ear and out at the other. Certainly I was dreaming; but which +part was the dream?</p> + +<p>"I don't believe he cares a straw about the carpets!" exclaimed Julia, +in a disappointed tone.</p> + +<p>"I do indeed, dear Julia," I said, bringing myself back to the carpets. +Here I had been obliged to give in to Julia's taste. She had set her +mind upon having flowers in her drawing-room carpet, and there they +were, large garlands of bright-colored blossoms, very gay, and, as I +ventured to remark to myself, very gaudy.</p> + +<p>"You like it better than you did in the pattern?" she asked, anxiously.</p> + +<p>I did not like it one whit better, but I should have been a brute if I +had said so. She was gazing at it and me with so troubled an expression, +that I felt it necessary to set her mind at ease.</p> + +<p>"It is certainly handsomer than the pattern?" I said, regarding it +attentively; "very much handsomer."</p> + +<p>"You like it better than the plain thing you chose at first?" pursued +Julia.</p> + +<p>I was about to be hunted into a corner, and forced into denying my own +taste—a process almost more painful than denying one's faith—when my +mother came to my rescue. She could read us both as an open book, and +knew the precise moment to come between us.</p> + +<p>"Julia, my love," she said, "remember that we wish to show Martin those +patterns while it is daylight. To-morrow is Sunday, you know."</p> + +<p>A little tinge of color crept over Julia's tintless face as she told +Pellet he might go. I almost wished that I might be dismissed too; but +it was only a vague, wordless wish. We then drew near to the window, +from which we could see Sark so clearly, and Julia drew out of her +pocket a very large envelope, which was bursting with its contents.</p> + +<p>They were small scraps of white silk and white satin. I took them +mechanically into my hand, and could not help admiring the pure, +lustrous, glossy beauty of them. I passed my fingers over them softly. +There was something in the sight of them that moved me, as if they were +fragments of the shining garments of some vision, which in times gone +by, when I was much younger, had now and then floated before my fancy. I +did not know any one lovely enough to wear raiment of glistening white +like these, unless—unless—. A passing glimpse of the pure white face, +and glossy hair, and deep gray eyes of my Sark patient flashed across +me.</p> + +<p>"They are patterns for Julia's wedding-dress," said my mother, in a low, +tender voice.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_ELEVENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.</h2> + +<p>TRUE TO BOTH.</p> +<br /> + +<p>"For Julia!" I repeated, the treacherous vision fading away +instantaneously. "Oh, yes! I understand. They are very beautiful—very +beautiful indeed."</p> + +<p>"Which do you like most?" asked Julia, in a whisper, as she leaned +against my shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I like them all," I said. "There is scarcely any difference among them +that I can see."</p> + +<p>"No difference!" she exclaimed. "That is so like a man! Why, they are as +different as can be. Look here, this one is only five shillings a yard, +and that is twelve. Isn't that a difference?"</p> + +<p>"A very great one," I replied. "But do you think you will look well in +white, my dear Julia? You never do wear white."</p> + +<p>"A bride cannot wear any thing but white," she said, angrily. "I +declare, Martin, you would not mind if I looked a perfect fright."</p> + +<p>"But I should mind very much," I urged, putting my arm around her; "for +you will be my wife then, Julia."</p> + +<p>She smiled almost for the first time that afternoon, for her mind had +been full of the furniture, and too burdened for happiness. But now she +looked happy.</p> + +<p>"You can be as nice and good as any one, when you like," she said, +gently.</p> + +<p>"I shall always be nice and good when we are married," I answered, with +a laugh. "You are not afraid of venturing, are you, Julia?"</p> + +<p>"Not the least in the world," she said. "I know you, Martin, and I can +trust you implicitly."</p> + +<p>My heart ached at the words, so softly and warmly spoken. But I laughed +again—at myself this time, not at her. Why should she not trust me? I +would be as true as steel to her. I loved no one better, and I would +take care not to love any one. My word, my honor, my troth, were all +plighted to her. Only a scoundrel and a fool would be unfaithful to an +engagement like ours.</p> + +<p>We walked home together, we three, all contented and all happy. We had a +good deal to talk of during the evening, and sat up late. Sundry small +events had happened in Guernsey during my six-days' absence, and these +were discussed with that charming minuteness with which women canvass +family matters. It was midnight before I found myself alone in my own +room.</p> + +<p>I had half forgotten the crumpled paper in my waistcoat-pocket, but now +I smoothed it out before me and pondered over every word. No, there +could not be a doubt that it referred to Miss Ollivier. "Bright-brown +hair, gray eyes, and delicate features." That exactly corresponded with +her appearance. "Blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat." It was +precisely the dress which Tardif had described. "Fifty pounds reward." +That was a large sum to offer, and the inference was that her friends +were persons of good means, and anxious for her recovery.</p> + +<p>Why should she have strayed from home? That was the question. What +possible reason could there have been, strong enough to impel a young +and delicately-nurtured girl to run all the risks and dangers of a +flight alone and unprotected? Her friends evidently believed that she +had not been run away with; there was not the ordinary element of an +elopement in this case.</p> + +<p>But Miss Ollivier had assured me she had no friends. What did she mean +by the word? Here were persons evidently anxious to discover her place +of concealment. Were they friends? or could they by any chance be +enemies? This is not an age when enmity is very rampant. For my own +part, I had not an enemy in the world. Why should this pretty, +habitually-obedient, self-controlled girl have any? Most probably it was +one of those instances of bitter misunderstanding which sometimes arise +in families, and which had driven her to the desperate step of seeking +peace and quietness by flight.</p> + +<p>Then what ought I to do with this advertisement, thrust, as it would +seem, purposely under my notice? If I had not wrapped up the parcel +myself at Barbet's, I should have missed seeing it; or if Barbet had +picked up any other piece of paper, it would not have come under my eye. +A curious concatenation of very trivial circumstances had ended in +putting into my hands a clew by which I could unravel all the mystery +about my Sark patient. What was I to do with the clew?</p> + +<p>I might communicate at once with Messrs. Scott and Brown, giving them +the information they had advertised for six months before, and receive a +reply, stating that it was no longer valuable to them, or containing an +acknowledgment of my claim to the fifty pounds reward. I might sell my +knowledge of Miss Ollivier for fifty pounds. In doing so I might render +her a great service, by restoring her to her proper sphere in society. +But the recollection of Tardif's description of her as looking terrified +and hunted recurred vividly to me. The advertisement put her age as +twenty-one. I should not have judged her so old myself, especially since +her hair had been cut short. But if she was twenty-one, she was old +enough to form plans and purposes for herself, and to choose, as far as +she could, her own mode of living. I was not prepared to deliver her up, +until I knew something more of both sides of the question.</p> + +<p>Settled—that if I could see Messrs. Scot and Brown, and learn something +about Miss Ollivier's friends, I might be then able to decide whether I +would betray her to them but I would not write. Also, that I must see +her again first, and once more urge her to have confidence in me. If she +would trust me with her secret, I would be as true to her as a friend as +I meant to be true to Julia.</p> + +<p>Having come to these conclusions, I cut the advertisement carefully out +of the crumpled paper, and placed it in my pocket-book with portraits of +my mother and Julia, Here were mementos of the three women I cared most +for in the world: my mother first, Julia second, and my mysterious +patient third.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_TWELFTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.</h2> + +<p>STOLEN WATERS ARE SWEET.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I was neither in good spirits nor in good temper during the next few +days. My mother and Julia appeared astonished at this, for I was not +ordinarily as touchy and fractious as I showed myself immediately after +my sojourn in Sark.</p> + +<p>I was ashamed of it myself. The new house, which occupied their time and +thoughts so agreeably, worried me as it had not done before. I made +every possible excuse not to be sent to it, or taken to it, several +times a day.</p> + +<p>The discussions over Julia's wedding-dress also, which had by no means +been decided upon on Saturday afternoon, began to bore me beyond words. +Whenever I could, I made my patients a pretext for getting away from +them.</p> + +<p>One of them, a cousin of my mother—as I have said, we were all cousins +of one degree or another—Captain Carey, met me on the quay, a day or +two after my return. He had been a commander in the Royal Navy, and, +after cruising about in all manner of unhealthy latitudes, had returned +to his native island for the recovery of his health. He and his sister +lived together in a very pleasant house of their own, in the Vale, about +two miles from St. Peter-Port.</p> + +<p>He looked yellow enough to be on the verge of an attack of jaundice when +he came across me.</p> + +<p>"Hallo, Martin!" he cried, "I am delighted to see you, my boy. I've been +a little out of sorts lately; but I would not let Johanna send for your +father. He does very well to go dawdling after women, and playing with +their pulses, but I don't want him dawdling after me. Tell me what you +have to say about me, my lad."</p> + +<p>He went on to tell me his symptoms, while a sudden idea struck me almost +like a flash of genius.</p> + +<p>I am nothing of a genius; but at that time new thoughts came into my +mind with wonderful rapidity. It was positively necessary that I should +run over to Sark this week—I had given my word to Miss Ollivier that I +would do so—but I dared not mention such a project at home. My mother +and Julia would be up in arms at the first syllable I uttered.</p> + +<p>What if I could do two patients good at one stroke, kill two birds with +one stone? Captain Carey had a pretty little yacht lying idle in St. +Sampson's Harbor, and a day's cruising would do him all the good in the +world. Why should he not carry me over to Sark, when I could visit my +other patient, and nobody be made miserable by the trip?</p> + +<p>"I will make you up some of your old medicine," I said, "but I strongly +recommend you to have a day out on the water; seven or eight hours at +any rate. If the weather keeps as fine as it is now, it will do you a +world of good."</p> + +<p>"It is so dreary alone," he objected, "and Johanna would not care to go +out at this season, I know."</p> + +<p>"If I could manage it," I said, deliberating, "I should be glad to have +a day with you."</p> + +<p>"Ah! if you could do that!" he replied, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I'll see about it," I said. "Should you mind where you sailed to?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all, not at all, my boy," he answered, "so that I get your +company. You shall be skipper, or helmsman, or both, if you like."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," I replied, "you might take me over to the Havre Gosselin, +to see how my patient's broken arm is going on. It's a bore there being +no resident medical man there at this moment. The accident last autumn +was a great loss to the island."</p> + +<p>"Ah! poor fellow!" said Captain Carey, "he was a sad loss to them. But +I'll take you over with pleasure, Martin; any day you fix upon."</p> + +<p>"Get the yacht ship-shape, then," I said; "I think I can manage it on +Thursday."</p> + +<p>I did not say at home whither I was bound on Thursday. I informed them +merely that Captain Carey and I were going out in his yacht for a few +hours. This was simply to prevent them from worrying themselves.</p> + +<p>It was as delicious a spring morning as ever I remember. As I rode along +the flat shore between St. Peter-Port and St. Sampson's, the fresh air +from the sea played about my face, as if to drive dull care away, and +make me as buoyant and debonair as itself. The little waves were +glittering and dancing in the sunshine, and chiming with the merry +carols of the larks, outsinging one another in the blue sky overhead. +The numerous wind-mills, like children's toys, which were pumping water +out of the stone-quarries, whirled and spun busily in the brisk breeze. +Every person I met saluted me with a blithe and cheery greeting. My dull +spirits had been blown far away before I set foot on the deck of Captain +Carey's little yacht.</p> + +<p>The run over was all that we could wish. The cockle-shell of a boat, +belonging to the yacht, bore me to the foot of the ladder hanging down +the rock at Havre Gosselin. A very few minutes took me to the top of the +cliff, and there lay the little thatched, nest-like home of my patient. +I hastened forward eagerly.</p> + +<p>The place seemed very solitary and deserted; and a sudden fear came +across me. Was it possible that she should be dead? It was possible. I +had left her six days ago only just over a terrible crisis. There might +have been a relapse, a failure of vital force. I might be come to find +those shining eyes hid beneath their lids forever, and the pale, +suffering face motionless in death.</p> + +<p>Certainly the rhythmic motion of my heart was disturbed. I felt it +contract painfully, and its beating suspended for a moment or two. The +farmstead was intensely quiet, with the ominous stillness of death. All +the windows were shrouded with their check curtains. There was no +clatter of Suzanne's wooden clogs about the fold or the kitchen. If it +had been Sunday, this supernatural silence would have been easily +accounted for; but it was Thursday. I scarcely dared go on and learn the +cause of it.</p> + +<p>All silent still as I crossed the stony causeway of the yard. Not a face +looked out from door or window. Mam'zelle's casement stood a little way +open, and the breeze played with the curtains, fluttering them like +banners in a procession. I dared not try to look in. The house-door was +ajar, and I approached it cautiously. "Thank God!" I cried within myself +as I gazed eagerly into the cottage.</p> + +<p>She was lying there upon the fern-bed, half asleep, her head fallen back +upon the pillow, and the book she had been reading dropped from her +hand. Her dress was of some coarse, dark-green stuff, which made a +charming contrast to her delicate face and bright hair. The whole +interior of the cottage formed a picture. The old furniture of oak, +almost black with age, the neutral tints of the wall and ceiling, and +the deep tone of her green dress, threw out into strong relief the +graceful, shining head, and pale face.</p> + +<p>I suppose she became subtly conscious, as women always are, that +somebody's eyes were fixed upon her, for she awoke fully, and looked up +as I lingered on the door-sill.</p> + +<p>"O Dr. Martin!" she cried, "I am so glad!"</p> + +<p>She looked pleased enough to be upon the point of trying to raise +herself up in order to welcome me, but I interposed quickly. It was more +difficult than I had expected to assume a grave, professional tone, but +by an effort I did so. I bade her lie still, and took a chair at some +little distance.</p> + +<p>"Tardif is gone out fishing," she said, "and his mother is gone away +too, to a christening-feast somewhere; but Mrs. Renouf is to be here in +an hour or two. I told them I could manage very well as long as that."</p> + +<p>"They ought not to have left you alone," I replied.</p> + +<p>"And I shall not be left alone," she said, smiling, "for you are come, +you see. I am rather glad they are away; for I wanted to tell you how +much I felt your goodness to me all through that dreadful week. You are +the first doctor I ever had about me, the very first. Perhaps you +thought I did not know what care you were taking of me; but, somehow or +other, I knew every thing. My mind did not quite go. You were very, very +good to me."</p> + +<p>"Never mind that," I said; "I am come to see how my work is going on. +How is the arm, first of all?"</p> + +<p>I almost wished that Mother Renouf or Suzanne Tardif had been at hand. +But Miss Ollivier seemed perfectly composed, as much so as a child. She +looked like one with her cropped head of hair, and frank, open face. My +own momentary embarrassment passed away. The arm was going on all right, +and so was Mother Renouf's charge, the sprained ankle.</p> + +<p>"We must take care you are not lame," I said, while I was feeling +carefully the complicated joint of her ankle.</p> + +<p>"Lame!" she repeated, in an alarmed voice, "is there any fear of that?"</p> + +<p>"Not much," I answered, "but we must be careful, mam'zelle. You must +promise me not to set your foot on the ground, or in any way rest your +weight upon it, till I give you leave."</p> + +<p>"That means that you will have to come to see me again," she said; "is +it not very difficult to come over from Guernsey?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," I answered, "it is quite a treat to me."</p> + +<p>Her face grew very grave, as if she was thinking of some unpleasant +topic. She looked at me earnestly and questioningly.</p> + +<p>"May I speak to you with great plainness, Dr. Martin?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Speak precisely what is in your mind at this moment," I replied.</p> + +<p>"You are very, very good to me," she said, holding out her hand to me, +"but I do not want you to come more often than is quite necessary, +because I am very poor. If I were rich," she went on hurriedly, "I +should like you to come every day—it is so pleasant—but I can never +pay you sufficiently for that long week you were here. So please do not +visit me oftener than is quite necessary."</p> + +<p>My face felt hot, but I scarcely knew what to say. I bungled out an +answer:</p> + +<p>"I would not take any money from you, and I shall come to see you as +often as I can."</p> + +<p>I bound up her little foot again without another word, and then sat +down, pushing my chair farther from her.</p> + +<p>"You are not offended with me, Dr. Martin?" she asked, in a pleading +tone.</p> + +<p>"No," I answered; "but you are mistaken in supposing that a medical man +has no love for his profession apart from its profits. To see that your +arm gets properly well is part of my duty, and I shall fulfil it without +any thought of whether I shall get paid for it or no."</p> + +<p>"Now," she said, "I must let you know how poor I am. Will you please to +fetch me my box out of my room?"</p> + +<p>I was only too glad to obey her. This seemed to be an opening to a +complete confidence between us. Now I came to think of it, Fortune had +favored me in thus throwing us together alone.</p> + +<p>I lifted the small, light box very easily—there could not be many +treasures in it—and carried it back to her. She took a key out of her +pocket and unlocked it with some difficulty, but she could not raise the +lid without my help. I took care not to offer any assistance until she +asked it.</p> + +<p>Yes, there were very few possessions in that light trunk, but the first +glance showed me a blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat. I +lifted them out for her, and after them a pair of velvet slippers, +soiled, as if they had been through muddy roads. I did not utter a +remark. Beneath these lay a handsome watch and chain, a fine diamond +ring, and five sovereigns lying loose in the box.</p> + +<p>"That is all the money I have in the world," she said, sadly.</p> + +<p>I laid the five sovereigns in her small, white hand, and she turned them +over, one after another, with a pitiful look on her face. I felt foolish +enough to cry over them myself.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Martin," was her unexpected question after a long pause, "do you +know what became of my hair?"</p> + +<p>"Why?" I asked, looking at her fingers running through the short curls +we had left her.</p> + +<p>"Because that ought to be sold for something," she said. "I am almost +glad you had it cut off. My hair-dresser told me once he would give five +guineas for a head of hair like mine, it was so long and the color was +uncommon. Five guineas would not be half enough to pay you though, I +know."</p> + +<p>She spoke so simply and quietly, that I did not attempt to remonstrate +with her about her anxiety to pay me.</p> + +<p>"Tardif has it," I said; "but of course he will give it you back again. +Shall I sell it for you, mam'zelle?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is just what I could not ask you!" she exclaimed. "You see +there is no one to buy it here, and I hope it may be a long time before +I go away. I don't know, though; that depends upon whether I can dispose +of my things. There is my seal-skin, it cost twenty-five guineas last +year, and it ought to be worth something. And my watch—see what a nice +one it is. I should like to sell them all, every one. Then I could stay +here as long as the money lasted."</p> + +<p>"How much do you pay here?" I inquired, for she had taken me so far into +counsel that I felt justified in asking that question.</p> + +<p>"A pound a week," she answered.</p> + +<p>"A pound a week!" I repeated, in amazement. "Does Tardif know that?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think he does," she said. "When I had been here a week I gave +Mrs. Tardif a sovereign, thinking perhaps she would give me a little out +of it. I am not used to being poor, and I did not know how much I ought +to pay. But she kept it all, and came to me every week for more. Was it +too much to pay?"</p> + +<p>"Too much!" I said. "You should have spoken to Tardif about it, my poor +child."</p> + +<p>"I could not talk to Tardif about his mother," she answered. "Besides, +it would not have been too much if I had only had plenty. But it has +made me so anxious. I did not know whatever I should do when it was all +gone. I do not know now."</p> + +<p>Here was a capital opening for a question about her friends.</p> + +<p>"You will be compelled to communicate with your family," I said. "You +have told me how poor you are; cannot you trust me about your friends?"</p> + +<p>"I have no friends," she answered, sorrowfully. "If I had any, do you +suppose I should be here?"</p> + +<p>"I am one," I said, "and Tardif is another."</p> + +<p>"Ah, new friends," she replied; "but I mean real old friends who have +known you all your life, like your mother, Dr. Martin, or your cousin +Julia. I want somebody to go to who knows all about me, and say to them, +after telling them every thing, keeping nothing back at all, 'Have I +done right? What else ought I to have done?' No new friend could answer +questions like those."</p> + +<p>Was there any reason I could bring forward to increase her confidence in +me? I thought there was, and her friendlessness and helplessness touched +me to the core of my heart. Yet it was with an indefinable reluctance +that I brought forward my argument.</p> + +<p>"Miss Ollivier," I said, "I have no claim of old acquaintance or +friendship, yet it is possible I might answer those questions, if you +could prevail upon yourself to tell me the circumstances of your former +life. In a few weeks I shall be in a position to show you more +friendship than I can do now. I shall have a home of my own, and a wife +who will be your friend more fittingly, perhaps, than myself."</p> + +<p>"I knew it," she answered, half shyly. "Tardif told me you were going to +marry your cousin Julia."</p> + +<p>Just then we heard the fold-yard gate swing to behind some one who was +coming to the house.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.</h2> + +<p>ONE IN A THOUSAND.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I had altogether forgotten that Captain Carey's yacht was waiting for me +off the little bay below; and I sprang quickly to the door in the dread +that he had followed me.</p> + +<p>It was an immense relief to see only Tardif's tall figure bending under +his creel and nets, and crossing the yard slowly. I hailed him and he +quickened his pace, his honest features lighting up at the sight of me.</p> + +<p>"How do you find mam'zelle, doctor?" were his first eager words.</p> + +<p>"All right," I said; "going on famously. Sark is enough to cure any one +and any thing of itself, Tardif. There is no air like it. I should not +mind being a little ill here myself."</p> + +<p>"Captain Carey is impatient to be gone," he continued. "He sent word by +me that you might be visiting every house in the island, you had been +away so long."</p> + +<p>"Not so very long," I said, testily; "but I will just run in and say +good-by, and then I want you to walk with me to the cliff."</p> + +<p>I turned back for a last look and a last word. No chance of learning +her secret now. The picture was as perfect as when I had had the first +glimpse of it, only her face had grown, if possible, more charming after +my renewed scrutiny of it.</p> + +<p>There are faces that grow upon you the longer and the oftener you look +upon them; faces that seem to have a veil over them, which melts away +like the thin, fine mist of the morning upon the cliffs, until they +flash out in their full color and beauty. The last glance was eminently +satisfactory, and so was the last word.</p> + +<p>"Shall I send you the hair?" asked Miss Ollivier, returning practically +to a matter of business.</p> + +<p>"To be sure," I answered. "I shall dispose of it to advantage, but I +have not time to wait for it now."</p> + +<p>"And may I write a letter to you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," was my reply: I was too pleased to express myself more +eloquently.</p> + +<p>"Good-by," she said; "you are a very good doctor to me."</p> + +<p>"And friend?" I added.</p> + +<p>"And friend," she repeated.</p> + +<p>That was the last word, for I was compelled to hurry away. Tardif +accompanied me to the cliff, and I took the opportunity to tell him as +pleasantly as I could the extravagant charge his mother had made upon +her lodger, and the girl's anxiety about the future. A more grieved look +never came across a man's face.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Martin," he said, "I would have cut off my hand rather than it had +been so. Poor little mam'zelle! Poor old mother! She is growing old, +sir, and old people are greedy. The fall of the year is dark and cold, +and gives nothing, but takes away all it can, and hoards it for the +young new spring that is to follow. It seems almost the nature of old +age. Poor old mother! I am very grieved for her. And I am troubled, +troubled about mam'zelle. To think she has been fretting all the winter +about this, when I was trying to find out how to cheer her! Only five +pounds left, poor little soul! Why! all I have is at her service. It is +enough to have her only in the house, with her pretty ways and sweet +voice. I'll put it all right with mam'zelle, sir, and with my poor old +mother too. I am very sorry for <i>her</i>."</p> + +<p>"Miss Ollivier has been asking me to sell her hair," I said.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he answered hastily, "not a single hair! I cannot say yes to +that. The pretty bright curls! If anybody is to buy them, I will. Yes, +doctor! that is famous. She wishes you to sell her hair? Very good; I +will buy it; it must be mine. I have more money than you think, perhaps. +I will buy mam'zelle's pretty curls; and she shall have the money, and +then there will be more than five pounds in her little purse. Tell me +how much they will be. Ten pounds? Fifteen? Twenty?"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Tardif!" I answered; "keep one of them, if you like; but I +must have the rest. We will settle it between us."</p> + +<p>"No, doctor," he said; "your cousin will not like that. You are going to +be married soon; it would not do for you to keep mam'zelle's curls."</p> + +<p>It was said with so much simplicity and good-heartedness that I felt +ashamed of a rising feeling of resentment, and parted with him +cordially. In a few minutes afterward I was on board the yacht, and +laughing at Captain Carey's reproaches. Tardif was still visible on the +edge of the cliff, watching our departure.</p> + +<p>"That is as good a fellow as ever breathed," said Captain Carey, waving +his cap to him.</p> + +<p>"I know it better than you do," I replied.</p> + +<p>"And how is the young woman?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Going on as well as a broken arm and a sprained ankle can do," I +answered.</p> + +<p>"You will want to come again, Martin," he said; "when are we to have +another day?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall hear how she is every now and then," I answered; "it +takes too long a time to come more often than is necessary. But you will +bring me if it is necessary?"</p> + +<p>"With all my heart," said Captain Carey.</p> + +<p>For the next few days I waited with some impatience for Miss Ollivier's +promised letter. It came at last, and I put it into my pocket to read +when I was alone—why, I could scarcely have explained to myself.</p> + + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Dear Dr. Martin," it began, "I have no little commission to + trouble you with. Tardif tells me it was quite a mistake, his + mother taking a sovereign from me each week. She does not + understand English money; and he says I have paid quite + sufficient to stay with them a whole year longer without + paying any more. I am quite content about that now. Tardif + says, too, that he has a friend in Southampton who will buy my + hair, and give more than anybody in Guernsey. So I need not + trouble you about it, though I am sure you would have done it + for me.</p> + +<p> "I have not put my foot to the ground yet; but yesterday + Tardif carried me all the way down to his boat, and took me + out for a little sail under the beautiful cliffs, where we + could look up and see all those strange carvings upon the + rocks. I thought that perhaps there were real things written + there that we should like to read. Sometimes in the sky there + are fine faint lines across the blue which look like written + sentences, if one could only make them out. Here they are on + the rocks, but every tide washes them away, leaving fresh + ones. Perhaps they are messages to me, answers to those + questions that I cannot answer myself.</p> + +<p> "Good-by, my good doctor. I am trying to do every thing you + told me exactly; and I am getting well again fast. I do not + believe I shall be lame; you are too clever for that. Your + patient,</p> + +<p> "OLIVIA."</p></div> + +<p>Olivia! I looked at the word again to make sure of it. Then it was not +her surname that was Ollivier, and I was still ignorant of that. I saw +in a moment how the mistake had arisen, and how innocent she was of any +deception in the matter. She would tell Tardif that her name was Olivia, +and he thought only of the Olliviers he knew. It was a mistake that had +been of use in checking curiosity, and I did not feel bound to put it +right. My mother and Julia appeared to have forgotten my patient in Sark +altogether.</p> + +<p>Olivia! I thought it a very pretty name, and repeated it to myself with +its abbreviations, Olive, Livy. It was difficult to abbreviate Julia; Ju +I had called her in my rudest school-boy days. I wondered how high +Olivia would stand beside me; for I had never seen her on her feet. +Julia was not two inches shorter than myself; a tall, stiff figure, +neither slender enough to be lissome, nor well-proportioned enough to be +majestic. But she was very good, and her price was far above rubies.</p> + +<p>According to the wise man, it was a difficult task to find a virtuous +woman.</p> + +<p>It was a quiet time in the afternoon, and in order to verify my +recollection of the wise man's saying, which was a little cloudy in my +memory, I searched through Julia's Bible for it. I came across a passage +which made me pause and consider. "Behold, this have I found, saith the +preacher, counting one by one, to find out the account: which yet my +soul seeketh, but I find not; one man among a thousand have I found; but +a woman among all those have I not found."</p> + +<p>"Tardif is the man," I said to myself, "but is Julia the woman? Have I +had better luck than Solomon?"</p> + +<p>"What are you reading, Martin?" asked my father, who had just come in, +and was painfully fitting on a pair of new and very tight kid gloves. I +read the passage aloud, without comment.</p> + +<p>"Very good," he remarked, chuckling, "upon my word! I did not know there +was any thing as rich as that in the old book! Who says it, Martin? A +very wise preacher he was, and knew what he was talking about. Had seen +life, eh? It's as true as—as—as the gospel."</p> + +<p>I could not help laughing at the comparison he was forced to; yet I felt +angry with him and myself.</p> + +<p>"What do you say about my mother and Julia, sir?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He chuckled again cynically, examining with care a spot on the palm of +one of his gloves. "Ha! ha! my son"—I hated to hear him say "my +son"—"I will answer you in the words of another wise man: 'Most +virtuous women, like hidden treasures, are secure because nobody seeks +after them.'"</p> + +<p>So saying, he turned out of the room, swinging his gold-headed cane +jauntily between his fingers.</p> + +<p>I visited Sark again in about ten days, to set Olivia free from my +embargo upon her walking. I allowed her to walk a little way along a +smooth meadow-path, leaning on my arm; and I found that she was a head +lower than myself—a beautiful height for a woman. That time Captain +Carey had set me down at the Havre Gosselin, appointing me to meet him +at the Creux Harbor, which was exactly on the opposite side of the +island. In crossing over to it—a distance of rather more than a mile—I +encountered Julia's friends, Emma and Maria Brouard.</p> + +<p>"You here again, Martin!" exclaimed Emma.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered; "Captain Carey set me down at the Havre Gosselin, and +is gone round to meet me at the Creux."</p> + +<p>"You have been to see that young person?" asked Maria.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied.</p> + +<p>"She is a very singular young woman," she continued; "we think her +stupid. We cannot make anything of her. But there is no doubt poor +Tardif means to marry her."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" I ejaculated, hotly; "I beg your pardon, Maria, but I give +Tardif credit for sense enough to know his own position."</p> + +<p>"So did we," said Emma, "but it looks odd. He married an Englishwoman +before. It's old Mère Renouf who says he worships the ground she treads +upon. You know he holds a very good position in the island, and he is a +great favorite with the seigneur. There are dozens of girls of his own +class in Guernsey and Alderney, to say nothing of Sark, who would be +only too glad to have him. He is a very handsome man, Martin."</p> + +<p>"Tardif is a fine fellow," I admitted.</p> + +<p>"I shall be very sorry for him to be taken in again," continued Emma; +"nobody knows who that young person may be; it looks odd on the face of +it. Are you in a hurry? Well, good-by. Give our best love to dear Julia. +We are busy at work on a wedding-present for her; but you must not tell +her that, you know."</p> + +<p>I went on in a hot rage, shapeless and wordless, but smouldering like a +fire within me. The cool, green lane, deep between hedge-rows, the banks +of which were gemmed with primroses, had no effect upon me just then. +Tardif marry Olivia! That was an absurd, preposterous notion indeed. It +required all my knowledge of the influence of dress on the average human +mind, to convince myself that Olivia, in her coarse green serge dress, +had impressed the people of Sark with the notion that she would be no +unsuitable mate for their rough, though good and handsome fisherman.</p> + +<p>Was it possible that they thought her stupid? Reserved and silent she +might be, as she wished to remain unmolested and concealed; but not +stupid! That any one should dream so wildly as to think of Olivia +marrying Tardif, was the utmost folly I could imagine.</p> + +<p>I had half an hour to wait in the little harbor, its great cliffs rising +all about me, with only a tunnel bored through them to form an entrance +to the green island within. My rage had partly fumed itself away before +the yacht came in sight.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FOURTEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.</h2> + +<p>OVERHEAD IN LOVE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Awfully fast the time sped away. It was the second week in March I +passed in Sark; the second week in May came upon me as if borne by a +whirlwind. It was only a month to the day so long fixed upon for our +marriage. My mother began to fidget about my going over to London to pay +my farewell bachelor visit to Jack Senior, and to fit myself out with +wedding toggery. Julia's was going on fast to completion. Our trip to +Switzerland was distinctly planned out, almost from day to day. Go I +must to London; order my wedding-suit I must.</p> + +<p>But first there could be no harm in running over to Sark to see Olivia +once more. As soon as I was married I would tell Julia all about her. +But if either arm or ankle went wrong for want of attention, I should +never forgive myself.</p> + +<p>"When shall we have another run together, Captain Carey?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Any day you like, my boy," he answered; "your days of liberty are +growing few and short now, eh? I've never had a chance of trying it +myself, Martin, but they are nervous times, I should think. Cruising in +doubtful channels, eh? with uncertain breezes? How does Julia keep up?"</p> + +<p>"I can spare to-morrow," I replied, ignoring his remarks; "on Saturday I +shall cross over to England to see Jack Senior."</p> + +<p>"And bid him adieu?" he said, laughing, "or give him an invitation to +your own house? I shall be glad to see you in a house of your own. Your +father is too young a man for you."</p> + +<p>"Can you take me to Sark to-morrow?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"To be sure I can," he answered.</p> + +<p>It was the last time I could see Olivia before my marriage. Afterward I +should see much of her; for Julia would invite her to our house, and be +a friend to her. I spent a wretchedly sleepless night; and whenever I +dozed by fits and starts, I saw Olivia before me, weeping bitterly, and +refusing to be comforted.</p> + +<p>From St. Sampson's we set sail straight for the Havre Gosselin, without +a word upon my part; and the wind being in our favor, we were not long +in crossing the channel. To my extreme surprise and chagrin, Captain +Carey announced his intention of landing with me, and leaving the yacht +in charge of his men to await our return.</p> + +<p>"The ladder is excessively awkward," I objected, "and some of the rungs +are loose. You don't mind running the risk of a plunge into the water?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least," he answered, cheerily; "for the matter of that, I +plunge into it every morning at L'Ancresse. I want to see Tardif. He is +one in a thousand, as you say; and one cannot see such a man every day +of one's life."</p> + +<p>There was no help for it, and I gave in, hoping some good luck awaited +me. I led the way up the zigzag path, and just as we reached the top I +saw the slight, erect figure of Olivia seated upon the brow of a little +grassy knoll at a short distance from us. Her back was toward us, so she +was not aware of our vicinity; and I pointed toward her with an assumed +air of indifference.</p> + +<p>"I believe that is my patient yonder," I said; "I will just run across +and speak to her, and then follow you to the farm."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he exclaimed, "there is a lovely view from that spot. I recollect +it well. I will go with you, Martin. There will be time enough to see +Tardif."</p> + +<p>Did Captain Carey suspect any thing? Or what reason could he have for +wishing to see Olivia? Could it be merely that he wanted to see the view +from that particular spot? I could not forbid him accompanying me, but I +wished him at Jericho.</p> + +<p>What is more stupid than to have an elderly man dogging one's footsteps?</p> + +<p>I trusted devoutly that we should see or hear Tardif before reaching the +knoll; but no such good fortune befell me. Olivia did not hear our +footsteps upon the soft turf, though we approached her very nearly. The +sun shone upon her glossy hair, every thread of which seemed to shine +back again. She was reading aloud, apparently to herself, and the sounds +of her sweet voice were wafted by the air toward us. Captain Carey's +face became very thoughtful.</p> + +<p>A few steps nearer brought us in view of Tardif, who had spread his nets +on the grass, and was examining them narrowly for rents. Just at this +moment he was down on his knees, not far from Olivia, gathering some +broken meshes together, but listening to her, with an expression of huge +contentment upon his handsome face. A bitter pang shot through me. Could +it be true by any possibility—that lie I had heard the last time I was +in Sark?</p> + +<p>"Good-day, Tardif," shouted Captain Carey; and both Tardif and Olivia +started. But both of their faces grew brighter at seeing us, and both +sprang up to give us welcome. Olivia's color had come back to her +cheeks, and a sweeter face no man ever looked upon.</p> + +<p>"I am very glad you are come once more," she said, putting her hand in +mine; "you told me in your last letter you were going to England, and +might not come over to Sark before next autumn. How glad I am to see you +again!"</p> + +<p>I glanced from the corner of my eye at Captain Carey. He looked very +grave, but his eyes could not rest upon Olivia without admiring her, as +she stood before us, bright-faced, slender, erect, with the heavy folds +of her coarse dress falling about her as gracefully as if they were of +the richest material.</p> + +<p>"This is my friend, Captain Carey, Miss Olivia," I said, "in whose yacht +I have come over to visit you."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad to see any friend of Dr. Martin's," she answered, as she +hold out her hand to him with a smile; "my doctor and I are great +friends, Captain Carey."</p> + +<p>"So I suppose," he said, significantly—or at least his tone and look +seemed fraught with significance to me.</p> + +<p>"We were talking of you only a few minutes ago, Dr. Martin," she +continued; "I was telling Tardif how you sang the 'Three Fishers' to me +the last time you were here, and how it rings in my ears still, +especially when he is away fishing. I repeated the three last lines to +him:</p> + +<span style='margin-left: 2.5em;'>'For men must work, and women must weep;</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3.5em;'>And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep.</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 4.5em;'>So good-by to the bar, with its moaning.'"</span><br /> + +<p>"I do not like it, doctor," said Tardif: "there's no hope in it. Yet to +sleep out yonder at last, on the great plain under the sea, would be no +bad thing."</p> + +<p>"You must sing it for Tardif," added Olivia, with a pretty +imperiousness, "and then he will like it."</p> + +<p>My throat felt dry, and my tongue parched. I could not utter a word in +reply.</p> + +<p>"This would be the very place for such a song," said Captain Carey. +"Come, Martin, let us have it."</p> + +<p>"No; I can sing nothing to-day," I answered, harshly.</p> + +<p>The very sight of her made me feel miserable beyond words; the sound of +her voice maddened me. I felt as if I was angry with her almost to +hatred for her grace and sweetness; yet I could have knelt down at her +feet, and been happy only to lay my hand on a fold of her dress. No +feeling had ever stirred me so before, and it made me irritable. +Olivia's clear gray eyes looked at me wonderingly.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything the matter with you, Dr. Martin?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"No," I replied, turning away from her abruptly. Every one of them felt +my rudeness; and there was a dead silence among us for half a minute, +which seemed an age to me. Then I heard Captain Carey speaking in his +suavest tones.</p> + +<p>"Are you quite well again, Miss Ollivier?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite well, I think," she said, in a very subdued voice. "I cannot +walk far yet, and my arm is still weak: but I think I am quite well. I +have given Dr. Martin a great deal of trouble and anxiety."</p> + +<p>She spoke in the low, quiet tones of a child who has been chidden +unreasonably. I was asking myself what Captain Carey meant by not +leaving me alone with my patient. When a medical man makes a call, the +intrusion of any unprofessional, indifferent person is unpardonable. If +it had been Suzanne, Tardif, or Mother Renouf, who was keeping so close +beside us, I could have made no reasonable objection. But Captain Carey!</p> + +<p>"Tardif," I said, "Captain Carey came ashore on purpose to visit you and +your farm."</p> + +<p>I knew he was excessively proud of his farm, which consisted of about +four or five acres. He caught at the words with alacrity, and led the +way toward his house with tremendous strides. There was no means of +evading a tour of inspection, though Captain Carey appeared to follow +him reluctantly. Olivia and I were left alone, but she was moving after +them slowly, when I ran to her, and offered her my arm on the plea that +her ankle was still too weak to bear her weight unsupported.</p> + +<p>"Olivia!" I exclaimed, after we had gone a few yards, bringing her and +myself to a sudden halt. Then I was struck dumb. I had nothing special +to say to her. How was it I had called her so familiarly Olivia?</p> + +<p>"Well, Dr. Martin?" she said, looking into my face again with eager, +inquiring eyes, as if she was wishful to understand my varying moods if +she could.</p> + +<p>"What a lovely place this is!" I ejaculated.</p> + +<p>More lovely than any words I ever heard could describe. It was a perfect +day, and a perfect view. The sea was like an opal, changing every minute +with the passing shadows of snow-white clouds which floated lazily +across the bright blue of the sky. The cliffs, Sark Cliffs, which have +not their equal in the world, stretched below us, with every hue of gold +and bronze, and hoary white, and soft gray; and here and there a black +rock, with livid shades of purple, and a bloom upon it like a raven's +wing. Rocky islets, never trodden by human foot, over which the foam +poured ceaselessly, were dotted all about the changeful surface of the +water. And just beneath the level of my eyes was Olivia's face—the +loveliest thing there, though there was so much beauty lying around us.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is a lovely place," she assented, a mischievous smile playing +about her lips.</p> + +<p>"Olivia," I said, taking my courage by both hands, "it is only a month +now till my wedding-day."</p> + +<p>Was I deceiving myself, or did she really grow paler? It was but for a +moment if it were so. But how cold the air felt all in an instant! The +shock was like that of a first plunge into chilly waters, and I was +shivering through every fibre.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will be happy," said Olivia, "very happy. It is a great risk +to run. Marriage will make you either very happy or very wretched."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," I answered, trying to speak gayly; "I do not look forward +to any vast amount of rapture. Julia and I will get along very well +together, I have no doubt, for we have known one another all our lives. +I do not expect to be any happier than other men; and the married people +I have known have not exactly dwelt in paradise. Perhaps your experience +has been different?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" she said, her hand trembling on my arm, and her face very +downcast; "but I should have liked you to be very, very happy."</p> + +<p>So softly spoken, with such a low, faltering voice! I could not trust +myself to speak again. A stern sense of duty toward Julia kept me +silent; and we moved on, though very slowly and lingeringly.</p> + +<p>"You love her very much?" said the quiet voice at my side, not much +louder than the voice of conscience, which was speaking imperiously just +then.</p> + +<p>"I esteem her more highly than any other woman, except my mother," I +said. "I believe she would die sooner than do any thing she considered +wrong. I do not deserve her, and she loves me, I am sure, very truly and +faithfully."</p> + +<p>"Do you think she will like me?" asked Olivia, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"No; she must love you," I said, with warmth; "and I, too, can be a more +useful friend to you after my marriage than I am now. Perhaps then you +will feel free to place perfect confidence in us."</p> + +<p>She smiled faintly, without speaking—a smile which said plainly she +could keep her own secret closely. It provoked me to do a thing I had +had no intention of doing, and which I regretted very much afterward. I +opened my pocket-book, and drew out the little slip of paper containing +the advertisement.</p> + +<p>"Read that," I said.</p> + +<p>But I do not think she saw more than the first line, for her face went +deadly white, and her eyes turned upon me with a wild, beseeching +look—as Tardif described it, the look of a creature hunted and +terrified. I thought she would have fallen, and I put my arm round her. +She fastened both her hands about mine, and her lips moved, though I +could not catch a word she was saying.</p> + +<p>"Olivia!" I cried, "Olivia! do you suppose I could do any thing to hurt +you? Do not be so frightened! Why, I am your friend truly. I wish to +Heaven I had not shown you the thing. Have more faith in me, and more +courage."</p> + +<p>"But they will find me, and force me away from here," she muttered.</p> + +<p>"No," I said; "that advertisement was printed in the <i>Times</i> directly +after your flight last October. They have not found you out yet; and the +longer you are hidden, the less likely they are to find you. Good +Heavens! what a fool I was to show it to you!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind," she answered, recovering herself a little, but still +clinging to my arm; "I was only frightened for the time. You would not +give me up to them if you knew all."</p> + +<p>"Give you up to them!" I repeated, bitterly. "Am I a Judas?"</p> + +<p>But she could not talk to me any more. She was trembling like an +aspen-leaf, and her breath came sobbingly. All I could do was to take +her home, blaming myself for my cursed folly.</p> + +<p>Captain Carey and Tardif met us at the farm-yard gate, but Olivia could +not speak to them; and we passed them in silence, challenged by their +inquisitive looks. She could only bid me good-by in a tremulous voice; +and I watched her go on into her own little room, and close the door +between us. That was the last I should see of her before my marriage.</p> + +<p>Tardif walked with us to the top of the cliff, and made me a formal, +congratulatory speech before quitting us. When he was gone, Captain +Carey stood still until he was quite out of hearing, and then stretched +out his hand toward the thatched roof, yellow with stone-crop and +lichens.</p> + +<p>"This is a serious business, Martin," he said, looking sternly at me; +"you are in love with that girl."</p> + +<p>"I love her with all my heart and soul!" I cried.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FIFTEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.</h2> + +<p>IN A FIX.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Yes, I loved Olivia with all my heart and soul.</p> + +<p>I had not known it myself till that moment; and now I acknowledged it +boldly, almost defiantly, with a strange mingling of delight and pain in +the confession.</p> + +<p>Yet the words startled me as I uttered them. They had involved in them +so many unpleasant consequences, so much chagrin and bitterness as their +practical result, that I stood aghast—even while my pulses throbbed, +and my heart beat high, with the novel rapture of loving any woman as I +loved Olivia. If I followed out my avowal to its just issue, I should be +a traitor to Julia; and all my life up to the present moment would be +lost to me. I had scarcely spoken it before I dropped my head on my +hands with a groan.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, my poor fellow!" said Captain Carey, who could never see a +dog with his tail between his legs without whistling to him and patting +him, "we must see what can be done."</p> + +<p>It was neither a time nor a place for the indulgence of emotion of any +kind. It was impossible for me to remain on the cliffs, bemoaning my +unhappy fate. I strode on doggedly down the path, kicking the loose +stones into the water as they came in my way. Captain Carey followed, +whistling softly to himself, and, of all the tunes in the world, he +chose the one to the "Three Fishers," which I had sung to Olivia. He +continued doing so after we were aboard the yacht, and I saw the boatmen +exchange apprehensive glances.</p> + +<p>"We shall have wind enough, without whistling for it, before we reach +Guernsey," said one of them, after a while; and Captain Carey relapsed +into silence. We scarcely spoke again, except about the shifting of the +sails, in our passage across. A pretty stiff breeze was blowing, and we +found plenty of occupation.</p> + +<p>"I cannot leave you like this, Martin, my boy," said Captain Carey, when +we went ashore at St. Sampson's; and he put his arm through mine +affectionately.</p> + +<p>"You will keep my secret?" I said—my voice a key or two lower than +usual.</p> + +<p>"Martin," answered the good-hearted, clear-sighted old bachelor, "you +must not do Julia the wrong of keeping this secret from her."</p> + +<p>"I must," I urged. "Olivia knows nothing of it; nobody guesses it but +you. I must conquer it. Things have gone too far with poor Julia, for me +to back out of our marriage now. You know that as well as I do. Think of +it, Captain Carey!"</p> + +<p>"But shall you conquer it?" asked Captain Carey, seriously.</p> + +<p>I could not answer yes frankly and freely. It seemed a sheer +impossibility for me to root out this new love, which I found in my +heart below all the old loves and friendships of my whole life. Mad as I +was with myself at the thought of my folly, the folly was so sweet to +me, that I would as soon have parted with life itself. Nothing in the +least resembling this feeling had been a matter of experience with me +before. I had read of it in poetry and novels, and laughed a little at +it; but now it had come upon me like a strong man armed. I quailed and +flinched before the painful conflict necessary to cast out the precious +guest.</p> + +<p>"Martin," urged Captain Carey, "come up to Johanna, and tell her all +about it."</p> + +<p>Johanna Carey was one of the powers in the island. Everybody knew her; +and everybody went to her for comfort and counsel. She was, of course, +related to us all; and knew the exact degree of relationship among us, +having the genealogy of each family at her fingers' ends. But, besides +these family histories, which were common property, she was also +intrusted with the inmost secrets of every household—those secrets +which were the most carefully and jealously guarded. I had always been a +favorite with her, and nothing could be more natural than this proposal +of her brother's, that I should go and tell her all my dilemma.</p> + +<p>The house stood on the border of L'Ancresse Common, with no view of the +sea, but with the soft, undulating brows and hollows of the common lying +before it, and a broken battlement of rocks rising beyond them.</p> + +<p>There was always a low, solemn murmur of the invisible sea, singing like +a lullaby about the peaceful dwelling, and hushing it into a more +profound quiet than even utter silence; for utter silence is irksome and +fretting to the ear, which needs some slight reverberation to keep the +brain behind it still. A perfume of violets, and the more dainty scent +of primroses, pervaded the garden. It seemed incredible that any man +should be allowed to live in such a spot; but then Captain Carey was +almost as gentle and fastidious as a woman.</p> + +<p>Johanna was not unlike her home. There was a repose about her similar to +the calm of a judge, which gave additional weight to her counsels. The +moment we entered through the gates, a certainty of comfort and help +appeared to be wafted upon the pure breeze, floating across the common +from the sea.</p> + +<p>Johanna was standing at one of the windows in a Quakerish dress of some +gray stuff, and with a plain white cap over her white hair. She came +down to the door as soon as she saw me, and received me with a motherly +kiss, which I returned with more than usual warmth, as one does in any +new kind of trouble. I think she was instantly aware that something was +amiss with me.</p> + +<p>"Is dinner ready, Johanna?" asked her brother; "we are as hungry as +hunters."</p> + +<p>That was not true as far as I was concerned. For the first time within +my recollection my appetite quite failed me, and I merely played with my +knife and fork.</p> + +<p>Captain Carey regarded me pitifully, and said, "Come, come, Martin, my +boy!" several times.</p> + +<p>Johanna made no remark; but her quiet, searching eyes looked me through +and through, till I almost longed for the time when she would begin to +question and cross-question me. After she was gone, Captain Carey gave +me two or three glasses of his choicest wine, to cheer me up, as he +said; but we were not long before we followed his sister.</p> + +<p>"Johanna," said Captain Carey, "we have something to tell you."</p> + +<p>"Come and sit here by me," she said, making room for me beside her on +her sofa; for long experience had taught her how much more difficult it +is to make a confession face to face with one's confessor, under the +fire of his eyes, as it were, than when one is partially concealed from +him.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, in her calm, inviting voice.</p> + +<p>"Johanna," I replied, "I am in a terrible fix!"</p> + +<p>"Awful!" cried Captain Carey, sympathetically; but a glance from his +sister put him to silence.</p> + +<p>"What is it, my dear Martin?" asked her inviting voice again.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you frankly," I said, feeling I must have it out at once, +like an aching tooth. "I love, with all my heart and soul, that girl in +Sark; the one who has been my patient there."</p> + +<p>"Martin!" she cried, in a tone full of surprise and agitation—"Martin!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I know all you would urge—my honor; my affection for Julia; the +claims she has upon me, the strongest claims possible; how good and +worthy she is; what an impossibility it is even to look back now. I know +it all, and feel how miserably binding it is upon me. Yet I love Olivia; +and I shall never love Julia."</p> + +<p>"Martin!" she cried again.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me, Johanna," I said, for now the ice was broken, my frozen +words were flowing as rapidly as a runnel of water; "I used to dream of +a feeling something like this years ago, but no girl I saw could kindle +it into reality. I have always esteemed Julia, and when my youth was +over, and I had never felt any devouring passion, I began to think love +was more of a word than a fact, or to believe that it had become only a +word in these cold late times. At any rate, I concluded I was past the +age for falling in love. There was my cousin Julia certainly dearer to +me than any other woman, except my mother. I knew all her little ways; +and they were not annoying to me, or were so in a very small degree. +Besides, my father had had a grand passion for my mother, and what had +that come to? There would be no such white ashes of a spent fire for +Julia to shiver over. That was how I argued the matter out with myself. +At eight-and-twenty I had never lost a quarter of an hour's sleep, or +missed a meal, for the sake of any girl. Surely I was safe. It was quite +fair for me to propose to Julia, and she would be satisfied with the +affection I could offer her. Then there was my mother; it was the +greatest happiness I could give her, and her life has not been a happy +one, God knows. So I proposed to Julia, and she accepted me last +Christmas."</p> + +<p>"And you are to be married next month?" said Johanna, in an exceedingly +troubled tone.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered, "and now every word Julia speaks, and every thing she +does, grates upon me. I love her as much as ever as my cousin, but as my +wife! Good Heavens! Johanna, I cannot tell you how I dread it."</p> + +<p>"What can be done?" she exclaimed, looking from me to Captain Carey, +whose face was as full of dismay as her own. But he only shook his head +despondingly.</p> + +<p>"Done!" I repeated, "nothing, absolutely nothing. It is utterly +impossible to draw back. Our house is nearly ready for us, and even +Julia's wedding-dress and veil are bought."</p> + +<p>"There is not a house you enter," said Johanna, solemnly, "where they +are not preparing a wedding-present for Julia and you. There has not +been a marriage in your district, among ourselves, for nine years. It is +as public as a royal marriage."</p> + +<p>"It must go on," I answered, with the calmness of despair. "I am the +most good-for-nothing scoundrel in Guernsey to fall in love with my +patient. You need not tell me so, Johanna. And yet, if I could think +that Olivia loved me, I would not change with the happiest man alive."</p> + +<p>"What is her name?" asked Johanna.</p> + +<p>"One of the Olliviers," answered Captain Carey; "but what Olliviers she +belongs to, I don't know. She is one of the prettiest creatures I ever +saw."</p> + +<p>"An Ollivier!" exclaimed Johanna, in her severest accents. "Martin, what +<i>are</i> you thinking of?"</p> + +<p>"Her Christian name is Olivia," I said, hastily; "she does not belong to +the Olliviers at all. It was Tardif's mistake, and very natural. She was +born in Australia, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Of a good family, I hope?" asked Johanna. "There are some persons it +would be a disgrace to you to love. What is her other name?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," I answered, reluctantly but distinctly.</p> + +<p>Johanna turned her face full upon me now—a face more agitated than I +had ever seen it. There was no use in trying to keep back any part of my +serious delinquency, so I resolved to make a clean breast of it.</p> + +<p>"I know very little about her," I said—"that is, about her history; as +for herself, she is the sweetest, dearest, loveliest girl in the whole +world to me. If I were free, and she loved me, I should not know what +else to wish for. All I know is, that she has run away from her people; +why, I have no more idea than you have, or who they are, or where they +live; and she has been living in Tardif's cottage since last October. It +is an infatuation, do you say? So it is, I dare say. It is an +infatuation; and I don't know that I shall ever shake it off."</p> + +<p>"What is she like?" asked Johanna. "Is she very merry and bright?"</p> + +<p>"I never saw her laugh," I said.</p> + +<p>"Very melancholy and sad, then?"</p> + +<p>"I never saw her weep," I said.</p> + +<p>"What is it then, Martin?" she asked, earnestly.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell what it is," I answered. "Everything she does and says +has a charm for me that I could never describe. With her for my wife I +should be more happy than I ever was; with any one else I shall be +wretched. That is all I know."</p> + +<p>I had left my seat by Johanna, and was pacing to and fro in the room, +too restless and miserable to keep still. The low moan of the sea sighed +all about the house. I could have cast myself on the floor had I been +alone, and wept and sobbed like a woman. I could see no loop-hole of +escape from the mesh of circumstances which caught me in their net.</p> + +<p>A long, dreary, colorless, wretched life stretched before me, with Julia +my inseparable companion, and Olivia altogether lost to me. Captain +Carey and Johanna, neither of whom had tasted the sweets and bitters of +marriage, looked sorrowfully at me and shook their heads.</p> + +<p>"You must tell Julia," said Johanna, after a long pause.</p> + +<p>"Tell Julia!" I echoed. "I would not tell her for worlds!"</p> + +<p>"You must tell her," she repeated; "it is your clear duty. I know it +will be most painful to you both, but you have no right to marry her +with this secret on your mind."</p> + +<p>"I should be true to her," I interrupted, somewhat angrily.</p> + +<p>"What do you call being true, Martin Dobrée?" she asked, more calmly +than she had spoken before. "Is it being true to a woman to let her +believe you choose and love her above all other women when that is +absolutely false? No; you are too honorable for that. I tell you it is +your plain duty to let Julia know this, and know it at once."</p> + +<p>"It will break her heart," I said, with a sharp twinge of conscience and +a cowardly shrinking from the unpleasant duty urged upon me.</p> + +<p>"It will not break Julia's heart," said Johanna, very sadly; "it may +break your mother's."</p> + +<p>I reeled as if a sharp blow had struck me. I had been thinking far less +of my mother than of Julia; but I saw, as with a flash of lightning, +what a complete uprooting of all her old habits and long-cherished hopes +this would prove to my mother, whose heart was so set upon this +marriage. Would Julia marry me if she once heard of my unfortunate love +for Olivia? And, if not, what would become of our home? My mother would +have to give up one of us, for it was not to be supposed she would +consent to live under the same roof with me, now the happy tie of +cousinship was broken, and none dearer to be formed.</p> + +<p>Which could my mother part with best? Julia was almost as much her +daughter as I was her son; yet me she pined after if ever I was absent +long. No; I could not resolve to run the risk of breaking that gentle, +faithful heart, which loved me so fully. I went back to Johanna, and +took her hand in both of mine.</p> + +<p>"Keep my secret," I said, earnestly, "you two. I will make Julia and my +mother happy. Do not mistrust me. This infatuation overpowered me +unawares. I will conquer it; at the worst I can conceal it. I promise +you Julia shall never regret being my wife."</p> + +<p>"Martin," answered Johanna, determinedly, "if you do not tell Julia I +must tell her myself. You say you love this other girl with all your +heart and soul."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and that is true," I said.</p> + +<p>"Then Julia must know before she marries you."</p> + +<p>Nothing could move Johanna from that position, and in my heart I +recognized its righteousness. She argued with me that it was Julia's due +to hear it from myself. I knew afterward that she believed the sight of +her distress and firm love for myself would dissipate the infatuation of +my love for Olivia. But she did not read Julia's character as well as my +mother did.</p> + +<p>Before she let me leave her I had promised to have my confession and +subsequent explanation with Julia all over the following day; and to +make this the more inevitable, she told me she should drive into St. +Peter-Port the next afternoon about five o'clock, when she should expect +to find this troublesome matter settled, either by a renewal of my +affection for my betrothed, or the suspension of the betrothal. In the +latter case she promised to carry Julia home with her until the first +bitterness was over.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_SIXTEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.</h2> + +<p>A MIDNIGHT RIDE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I took care not to reach home before the hour when Julia usually went to +bed. She had been out in the country all day, visiting the south cliffs +of our island, with some acquaintances from England who were staying for +a few days in St. Peter-Port. In all probability she would be too tired +to sit up till my return if I were late.</p> + +<p>I had calculated aright. It was after eleven o'clock when I entered, and +my mother only was waiting for me. I wished to avoid any confidential +chat that evening, and, after answering briefly her fond inquiries as to +what could have kept me out so late, I took myself off to my own room.</p> + +<p>But it was quite vain to think of sleep that night. I had soon worked +myself up into that state of nervous, restless agitation; when one +cannot remain quietly in one; room. I attempted to conquer it, but I +could not.</p> + +<p>The moon, which was at the full, was shining out of a cloudless field of +sky upon my window. I longed for fresh air, and freedom, and motion; for +a distance between myself and my dear old home—that home which I was +about to plunge into troubled waters. The peacefulness oppressed me.</p> + +<p>About one o'clock I opened my door as softly as possible, and stole +silently downstairs—but not so silently that my mother's quick ear did +not catch the slight jarring of my door.</p> + +<p>The night-bell hung in my room, and occasionally I was summoned away at +hours like this to visit a patient. She called to me as I crept down the +stairs.</p> + +<p>"Martin, what is the matter?" she whispered, over the banisters.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, mother; nothing much," I answered. "I shall be home again in +an hour or two. Go to bed, and go to sleep. Whatever makes you so +thin-eared?"</p> + +<p>"Are you going to take Madam?" she asked, seeing my whip in my hand. +"Shall I ring up Pellet?"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" I said; "I can manage well enough. Good-night again, my +darling old mother."</p> + +<p>Her pale, worn face smiled down upon me very tenderly as she kissed her +hand to me. I stood, as if spellbound, watching her, and she watching +me, until we both laughed, though somewhat falteringly.</p> + +<p>"How romantic you are, my boy!" she said, in a tremulous voice.</p> + +<p>"I shall not stir till you go back to bed," I answered, peremptorily; +and as just then we heard my father calling out fretfully to ask why the +door was open, and what was going on in the house, she disappeared, and +I went on my way to the stables.</p> + +<p>Madam was my favorite mare, first-rate at a gallop when she was in good +temper, but apt to turn vicious now and then. She was in good temper +to-night, and pricked up her ears and whinnied when I unlocked the +stable-door. In a few minutes we were going up the Grange Road at a +moderate pace till we reached the open country, and the long, white, +dusty roads stretched before us, glimmering in the moonlight. I turned +for St. Martin's, and Madam, at the first touch of my whip on her +flanks, started off at a long and steady gallop.</p> + +<p>It was a cool, quiet night in May. A few of the larger fixed stars +twinkled palely in the sky, but the smaller ones were drowned in the +full moonlight. The largest of them shone solemnly and brightly in +afield of golden green just above the spot where the sun had set hours +before. The trees, standing out with a blackness and distinctness never +seen by day, appeared to watch for me and look after me as I rode along, +forming an avenue of silent but very stately spectators; and to my +fancy, for my fancy was highly excited that night, the rustling of the +young leaves upon them whispered the name of Olivia. The hoof-beats of +my mare's feet upon the hard roads echoed the name Olivia, Olivia!</p> + +<p>By-and-by I turned off the road to got nearer the sea, and rode along +sandy lanes with banks of turf instead of hedge-rows, which were covered +thickly with pale primroses, shining with the same hue as the moon above +them. As I passed the scattered cottages, here and there a dog yapped a +shrill, snarling hark, and woke the birds, till they gave a sleepy +twitter in their new nests.</p> + +<p>Now and then I came in full sight of the sea, glittering in the silvery +light. I crossed the head of a gorge, and stopped for a while to gaze +down it, till my flesh crept. It was not more than a few yards in +breadth, but it was of unknown depth, and the rocks stood above it with +a thick, heavy blackness. The tide was rushing into its narrow channel +with a thunder which throbbed like a pulse; yet in the intervals of its +pulsation I could catch the thin, prattling tinkle of a brook running +merrily down the gorge to plunge headlong into the sea. Round every spar +of the crags, and over every islet of rock, the foam played ceaselessly, +breaking over them like drifts of snow, forever melting, and forever +forming again.</p> + +<p>I kept on my way, as near the sea as I I could, past the sleeping +cottages and hamlets, round through St. Pierre du Bois and Torteval, +with the gleaming light-houses out on the Hanways, and by Rocquaine Bay, +and Vazon Bay, and through the vale to Captain Carey's peaceful house, +where, perhaps, to-morrow night—nay, this day's night—Julia might be +weeping and wailing broken-hearted.</p> + +<p>I had made the circuit of our island—a place so dear to me that it +seemed scarcely possible to live elsewhere; yet I should be forced to +live elsewhere. I knew that with a clear distinctness. There could be no +home for me in Guernsey when my conduct toward Julia should become +known.</p> + +<p>But now Sark, which had been behind me all my ride, lay full in sight, +and the eastern sky behind it began to quicken with new light. The gulls +were rousing themselves, and flying out to sea, with their plaintive +cries; and the larks were singing their first sleepy notes to the coming +day.</p> + +<p>As the sun rose, Sark looked very near, and the sea, a plain of silvery +blue, seemed solid and firm enough to afford me a road across to it. A +white mist lay like a huge snow-drift in hazy, broad curves over the +Havre Gosselin, with sharp peaks of cliffs piercing through.</p> + +<p>Olivia was sleeping yonder behind that veil of shining mist; and, dear +as Guernsey was to me, she was a hundredfold dearer.</p> + +<p>But my night's ride bad not made my day's task any easier for me. No new +light had dawned upon my difficulty. There was no loop-hole for me to +escape from the most painful and perplexing strait I had ever been in. +How was I to break it to Julia? and when? It was quite plain to me that +the sooner it was over the better it would be for myself, and perhaps +the better for her. How was I to go through my morning's calls, in the +state of nervous anxiety I found myself in?</p> + +<p>I resolved to have it over as soon as breakfast was finished, and my +father had gone to make his professional toilet, a lengthy and important +duty with him. Yet when breakfast came I was listening intently for some +summons, which would give me an hour's grace from fulfilling my own +determination. I prolonged my meal, keeping my mother in her place at +the table; for she had never given up her office of pouring out my tea +and coffee.</p> + +<p>I finished at List, and still no urgent message had come for me. My +mother left us together alone, as her custom was, for what time I had to +spare—a variable quantity always with me.</p> + +<p>Now was the dreaded moment. But how was I to begin? Julia was so calm +and unsuspecting. In what words could I convey my fatal meaning most +gently to her? My head throbbed, and I could not raise my eyes to her +face. Yet it must be done.</p> + +<p>"Dear Julia," I said, in as firm a voice as I could command.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Martin."</p> + +<p>But just then Grace, the housemaid, knocked emphatically at the door, +and after a due pause entered with a smiling, significant face, yet with +an apologetic courtesy.</p> + +<p>"If you please, Dr. Martin," she said, "I'm very sorry, but Mrs. Lihou's +baby is taken with convulsion-fits; and they want you to go as fast as +ever you can, please, sir."</p> + +<p>"Was I sorry or glad? I could not tell. It was a reprieve; but then I +knew positively it was nothing more than a reprieve. The sentence must +be executed. Julia came to me, bent her cheek toward me, and I kissed +it. That was our usual salutation when our morning's interview was +ended.</p> + +<p>"I am going down to the new house," she said. "I lost a good deal of +time yesterday, and I must make up for it to-day. Shall you be passing +by at any time, Martin?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—no—I cannot tell exactly," I stammered.</p> + +<p>"If you are passing, come in for a few minutes," she answered; "I have a +thousand things to speak to you about."</p> + +<p>"Shall you come in to lunch?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No, I shall take something with me," she replied; "it hinders so; +coming back here."</p> + +<p>I was not overworked that morning. The convulsions of Mrs. Lihou's baby +were not at all serious; and, as I have before stated, the practice +which my father and I shared between us was a very limited one. My part +of it naturally fell among our poorer patients, who did not expect me to +waste their time and my own, by making numerous or prolonged visits. So +I had plenty of time to call upon Julia at the new house; but I could +not summon sufficient courage. The morning slipped away while I was +loitering about Fort George, and chatting carelessly with the officers +quartered there.</p> + +<p>I went to lunch, pretty sure of finding no one but my mother at home. +There was no fear of losing her love, if every other friend turned me +the cold shoulder, as I was morally certain they would, with no blame to +themselves. But the very depth and constancy of her affection made it +the more difficult and the more terrible for me to wound her. She had +endured so much, poor mother! and was looking so wan and pale. If it had +not been for Johanna's threat, I should have resolved to say nothing +about Olivia, and to run my chance of matrimonial happiness.</p> + +<p>What a cruel turn Fate had done me when it sent me across the sea to +Sark ten weeks ago!</p> + +<p>My mother was full of melancholy merriment that morning, making pathetic +little jokes about Julia and me, and laughing at them heartily +herself—short bursts of laughter which left her paler than she had been +before.</p> + +<p>I tried to laugh myself, in order to encourage her brief playfulness, +though the effort almost choked me. Before I went out again, I sat +beside her for a few minutes, with my head, which ached awfully by this +time, resting on her dear shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Mother," I said, "you are very fond of Julia?"</p> + +<p>"I love her just the same as if she were my daughter, Martin—as she +will be soon," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Do you love her as much as me?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Jealous boy!" she said, laying her hand on my hot forehead, "no, not +half as much; not a quarter, not a tenth part as much! Does that content +you?"</p> + +<p>"Suppose something should prevent our marriage?" I suggested.</p> + +<p>"But nothing can," she interrupted; "and, O Martin! I am sure you will +be very happy with Julia."</p> + +<p>I said no more, for I did not dare to tell her yet; but I wished I had +spoken to her about Olivia, instead of hiding her name, and all +belonging to her, in my inmost heart. My mother would know all quite +soon enough, unless Julia and I agreed to keep it secret, and let things +go on as they were.</p> + +<p>If Julia said she would marry me, knowing that I was heart and soul in +love with another woman, why, then I would go through with it, and my +mother need never hear a word about my dilemma.</p> + +<p>Julia must decide my lot. My honor was pledged to her; and if she +insisted upon the fulfilment of my engagement to her, well, of course, I +would fulfil it.</p> + +<p>I went down reluctantly at length to the new house; but it was at almost +the last hour. The church-clocks had already struck four; and I knew +Johanna would be true to her time, and drive up the Grange at five. I +left a message with my mother for her, telling her where she would find +Julia and me. Then doggedly, but sick at heart with myself and all the +world, I went down to meet my doom.</p> + +<p>It was getting into nice order, this new house of ours. We had had six +months to prepare it in, and to fit it up exactly to our minds; and it +was as near my ideal of a pleasant home as our conflicting tastes +permitted. Perhaps this was the last time I should cross its threshold. +There was a pang in the thought.</p> + +<p>This was my position. If Julia listened to my avowal angrily, and +renounced me indignantly, passionately, I lost fortune, position, +profession; my home and friends, with the sole exception of my mother. I +should be regarded alternately as a dupe and a scoundrel. Guernsey would +become too hot to hold me, and I should be forced to follow my luck in +some foreign land. If, on the other hand, Julia clung to me, and would +not give me up, trusting to time to change my feelings, then I lost +Olivia; and to lose her seemed the worse fate of the two.</p> + +<p>Julia was sitting alone in the drawing-room, which overlooked the harbor +and the group of islands across the channel. There was no fear of +interruption; no callers to ring the bell and break in upon our +<i>tête-à-tête</i>. It was an understood thing that at present only Julia's +most intimate friends had been admitted into our new house, and then by +special invitation alone.</p> + +<p>There was a very happy, very placid expression on her face. Every harsh +line seemed softened, and a pleased smile played about her lips. Her +dress was one of those simple, fresh, clean muslin gowns, with knots of +ribbon about it, which make a plain woman almost pretty, and a pretty +woman bewitching. Her dark hair looked less prim and neat than usual. +She pretended not to hear me open the door; but as I stood still at the +threshold gazing at her, she lifted up her head, with a very pleasant +smile.</p> + +<p>"I am very glad you are come, my dear Martin," she said, softly.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_SEVENTEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.</h2> + +<p>A LONG HALF-HOUR.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I dared not dally another moment. I must take my plunge at once into the +icy-cold waters.</p> + +<p>"I have something of importance to say to you, dear cousin," I began.</p> + +<p>"So have I," she said, gayly; "a thousand things, as I told you this +morning, sir, though you are so late in coming to hear them. See, I have +been making a list of a few commissions for you to do in London. They +are such as I can trust to you; but for plate, and glass, and china, I +think we had better wait till we return from Switzerland. We are sure to +come home through London."</p> + +<p>Her eyes ran over a paper she was holding in her hand; while I stood +opposite to her, not knowing what to do with myself, and feeling the +guiltiest wretch alive.</p> + +<p>"Cannot you find a seat?" she asked, after a short silence.</p> + +<p>I sat down on the broad window-sill instead of on the chair close to +hers. She looked up at that, and fixed her eyes upon me keenly. I had +often quailed before Julia's gaze as a boy, but never as I did now.</p> + +<p>"Well! what is it?" she asked, curtly. The incisiveness of her tone +brought life into me, as a probe sometimes brings a patient out of +stupor.</p> + +<p>"Julia," I said, "are you quite sure you love me enough to be happy with +me as my wife?"</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes very widely, and arched her eyebrows at the +question, laughed a little, and then drooped her head over the work in +her hands.</p> + +<p>"Think of it well, Julia," I urged.</p> + +<p>"I know you well enough to be as happy as the day is long with you," she +replied, the color rushing to her face. "I have no vocation for a single +life, such as so many of the girls here have to make up their minds to. +I should hate to have nothing to do and nobody to care for. Every night +and morning I thank God that he has ordained another life for me. He +knows how I love you, Martin."</p> + +<p>"What was I to say to this? How was I to set my foot down to crush this +blooming happiness of hers?</p> + +<p>"You do not often look as if you loved me," I said at last.</p> + +<p>"That is only my way," she answered. "I can't be soft and purring like +many women. I don't care to be always kissing and hanging about anybody. +But if you are afraid I don't love you enough—well! I will ask you what +you think in ten years' time."</p> + +<p>"What would you say if I told you I had once loved a girl better than I +do you?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"That's not true," she said, sharply. "I've known you all your life, and +you could not hide such a thing from your mother and me. You are only +laughing at me, Martin."</p> + +<p>"Heaven knows I'm not laughing," I answered, solemnly; "it's no laughing +matter. Julia, there is a girl I love better than you, even now."</p> + +<p>The color and the smile faded out of her face, leaving it ashy pale. Her +lips parted once or twice, but her voice failed her. Then she broke out +into a short, hysterical laugh.</p> + +<p>"You are talking nonsense, dear Martin!" she gasped; "you ought not! I +am not very strong. Get me a glass of water."</p> + +<p>I fetched a glass of water from the kitchen; for the servant, who had +been at work, had gone home, and we were quite alone in the house. When +I returned, her face was still working with nervous twitchings.</p> + +<p>"Martin, you ought not!" she repeated, after she had swallowed some +water. "Tell me it is a joke directly."</p> + +<p>"I cannot," I replied, painfully and sorrowfully; "it is the truth, +though I would almost rather face death than own it. I love you dearly, +Julia; but I love another woman better. God help us both!"</p> + +<p>There was dead silence in the room after those words. I could not hear +Julia breathe or move, and I could not look at her. My eyes were turned +toward the window and the islands across the sea, purple and hazy in the +distance.</p> + +<p>"Leave me!" she said, after a very long stillness; "go away, Martin."</p> + +<p>"I cannot leave you alone," I exclaimed; "no, I will not, Julia. Let me +tell you more; let me explain it all. You ought to know every thing +now."</p> + +<p>"Go away!" she repeated, in a slow, mechanical tone.</p> + +<p>I hesitated still, seeing her white and trembling, with her eyes glassy +and fixed. But she motioned me from her toward the door, and her pale +lips parted again to reiterate her command.</p> + +<p>How I crossed that room I do not know; but the moment after I had closed +the door I heard the key turn in the lock. I dared not quit the house +and leave her alone in such a state; and I longed ardently to hear the +clocks chime five, and the sound of Johanna's wheels on the +roughly-paved street. She could not be here yet for a full half-hour, +for she had to go up to our house in the Grange Road and come back +again. What if Julia should have fainted, or be dead!</p> + +<p>That was one of the longest half-hours in my life. I stood at the +street-door watching and waiting, and nodding to people who passed by, +and who simpered at me in the most inane fashion.</p> + +<p>"The fools!" I called them to myself. At length Johanna turned the +corner, and her pony-carriage came rattling cheerfully over the large +round stones. I ran to meet her.</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, go to Julia!" I cried. "I have told her."</p> + +<p>"And what does she say?" asked Johanna.</p> + +<p>"Not a word, not a syllable," I replied, "except to bid me go away. She +has locked herself into the drawing-room."</p> + +<p>"Then you had better go away altogether," she said, "and leave me to +deal with her. Don't come in, and then I can say you are not here."</p> + +<p>A friend of mine lived in the opposite house, and, though I knew he was +not at home, I knocked at his door and asked permission to sit for a +while in his parlor.</p> + +<p>The windows looked into the street, and there I sat watching the doors +of our new house, for Johanna and Julia to come out. No man likes to be +ordered out of sight, as if he were a vagabond or a criminal, and I felt +myself aggrieved and miserable.</p> + +<p>At length the door opposite opened, and Julia appeared, her face +completely hidden behind a veil. Johanna helped her into the low +carriage, as if she had been an invalid, and paid her those minute +trivial attentions which one woman showers upon another when she is in +great grief. Then they drove off, and were soon out of my sight.</p> + +<p>By this time our dinner-hour was near, and I knew my mother would be +looking out for us both. I was thankful to find at the table a visitor, +who had dropped in unexpectedly: one of my father's patients—a widow, +with a high color, a loud voice, and boisterous spirits, who kept up a +rattle of conversation with Dr. Dobrée. My mother glanced anxiously at +me very often, but she could say little.</p> + +<p>"Where is Julia?" she had inquired, as we sat down to dinner without +her.</p> + +<p>"Julia?" I said, quite absently; "oh! she is gone to the Vale, with +Johanna Carey."</p> + +<p>"Will she come back to-night?" asked my mother.</p> + +<p>"Not to-night," I said, aloud; but to myself I added, "nor for many +nights to come; never, most probably, while I am under this roof. We +have been building our house upon the sand, and the floods have come, +and the winds have blown, and the house has fallen; but my mother knows +nothing of the catastrophe yet."</p> + +<p>If it were possible to keep her ignorant of it! But that could not be. +She read trouble in my face, as clearly as one sees a thunder-cloud in +the sky, and she could not rest till she had fathomed it. After she and +our guest had left us, my father lingered only a few minutes. He was not +a man that cared for drinking much wine, with no companion but me, and +he soon pushed the decanters from him.</p> + +<p>"You are as dull as a beetle to-night, Martin," he said. "I think I will +go and see how your mother and Mrs. Murray get along together."</p> + +<p>He went his way, and I went mine—up into my own room, where I should be +alone to think over things. It was a pleasant room, and had been mine +from my boyhood. There were some ugly old pictures still hanging against +the walls, which I could not find in my heart to take down. The model of +a ship I had carved with my penknife, the sails of which had been made +by Julia, occupied the top shelf over my books. The first pistol I had +ever possessed lay on the same shelf. It was my own den, my nest, my +sanctuary, my home within the home. I could not think of myself being +quite at home anywhere else.</p> + +<p>Of late I had been awakened in the night two or three times, and found +my mother standing at my bedside, with her thin, transparent fingers +shading the light from my eyes. When I remonstrated with her she had +kissed me, smoothed the clothes about me, and promised meekly to go back +to bed. Did she visit me every night? and would there come a time when +she could not visit me?</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_EIGHTEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.</h2> + +<p>BROKEN OFF.</p> +<br /> + +<p>As I asked myself this question, with an unerring premonition that the +time would soon come when my mother and I would be separated, I heard +her tapping lightly at the door. She was not in the habit of leaving her +guests, and I was surprised and perplexed at seeing her.</p> + +<p>"Your father and Mrs. Murray are having a game of chess," she said, +answering my look of astonishment. "We can be alone together half an +hour. And now tell me what is the matter? There is something going wrong +with you."</p> + +<p>She sank down weariedly into a chair, and I knelt down beside her. It +was almost harder to tell her than to tell Julia; but it was worse than +useless to put off the evil moment. Better for her to hear all from me +before a whisper reached her from any one else.</p> + +<p>"Johanna came here," she continued, "with a face as grave as a judge, +and asked for Julia in a melancholy voice. Has there been any quarrel +between you two?"</p> + +<p>She was accustomed to our small quarrels, and to setting them right +again; for we were prone to quarrel in a cousinly fashion, without much +real bitterness on either side, but with such an intimate and irritating +knowledge of each other's weak points, that we needed a peace-maker at +hand.</p> + +<p>"Mother, I am not going to marry my cousin Julia," I said.</p> + +<p>"So I have heard before," she answered, with a faint smile. "Come, come, +Martin! it is too late to talk boyish nonsense like this."</p> + +<p>"But I love somebody else," I said, warmly, for my heart throbbed at the +thought of Olivia; "and I told Julia so this afternoon. It is broken off +for good now, mother."</p> + +<p>She gave me no answer, and I looked up into her dear face in alarm. It +had grown rigid, and a peculiar blue tinge of pallor was spreading over +it. Her head had fallen back against the chair. I had never seen her +look so death-like in any of her illnesses, and I sprang to my feet in +terror. She stopped me by a slight convulsive pressure of her hand, as I +was about to unfasten her brooch and open her dress to give her air.</p> + +<p>"No, Martin," she whispered, "I shall be better in a moment."</p> + +<p>But it was several minutes before she breathed freely and naturally, or +could lift up her head. Then she did not look at me, but lifted up her +eyes to the pale evening sky, and her lips quivered with agitation.</p> + +<p>"Martin, it will be the death of me," she said; and a few tears stole +down her cheeks, which I wiped away.</p> + +<p>"It shall not be the death of you," I exclaimed. "If Julia is willing to +marry me, knowing the whole truth, I am ready to marry her for your +sake, mother. I would do any thing for your sake. But Johanna said she +ought to be told, and I think it was right myself."</p> + +<p>"Who is it, who can it be that you love?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Mother," I said, "I wish I had told you before, but I did not know that +I loved the girl as I do, till I saw her yesterday in Sark, and Captain +Carey charged me with it."</p> + +<p>"That girl!" she cried. "One of the Olliviers! O Martin, you must marry +in your own class."</p> + +<p>"That was a mistake," I answered. "Her Christian name is Olivia; I do +not know what her surname is."</p> + +<p>"Not know even her name!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Listen, mother," I said; and then I told her all I knew about Olivia, +and drew such a picture of her as I had seen her, as made my mother +smile and sigh deeply in turns.</p> + +<p>"But she may be an adventuress; you know nothing about her," she +objected. "Surely, you cannot love a woman you do not esteem?"</p> + +<p>"Esteem!" I repeated. "I never thought whether I esteemed Olivia, but I +am satisfied I love her. You may be quite sure she is no adventuress. An +adventuress would not hide herself in Tardif's out-of-the-world +cottage."</p> + +<p>"A girl without friends and without a name!" she sighed; "a runaway from +her family and home! It does not look well, Martin."</p> + +<p>I could answer nothing, and it would be of little use to try. I saw when +my mother's prejudices could blind her. To love any one not of our own +caste was a fatal error in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Does Julia know all this?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"She has not heard a word about Olivia," I answered. "As soon as I told +her I loved some one else better than her, she bade me begone out of her +sight. She has not an amiable temper."</p> + +<p>"But she is an upright, conscientious, religious woman," she said, +somewhat angrily. "She would never have run away from her friends; and +we know all about her. I cannot think what your father will say, Martin. +It has given him more pleasure and satisfaction than any thing that has +happened for years. If this marriage is broken off, it upsets every +thing."</p> + +<p>Of course it would upset every thing; there was the mischief of it. The +convulsion would be so great, that I felt ready to marry Julia in order +to avoid it, supposing she would marry me. That was the question, and it +rested solely with her. I would almost rather face the long, slow +weariness of an unsuitable marriage than encounter the immediate results +of the breaking off of our engagement just on the eve of its +consummation. I was a coward, no doubt, but events had hurried me on too +rapidly for me to stand still and consider the cost.</p> + +<p>"O Martin, Martin!" wailed my poor mother, breaking down again suddenly. +"I had so set my heart upon this! I did so long to see you in a home of +your own! And Julia was so generous, never looking as if all the money +was hers, and you without a penny! What is to become of you now, my boy? +I wish I had been dead and in my grave before this had happened!"</p> + +<p>"Hush, mother!" I said, kneeling down again beside her and kissing her +tenderly; "it is still in Julia's hands. If she will marry me, I shall +marry her."</p> + +<p>"But then you will not be happy?" she said, with fresh sobs.</p> + +<p>It was impossible for me to contradict that. I felt that no misery would +be equal to that of losing Olivia. But I did my best to comfort my +mother, by promising to see Julia the next day and renew my engagement, +if possible.</p> + +<p>"Pray, may I be informed as to what is the matter now?" broke in a +satirical, cutting voice—the voice of my father. It roused us both—my +mother to her usual mood of gentle submission, and me to the chronic +state of irritation which his presence always provoked in me.</p> + +<p>"Not much, sir," I answered, coldly; "only my marriage with my cousin +Julia is broken off."</p> + +<p>"Broken off!" he ejaculated—"broken off!"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_NINETEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.</h2> + +<p>THE DOBRÉES' GOOD NAME.</p> +<br /> + +<p>My father's florid face looked almost as rigid and white as my mother's +had done. He stood in the doorway, with a lamp in his hand (for it had +grown quite dark while my mother and I were talking), and the light +shone full upon his changed face. His hand shook violently, so I took +the lamp from him and set it down on the table.</p> + +<p>"Go down to Mrs. Murray," he said, turning savagely upon my mother. "How +could you be so rude as to leave her? She talks of going away. Let her +go as soon as she likes. I shall stay here with Martin."</p> + +<p>"I did not know I had been away so long," she answered, meekly, and +looking deprecatingly from the one to the other of us.—"You will not +quarrel with your father, Martin, if I leave you, will you?" This she +whispered in my ear, in a beseeching tone.</p> + +<p>"Not if I can help it, mother," I replied, also in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Now, confound it!" cried Dr. Dobrée, after she had gone, slowly and +reluctantly, and looking back at the door to me—"now just tell me +shortly all about this nonsense of yours. I thought some quarrel was up, +when Julia did not come home to dinner. Out with it, Martin."</p> + +<p>"As I said before, there is not much to tell," I answered. "I was +compelled in honor to tell Julia I loved another woman more than +herself; and I presume, though I am not sure, she will decline to become +my wife."</p> + +<p>"In love with another woman!" repeated my father, with a long whistle, +partly of sympathy, and partly of perplexity. "Who is it, my son?"</p> + +<p>"That is of little moment," I said, having no desire whatever to confide +the story to him. "The main point is that it's true, and I told Julia +so, this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Good gracious, Martin!" he cried, "what accursed folly! What need was +there to tell her of any little peccadillo, if you could conceal it? Why +did you not come to me for advice? Julia is a prude, like your mother. +It will not be easy for her to overlook this."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to overlook," I said. "As soon as I knew my own mind, +I told her honestly about it."</p> + +<p>At that moment it did not occur to me that my honesty was due to +Johanna's insistent advice. I believed just then that I had acted from +the impulse of my own sense of honor, and the belief gave my words and +tone more spirit than they would have had otherwise. My father's face +grew paler and graver as he listened; he looked older, by ten years, +than he had done an hour ago in the dining-room.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand it," he muttered; "do you mean that this is a +serious thing? Are you in love with some girl of our own class? Not a +mere passing fancy, that no one would think seriously of for an instant? +Just a trifling <i>faux pas</i>, that it is no use telling women about, eh? I +could make allowance for that, Martin, and get Julia to do the same. +Come, it cannot be any thing more."</p> + +<p>I did not reply to him. Here we had come, he and I, to the very barrier +that had been growing up between us ever since I had first discovered my +mother's secret and wasting grief. He was on one side of it and I on the +other—a wall of separation which neither of us could leap over.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you speak, Martin?" he asked, testily.</p> + +<p>"Because I hate the subject," I answered. "When I told Julia I loved +another woman, I meant that some one else occupied that place in my +affection which belonged rightfully to my wife; and so Julia understood +it."</p> + +<p>"Then," he cried with a gesture of despair, "I am a ruined man!"</p> + +<p>His consternation and dismay were so real that they startled me; yet, +knowing what a consummate actor he was, I restrained both my fear and +my sympathy, and waited for him to enlighten me further. He sat with his +head bowed, and his hands hanging down, in an attitude of profound +despondency, so different from his usual jaunty air, that every moment +increased my anxiety.</p> + +<p>"What can it have to do with you?" I asked, after a long pause.</p> + +<p>"I am a ruined and disgraced man." he reiterated, without looking up; +"if you have broken off your marriage with Julia, I shall never raise my +head again."</p> + +<p>"But why?" I asked, uneasily.</p> + +<p>"Come down into my consulting-room," he said, after another pause of +deliberation. I went on before him, carrying the lamp, and, turning +round once or twice, saw his face look gray, and the expression of it +vacant and troubled. His consulting-room was a luxurious room, elegantly +furnished; and with several pictures on the walls, including a painted +photograph of himself, taken recently by the first photographer in +Guernsey. There were book-cases containing a number of the best medical +works; behind which lay, out of sight, a numerous selection of French +novels, more thumbed than the ponderous volumes in front. He sank down +into an easy-chair, shivering as if we were in the depth of winter.</p> + +<p>"Martin, I am a ruined man!" he said, for the third time.</p> + +<p>"But how?" I asked again, impatiently; for my fears were growing strong. +Certainly he was not acting a part this time.</p> + +<p>"I dare not tell you," he cried, leaning his head upon his desk, and +sobbing. How white his hair was! and how aged he looked! I recollected +how he used to play with me when I was a boy, and carry me before him on +horseback, as long back as I could remember. My heart softened and +warmed to him as it had not done for years.</p> + +<p>"Father!" I said, "if you can trust any one, you can trust me. If you +are ruined and disgraced I shall be the same, as your son."</p> + +<p>"That's true," he answered, "that's true! It will bring disgrace on you +and your mother. We shall be forced to leave Guernsey, where she has +lived all her life; and it will be the death of her. Martin, you must +save us all by making it up with Julia."</p> + +<p>"But why?" I demanded, once more. "I must know what you mean."</p> + +<p>"Mean?" he said, turning upon me angrily, "you blockhead! I mean that +unless you marry Julia I shall have to give an account of her property; +and I could not make all square, not if I sold every stick and stone I +possess."</p> + +<p>I sat silent for a time, trying to take in this piece of information. He +had been Julia's guardian ever since she was left an orphan, ten years +old; but I had never known that there had not been a formal and legal +settlement of her affairs when she was of age. Our family name had no +blot upon it; it was one of the most honored names in the island. But if +this came to light, then the disgrace would be dark indeed.</p> + +<p>"Can you tell me all about it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>My father, after making his confession, settled himself in his chair +comfortably; appearing to feel that he had begun to make reparation for +the wrong. His temperament was more buoyant than mine. Selfish natures +are often buoyant.</p> + +<p>"It would take a long time," he said, "and it would be a deuse of a +nuisance. You make it up with Julia, and marry her, as you're bound to +do. Of course, you will manage all her money when you are her husband, +as you will be. Now you know all."</p> + +<p>"But I don't know all," I replied; "and I insist upon doing so, before I +make up my mind what to do."</p> + +<p>I believe he expected this opposition from me, for otherwise all he had +said could have been said in my room. But after feebly giving battle on +various points, and staving off sundry inquiries, he opened a drawer in +one of his cabinets, and produced a number of deeds, scrip, etc., +belonging to Julia.</p> + +<p>For two hours I was busy with his accounts. Once or twice he tried to +slink out of the room; but that I would not suffer. At length the +ornamental clock on his chimney-piece struck eleven, and he made +another effort to beat a retreat.</p> + +<p>"Do not go away till every thing is clear," I said; "is this all?"</p> + +<p>"All?" he repeated; "isn't it enough?"</p> + +<p>"Between three and four thousand pounds deficient!" I answered; "it is +quite enough."</p> + +<p>"Enough to make me a felon," he said, "if Julia chooses to prosecute +me."</p> + +<p>"I think it is highly probable," I replied; "though I know nothing of +the law."</p> + +<p>"Then you see clearly, Martin, there is no alternative, but for you to +marry her, and keep our secret. I have reckoned upon this for years, and +your mother and I have been of one mind in bringing it about. If you +marry Julia, her affairs go direct from my hands to yours, and we are +all safe. If you break with her she will leave us, and demand an account +of my guardianship; and your name and mine will be branded in our own +island."</p> + +<p>"That is very clear," I said, sullenly.</p> + +<p>"Your mother would not survive it!" he continued, with a solemn accent.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I have been threatened with that already," I exclaimed, very +bitterly. "Pray does my mother know of this disgraceful business?"</p> + +<p>"Heaven forbid!" he cried. "Your mother is a good woman, Martin; as +simple as a dove. You ought to think of her before you consign us all to +shame. I can quit Guernsey. I am an old man, and it signifies very +little where I lie down to die. I have not been as good a husband as I +might have been; but I could not face her after she knows this. Poor +Mary! My poor, poor love! I believe she cares enough for me still to +break her heart over it."</p> + +<p>"Then I am to be your scape-goat," I said.</p> + +<p>"You are my son," he answered; "and religion itself teaches us that the +sins of the fathers are visited on the children. I leave the matter in +your hands. But only answer one question: Could you show your face among +your own friends if this were known?"</p> + +<p>I knew very well I could not. My father a fraudulent steward of Julia's +property! Then farewell forever to all that had made my life happy! We +were a proud family—proud of our rank, and of our pure blood; above +all, of our honor, which had never been tarnished by a breath. I could +not yet bear to believe that my father was a rogue. He himself was not +so lost to shame that he could meet my eye. I saw there was no escape +from it—I must marry Julia.</p> + +<p>"Well," I said, at last, "as you say, the matter is in my hands now; and +I must make the best of it. Good-night, sir."</p> + +<p>Without a light I went up to my own room, where the moon that had shone +upon me in my last night's ride, was gleaming brightly through the +window. I intended to reflect and deliberate, but I was worn out. I +flung myself down on the bed, but could not have remained awake for a +single moment. I fell into a deep sleep which lasted till morning.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTIETH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.</h2> + +<p>TWO LETTERS.</p> +<br /> + +<p>When I awoke, my poor mother was sitting beside me, looking very ill and +sorrowful. She had slipped a pillow under my head, and thrown a shawl +across me. I got up with a bewildered brain, and a general sense of +calamity, which I could not clearly define.</p> + +<p>"Martin," she said, "your father has gone by this morning's boat to +Jersey. He says you know why; but he has left this note for you. Why +have you not been in bed last night?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind, mother," I answered, as I tore open the note, which was +carefully sealed with my father's private seal. He had written it +immediately after I left him.</p> + + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"11.30 P.M. + +<p> "MY SON: To-morrow morning, I shall run over to Jersey for a + few days until this sad business of yours is settled. I cannot + bear to meet your changed face. You make no allowances for + your father. Half my expenses have been incurred in educating + you; you ought to consider this, and that you owe more to me, + as your father, than to any one else. But in these days + parents receive little honor from their children. When all is + settled, write to me at Prince's Hotel. It rests upon you + whether I ever see Guernsey again. Your wretched father,</p> + +<p> "RICHARD DOBRÉE."</p></div> + +<p>"Can I see it?" asked my mother, holding out her hand.</p> + +<p>"No, never mind seeing it," I answered, "it is about Julia, you know. It +would only trouble you."</p> + +<p>"Captain Carey's man brought a letter from Julia just now," she said, +taking it from her pocket; "he said there was no answer."</p> + +<p>Her eyelids were still red from weeping, and her voice faltered as if +she might break out into sobs any moment. I took the letter from her, +but I did not open it.</p> + +<p>"You want to be alone to read it?" she said. "O Martin! if you can +change your mind, and save us all from this trouble, do it, for my +sake?"</p> + +<p>"If I can I will," I answered; "but every thing is very hard upon me, +mother."</p> + +<p>She could not guess how hard, and, if I could help it, she should never +know. Now I was fully awake, the enormity of my father's dishonesty and +his extreme egotism weighed heavily upon me. I could not view his +conduct in a fairer light than I had done in my amazement the night +before. It grew blacker as I dwelt upon it. And now he was off to +Jersey, shirking the disagreeable consequences of his own delinquency. I +knew how he would spend his time there. Jersey is no retreat for the +penitent.</p> + +<p>As soon as my mother was gone I opened Julia's letter. It began:</p> + + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"MY DEAR MARTIN: I know all now. Johanna has told me. When you + spoke to me so hurriedly and unexpectedly, this afternoon, I + could not bear to hear another word. But now I am calm, and I + can think it all over quite quietly.</p> + +<p> "It is an infatuation, Martin. Johanna says so as well as I, + and she is never wrong. It is a sheer impossibility that you, + in your sober senses, should love a strange person, whose very + name you do not know, better than you do me, your cousin, your + sister, your <i>fiancée</i>, whom you have known all your life, and + loved. I am quite sure of that, with a very true affection.</p> + +<p> "It vexes me to write about that person in any connection with + yourself. Emma spoke of her in her last letter from Sark; not + at all in reference to you, however. She is so completely of a + lower class, that it would never enter Emma's head that you + could see any thing in her. She said there was a rumor afloat + that Tardif was about to marry the girl you had been + attending, and that everybody in the island regretted it. She + said it would be a <i>mésalliance</i> for him, Tardif! What then + would it be for you, a Dobrée? No; it is a delusion, an + infatuation, which will quickly pass away. I cannot believe + you are so weak as to be taken in by mere prettiness without + character; and this person—I do not say so harshly, + Martin—has no character, no name. Were you free you could not + marry her. There is a mystery about her, and mystery usually + means shame. A Dobrée could not make an adventuress his wife. + Then you have seen so little of her. Three times, since the + week you were there in March! What is that compared to the + years we have spent together? It is impossible that in your + heart of hearts you should love her more than me.</p> + +<p> "I have been trying to think what you would do if all is + broken off between us. We could not keep this a secret in + Guernsey, and everybody would blame you. I will not ask you to + think of my mortification at being jilted, for people would + call it that. I could outlive that. But what are you to do? We + cannot go on again as we used to do. I must speak plainly + about it. Your practice is not sufficient to maintain the + family in a proper position for the Dobrées; and if I go to + live alone at the new house, as I must do, what is to become + of my uncle and aunt? I have often considered this, and have + been glad the difficulty was settled by our marriage. Now + every thing will be unsettled again.</p> + +<p> "I did not intend to say any thing about myself; but, O + Martin! you do not know the blank that it will be to me. I + have been so happy since you asked me to be your wife. It was + so pleasant to think that I should live all my life in + Guernsey, and yet not be doomed to the empty, vacant lot of an + unmarried woman. You think that perhaps Johanna is happy + single? She is content—good women ought to be content; but, I + tell you, I would gladly exchange her contentment for Aunt + Dobrée's troubles, with her pride and happiness in you. I have + seen her troubles clearly; and I say, Martin, I would give all + Johanna's calm, colorless peace for her delight in her son.</p> + +<p> "Then I cannot give up the thought of our home, just finished + and so pretty. It was so pleasant this afternoon before you + came in with your dreadful thunder-bolt. I was thinking what a + good wife I would be to you; and how, in my own house, I + should never be tempted into those tiresome tempers you have + seen in me sometimes. It was your father often who made me + angry, and I visited it upon you, because you are so + good-tempered. That was foolish of me. You could not know how + much I love you, how my life is bound up in you, or you would + have been proof against that person in Sark.</p> + +<p> "I think it right to tell you all this now, though it is not + in my nature to make professions and demonstrations of my + love. Think of me, of yourself, of your poor mother. You were + never selfish, and you can do noble things. I do not say it + would be noble to marry me; but it would be a noble thing to + conquer an ignoble passion. How could Martin Dobrée fall in + love with an unknown adventuress?</p> + +<p> "I shall remain in the house all day to-morrow, and if you can + come to see me, feeling that this has been a dream of folly + from which you have awakened, I will not ask you to own it. + That you come at all will be a sign to me that you wish it + forgotten and blotted out between us, as if it had never been.</p> + +<p> "With true, deep love for you, Martin, believe me still</p> + +<p> "Your affectionate JULIA."</p></div> + +<p>I pondered over Julia's letter as I dressed. There was not a word of +resentment in it. It was full of affectionate thought for us all. But +what reasoning! I had not known Olivia so long as I had known her, +therefore I could not love her as truly!</p> + +<p>A strange therefore!</p> + +<p>I had scarcely had leisure to think of Olivia in the hurry and anxiety +of the last twenty-four hours. But now "that person in Sark," the +"unknown adventuress," presented itself very vividly to my mind. Know +her! I felt as if I knew every tone of her voice and every expression of +her face; yet I longed to know them more intimately. The note she had +written to me a few weeks ago I could repeat word for word, and the +handwriting seemed far more familiar to me even than Julia's. There was +no doubt my love for her was very different from my affection for Julia; +and if it was an infatuation, it was the sweetest, most exquisite +infatuation that could ever possess me.</p> + +<p>Yet there was no longer any hesitation in my mind as to what I must do. +Julia knew all now. I had told her distinctly of my love for Olivia, and +she would not believe it. She appeared wishful to hold me to my +engagement in spite of it; at any rate, so I interpreted her letter. I +did not suppose that I should not live it down, this infatuation, as +they chose to call it. I might hunger and thirst, and be on the point of +perishing; then my nature would turn to other nutriment, and assimilate +it to its contracted and stultified capacities.</p> + +<p>After all there was some reason in the objections urged against Olivia. +The dislike of all insulated people against foreigners is natural +enough; and in her case there was a mystery which I must solve before I +could think of asking her to become my wife. Ask her to become my wife! +That was impossible now. I had chosen my wife months before I saw her.</p> + +<p>I went mechanically through the routine of my morning's work, and it was +late in the afternoon before I could get away to ride to the Vale. My +mother knew where I was going, and gazed wistfully into my face, but +without otherwise asking me any questions. At the last moment, as I +touched Madam's bridle, I looked down at her standing on the door-step. +"Cheer up, mother!" I said, almost gayly, "it will all come right."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_FIRST'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.</h2> + +<p>ALL WRONG.</p> +<br /> + +<p>By this time you know that I could not ride along the flat, open shore +between St. Peter-Port and the Vale without having a good sight of Sark, +though it lay just a little behind me. It was not in human nature to +turn my back doggedly upon it. I had never seen it look nearer; the +channel between us scarcely seemed a mile across. The old windmill above +the Havre Gosselin stood out plainly. I almost fancied that but for +Breckhou I could have seen Tardif's house, where my darling was living. +My heart leaped at the mere thought of it. Then I shook Madam's bridle +about her neck, and she carried me on at a sharp canter toward Captain +Carey's residence.</p> + +<p>I saw Julia standing at a window up-stairs, gazing down the long white +road, which runs as straight as an arrow through the Braye du Valle to +L'Ancresse Common.</p> + +<p>She must have seen Madam and me half a mile away; but she kept her post +motionless as a sentinel, until I jumped down to open the gate. Then she +vanished.</p> + +<p>The servant-man was at the door by the time I reached it, and Johanna +herself was on the threshold, with her hands outstretched and her face +radiant. I was as welcome as the prodigal son, and she was ready to fall +on my neck and kiss me.</p> + +<p>"I felt sure of you," she said, in a low voice. "I trusted to your good +sense and honor, and they have not failed you. Thank God you are come! +Julia has neither ate nor slept since I brought her here."</p> + +<p>She led me to her own private sitting-room, where I found Julia standing +by the fireplace, and leaning against it, as if she could not stand +alone. When I went up to her and took her hand, she flung her arms round +my neck, and clung to me, in a passion of tears. It was some minutes +before she could recover her self-command. I had never seen her abandon +herself to such a paroxysm before.</p> + +<p>"Julia, my poor girl!" I said, "I did not think you would take it so +much to heart as this."</p> + +<p>"I shall come all right directly," she sobbed, sitting down, and +trembling from head to foot. "Johanna said you would come, but I was not +sure."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am here," I answered, with a very dreary feeling about me.</p> + +<p>"That is enough," said Julia; "you need not say a word more. Let us +forget it, both of us. You will only give me your promise never to see +her, or speak to her again."</p> + +<p>It might be a fair thing for her to ask, but it was not a fair thing for +me to promise. Olivia had told me she had no friends at all except +Tardif and me; and if the gossip of the Sark people drove her from the +shelter of his roof, I should be her only resource; and I believed she +would come frankly to me for help.</p> + +<p>"Olivia quite understands about my engagement to you," I said. "I told +her at once that we were going to be married, and that I hoped she would +find a friend in you."'</p> + +<p>"A friend in me, Martin!" she exclaimed, in a tone of indignant +surprise; "you could not ask me to be that!"</p> + +<p>"Not now, I suppose," I replied; "the girl is as innocent and blameless +as any girl living; but I dare say you would sooner befriend the most +good-for-nothing Jezebel in the Channel Islands."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I would," she said. "An innocent girl indeed! I only wish she had +been killed when she fell from the cliff."</p> + +<p>"Hush!" I cried, shuddering at the bare mention of Olivia's death; "you +do not know what you say. It is worse than useless to talk about her. I +came to ask you to think no more of what passed between us yesterday."</p> + +<p>"But you are going to persist in your infatuation," said Julia; "you can +never deceive me. I know you too well. Oh, I see that you still think +the same of her'"</p> + +<p>"You know nothing about her," I replied.</p> + +<p>"And I shall take care I never do," she interrupted, spitefully.</p> + +<p>"So it is of no use to go on quarrelling about her," I continued, taking +no notice of the interruption. "I made up my mind before I came here +that I must see as little as possible of her for the future. You must +understand, Julia, she has never given me a particle of reason to +suppose she loves me."</p> + +<p>"But you are still in love with her?" she asked.</p> + +<p>I stood biting my nails to the quick, a trick I had while a boy, but one +that had been broken off by my mother's and Julia's combined vigilance. +Now the habit came back upon me in full force, as my only resource from +speaking.</p> + +<p>"Martin," she said, with flashing eyes, and a rising tone in her voice, +which, like the first shrill moan of the wind, presaged a storm, "I will +never marry you until you can say, on your word of honor, that you love +that person no longer, and are ready to promise to hold no further +communication with her. Oh! I know what my poor aunt has had to endure, +and I will not put up with it."</p> + +<p>"Very well, Julia," I answered, controlling myself as well as I could, +"I have only one more word to say on this subject. I love Olivia, and, +as far as I know myself, I shall love her as long as I live. I did not +come here to give you any reason for supposing my mind is changed as to +her. If you consent to be my wife, I will do my best, God helping me, to +be most true, most faithful to you; and God forbid I should injure +Olivia in thought by supposing she could care for me other than as a +friend. But my motive for coming now is to tell you some particulars +about your property, which my father made known to me only last night."</p> + +<p>It was a miserable task for me; but I told her simply the painful +discovery I had made. She sat listening with a dark and sullen face, but +betraying not a spark of resentment, so far as her loss of fortune was +concerned.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, bitterly, when I had finished, "robbed by the father +and jilted by the son."</p> + +<p>"I would give my life to cancel the wrong," I said.</p> + +<p>"It is so easy to talk," she replied, with a deadly coldness of tone and +manner.</p> + +<p>"I am ready to do whatever you choose," I urged. "It is true my father +has robbed you; but it is not true that I have jilted you. I did not +know my own heart till a word from Captain Carey revealed it to me; and +I told you frankly, partly because Johanna insisted upon it, and partly +because I believed it right to do so. If you demand it, I will even +promise not to see Olivia again, or to hold direct communication with +her. Surely that is all you ought to require from me."</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, vehemently; "do you suppose I could become your wife +while you maintain that you love another woman better than me? You must +have a very low opinion of me."</p> + +<p>"Would you have me tell you a falsehood?" I rejoined, with vehemence +equal to hers.</p> + +<p>"You had better leave me," she said, "before we hate one another. I tell +you I have been robbed by the father and jilted by the son. Good-by, +Martin."</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Julia," I replied; but I still lingered, hoping she would +speak to me again. I was anxious to hear what she would do against my +father. She looked at me fully and angrily, and, as I did not move, she +swept out of the room, with a dignity which I had never seen in her +before. I retreated toward the house-door, but could not make good my +escape without encountering Johanna.</p> + +<p>"Well, Martin?" she said.</p> + +<p>"It is all wrong," I answered. "Julia persists in it that I am jilting +her."</p> + +<p>"All the world will think you have behaved very badly," she said.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," I replied; "but don't you think so, Johanna."</p> + +<p>She shook her head in silence, and closed the hall-door after me. Many a +door in Guernsey would be shut against me as soon as this was known.</p> + +<p>I had to go round to the stables to find Madam. The man had evidently +expected me to stay a long while, for her saddle-girths were loosened, +and the bit out of her mouth, that she might enjoy a liberal feed of +oats. Captain Carey came up tome as I was buckling the girths.</p> + +<p>"Well, Martin?" he asked, exactly as Johanna had done before him.</p> + +<p>"All wrong," I repeated.</p> + +<p>"Dear! dear!" he said, in his mildest tones, and with his hand resting +affectionately on my shoulder; "I wish I had lost the use of my eyes or +tongue the other day, I am vexed to death that I found out your secret."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I should not have found it out myself," I said, "and it is +better now than after."</p> + +<p>"So it is, my boy; so it is," he rejoined. "Between ourselves, Julia is +a little too old for you. Cheer up! she is a good girl, and will get +over it, and be friends again with you by-and-by. I will do all I can to +bring that about. If Olivia is only as good as she is handsome, you'll +be happier with her than with poor Julia."</p> + +<p>He patted my back with a friendliness that cheered me, while his last +words sent the blood bounding through my veins. I rode home again, Sark +lying in full view before me; and, in spite of the darkness of my +prospects, I felt intensely glad to be free to win my Olivia.</p> + +<p>Four days passed without any sign from either Julia or my father. I +wrote to him detailing my interview with her, but no reply came. My +mother and I had the house to ourselves; and, in spite of her frettings, +we enjoyed considerable pleasure during the temporary lull. There were, +however, sundry warnings out-of-doors which foretold tempest. I met cold +glances and sharp inquiries from old friends, among whom some rumors of +our separation were floating. There was sufficient to justify suspicion: +my father's absence, Julia's prolonged sojourn with the Careys at the +Vale, and the postponement of my voyage to England. I began to fancy +that even the women-servants flouted at me.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_SECOND'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.</h2> + +<p>DEAD TO HONOR.</p> +<br /> + +<p>The mail from Jersey on Monday morning brought us no letter from my +father. But during the afternoon, as I was passing along the Canichers, +I came suddenly upon Captain Carey and Julia, who wore a thick veil over +her face. The Canichers is a very narrow, winding street, where no +conveyances are allowed to run, and all of us had chosen it in +preference to the broad road along the quay, where we were liable to +meet many acquaintances. There was no escape for any of us. An +enormously high, strong wall, such as abound in St. Peter-Port, was on +one side of us, and some locked-up stables on the other. Julia turned +away her head, and appeared absorbed in the contemplation of a very +small placard, which did not cover one stone of the wall, though it was +the only one there. I shook hands with Captain Carey, who regarded us +with a comical expression of distress, and waited to see if she would +recognize me; but she did not.</p> + +<p>"Julia has had a letter from your father," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" I replied, in a tone of inquiry.</p> + +<p>"Or rather from Dr. Collas," he pursued. "Prepare yourself for bad news, +Martin. Your father is very ill; dangerously so, he thinks."</p> + +<p>The news did not startle me. I had been long aware that my father was +one of those medical men who are excessively nervous about their own +health, and are astonished that so delicate and complicated an +organization as the human frame should ever survive for sixty years the +ills it is exposed to. But at this time it was possible that distress of +mind and anxiety for the future might have made him really ill. There +was no chance of crossing to Jersey before the next morning.</p> + +<p>"He wished Dr. Collas to write to Julia, so as not to alarm your +mother," continued Captain Carey, as I stood silent.</p> + +<p>"I will go to-morrow," I said; "but we must not frighten my mother if we +can help it."</p> + +<p>"Dr. Dobrée begs that you will go," he answered—"you and Julia."</p> + +<p>"Julia!" I exclaimed. "Oh, impossible!"</p> + +<p>"I don't see that it is impossible," said Julia, speaking for the first +time. "He is my own uncle, and has acted as my father. I intend to go to +see him; but Captain Carey has promised to go with me."</p> + +<p>"Thank you a thousand times, dear Julia," I answered, gratefully. A +heavy load was lifted off my spirits, for I came to this +conclusion—that she had said nothing, and would say nothing, to the +Careys about his defalcations. She would not make her uncle's shame +public.</p> + +<p>I told my mother that Julia and I were going over to Jersey the next +morning, and she was more than satisfied. We went on board together as +arranged—Julia, Captain Carey, and I. But Julia did not stay on deck, +and I saw nothing of her during our two-hours' sail.</p> + +<p>Captain Carey told me feelingly how terribly she was fretting, +notwithstanding all their efforts to console her. He was full of this +topic, and could think and speak of nothing else, worrying me with the +most minute particulars of her deep dejection, until I felt myself one +of the most worthless scoundrels in existence. I was in this humiliated +state of mind when we landed in Jersey, and drove in separate cars to +the hotel where my father was lying ill.</p> + +<p>The landlady received us with a portentous face. Dr. Collas had spoken +very seriously indeed of his patient, and, as for herself, she had not +the smallest hope. I heard Julia sob, and saw her lift her handkerchief +to her eyes behind her veil.</p> + +<p>Captain Carey looked very much frightened. He was a man of quick +sympathies, and nervous about his own life into the bargain, so that any +serious illness alarmed him. As for myself, I was in the miserable +condition of mind I have described above.</p> + +<p>We were not admitted into my father's room for half an hour, as he sent +word he must get up his strength for the interview. Julia and myself +alone were allowed to see him. He was propped up in bed with a number of +pillows; with the room darkened by Venetian blinds, and a dim green +twilight prevailing, which cast a sickly hue over his really pallid +face. His abundant white hair fell lankly about his head, instead of +being in crisp curls as usual. I was about to feel his pulse for him, +but he waved me off.</p> + +<p>"No, my son," he said, "my recovery is not to be desired. I feel that I +have nothing now to do but to die. It is the only reparation in my +power. I would far rather die than recover."</p> + +<p>I had nothing to say to that; indeed, I had really no answer ready, so +amazed was I at the tone he had taken. But Julia began to sob again, and +pressed past me, sinking down on the chair by his side, and laying her +hand upon one of his pillows.</p> + +<p>"Julia, my love," he continued, feebly, "you know how I have wronged +you; but you are a true Christian. You will forgive your uncle when he +is dead and gone. I should like to be buried in Guernsey with the other +Dobrées."</p> + +<p>Neither did Julia answer, save by sobs. I stepped toward the window to +draw up the blinds, but he stopped me, speaking in a much stronger voice +than before.</p> + +<p>"Leave them alone," he said. "I have no wish to see the light of day. A +dishonored man does not care to show his face. I have seen no one since +I left Guernsey, except Collas."</p> + +<p>"I think you are alarming yourself needlessly," I answered. "You know +you are fidgety about your own health. Let me prescribe for you. Surely +I know as much as Collas."</p> + +<p>"No, no, let me die," he said, plaintively; "then you can all be happy. +I have robbed my only brother's only child, who was dear to me as my own +daughter. I cannot hold up my head after that. I should die gladly if +you two were but reconciled to one another."</p> + +<p>By this time Julia's hand had reached his, and was resting in it fondly. +I never knew a man gifted with such power over women and their +susceptibilities as he had. My mother herself would appear to forget all +her unhappiness, if he only smiled upon her.</p> + +<p>"My poor dear Julia!" he murmured; "my poor child!"</p> + +<p>"Uncle," she said, checking her sobs by a great effort, "if you imagine +I should tell any one—Johanna Carey even—what you have done, you wrong +me. The name of Dobrée is as dear to me as to Martin, and he was willing +to marry a woman he detested in order to shield it. No, you are quite +safe from disgrace as far as I am concerned."</p> + +<p>"God in heaven bless you, my own Julia!" he ejaculated, fervently. "I +knew your noble nature; but it grieves me the more deeply that I have so +thoughtlessly wronged you. If I should live to get over this illness, I +will explain it all to you. It is not so bad as it seems. But will you +not be equally generous to Martin? Cannot you forgive him as you do me?"</p> + +<p>"Uncle," she cried, "I could never, never marry a man who says he loves +some one else more than me."</p> + +<p>Her face was hidden in the pillows, and my father stroked her head, +glancing at me contemptuously at the same time.</p> + +<p>"I should think not, my girl!" he said, in a soothing tone; "but Martin +will very soon repent. He is a fool just now, but he will be wise again +presently. He has known you too long not to know your worth."</p> + +<p>"Julia," I said, "I do know how good you are. You have always been +generous, and you are so now. I owe you as much gratitude as my father +does, and any thing I can do to prove it I am ready to do this day."</p> + +<p>"Will you marry her before we leave Jersey?" asked my father.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered.</p> + +<p>The word slipped from me almost unawares, yet I did not wish to retract +it. She was behaving so nobly and generously toward us both, that I was +willing to do any thing to make her happy.</p> + +<p>"Then, my love," he said, "you hear what Martin promises. All's well +that ends well. Only make up your mind to put your proper pride away, +and we shall all be as happy as we were before."</p> + +<p>"Never!" she cried, indignantly. "I would not marry Martin here, +hurriedly and furtively; no, not if you were dying, uncle!"</p> + +<p>"But, Julia, if I were dying, and wished to see you united before my +death!" he insinuated. A sudden light broke upon me. It was an ingenious +plot—one at which I could not help laughing, mad as I was. Julia's +pride was to be saved, and an immediate marriage between us effected, +under cover of my father's dangerous illness. I did smile, in spite of +my anger, and he caught it, and smiled back again. I think Julia became +suspicious too.</p> + +<p>"Martin," she said, sharpening her voice to address me, "do <i>you</i> think +your father is in any danger?"</p> + +<p>"No, I do not," I answered, notwithstanding his gestures and frowns.</p> + +<p>"Then that is at an end," she said. "I was almost foolish enough to +think that I would yield. You don't know what this disappointment is to +me. Everybody will be talking of it, and some of them will pity me, and +the rest laugh at me. I am ashamed of going out-of-doors anywhere. Oh, +it is too bad! I cannot bear it."</p> + +<p>She was positively writhing with agitation; and tears, real tears I am +sure, started into my father's eyes.</p> + +<p>"My poor little Julia!" he said; "my darling! But what can be done if +you will not marry Martin?"</p> + +<p>"He ought to go away from Guernsey," she sobbed. "I should feel better +if I was quite sure I should never see him, or hear of other people +seeing him."</p> + +<p>"I will go," I said. "Guernsey will be too hot for me when all this is +known."</p> + +<p>"And, uncle," she pursued, speaking to him, not me, "he ought to promise +me to give up that girl. I cannot set him free to go and marry her—a +stranger and adventuress. She will be his ruin. I think, for my sake, he +ought to give her up."</p> + +<p>"So he ought, and so he will, my love," answered my father. "When he +thinks of all we owe to you, he will promise you that."</p> + +<p>I pondered over what our family owed to Julia for some minutes. It was +truly a very great debt. Though I had brought her into perhaps the most +painful position a woman could be placed in, she was generously +sacrificing her just resentment and revenge against my father's +dishonesty, in order to secure our name from blot.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, I had no reason to suppose Olivia loved me, and I +should do her no wrong. I felt that, whatever it might cost me, I must +consent to Julia's stipulation.</p> + +<p>"It is the hardest thing you could ask me," I said, "but I will give her +up. On one condition, however; for I must not leave her without friends. +I shall tell Tardif, if he ever needs help for Olivia, he must apply to +me through my mother."</p> + +<p>"There could be no harm in that," observed my father.</p> + +<p>"How soon shall I leave Guernsey?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"He cannot go until you are well again, uncle," she answered. "I will +stay here to nurse you, and Martin must take care of your patients. We +will send him word a day or two before we return, and I should like him +to be gone before we reach home."</p> + +<p>That was my sentence of banishment. She had only addressed me once +during the conversation. It was curious to see how there was no +resentment in her manner toward my father, who had systematically robbed +her, while she treated me with profound wrath and bitterness.</p> + +<p>She allowed him to hold her hand and stroke her hair; she would not have +suffered me to approach her. No doubt it was harder for her to give up a +lover than to lose the whole of her property.</p> + +<p>She left us, to make the necessary arrangements for staying with my +father, whose illness appeared to have lost suddenly its worst symptoms. +As soon as she was gone he regarded me with a look half angry, half +contemptuous.</p> + +<p>"What a fool you are!" he said. "You have no tact whatever in the +management of women. Julia would fly back to you, if you only held up +your finger."</p> + +<p>"I have no wish to hold up my finger to her," I answered. "I don't think +life with her would be so highly desirable."</p> + +<p>"You thought so a few weeks ago," he said, "and you'll be a pauper +without her."</p> + +<p>"I was not going to marry her for her money," I replied. "A few weeks +ago I cared more for her than for any other woman, except my mother, and +she knew it. All that is changed now."</p> + +<p>"Well well!" he said, peevishly, "do as you like. I wash my hands of the +whole business. Julia will not forsake me if she renounces you, and I +shall have need of her and her money. I shall cling to Julia."</p> + +<p>"She will be a kind nurse to you," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"Excellent!" he answered, settling himself languidly down among his +pillows. "She may come in now and watch beside me; it will be the sort +of occupation to suit her in her present state of feeling. You had +better go out and amuse yourself in your own way. Of course you will go +home to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>I would have gone back to Guernsey at once, but I found neither cutter +nor yacht sailing that afternoon, so I was obliged to wait for the +steamer next morning. I did not see Julia again, but Captain Carey told +me she had consented that he should remain at hand for a day or two, to +see if he could be of any use to her.</p> + +<p>The report of my father's illness had spread before I reached home, and +sufficiently accounted for our visit to Jersey, and the temporary +postponement of my last trip to England before our marriage. My mother, +Johanna, and I, kept our own counsel, and answered the many questions +asked us as vaguely as the Delphic oracle.</p> + +<p>Still an uneasy suspicion and suspense hung about our circle. The +atmosphere was heavily charged with electricity, which foreboded storms. +It would be well for me to quit Guernsey before all the truth came out. +I wrote to Tardif, telling him I was going for an indefinite period to +London, and that if any difficulty or danger threatened Olivia, I begged +of him to communicate with my mother, who had promised me to befriend +her as far as it lay in her power. My poor mother thought of her without +bitterness, though with deep regret. To Olivia herself I wrote a line or +two, finding myself too weak to resist the temptation. I said:</p> + +<p>"MY DEAR OLIVIA: I told you I was about to be married to my cousin Julia +Dobrée; that engagement is at an end. I am obliged to leave Guernsey, +and seek my fortune elsewhere. It will be a long time before I can see +you again, if I ever have that great happiness. Whenever you feel the +want of a true and tender friend, my mother is prepared to love you as +if you were her own daughter. Think of me also as your friend. MARTIN +DOBRÉE."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_THIRD'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD.</h2> + +<p>IN EXILE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I left Guernsey the day before my father and Julia returned from Jersey.</p> + +<p>My immediate future was not as black as it might have been. I was going +direct to the house of my friend Jack Senior, who had been my chum both +at Elizabeth College and at Guy's. He, like myself, had been hitherto a +sort of partner to his father, the well-known physician, Dr. Senior of +Brook Street. They lived together in a highly-respectable but gloomy +residence, kept bachelor fashion, for they had no woman-kind at all +belonging to them. The father and son lived a good deal apart, though +they were deeply attached to one another. Jack had his own apartments, +and his own guests, in the spacious house, and Dr. Senior had his.</p> + +<p>The first night, as Jack and I sat up together in the long summer +twilight, till the dim, not really dark, midnight came over us, I told +him every thing; as one tells a friend a hundred things one cannot put +into words to any person who dwells under the same roof, and is witness +of every circumstance of one's career.</p> + +<p>As I was talking to him, every emotion and perception of my brain, which +had been in a wild state of confusion and conflict, appeared to fall +into its proper rank. I was no longer doubtful as to whether I had been +the fool my father called me. My love for Olivia acquired force and +decision. My judgment that it would have been a folly and a crime to +marry Julia became confirmed.</p> + +<p>"Old fellow," said Jack, when I had finished, "you are in no end of a +mess."</p> + +<p>"Well, I am," I admitted; "but what am I to do?"</p> + +<p>"First of all, how much money have you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather not say," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Come, old friend," he said, in his most persuasive tones, "have you +fifty pounds in hand?"</p> + +<p>"No," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Thirty?"</p> + +<p>I shook my head, but I would not answer him further.</p> + +<p>"That's bad!" he said; "but it might be worse. I've lots of tin, and we +always went shares."</p> + +<p>"I must look out for something to do to-morrow," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"Ay, yes!" he answered, dryly; "you might go as assistant to a parish +doctor, or get a berth on board an emigrant-ship. There are lots of +chances for a young fellow."</p> + +<p>He sat smoking his cigar—a dusky outline of a human figure, with a +bright speck of red about the centre of the face. For a few minutes he +was lost in thought.</p> + +<p>"I tell you what," he said, "I've a good mind to marry Julia myself. +I've always liked her, and we want a woman in the house. That would put +things straighter, wouldn't it?"</p> + +<p>"She would never consent to leave Guernsey," I answered, laughing. "That +was one reason why she was so glad to marry me."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," he said, "would you mind me having Olivia?"</p> + +<p>"Don't jest about such a thing," I replied; "it is too serious a +question with me."</p> + +<p>"You are really in love!" he answered. "I will not jest at it. But I am +ready to do any thing to help you, old boy."</p> + +<p>So it proved, for he and Dr. Senior did their best during the next few +weeks to find a suitable opening for me. I made their house my home, and +was treated as a most welcome guest in it. Still the time was +irksome—more irksome than I ever could have imagined. They were busy +while I was unoccupied.</p> + +<p>Occasionally I went out to obey some urgent summons, when either of them +was absent; but that was a rare circumstance. The hours hung heavily +upon me; and the close, sultry air of London, so different from the +fresh sea-breezes of my native place, made me feel languid and +irritable.</p> + +<p>My mother's letters did not tend to raise my spirits. The tone of them +was uniformly sad. She told me the flood of sympathy for Julia had risen +very high indeed: from which I concluded that the public indignation +against myself must have risen to the same tide-mark, though my poor +mother said nothing about it. Julia had resumed her old occupations, but +her spirit was quite broken. Johanna Carey had offered to go abroad with +her, but she had declined it, because it would too painfully remind her +of our projected trip to Switzerland.</p> + +<p>A friend of Julia's, said my mother in another letter, had come to stay +with her, and to try to rouse her.</p> + +<p>It was evident she did not like this Kate Daltrey, herself, for the +dislike crept out unawares through all the gentleness of her phrases. +"She says she is the same age as Julia," she wrote, "but she is probably +some years older; for, as she does not belong to Guernsey, we have no +opportunity of knowing." I laughed when I read that. "Your father +admires her very much," she added.</p> + +<p>No, my mother felt no affection for her new guest.</p> + +<p>There was not a word about Olivia. Sark itself was never mentioned, and +it might have sunk into the sea. My eye ran over every letter first, +with the hope of catching that name, but I could not find it. This +persistent silence on my mother's part was very trying.</p> + +<p>I had been away from Guernsey two months, and Jack was making +arrangements for a long absence from London as soon as the season was +over, leaving me in charge, when I received the following letter from +Johanna Carey:</p> + + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"DEAR MARTIN: Your father and Julia have been here this + afternoon, and have confided to me a very sad and very painful + secret, which they ask me to break gently to you. I am afraid + no shadow of a suspicion of it has ever fallen upon your mind, + and, I warn you, you will need all your courage and strength + as a man to bear it. I was myself so overwhelmed that I could + not write to you until now, in the dead of the night, having + prayed with all my heart to our merciful God to sustain and + comfort you, who will feel this sorrow more than any of us. My + dearest Martin, my poor boy, how can I tell it to you? You + must come home again for a season. Even Julia wishes it, + though she cannot stay in the same house with you, and will go + to her own with her friend Kate Daltrey. Your father cried + like a child. He takes it more to heart than I should have + expected. Yet there is no immediate danger; she may live for + some months yet. My poor Martin, you will have a mother only a + few months longer. Three weeks ago she and I went to Sark, at + her own urgent wish, to see your Olivia. I did not then know + why. She had a great longing to see the unfortunate girl who + had been the cause of so much sorrow to us all, but especially + to her, for she has pined sorely after you. We did not find + her in Tardif's house, but Suzanne directed us to the little + graveyard half a mile away. We followed her there, and + recognized her, of course, at the first glance. She is a + charming creature, that I allow, though I wish none of us had + ever seen her. Your mother told her who she was, and the + sweetest flush and smile came across her face! They sat down + side by side on one of the graves, and I strolled away, so I + do not know what they said to one another. Olivia walked down + with us to the Havre Gosselin, and your mother held her in her + arms and kissed her tenderly. Even I could not help kissing + her.</p> + +<p> "Now I understand why your mother longed to see Olivia. She + knew then—she has known for months—that her days are + numbered. When she was in London last November, she saw the + most skilful physicians, and they all agreed that her disease + was incurable and fatal. Why did she conceal it from you? Ah, + Martin, you must know a woman's heart, a mother's heart, + before you can comprehend that. Your father knew, but no one + else. What a martyrdom of silent agony she has passed through! + She has a clear calculation, based upon the opinion of the + medical men, as to how long she might have lived had her mind + been kept calm and happy. How far that has not been the case + we all know too well.</p> + +<p> "If your marriage with Julia had taken place, you would now + have been on your way home, not to be parted from her again + till the final separation. We all ask you to return to + Guernsey, and devote a few more weeks to one who has loved you + so passionately and fondly. Even Julia asks it. Her resentment + gives way before this terrible sorrow. We have not told your + mother what we are about to do, lest any thing should prevent + your return. She is as patient and gentle as a lamb, and is + ready with a quiet smile for every one. O Martin, what a loss + she will be to us all! My heart is bleeding for you.</p> + +<p> "Do not come before you have answered this letter, that we + may prepare her for your return. Write by the next boat, and + come by the one after. Julia will have to move down to the new + house, and that will be excitement enough for one day.</p> + +<p> "Good-by, my dearest Martin. I have forgiven every thing; so + will all our friends as soon as they know this dreadful + secret.</p> + +<p> "Your faithful, loving cousin, "JOHANNA CAREY."</p></div> + +<p>I read this letter twice, with a singing in my ears and a whirling of my +brain, before I could realize the meaning. Then I refused to believe it. +No one knows better than a doctor how the most skilful head among us may +be at fault.</p> + +<p>My mother dying of an incurable disease! Impossible! I would go over at +once and save her. She ought to have told me first. Who could have +attended her so skilfully and devotedly as her only son?</p> + +<p>Yet the numbing, deadly chill of dread rested upon my heart. I felt +keenly how slight my power was, as I had done once before when I thought +Olivia would die. But then I had no resources, no appliances. Now I +would take home with me every remedy the experience and researches of +man had discovered.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_FOURTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH.</h2> + +<p>OVERMATCHED.</p> +<br /> + +<p>My mother had consulted Dr. Senior himself when she had been in London. +He did not positively cut off all hope from me, though I knew well he +was giving me encouragement in spite of his own carefully-formed +opinion. He asserted emphatically that it was possible to alleviate her +sufferings and prolong her life, especially if her mind was kept at +rest. There was not a question as to the necessity for my immediate +return to her. But there was still a day for me to tarry in London.</p> + +<p>"Martin," said Jack, "why have you never followed up the clew about your +Olivia—the advertisement, you know? Shall we go to those folks in +Gray's-Inn Road this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>It had been in my mind all along to do so, but the listless +procrastination of idleness had caused me to put it off from time to +time. Besides, while I was absent from the Channel Islands my curiosity +appeared to sleep. It was enough to picture Olivia in her lowly home in +Sark. Now that I was returning to Guernsey, and the opportunity was +about to slip by, I felt more anxious to seize it. I would learn all I +could about Olivia's family and friends, without betraying any part of +her secret.</p> + +<p>At the nearest cab-stand we found a cabman patronized by Jack—a +red-faced, good-tempered, and good-humored man, who was as fond and +proud of Jack's notice as if he had been one of the royal princes.</p> + +<p>Of course there was not the smallest difficulty in finding the office of +Messrs. Scott and Brown. It was on the second floor of an ordinary +building, and, bidding the cabman wait for us, we proceeded at once up +the staircase.</p> + +<p>There did not seem much business going on, and our appearance was hailed +with undisguised satisfaction. The solicitors, if they were solicitors, +were two inferior, common-looking men, but sharp enough to be a match +for either of us. We both felt it, as if we had detected a snake in the +grass by its rattle. I grew wary by instinct, though I had not come with +any intention to tell them what I knew of Olivia. My sole idea had been +to learn something myself, not to impart any information. But, when I +was face to face with these men, my business, and the management of it, +did not seem quite so simple as it had done until then.</p> + +<p>"Do you wish to consult my partner or me?" asked the keenest-looking +man. "I am Mr. Scott."</p> + +<p>"Either will do," I answered. "My business will be soon dispatched. Some +months ago you inserted an advertisement in the <i>Times</i>."</p> + +<p>"To what purport?" inquired Mr. Scott.</p> + +<p>"You offered fifty pounds reward," I replied, "for information +concerning a young lady."</p> + +<p>A gleam of intelligence and gratification flickered upon both their +faces, but quickly faded away into a sober and blank gravity. Mr. Scott +waited for me to speak again, and bowed silently, as if to intimate he +was all attention.</p> + +<p>"I came," I added, "to ask you for the name and address of that young +lady's friends, as I should prefer communicating directly with them, +with a view to cooperation in the discovery of her hiding-place. I need +scarcely say I have no wish to receive any reward. I entirely waive any +claim to that, if you will oblige me by putting me into connection with +the family."</p> + +<p>"Have you no information you can impart to us?" asked Mr. Scott.</p> + +<p>"None," I answered, decisively. "It is some months since I saw the +advertisement, and it must be nine months since you put it into the +<i>Times</i>. I believe it is nine months since the young lady was missing."</p> + +<p>"About that time," he said.</p> + +<p>"Her friends must have suffered great anxiety," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"Very great indeed," he admitted.</p> + +<p>"If I could render them any service, it would be a great pleasure to +me," I continued; "cannot you tell me where to find them?"</p> + +<p>"We are authorized to receive any information," he replied. "You must +allow me to ask if you know any thing about the young lady in question?"</p> + +<p>"My object is to combine with her friends in seeking her," I said, +evasively. "I really cannot give you any information; but if you will +put me into communication with them, I may be useful to them."</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, with an air of candor, "of course the young lady's +friends are anxious to keep in the background. It is not a pleasant +circumstance to occur in a family; and if possible they would wish her +to be restored without any <i>éclat</i>. Of course, if you could give us any +definite information it would be quite another thing. The young lady's +family is highly connected. Have you seen any one answering to the +description?"</p> + +<p>"It is a very common one," I answered. "I have seen scores of young +ladies who might answer to it. I am surprised that in London you could +not trace her. Did you apply to the police?"</p> + +<p>"The police are blockheads," replied Mr. Scott.—"Will you be so good as +to see if there is any one in the outer office, Mr. Brown, or on the +stairs? I believe I heard a noise outside."</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown disappeared for a few minutes; but his absence did not +interrupt our conversation. There was not much to be made out of it on +either side, for we were only fencing with one another. I learned +nothing about Olivia's friends, and I was satisfied he had learned +nothing about her.</p> + +<p>At last we parted with mutual dissatisfaction; and I went moodily +downstairs, followed by Jack. We drove back to Brook Street, to spend +the few hours that remained before the train started for Southampton.</p> + +<p>"Doctor," said Simmons, as Jack paid him his fare, with a small coin +added to it, "I'm half afeard I've done some mischief. I've been turning +it over and over in my head, and can't exactly see the rights of it. A +gent, with a pen behind his ear, comes down, at that orfice in Gray's +Inn Road, and takes my number. But after that he says a civil thing or +two. 'Fine young gents,' he says, pointing up the staircase. 'Very much +so,' says I. 'Young doctors?' he says. 'You're right,' I says. 'I +guessed so,' he says; 'and pretty well up the tree, eh?' 'Ay,' I says; +'the light-haired gent is son to Dr. Senior, the great pheeseecian; and +the other he comes from Guernsey, which is an island in the sea.' 'Just +so,' he says; 'I've heard as much.' I hope I've done no mischief, +doctor?"</p> + +<p>"I hope not, Simmons," answered Jack; "but your tongue hangs too loose, +my man.—Look out for a squall on the Olivia coast, Martin," he added.</p> + +<p>My anxiety would have been very great if I had not been returning +immediately to Guernsey. But once there, and in communication with +Tardif, I could not believe any danger would threaten Olivia from which +I could not protect or rescue her. She was of age, and had a right to +act for herself. With two such friends as Tardif and me, no one could +force her away from her chosen home.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_FIFTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH.</h2> + +<p>HOME AGAIN.</p> +<br /> + +<p>My mother was looking out for me when I reached home the next morning. I +had taken a car from the pier-head to avoid meeting any acquaintances; +and hers was almost the first familiar face I saw. It was pallid with +the sickly hue of a confirmed disease, and her eyes were much sunken; +but she ran across the room to meet me. I was afraid to touch her, +knowing how a careless movement might cause her excruciating pain; but +she was oblivious of every thing save my return, and pressed me closer +and closer in her arms, with all her failing strength, while I leaned my +face down upon her dear head, unable to utter a word.</p> + +<p>"God is very good to me," sobbed my mother.</p> + +<p>"Is He?" I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears, so forced and +altered it was.</p> + +<p>"Very, very good," she repeated. "He has brought you back to me."</p> + +<p>"Never to leave you again, mother," I said—"never again!"</p> + +<p>"No; you will never leave me alone again here," she whispered. "Oh, how +I have missed you, my boy!"</p> + +<p>I made her sit down on the sofa, and sat beside her, while she caressed +my hand with her thin and wasted fingers.</p> + +<p>I must put an end to this, if I was to maintain my self-control.</p> + +<p>"Mother," I said, "you forget that I have been on the sea all night, and +have not had my breakfast yet."</p> + +<p>"The old cry, Martin," she answered, smiling. "Well, you shall have your +breakfast here, and I will wait upon you once more."</p> + +<p>I watched her furtively as she moved about, not with her usual quick and +light movements, but with a slow and cautious tread. It was part of my +anguish to know, as only a medical man can know, how every step was a +fresh pang to her. She sat down with me at the table, though I would not +suffer her to pour out my coffee, as she wished to do. There was a +divine smile upon her face; yet beneath it there was an indication of +constant and terrible pain, in the sunken eyes and drawn lips. It was +useless to attempt to eat with that smiling face opposite me. I drank +thirstily, but I could not swallow a crumb. She knew what it meant, and +her eyes were fastened upon me with a heart-breaking expression.</p> + +<p>That mockery of a meal over, she permitted me to lay her down on the +sofa, almost as submissively as a tired child, and to cover her with an +eider-down quilt; for her malady made her shiver with its deadly +coldness, while she could not bear any weight upon her. My father was +gone out, and would not be back before evening. The whole day lay before +us; I should have my mother entirely to myself.</p> + +<p>We had very much to say to one another; but it could only be said at +intervals, when her strength allowed of it. We talked together, more +calmly than I could have believed possible, of her approaching death; +and, in a stupor of despair, I owned to myself and her that there was +not a hope of her being spared to me much longer.</p> + +<p>"I have longed so," she murmured, "to see my boy in a home of his own +before I died. Perhaps I was wrong, but that was why I urged on your +marriage with Julia. You will have no real home after I am gone, Martin; +and I feel as if I could die so much more quietly if I had some +knowledge of your future life. Now I shall know nothing. I think that is +the sting of death to me."</p> + +<p>"I wish it had been as you wanted it to be," I said, never feeling so +bitterly the disappointment I had caused her, and almost grieved that I +had ever seen Olivia.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is all for the best," she answered, feebly. "O Martin! I +have seen your Olivia."</p> + +<p>"Well?" I said.</p> + +<p>"I did so want to see her," she continued—"though she has brought us +all into such trouble. I loved her because you love her. Johanna went +with me, because she is such a good judge, you know, and I did not like +to rely upon my own feelings. Appearances are very much against her; but +she is very engaging, and I believe she is a good girl. I am sure she is +good."</p> + +<p>"I know she is," I said.</p> + +<p>"We talked of you," she went on—"how good you were to her that week in +the spring. She had never been quite unconscious, she thought; but she +had seen and heard you all the time, and knew you were doing your utmost +to save her. I believe we talked more of you than of any thing else."</p> + +<p>That was very likely, I knew, as far as my mother was concerned. But I +was anxious to hear whether Olivia had not confided to her more of her +secret than I had yet been able to learn from other sources. To a woman +like my mother she might have intrusted all her history.</p> + +<p>"Did you find any thing out about her friends and family?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Not much," she answered. "She told me her own mother had died when she +was quite a child; and she had a step-mother living, who has been the +ruin of her life. That was her expression. 'She has been the ruin of my +life!' she said; and she cried a little, Martin, with her head upon my +lap. If I could only have offered her a home here, and promised to be a +mother to her!"</p> + +<p>"God bless you, my darling mother!" I said.</p> + +<p>"She intends to stay where she is as long as it is possible," she +continued; "but she told me she wanted work to do—any kind of work by +which she could earn a little money. She has a diamond ring, and a watch +and chain, worth a hundred pounds; so she must have been used to +affluence. Yet she spoke as if she might have to live in Sark for years. +It is a very strange position for a young girl."</p> + +<p>"Mother," I said, "you do not know how all this weighs upon me. I +promised Julia to give her up, and never to see her again; but it is +almost more than I can bear, especially now. I shall be as friendless +and homeless as Olivia by-and-by."</p> + +<p>I had knelt down beside her, and she pressed my face to hers, murmuring +those soft, fondling words, which a man only hears from his mother's +lips. I knew that the anguish of her soul was even greater than my own. +The agitation was growing too much for her, and would end in an access +of her disease. I must put an end to it at once.</p> + +<p>"I suppose Julia is gone to the new house now," I said, in a calm voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered, but she could say no more.</p> + +<p>"And Miss Daltrey with her?" I pursued.</p> + +<p>The mention of that name certainly roused my mother more effectually +than any thing else I could have said. She released me from her clinging +hands, and looked up with a decided expression of dislike on her face.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied. "Julia is just wrapped up in her, though why I +cannot imagine. So is your father. But I don't think you will like her, +Martin. I don't want you to be taken with her."</p> + +<p>"I won't, mother," I said. "I am ready to hate her, if that is any +satisfaction to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you must not say that," she answered, in a tone of alarm. "I do not +wish to set you against her, not in the least, my boy. Only she has so +much influence over Julia and your father; and I do not want you to go +over to her side. I know I am very silly; but she always makes my flesh +creep when she is in the room."</p> + +<p>"Then she shall not come into the room," I said.</p> + +<p>"Martin," she went on, "why does it rouse one up more to speak evil of +people than to speak good of them? Speaking of Kate Daltrey makes me +feel stronger than talking of Olivia."</p> + +<p>I laughed a little. It had been an observation of mine, made some years +ago, that the surest method of consolation in cases of excessive grief, +was the introduction of some family or neighborly gossip, seasoned +slightly with scandal. The most vehement mourning had been turned into +another current of thought by the lifting of this sluice.</p> + +<p>"It restores the balance of the emotions," I answered. "Anything soft, +and tender, and touching, makes you more sensitive. A person like Miss +Daltrey acts as a tonic; bitter, perhaps, but invigorating."</p> + +<p>The morning passed without any interruption; but in the afternoon Grace +came in, with a face full of grave importance, to announce that Miss +Dobrée had called, and desired to see Mrs. Dobrée alone. "Quite alone," +repeated Grace, emphatically.</p> + +<p>"I'll go up-stairs to my own room," I said to my mother.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you cannot, Martin," she answered, hesitatingly. "Miss +Daltrey has taken possession of it, and she has not removed all her +things yet. She and Julia did not leave till late last night. You must +go to the spare room."</p> + +<p>"I thought you would have kept my room for me, mother," I said, +reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"So I would," she replied, her lips quivering, "but Miss Daltrey took a +fancy to it, and your father and Julia made a point of indulging her. I +really think Julia would have had every thing belonging to you swept +into the streets. It was very hard for me, Martin. I was ten times more +vexed than you are to give up your room to Miss Daltrey. It was my only +comfort to go and sit there, and think of my dear boy." "Never mind, +never mind," I answered. "I am at home now, and you will never be left +alone with them again—nevermore, mother."</p> + +<p>I retreated to the spare room, fully satisfied that I should dislike +Miss Daltrey quite as much as my mother could wish. Finding that Julia +prolonged her visit downstairs, I went out after a while for a stroll in +the old garden, where the trees and shrubs had grown with my growth, and +were as familiar as human friends to me. I visited Madam in her stall, +and had a talk with old Pellet; and generally established my footing +once more as the only son of the house; not at all either as if I were a +prodigal son, come home repentant. I was resolved not to play that +<i>rôle</i>, for had I not been more sinned against than sinning?</p> + +<p>My father came in to dinner; but, like a true man of the world, he +received me back on civil and equal terms, not alluding beyond a word or +two to my long absence. We began again as friends; and our mutual +knowledge of my mother's fatal malady softened our hearts and manners +toward one another. Whenever he was in-doors he waited upon her with +sedulous attention. But, for the certainty that death was lurking very +near to us, I should have been happier in my home than I had ever been +since that momentous week in Sark. But I was also nearer to Olivia, and +every throb of my pulse was quickened by the mere thought of that.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_SIXTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH.</h2> + +<p>A NEW PATIENT.</p> +<br /> + +<p>In one sense, time seemed to be standing still with me, so like were the +days that followed the one to the other. But in another sense those days +fled with awful swiftness, for they were hurrying us both, my mother and +me, to a great gulf which would soon, far too soon, lie between us.</p> + +<p>Every afternoon Julia came to spend an hour or two with my mother; but +her arrival was always formally announced, and it was an understood +thing that I should immediately quit the room, to avoid meeting her. +There was an etiquette in her resentment which I was bound to observe.</p> + +<p>What our circle of friends thought, had become a matter of very +secondary consideration to me; but there seemed a general disposition to +condone my offences, in view of the calamity that was hanging by a mere +thread above me. I discovered from their significant remarks that it had +been quite the fashion to visit Sark during the summer, by the Queen of +the Isles, which made the passage every Monday; and that Tardif's +cottage had been an object of attraction to many of my relatives of +every degree. Few of them had caught even a glimpse of Olivia; and I +suspected that she had kept herself well out of sight on those days when +the weekly steamer flooded the island with visitors.</p> + +<p>I had not taken up any of my old patients again, for I was determined +that everybody should feel that my residence at home was only temporary. +But, about ten days after my return, the following note was brought to +me, directed in full to Dr. Martin Dobrée:</p> + +<p>"A lady from England, who is only a visitor in Guernsey, will be much +obliged by Dr. Martin Dobrée calling upon her, at Rose Villa, Vauvert +Road. She is suffering from a slight indisposition; and, knowing Dr. +Senior by name and reputation, she would feel great confidence in the +skill of Dr. Senior's friend."</p> + +<p>I wondered for an instant who the stranger could be, and how she knew +the Seniors; but, as there could be no answer to these queries without +visiting the lady, I resolved to go. Rose Villa was a house where the +rooms were let to visitors during the season, and the Vauvert Road was +scarcely five minutes' walk from our house. Julia was paying her daily +visit to my mother, and I was at a loss for something to do, so I went +at once.</p> + +<p>I found a very handsome, fine-looking woman; dark, with hair and eyes as +black as a gypsy's, and a clear olive complexion to match. Her forehead +was low, but smooth and well-shaped; and the lower part of her face, +handsome as it was, was far more developed than the upper. There was not +a trace of refinement about her features; yet the coarseness of them was +but slightly apparent as yet. She did not strike me as having more than +a very slight ailment indeed, though she dilated fluently about her +symptoms, and affected to be afraid of fever. It is not always possible +to deny that a woman has a violent headache; but, where the pulse is all +right, and the tongue clean, it is clear enough that there is not any +thing very serious threatening her. My new patient did not inspire me +with much sympathy; but she attracted my curiosity, and interested me by +the bold style of her beauty.</p> + +<p>"You Guernsey people are very stiff with strangers," she remarked, as I +sat opposite to her, regarding her with that close observation which is +permitted to a doctor.</p> + +<p>"So the world says," I answered. "Of course I am no good judge, for we +Guernsey people believe ourselves as perfect as any class of the human +family. Certainly, we pride ourselves on being a little more difficult +of approach than the Jersey people. Strangers are more freely welcome +there than here, unless they bring introductions with them. If you have +any introductions, you will find Guernsey as hospitable a spot as any in +the world."</p> + +<p>"I have been here a week," she replied, pouting her full crimson lips, +"and have not had a chance of speaking a word, except to strangers like +myself who don't know a soul."</p> + +<p>That, then, was the cause of the little indisposition which had obtained +me the honor of attending her. I indulged myself in a mild sarcasm to +that effect, but it was lost upon her. She gazed at me solemnly with her +large black eyes, which shone like beads.</p> + +<p>"I am really ill," she said, "but it has nothing to do with not seeing +anybody, though that's dull. There's nothing for me to do but take a +bath in the morning, and a drive in the afternoon, and go to bed very +early. Good gracious! it's enough to drive me mad!"</p> + +<p>"Try Jersey," I suggested.</p> + +<p>"No, I'll not try Jersey," she said. "I mean to make my way here. Don't +you know anybody, doctor, that would take pity on a poor stranger?"</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to say no," I answered.</p> + +<p>She frowned at that, and looked disappointed. I was about to ask her how +she knew the Seniors, when she spoke again.</p> + +<p>"Do you have many visitors come to Guernsey late in the autumn, as late +as October?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"Not many," I answered; "a few may arrive who intend to winter here."</p> + +<p>"A dear young friend of mine came here last autumn," she said, "alone, +as I am, and I've been wondering, ever since I've been here, however she +would get along among such a set of stiff, formal, stand-offish folks. +She had not money enough for a dash, or that would make a difference, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"Not the least," I replied, "if your friend came without any +introductions."</p> + +<p>"What a dreary winter she'd have!" pursued my patient, with a tone of +exultation. "She was quite young, and as pretty as a picture. All the +young men would know her, I'll be bound, and you among them, Dr. Martin. +Any woman who isn't a fright gets stared at enough to be known again."</p> + +<p>Could this woman know any thing of Olivia? I looked at her more +earnestly and critically. She was not a person I should like Olivia to +have any thing to do with. A coarse, ill-bred, bold woman, whose eyes +met mine unabashed, and did not blink under my scrutiny. Could she be +Olivia's step-mother, who had been the ruin of her life?</p> + +<p>"I'd bet a hundred to one you know her," she said, laughing and showing +all her white teeth. "A girl like her couldn't go about a little poky +place like this without all the young men knowing her. Perhaps she left +the island in the spring. I have asked at all the drapers' shops, but +nobody recollects her. I've very good news for her if I could find +her—a slim, middle-sized girl, with a clear, fair skin, and gray eyes, +and hair of a bright brown. Stay, I can show you her photograph."</p> + +<p>She put into my hands an exquisite portrait of Olivia, taken in +Florence. There was an expression of quiet mournfulness in the face, +which touched me to the core of my heart. I could not put it down and +speak indifferently about it. My heart beat wildly, and I felt tempted +to run off with the treasure and return no more to this woman.</p> + +<p>"Ah! you recognize her!" she exclaimed triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"I never saw such a person in Guernsey," I answered, looking steadily +into her face. A sullen and gloomy expression came across it, and she +snatched the portrait out of my hand.</p> + +<p>"You want to keep it a secret," she said, "but I defy you to do it. I am +come here to find her, and find her I will. She hasn't drowned herself, +and the earth hasn't swallowed her up. I've traced her as far as here, +and that I tell you. She crossed in the Southampton boat one dreadfully +stormy night last October—the only lady passenger—and the stewardess +recollects her well. She landed here. You must know something about +her."</p> + +<p>"I assure you I never saw that girl here," I replied, evasively. "What +inquiries have you made after her?"</p> + +<p>"I've inquired here, and there, and everywhere," she said. "I've done +nothing else ever since I came. It is of great importance to her, as +well as to me, that I should find her. It's a very anxious thing when a +girl like that disappears and is never heard of again, all because she +has a little difference with her friends. If you could help me to find +her you would do her family a very great service."</p> + +<p>"Why do you fix upon me?" I inquired. "Why did you not send for one of +the resident doctors? I left Guernsey some time ago."</p> + +<p>"You were here last winter," she said; "and you're a young man, and +would notice her more."</p> + +<p>"There are other young doctors in Guernsey," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"Ah! but you've been in London," she answered, "and I know something of +Dr. Senior. When you are in a strange place you catch at any chance of +an acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"Come, be candid with me," I said. "Did not Messrs. Scott and Brown send +you here?"</p> + +<p>The suddenness of my question took her off her guard and startled her. +She hesitated, stammered, and finally denied it with more than natural +emphasis.</p> + +<p>"I could take my oath I don't know any such persons," she answered. "I +don't know whom you mean, or what you mean. All I want is quite honest. +There is a fortune waiting for that poor girl, and I want to take her +back to those who love her, and are ready to forgive and forget every +thing. I feel sure you know something of her. But no body except me and +her other friends have any thing to do with it."</p> + +<p>"Well," I said, rising to take my leave, "all the information I can give +you is, that I never saw such a person here, either last winter or +since. It is quite possible she went on to Jersey, or to Granville, when +the storm was over. That she did not stay in Guernsey, I am quite sure."</p> + +<p>I went away in a fever of anxiety. The woman, who was certainly not a +lady, had inspired me with a repugnance that I could not describe. There +was an ingrain coarseness about her—a vulgarity excessively distasteful +to me as in any way connected with Olivia. The mystery which surrounded +her was made the deeper by it. Surely, this person could not be related +to Olivia! I tried to guess in what relationship to her she could +possibly stand. There was the indefinable delicacy and refinement of a +lady, altogether independent of her surroundings, so apparent in Olivia, +that I could not imagine her as connected by blood with this woman. Yet +why and how should such a person have any right to pursue her? I felt +more chafed than I had ever done about Olivia's secret.</p> + +<p>I tried to satisfy myself with the reflection that I had put Tardif on +his guard, and that he would protect her. But that did not set my mind +at ease. I never knew a mother yet who believed that any other woman +could nurse her sick child as well as herself; and I could not be +persuaded that even Tardif would shield Olivia from danger and trouble +as I could, if I were only allowed the privilege. Yet my promise to +Julia bound me to hold no communication with her. Besides, this was +surely no time to occupy myself with any other woman in the world than +my mother. She herself, good, and amiable, and self-forgetting, as she +was, might feel a pang of jealousy, and I ought not to be the one to add +a single drop of bitterness to the cup she was drinking.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, I was distracted at the thought that this stranger +might discover the place of Olivia's retreat, from which there was no +chance of escape if it were once discovered. A hiding-place like Sark +becomes a trap as soon as it is traced out. Should this woman catch the +echo of those rumors which had circulated so widely through Guernsey +less than three months ago—and any chance conversation with one of our +own people might bring them to her ears—then farewell to Olivia's +safety and concealment. Here was the squall which had been foretold by +Jack. I cursed the idle curiosity of mine which had exposed her to this +danger.</p> + +<p>I had strolled down some of the quieter streets of the town while I was +turning this affair over in my mind, and now, as I crossed the end of +Rue Haute, I caught sight of Kate Daltrey turning into a milliner's +shop. There was every reasonable probability that she would not come out +again soon, for I saw a bonnet reached out of the window. If she were +gone to buy a bonnet, she was safe for half an hour, and Julia would be +alone. I had felt a strong desire to see Julia ever since I returned +home. My mind was made up on the spot. I knew her so well as to be +certain that, if I found her in a gentle mood, she would, at any rate, +release me from the promise she had extorted from me when she was in the +first heat of her anger and disappointment. It was a chance worth +trying. If I were free to declare to Olivia my love for her, I should +establish a claim upon her full confidence, and we could laugh at +further difficulties. She was of age, and, therefore, mistress of +herself. Her friends, represented by this odious woman, could have no +legal authority over her.</p> + +<p>I turned shortly up a side-street, and walked as fast as I could toward +the house which was to have been our home. By a bold stroke I might +reach Julia's presence. I rang, and the maid who answered the bell +opened wide eyes of astonishment at seeing me there. I passed by +quickly.</p> + +<p>"I wish to speak to Miss Dobrée," I said. "Is she in the drawing-room?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," she answered, in a hesitating tone.</p> + +<p>I waited for nothing more, but knocked at the drawing-room door for +myself, and heard Julia call, "Come in."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_SEVENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH.</h2> + +<p>SET FREE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Julia looked very much the same as she had done that evening when I came +reluctantly to tell her that my heart was not in her keeping, but +belonged to another. She wore the same kind of fresh, light muslin +dress, with ribbons and lace about it, and she sat near the window, with +a piece of needle-work in her hands; yet she was not sewing, and her +hands lay listlessly on her lap. But, for this attitude of dejection, I +could have imagined that it was the same day and the same hour, and that +she was still ignorant of the change in my feelings toward her. If it +had not been for our perverse fate, we should now be returning from our +wedding-trip, and receiving the congratulations of our friends. A +mingled feeling of sorrow, pity, and shame, prevented me from advancing +into the room. She looked up to see who was standing in the doorway, and +my appearance there evidently alarmed and distressed her.</p> + +<p>"Martin!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"May I come in and speak to you, Julia?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Is my aunt worse?" she inquired, hurriedly. "Are you come to fetch me +to her?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, Julia," I said; "my mother is as well as usual, I hope. But +surely you will let me speak to you after all this time?"</p> + +<p>"It is not a long time," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Has it not been long to you?" I asked. "It seems years to me. All life +has changed for me. I had no idea then of my mother's illness."</p> + +<p>"Nor I," she said, sighing deeply.</p> + +<p>"If I had known it," I continued, "all this might not have happened. +Surely, the troubles I shall have to bear must plead with you for me!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Martin," she answered; "yes, I am very sorry for you."</p> + +<p>She came forward and offered me her hand, but without looking into my +face. I saw that she had been crying, for her eyes were red. In a tone +of formal politeness she asked me if I would not sit down. I considered +it best to remain standing, as an intimation that I should not trouble +her with my presence for long.</p> + +<p>"My mother loves you very dearly, Julia," I ventured to say, after a +long pause, which she did not seem inclined to break. I had no time to +lose, lest Kate Daltrey should come in, and it was a very difficult +subject to approach.</p> + +<p>"Not more than I love her," she said, warmly. "Aunt Dobrée has been as +good to me as any mother could have been. I love her as dearly as my +mother. Have you seen her since I was with her this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"No. I have just come from visiting a very curious patient, and have not +been home yet."</p> + +<p>I hoped Julia would catch at the word curious, and make some inquiries +which would open a way for me; but she seemed not to hear it, and +another silence fell upon us both. For the life of me I could not utter +a syllable of what I had come to say.</p> + +<p>"We were talking of you," she said at length, in a harried and thick +voice. "Aunt is in great sorrow about you. It preys upon her day and +night that you will be dreadfully alone when she is gone, +and—and—Martin, she wishes to know before she dies that the girl in +Sark will become your wife."</p> + +<p>The word struck like a shot upon my ear and brain. What! had Julia and +my mother been arranging between them my happiness and Olivia's safety +that very afternoon? Such generosity was incredible. I could not believe +I had heard aright.</p> + +<p>"She has seen the girl," continued Julia, in the same husky tone, which +she could not compel to be clear and calm; "and she is convinced she is +no adventuress. Johanna says the same. They tell me it is unreasonable +and selfish in me to doom you to the dreadful loneliness I feel. If Aunt +Dobrée asked me to pluck out my right eye just now, I could not refuse. +It is something like that, but I have promised to do it. I release you +from every promise you ever made to me, Martin."</p> + +<p>"Julia!" I cried, crossing to her and bending over her with more love +and admiration than I had ever felt before; "this is very noble, very +generous."</p> + +<p>"No," she said, bursting into tears; "I am neither noble nor generous. I +do it because I cannot help myself, with aunt's white face looking so +imploringly at me. I do not give you up willingly to that girl in Sark. +I hope I shall never see her or you for many, many years. Aunt says you +will have no chance of marrying her till you are settled in a practice +somewhere; but you are free to ask her to be your wife. Aunt wants you +to have somebody to love you and care for you after she is gone, as I +should have done."</p> + +<p>"But you are generous to consent to it," I said again.</p> + +<p>"So," she answered, wiping her eyes, and lifting up her head; "I thought +I was generous; I thought I was a Christian, but it is not easy to be a +Christian when one is mortified, and humbled, and wounded. I am a great +disappointment to myself; quite as great as you are to me. I fancied +myself very superior to what I am. I hope you may not be disappointed in +that girl in Sark."</p> + +<p>The latter words were not spoken in an amiable tone, but this was no +time for criticising Julia. She had made a tremendous sacrifice, that +was evident; and a whole sacrifice without any blemish is very rarely +offered up nowadays, however it may have been in olden times. I could +not look at her dejected face and gloomy expression without a keen sense +of self-reproach.</p> + +<p>"Julia," I said, "I shall never be quite happy—no, not with Olivia as +my wife—unless you and I are friends. We have grown up together too +much as brother and sister, for me to have you taken right out of my +life without a feeling of great loss. It is I who would lose a right +hand or a right eye in losing you. Some day we must be friends again as +we used to be."</p> + +<p>"It is not very likely," she answered; "but you had better go now, +Martin. It is very painful to me for you to be here."</p> + +<p>I could not stay any longer after that dismissal. Her hand was lying on +her lap, and I stooped down and kissed it, seeing on it still the ring I +had given her when we were first engaged. She did not look at me or bid +me good-by; and I went out of the house, my veins tingling with shame +and gladness. I met Captain Carey coming up the street, with a basket of +fine grapes in his hand. He appeared very much amazed.</p> + +<p>"Why, Martin!" he exclaimed; "can you have been to see Julia?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Reconciled?" he said, arching his eyebrows, which were still dark and +bushy though his hair was grizzled.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly," I replied, with a stiff smile, exceedingly difficult to +force; "nothing of the sort indeed. Captain, when will you take me +across to Sark?"</p> + +<p>"Come, come! none of that, Martin," he said; "you're on honor, you know. +You are pledged to poor Julia not to visit Sark again."</p> + +<p>"She has just set me free," I answered; and out of the fulness of my +heart I told him all that had just passed between us. His eyes +glistened, though a film came across them which he had to wipe away.</p> + +<p>"She is a noble girl," he ejaculated; "a fine, generous, noble girl. I +really thought she'd break her heart over you at first, but she will +come round again now. We will have a run over to Sark to-morrow."</p> + +<p>I felt myself lifted into a third heaven of delight all that evening. My +mother and I talked of no one but Olivia. The present rapture so +completely eclipsed the coming sorrow, that I forgot how soon it would +be upon me. I remember now that my mother neither by word nor sign +suffered me to be reminded of her illness. She listened to my +rhapsodies, smiling with her divine, pathetic smile. There is no love, +no love at all, like that of a mother!</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_EIGHTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH.</h2> + +<p>A BRIGHT BEGINNING.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Not the next day, which was wet and windy, but the day following, did +Captain Carey take me over to Sark. I had had time to talk over all my +plans for the future with my mother, and I bore with me many messages +from her to the girl I was about to ask to become my wife.</p> + +<p>Coxcomb as I was, there was no doubt in my mind that I could win Olivia.</p> + +<p>To explain my coxcombry is not a very easy task. I do not suppose I had +a much higher sense of my own merits than such as is common to man. I +admit I was neither shy nor nervous on the one hand, but on the other I +was not blatantly self-conceited. It is possible that my course through +life hitherto—first as an only son adored by his mother, and secondly +as an exceedingly eligible <i>parti</i> in a circle where there were very few +young men of my rank and family, and where there were twenty or more +marriageable women to one unmarried man—had a great deal to do with my +feeling of security with regard to this unknown, poor, and friendless +stranger. But, added to this, there was Olivia's own frank, unconcealed +pleasure in seeing me, whenever I had had a chance of visiting her, and +the freedom with which she had always conversed with me upon any topic +except that of her own mysterious position. I was sure I had made a +favorable impression upon her. In fact, when I had been talking with +her, I had given utterance to brighter and clearer thoughts than I had +ever been conscious of before. A word from her, a simple question, +seemed to touch the spring of some hidden treasure of my brain, and I +had surprised myself by what I had been enabled to say to her. It was +this, probably more than her beauty, which had drawn me to her and made +me happy in her companionship. No, I had never shown myself +contemptible, but quite the reverse, in her presence. No doubt or +misgiving assailed me as the yacht carried us out of St. Sampson's +Harbor.</p> + +<p>Swiftly we ran across, with a soft wind drifting over the sea and +playing upon our faces, and a long furrow lying in the wake of our boat. +It was almost low tide when we reached the island—the best time for +seeing the cliffs. They were standing well out of the water, scarred and +chiselled with strange devices, and glowing in the August sunlight with +tints of the most gorgeous coloring, while their feet, swathed with +brown seaweed, were glistening with the dashing of the waves. I had seen +nothing like them since I had been there last, and the view of these +wild, rugged crags, with their regal robes of amber and gold and silver, +almost oppressed me with delight. If I could but see Olivia on this +summit!</p> + +<p>The currents and the wind had been in favor of our running through the +channel between Sark and Jethou, and so landing at the Creux Harbor, on +the opposite coast of the island to the Havre Gosselin. I crossed in +headlong haste, for I was afraid of meeting with Julia's friends, or +some of my own acquaintances who were spending the summer months there. +I found Tardif's house completely deserted. The only sign of life was a +family of hens clucking about the fold.</p> + +<p>The door was not fastened, and I entered, but there was nobody there. I +stood in the middle of the kitchen and called, but there was no answer. +Olivia's door was ajar, and I pushed it a little more open. There lay +books I had lent her on the table, and her velvet slippers were on the +floor, as if they had only just been taken off. Very worn and brown were +the little slippers, but they reassured me she had been wearing them a +short time ago.</p> + +<p>I returned through the fold and mounted the bank that sheltered the +house, to see if I could discover any trace of her, or Tardif, or his +mother. All the place seemed left to itself. Tardif's sheep were +browsing along the cliffs, and his cows were tethered here and there, +but nobody appeared to be tending them. At last I caught sight of a head +rising from behind a crag, the rough shock head of a boy, and I shouted +to him, making a trumpet with my hands.</p> + +<p>"Where is neighbor Tardif?" I called.</p> + +<p>"Down below there," he shouted back again, pointing downward to the +Havre Gosselin. I did not wait for any further information, but darted +off down the long, steep gulley to the little strand, where the pebbles +were being lapped lazily by the ripple of the lowering tide. Tardif's +boat was within a stone's throw, and I saw Olivia sitting in the stern +of it. I shouted again with a vehemence which made them both start.</p> + +<p>"Come back, Tardif," I cried, "and take me with you."</p> + +<p>The boat was too far off for me to see how my sudden appearance affected +Olivia. Did she turn white or red at the sound of my voice? By the time +it neared the shore, and I plunged in knee-deep to meet it, her face was +bright with smiles, and her hands were stretched out to help me over the +boat's side.</p> + +<p>If Tardif had not been there, I should have kissed them both. As it was, +I tucked up my wet legs out of reach of her dress, and took an oar, +unable to utter a word of the gladness I felt.</p> + +<p>I recovered myself in a few seconds, and touched her hand, and grasped +Tardif's with almost as much force as he gripped mine.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going to?" I asked, addressing neither of them in +particular.</p> + +<p>"Tardif was going to row me past the entrance to the Gouliot Caves," +answered Olivia, "but we will put it off now. We will return to the +shore, and hear all your adventures, Dr. Martin. You come upon us like a +phantom, and take an oar in ghostly silence. Are you really, truly +there?"</p> + +<p>"I am no phantom," I said, touching her hand again. "No, we will not go +back to the shore. Tardif shall row us to the caves, and I will take you +into them, and then we two will return along the cliffs. Would you like +that, mam'zelle?"</p> + +<p>"Very much," she answered, the smile still playing about her face. It +was brown and freckled with exposure to the sun, but so full of health +and life as to be doubly beautiful to me, who saw so many wan and sickly +faces. There was a bloom and freshness about her, telling of pure air, +and peaceful hours and days spent in the sunshine. I was seated on the +bench before Tardif, with my back to him, and Olivia was in front of +me—she, and the gorgeous cliffs, and the glistening sea, and the +cloudless sky overhead. No, there is no language on earth that could +paint the rapture of that moment.</p> + +<p>"Doctor," said Tardif's deep, grave voice behind me, "your mother, is +she better?"</p> + +<p>It was like the sharp prick of a poniard, which presently you knew must +pierce your heart.</p> + +<p>The one moment of rapture had fled. The paradise, that had been about me +for an instant, with no hint of pain, faded out of my sight. But Olivia +remained, and her face grew sad, and her voice low and sorrowful, as she +leaned forward to speak to me.</p> + +<p>"I have been so grieved for you," she said. "Your mother came to see me +once, and promised to be my friend. Is it true? Is she so very ill?" +"Quite true," I answered, in a choking voice.</p> + +<p>We said no more for some minutes, and the splash of the oars in the +water was the only sound. Olivia's air continued sad, and her eyes were +downcast, as if she shrank from looking me in the face.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, doctor," said Tardif in our own dialect, which Olivia could +not understand, "I have made you sorry when you were having a little +gladness. Is your mother very ill?"</p> + +<p>"There is no hope, Tardif," I answered, looking round at his honest and +handsome face, full of concern for me.</p> + +<p>"May I speak to you as an old friend?" he asked. "You love mam'zelle, +and you are come to tell her so?"</p> + +<p>"What makes you think that?" I said.</p> + +<p>"I see it in your face," he answered, lowering his voice, though he knew +Olivia could not tell what we were saying. "Your marriage with +mademoiselle your cousin was broken off—why? Do you suppose I did not +guess? I knew it from the first-week you stayed with us. Nobody could +see mam'zelle as we see her, without loving her."</p> + +<p>"The Sark folks say you are in love with her yourself, Tardif," I said, +almost against my will, and certainly without any intention beforehand +of giving expression to such a rumor.</p> + +<p>His lips contracted and his face saddened, but he met my eyes frankly.</p> + +<p>"It is true," he answered; "but what then? If it had only pleased God to +make me like you, or that she should be of my class, I would have done +my utmost to win her. But that is impossible! See, I am nothing else +than a servant in her eyes. I do not know how to be any thing else, and +I am content. She is as far above my reach as one of the white clouds up +yonder. To think of myself as any thing but her servant would be +irreligious."</p> + +<p>"You are a good fellow, Tardif," I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"God is the judge, of that," he said, with a sigh. "Mam'zelle thinks of +me only as her servant. 'My good Tardif, do this, or do that.' I like +it. I do not know any happier moment than when I hold her little boots +in my hand and brush them. You see she is as helpless and tender as my +little wife was; but she is very much higher than my poor little wife. +Yes, I love her as I love the blue sky, and the white clouds and the +stars shining in the night. But it will be quite different between her +and you."</p> + +<p>"I hope so," I thought to myself.</p> + +<p>"You do not feel like a servant," he continued, his oars dipping a +little too deeply and setting the boat a-rocking. "By-and-by, when you +are married, she will look up to you and obey you. I do not understand +altogether why the good God has made this difference between us two; but +I see it and feel it. It would be fitting for you to be her husband; it +would be a shame to her to become my wife."</p> + +<p>"Are you grieved about it, Tardif?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he answered; "we have always been good friends, you and I, +doctor. No, you shall marry her, and I will be happy. I will come to +visit you sometimes, and she will call me her good Tardif. That is +enough for me."</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about?" asked Olivia. It was impossible to tell +her, or to continue the conversation. Moreover, the narrow channel +between Breckhou and Sark is so strong in its current, that it required +both caution and skill to steer the boat amid the needle-like points of +the rocks. At last we gained one of the entrances to the caves, but we +could not pull the boat quite up to the strand. A few paces of shallow +water, clear as glass, with pebbles sparkling like gems beneath it, lay +between us and the caves.</p> + +<p>"Tardif," I said, "you need not wait for us. We will return by the +cliffs."</p> + +<p>"You know the Gouliot Caves as well as I do?" he replied, though in a +doubtful tone.</p> + +<p>"All right!" I said, as I swung over the side of the boat into the +water, when I found myself knee-deep. Olivia looked from me to Tardif +with a flushed face—an augury that made my pulses leap. Why should her +face never change when he carried her in his arms? Why should she +shrink from me?</p> + +<p>"Are you as strong as Tardif?" she asked, lingering and hesitating +before she would trust herself to me.</p> + +<p>"Almost, if not altogether," I answered gayly. "I'm strong enough to +undertake to carry you without wetting the soles of your feet. Come, it +is not more than half a dozen yards."</p> + +<p>She was standing on the bench I had just left, looking down at me with +the same vivid flush upon her cheeks and forehead, and with an uneasy +expression in her eyes. Before she could speak again I put my arms round +her, and lifted her down.</p> + +<p>"You are quite as light as a feather," I said, laughing, as I carried +her to the strip of moist and humid strand under the archway in the +rocks. As I put her down I looked back to Tardif, and saw him regarding +us with grave and sorrowful eyes.</p> + +<p>"Adieu!" he cried; "I am going to look after my lobster-pots. God bless +you both!"</p> + +<p>He spoke the last words heartily; and we stood watching him as long as +he was in sight. Then we went on into the caves.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_NINTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH.</h2> + +<p>THE GOULIOT CAVES.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Olivia was very silent.</p> + +<p>The coast of Sark shows some of the most fantastic workmanship of the +sea, but the Gouliot Caves are its wildest and maddest freak. A strong, +swift current sets in from the southwest, and being lashed into a giddy +fury by the lightest southwest wind, it has hewn out of the rock a +series of cells, and grottos, and alcoves, some of them running far +inland, in long, vaulted passages and corridors, with now and then a +shaft or funnel in the rocky roof, through which the light streams down +into recesses far from the low porches, which open from the sea. Here +and there a crooked, twisted tunnel forms a skylight overhead, and the +blue heavens look down through it like a far-off eye. You cannot number +the caverns and niches. Everywhere the sea has bored alleys and +galleries, or hewn out solemn aisles, with arches intersecting each +other, and running off into capricious furrows and mouldings. There are +innumerable refts, and channels, and crescents, and cupolas, +half-finished or only hinted at. There are chambers of every height and +shape, leading into one another by irregular portals, but all rough and +rude, as though there might have been an original plan, from which, +while the general arrangement is kept, every separate stroke perversely +diverged.</p> + +<p>But another, and not a secondary, curiosity of this ocean-labyrinth is, +that it is the habitat of a multitude of marine creatures, not to be +seen at home in many other places. Except twice a month, at the +neaptides, the lower chambers are filled with the sea; and here live and +flourish thousands, upon thousands of those mollusks and zoophytes which +can exist only in its salt waters. The sides of the caves, as far as the +highest tides swept, were studded with crimson and purple and amber +mollusca, glistening like jewels in the light pouring down upon them +from the eyelet-openings overhead. Not the space of a finger-tip was +clear. Above them in the clefts of the rock hung fringes of delicate +ferns of the most vivid green, while here and there were nooks and +crevices of profound darkness, black with perpetual, unbroken shadow.</p> + +<p>I had known the caves well when I was a boy, but it was many years since +I had been there. Now I was alone in them with Olivia, no other human +being in sight or sound of us. I had scarcely eyes for any sight but +that of her face, which had grown shy and downcast, and was generally +turned away from me. She would be frightened, I thought, if I spoke to +her in that lonesome place, I would wait till we were on the cliffs, in +the open eye of day.</p> + +<p>She left my side for one moment while I was poking under a stone for a +young pieuvre, which had darkened the little pool of water round it with +its inky fluid. I heard her utter an exclamation of delight, and I gave +up my pursuit instantly to learn what was giving her pleasure. She was +stooping down to look beneath a low arch, not more than two feet high, +and I knelt down beside her. Beyond lay a straight narrow channel of +transparent water, blue from a faint reflected light, with smooth, +sculptured walls of rock, clear from mollusca, rising on each side of +it. Level lines of mimic waves rippled monotonously upon it, as if it +was stirred by some soft wind which we could not feel. You could have +peopled it with tiny boats flitting across it, or skimming lightly down +it. Tears shone in Olivia's eyes.</p> + +<p>"It reminds me so of a canal in Venice," she said, in a tremulous voice.</p> + +<p>"Do you know Venice?" I asked; and the recollection of her portrait +taken in Florence came to my mind. Well, by-and-by I should have a right +to hear about all her wanderings.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" she answered; "I spent three months there once, and this +place is like it."</p> + +<p>"Was it a happy time?" I inquired, jealous of those tears.</p> + +<p>"It was a hateful time," she said, vehemently. "Don't let us talk of it. +I hate to remember it. Why cannot we forget things, Dr. Martin? You, who +are so clever, can tell me that."</p> + +<p>"That is simple enough," I said, smiling. "Every circumstance of our +life makes a change in the substance of the brain, and, while that +remains sound and in vigor, we cannot forget. To-day is being written on +our brain now. You will have to remember this, Olivia."</p> + +<p>"I know I shall remember it," she answered, in a low tone.</p> + +<p>"You have travelled a great deal, then?" I pursued, wishing her to talk +about herself, for I could scarcely trust my resolution to wait till we +were out of the caves. "I love you with all my heart and soul" was on my +tongue's end.</p> + +<p>"We travelled nearly all over Europe," she replied.</p> + +<p>I wondered whom she meant by "we." She had never used the plural pronoun +before, and I thought of that odious woman in Guernsey—an unpleasant +recollection.</p> + +<p>We had wandered back to the opening where Tardif had left us. The rapid +current between us and Breckhou was running in swift eddies, which +showed the more plainly because the day was calm, and the open sea +smooth. Olivia stood near me; but a sort of chilly diffidence had crept +over me, and I could not have ventured to press too closely to her, or +to touch her with my hand.</p> + +<p>"How have you been content to live here?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"This year in Sark has saved me," she answered, softly.</p> + +<p>"What has it saved you from?" I inquired, with intense eagerness. She +turned her face full upon me, with a world of reproach in her gray eyes.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Martin," she said, "why will you persist in asking me about my +former life? Tardif never does. He never implies by a word or look that +he wishes to know more than I choose to tell. I cannot tell you any +thing about it."</p> + +<p>I felt uncomfortably that she was drawing a comparison unfavorable to me +between Tardif and myself—the gentleman, who could not conquer or +conceal his desire to fathom a mystery, and the fisherman, who acted as +if there were no mystery at all. Yet Olivia appeared more grieved than +offended; and when she knew how I loved her she would admit that my +curiosity was natural. She should know, too, that I was willing to take +her as she was, with all the secrets of her former life kept from me. +Some day I would make her own I was as generous as Tardif.</p> + +<p>Just then my ear caught for the first time a low boom-boom, which had +probably been sounding through the caves for some minutes.</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens!" I ejaculated.</p> + +<p>Yet a moment's thought convinced me that, though there might be a little +risk, there was no paralyzing danger. I had forgotten the narrowness of +the gully through which alone we could gain the cliffs. From the open +span of beach where we were now standing, there was no chance of leaving +the caves except as we had come to them, by a boat; for on each side a +crag ran like a spur into the water. The comparatively open space +permitted the tide to lap in quietly, and steal imperceptibly higher +upon its pebbles. But the low boom I heard was the sea rushing in +through the throat of the narrow outlet through which lay our only means +of escape. There was not a moment to lose. Without a word, I snatched up +Olivia in my arms, and ran back into the caves, making as rapidly as I +could for the long, straight passage.</p> + +<p>Neither did Olivia speak a word or utter a cry. We found ourselves in a +low tunnel, where the water was beginning to flow in pretty strongly. I +set her down for an instant, and tore off my coat and waistcoat. Then I +caught her up again, and strode along over the slippery, slimy masses of +rock which lay under my feet, covered with seaweed.</p> + +<p>"Olivia," I said, "I must have my right hand free to steady myself with. +Put both your arms round my neck, and cling to me so. Don't touch my +arms or shoulders."</p> + +<p>Yet the clinging of her arms about my neck, and her cheek close to mine, +almost unnerved me. I held her fast with my left arm, and steadied +myself with my right. We gained in a minute or two the mouth of the +tunnel. The drift was pouring into it with a force almost too great for +me, burdened as I was. But there was the pause of the tide, when the +waves rushed out again in white floods, leaving the water comparatively +shallow. There were still six or eight yards to traverse before we could +reach an archway in the cliffs, which would land us in safety in the +outer caves. Across this small space the tide came in strongly, beating +against the foot of the rocks, and rebounding with great force. There +was some peril; but we had no alternative. I lifted Olivia a little +higher against my shoulder, for her long serge dress wrapped dangerously +around us both; and then, waiting for the pause in the throbbing of the +tide, I dashed hastily across.</p> + +<p>One swirl of the water coiled about us, washing up nearly to my throat, +and giving me almost a choking sensation of dread; but before a second +could swoop down upon us I had staggered half-blinded to the arch, and +put down Olivia in the small, secure cave within it. She had not spoken +once. She did not seem able to speak now. Her large, terrified eyes +looked up at me dumbly, and her face was white to the lips. I clasped +her in my arms once more, and kissed her forehead and lips again and +again in a paroxysm of passionate love and gladness.</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" I cried. "How I love you, Olivia!"</p> + +<p>I had told her only a few minutes before that the brain is ineffaceably +stamped with the impress of every event in our lives. But how much more +deeply do some events burn themselves there than others' I see it all +now—more clearly, it seems to me, than my eyes saw it then. There is +the huge, high entrance to the outer caves where we are standing, with a +massive lintel of rocks overhead, all black but for a few purple and +gray tints scattered across the blackness. Behind us the sea is +glistening, and prismatic colors play upon the cliffs. Shadows fall from +rocks we cannot see. Olivia stands before me, pale and terrified, the +water running from her heavy dress, which clings about her slender +figure. She shrinks away from me a pace or two.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" she cries, in a tone of mingled pain and dread—"hush!"</p> + +<p>There was something so positive, so prohibitory in her voice and +gesture, that my heart contracted, and a sudden chill of despondency ran +through me. But I could not be silent now. It was impossible for me to +hold my peace, even at her bidding.</p> + +<p>"Why do you say hush?" I asked, peremptorily. "I love you, Olivia. Is +there any reason why I should not love you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, very slowly and with quivering lips. "I was married +four years ago, and my husband is living still!"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTIETH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH.</h2> + +<p>A GLOOMY ENDING.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Olivia's answer struck me like an electric shock. For some moments I was +simply stunned, and knew neither what she had said, nor where we were.</p> + +<p>I suppose half a minute had elapsed before I fairly received the meaning +of her words into my bewildered brain. It seemed as if they were +thundering in my ears, though she had uttered them in a low, frightened +voice. I scarcely understood them when I looked up and saw her leaning +against the rock, with her hands covering her face.</p> + +<p>"Olivia!" I cried, stretching out my arms toward her, as though she +would flutter back to them and lay her head again where it had been +resting upon my shoulder, with her face against my neck.</p> + +<p>But she did not see my gesture, and the next moment I knew that she +could never let me hold her in my arms again. I dared not even take one +step nearer to her.</p> + +<p>"Olivia," I said again, after another minute or two of troubled silence, +with no sound but the thunders of the sea reverberating through the +perilous strait where we had almost confronted death together—"Olivia, +is it true?"</p> + +<p>She bowed her head still lower upon her hands, in speechless +confirmation. A stricken, helpless, cowering child she seemed to me, +standing there in her drenched clothing. An unutterable tenderness, +altogether different from the feverish passion of a few minutes ago, +filled my heart as I looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Come," I said, as calmly as I could speak, "I am at any rate your +doctor, and I am bound to take care of you. You must not stay here wet +and cold. Let us make haste back to Tardif's, Olivia."</p> + +<p>I drew her hand down from her face and through my arm, for we had still +to re-enter the outer cave, and to return through a higher gallery, +before we could reach the cliffs above. I did not glance at her. The +road was very rough, strewed with huge bowlders, and she was compelled +to receive my help. But we did not speak again till we were on the +cliffs, in the eye of day, with our faces and our steps turned toward +Tardif's farm.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried, suddenly, in a tone that made my heart ache the keener, +"how sorry I am!"</p> + +<p>"Sorry that I love you?" I asked, feeling that my love was growing every +moment in spite of myself. The sun shone on her face, which was just +below my eyes. There was an expression of sad perplexity and questioning +upon it, which kept away every other sign of emotion. She lifted her +eyes to me frankly, and no flush of color came over her pale cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered; "it is such a miserable, unfortunate thing for you. +But how could I have helped it?"</p> + +<p>"You could not help it," I said.</p> + +<p>"I did not mean to deceive you," she continued—"neither you nor any +one. When I fled away from him I had no plan of any kind. I was just +like a leaf driven about by the wind, and it tossed me here. I did not +think I ought to tell any one I was married. I wish I could have +foreseen this. Why did God let me have that accident in the spring? Why +did he let you come over to see me?"</p> + +<p>"Are you surprised that I love you?" I asked.</p> + +<p>Now I saw a subtle flush steal across her face, and her eyes fell to the +ground.</p> + +<p>"I never thought of it till this afternoon," she murmured. "I knew you +were going to marry your cousin Julia, and I knew I was married, and +that there could be no release from that. All my life is ruined, but you +and Tardif made it more bearable. I did not think you loved me till I +saw your face this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"I shall always love you," I cried, passionately, looking down on the +shining, drooping head beside me, and the sad face and listless arms +hanging down in an attitude of dejection. She seemed so forlorn a +creature that I wished I could take her to my heart again; but that was +impossible now.</p> + +<p>"No," she answered in her calm, sorrowful voice. "When you see clearly +that it is an evil thing, you will conquer it. There will be no hope +whatever in your love for me, and it will pass away. Not soon, perhaps; +I can scarcely wish you to forget me soon. Yet it would be wrong for you +to love me now. Why was I driven to marry him so long ago?"</p> + +<p>A sharp, bitter tone rang through her quiet voice, and for a moment she +hid her face in her hands.</p> + +<p>"Olivia," I said, "it is harder upon me than you can think, or I can +tell."</p> + +<p>She had not the faintest notion of how hard this trial was. I had +sacrificed every plan and purpose of my life in the hope of winning her. +I had cast away, almost as a worthless thing, the substantial prosperity +which had been within my grasp, and now that I stretched out my hand for +the prize, I found it nothing but an empty shadow. Deeper even than this +lay the thought of my mother's bitter disappointment.</p> + +<p>"Your husband must have treated you very badly, before you would take +such a desperate step as this," I said again, after a long silence, +scarcely knowing what I said.</p> + +<p>"He treated me so ill," said Olivia, with the same hard tone in her +voice, "that when I had a chance of escape it seemed as if God Himself +opened the door for me. He treated me so ill that, if I thought there +was any fear of him finding me out here, I would rather a thousand times +you had left me to die in the caves."</p> + +<p>That brought to my mind what I had almost forgotten—the woman whom my +imprudent curiosity had brought into pursuit; of her. I felt ready to +curse my folly aloud, as I did in my heart, for having gone to Messrs. +Scott and Brown.</p> + +<p>"Olivia," I said, "there is a woman in Guernsey who has some clew to +you—"</p> + +<p>But I could say no more, for I thought she would have fallen to the +ground in her terror. I drew her hand through my arm, and hastened to +reassure her.</p> + +<p>"No harm can come to you," I continued, "while Tardif and I are here to +protect you. Do not frighten yourself; we will defend you from every +danger."</p> + +<p>"Martin," she whispered—and the pleasant familiarity of my name spoken +by her gave me a sharp pang, almost of gladness—"no one can help me or +defend me. The law would compel me to go back to him. A woman's heart +may be broken without the law being broken. I could prove nothing that +would give me a right to be free—nothing. So I took it into my own +hands. I tell you I would rather have been drowned this afternoon. Why +did you save me?"</p> + +<p>I did not answer, except by pressing her hand against my side. I hurried +her on silently toward the cottage. She was shivering in her cold, wet +dress, and trembling with fear. It was plain to me that even her fine +health should not be trifled with, and I loved her too tenderly, her +poor, shivering, trembling frame, to let her suffer if I could help it. +When we reached the fold-yard gate, I stopped her for a moment to speak +only a few words.</p> + +<p>"Go in." I said, "and change, every one of your wet clothes. I will see +you again, once again, when we can talk with one another calmly. God +bless and take care of you, my darling!"</p> + +<p>She smiled faintly, and laid her hand in mine.</p> + +<p>"You forgive me?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Forgive you!" I repeated, kissing the small brown hand lingeringly; "I +have nothing to forgive."</p> + +<p>She went on across the little fold and into the house, without looking +back toward me. I could see her pass through the kitchen into her own +room, where I had watched her through the struggle between life and +death, which had first made her dear to me. Then I made my way, blind +and deaf, to the edge of the cliff, seeing nothing, hearing-nothing. I +flung myself down on the turf with my face to the ground, to hide my +eyes from the staring light of the summer sun.</p> + +<p>Already it seemed a long time since I had known that Olivia was married. +The knowledge had lost its freshness and novelty, and the sting of it +had become a rooted sorrow. There was no mystery about her now. I almost +laughed, with a resentful bitterness, at the poor guesses I had made. +This was the solution, and it placed her forever out of my reach. As +with Tardif, so she could be nothing for me now, but as the blue sky, +and the white clouds, and the stars shining in the night. My poor +Olivia! whom I loved a hundredfold more than I had done even this +morning. This morning I had been full of my own triumph and gladness. +Now I had nothing in my heart but a vast pity and reverential tenderness +for her.</p> + +<p>Married? That was what she had said. It shut out all hope for the +future. She must have been a mere child four years ago; she looked very +young and girlish still. And her husband treated her ill—my Olivia, for +whom I had given up all I had to give. She said the law would compel her +to return to him, and I could do nothing. I could not interfere even to +save her from a life which was worse to her than death.</p> + +<p>My heart was caught in a vice, and there was no escape from the torture +of its relentless grip. Whichever way I looked there was sorrow and +despair. I wished, with a faint-heartedness I had never felt before, +that Olivia and I had indeed perished together down in the caves where +the tide was now sweeping below me.</p> + +<p>"Martin!" said a clear, low, tender tone in my ear, which could never be +deaf to that voice. I looked up at Olivia without moving. My head was at +her feet, and I laid my hand upon the hem of her dress.</p> + +<p>"Martin," she said again, "see, I have brought you Tardifs coat in place +of your own. You must not lie here in this way. Captain Carey's yacht is +waiting for you below."</p> + +<p>I staggered giddily when I stood on my feet, and only Olivia's look of +pain steadied me. She had been weeping bitterly. I could not trust +myself to look in her face again. At any rate my next duty was to go +away without adding to her distress, if that were possible. Tardif was +standing behind her, regarding us both with great concern.</p> + +<p>"Doctor," he said, "when I came in from my lobster-pots, the captain +sent a message by me to say the sun would be gone down before you reach +Guernsey. He has come round to the Havre Gosselin. I'll walk down the +cliff with you."</p> + +<p>I should have said no, but Olivia caught at his words eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, go, my good Tardif," she cried, "and bring me word that Dr. Martin +is safe on board.—Good-by!"</p> + +<p>Her hand in mine again for a moment, with its slight pressure. Then she +was gone, Tardif was tramping down the stony path before me, speaking to +me over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"It has not gone well, then, doctor?" he said.</p> + +<p>"She will tell you," I answered, briefly, not knowing how much Olivia +might wish him to know.</p> + +<p>"Take care of mam'zelle," I said, when we had reached the top of the +ladder, and the little boat from the yacht was dancing at the foot of +it. "There is some danger ahead, and you can protect her better than I."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," he replied; "you may trust her with me. But God knows I +should have been glad if it had gone well with you."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_FIRST'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST.</h2> + +<p>A STORY IN DETAIL.</p> +<br /> + +<p>"Well?" said Captain Carey, as I set my foot on the deck. His face was +all excitement; and he put his arm affectionately through mine.</p> + +<p>"It is all wrong," I answered, gloomily.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean that she will not have you?" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>I nodded, for I had no spirit to explain the matter just then.</p> + +<p>"By George!" he cried; "and you've thrown over Julia, and offended all +our Guernsey folks, and half broken your poor mother's heart, all for +nothing!"</p> + +<p>The last consideration was the one that stung me to the quick. It <i>had</i> +half broken my mother's heart. No one knew better than I that it had +without doubt tended to shorten her fleeting term of life. At this +moment she was waiting for me to bring her good news—perhaps the +promise that Olivia had consented to become my wife before her own last +hour arrived; for my mother and I had even talked of that. I had thought +it a romantic scheme when my mother spoke of it, but my passion had +fastened eagerly upon it, in spite of my better judgment. These were the +tidings she was waiting to hear from my lips.</p> + +<p>When I reached home I found her full of dangerous excitement. It was +impossible to allay it without telling her either an untruth or the +whole story. I could not deceive her, and with a desperate calmness I +related the history of the day. I tried to make light of my +disappointment, but she broke down into tears and wailings.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my boy!" she lamented; "and I did so want to see you happy before I +died: I wanted to leave some one who could comfort you; and Olivia would +have comforted you and loved you when I am gone! You had set your heart +upon her. Are you sure it is true? My poor, poor Martin, you must forget +her now. It becomes a sin for you to love her."</p> + +<p>"I cannot forget her," I said; "I cannot cease to love her. There can be +no sin in it as long as I think of her as I do now."</p> + +<p>"And there is poor Julia!" moaned my mother.</p> + +<p>Yes, there was Julia; and she would have to be told all, though she +would rejoice over it. Of course, she would rejoice; it was not in human +nature, at least in Julia's human nature, to do otherwise. She had +warned me against Olivia; had only set me free reluctantly. But how was +I to tell her? I must not leave to my mother the agitation of imparting +such tidings. I couldn't think of deputing the task to my father. There +was no one to do it but myself.</p> + +<p>My mother passed a restless and agitated night, and I, who sat up with +her, was compelled to listen to all her lamentation. But toward the +morning she fell into a heavy sleep, likely to last for some hours. I +could leave her in perfect security; and at an early hour I went down to +Julia's house, strung up to bear the worst, and intending to have it all +out with her, and put her on her guard before she paid her daily visit +to our house. She must have some hours for her excitement and rejoicing +to bubble over, before she came to talk about it to my mother.</p> + +<p>"I wish to see Miss Dobrée," I said to the girl who quickly answered my +noisy peal of the house-bell.</p> + +<p>"Please, sir,'" was her reply, "she and Miss Daltrey are gone to Sark +with Captain Carey."</p> + +<p>"Gone to Sark!" I repeated, in utter amazement.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Dr. Martin. They started quite early because of the tide, and +Captain Carey's man brought the carriage to take them to St. Sampson's. +I don't look for them back before evening. Miss Dobrée said I was to +come, with her love, and ask how Mrs. Dobrée is to-day, and if she's +home in time she'll come this evening; but if she's late she'll come +to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>"When did they make up their minds to go to Sark?" I inquired, +anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Only late last night, sir," she answered. "Cook had settled with Miss +Dobrée to dine early to-day; but then Captain Carey came in, and after +he was gone she said breakfast must be ready at seven this morning in +their own rooms while they were dressing; so they must have settled it +with Captain Carey last night."</p> + +<p>I turned away very much surprised and bewildered, and in an irritable +state which made the least thing jar upon me. Curiosity, which had slept +yesterday, or was numbed by the shock of my disappointment, was +feverishly awake to-day. How little I knew, after all, of the mystery +which surrounded Olivia! The bitter core of it I knew, but nothing of +the many sheaths and envelops which wrapped it about. There might be +some hope, some consolation to be found wrapped up with it. I must go +again to Sark in the steamer on Monday, and hear Olivia tell me all she +could tell of her history.</p> + +<p>Then, why were Julia and Kate Daltrey gone to Sark? What could they have +to do with Olivia? It made me almost wild with anger to think of them +finding Olivia, and talking to her perhaps of me and my +love—questioning her, arguing with her, tormenting her! The bare +thought of those two badgering my Olivia was enough to drive me frantic.</p> + +<p>In the cool twilight, Julia and Kate Daltrey were announced. I was about +to withdraw from my mother's room, in conformity with the etiquette +established among us, when Julia recalled me in a gentler voice than she +had used toward me since the day of my fatal confession.</p> + +<p>"Stay, Martin," she said; "what we have to tell concerns you more than +any one."</p> + +<p>I sat down again by my mother's sofa, and she took my hand between both +her own, fondling it in the dusk.</p> + +<p>"It is about Olivia," I said, in as cool a tone as I could command.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Julia; "we have seen her, and we have found out why she +has refused you. She is married already."</p> + +<p>"She told me so yesterday," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Told you so yesterday!" repeated Julia, in an accent of chagrin. "If we +had only known that, we might have saved ourselves the passage across to +Sark."</p> + +<p>"My dear Julia," exclaimed my mother, feverishly, "do tell us all about +it, and begin at the beginning."</p> + +<p>There was nothing Julia liked so much, or could do so well, as to give a +circumstantial account of any thing she had done. She could relate +minute details with so much accuracy, without being exactly tedious, +that when one was lazy or unoccupied it was pleasant to listen. My +mother enjoyed, with all the delight of a woman, the small touches by +which Julia embellished her sketches. I resigned myself to hearing a +long history, when I was burning to ask one or two questions and have +done with the topic.</p> + +<p>"To begin at the beginning, then," said Julia, "dear Captain Carey came +into town very late last night to talk to us about Martin, and how the +girl in Sark had refused him. I was very much astonished, very much +indeed! Captain Carey said that he and dear Johanna had come to the +conclusion that the girl felt some delicacy, perhaps, because of +Martin's engagement to me. We talked it over as friends, and thought of +you, dear aunt, and your grief and disappointment, till all at once I +made up my mind in a moment. 'I will go over to Sark and see the girl +myself,' I said. 'Will you?' said Captain Carey. 'Oh, no, Julia, it will +be too much for you.' 'It would have been a few weeks ago,' I said; 'but +now I could do any thing to give Aunt Dobrée a moment's happiness.'"</p> + +<p>"God bless you, Julia!" I interrupted, going across to her and kissing +her cheek impetuously.</p> + +<p>"There, don't stop me, Martin," she said, earnestly. "So it was arranged +off-hand that Captain Carey should send for us at St. Sampson's this +morning, and take us over to Sark. You know Kate has never been yet. We +had a splendid passage, and landed at the Creux, where the yacht was to +wait till we returned. Kate was in raptures with the landing-place, and +the lovely lane leading up into the island. We went on past Vaudin's Inn +and the mill, and turned down the nearest way to Tardifs. Kate said she +never felt any air like the air of Sark. Well, you know that brown pool, +a very brown pool, in the lane leading to the Havre Gosselin? Just +there, where there are some low, weather-beaten trees meeting overhead +and making a long green isle, with the sun shining down through the +knotted branches, we saw all in a moment a slim, erect, very +young-looking girl coming toward us. She was carrying her bonnet in her +hand, and her hair curled in short, bright curls all over her head. I +knew in an instant that it was Miss Ollivier."</p> + +<p>She paused for a minute. How plainly I could see the picture! The +arching trees, and the sunbeams playing fondly with her shining golden +hair! I held my breath to listen.</p> + +<p>"What completely startled me," said Julia, "was that Kate suddenly +darted forward and ran to meet her, crying 'Olivia!'"</p> + +<p>"How does she know her?" I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Hush. Martin! Don't interrupt me. The girl went so deadly pale, I +thought she was going to faint, but she did not. She stood for a minute +looking at us, and then she burst into the most dreadful fit of crying!</p> + +<p>"I ran to her, and made her sit down on a little bank of turf close by, +and gave her my smelling-bottle, and did all I could to comfort her. +By-and-by, as soon as she could speak, she said to Kate, 'How did you +find me out?' and Kate told her she had not the slightest idea of +finding her there. 'Dr. Martin Dobrée, of Guernsey, told me you were +looking for me, only yesterday,' she said.</p> + +<p>"That took us by surprise, for Kate had not the faintest idea of seeing +her. I have always thought her name was Ollivier, and so did Kate. 'For +pity's sake,' said the girl, 'if you have any pity, leave me here in +peace. For God's sake do not betray me!'</p> + +<p>"I could hardly believe it was not a dream. There was Kate standing over +us, looking very stern and severe, and the girl was clinging to me—to +<i>me</i>, as if I were her dearest friend. Then all of a sudden up came old +Mother Renouf, looking half crazed, and began to harangue us for +frightening mam'zelle. Tardif, she said, would be at hand in a minute or +two, and he would take care of her from us and everybody else. 'Take me +away!' cried the girl, running to her; and the old woman tucked her hand +under her arm, and walked off with her in triumph, leaving us by +ourselves in the lane."</p> + +<p>"But what does it all mean?" asked my mother, while I paced to and fro +in the dim room, scarcely able to control my impatience, yet afraid to +question Julia too eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I can tell you," said Kate Daltrey, in her cold, deliberate tones; "she +is the wife of my half-brother, Richard Foster, who married her more +than four years ago in Melbourne; and she ran away from him last +October, and has not been heard of since."</p> + +<p>"Then you know her whole history," I said, approaching her and pausing +before her. "Are you at liberty to tell it to us?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," she answered; "it is no secret. Her father was a wealthy +colonist, and he died when she was fifteen, leaving her in the charge of +her step-mother, Richard Foster's aunt. The match was one of the +stepmother's making, for Olivia was little better than a child. Richard +was glad enough to get her fortune, or rather the income from it, for of +course she did not come into full possession of it till she was of age. +One-third of it was settled upon her absolutely; the other two-thirds +came to her for her to do what she pleased with it. Richard was looking +forward eagerly to her being one-and-twenty, for he had made ducks and +drakes of his own property, and tried to do the same with mine. He would +have done so with his wife's; but a few weeks before Olivia's +twenty-first birthday, she disappeared mysteriously. There her fortune +lies, and Richard has no more power than I have to touch it. He cannot +even claim the money lying in the Bank of Australia, which has been +remitted by her trustees; nor can Olivia claim it without making +herself known to him. It is accumulating there, while both of them are +on the verge of poverty."</p> + +<p>"But he must have been very cruel to her before she would run away!" +said my mother in a very pitiful voice. Poor mother! she had borne her +own sorrows dumbly, and to leave her husband had probably never occurred +to her.</p> + +<p>"Cruel!" repeated Kate Daltrey. "Well, there are many kinds of cruelty. +I do not suppose Richard would ever transgress the limits of the law. +But Olivia was one of those girls who can suffer great torture—mental +torture I mean. Even I could not live in the same house with him, and +she was a dreamy, sensitive, romantic child, with as much knowledge of +the world as a baby. I was astonished to hear she had had daring enough +to leave him."</p> + +<p>"But there must be some protection for her from the law," I said, +thinking of the bold, coarse woman, no doubt his associate, who was in +pursuit of Olivia. "She might sue for a judicial separation, at the +least, if not a divorce."</p> + +<p>"I am quite sure nothing could be brought against him in a court of +law," she answered. "He is very wary and cunning, and knows very well +what he may do and what he may not do. A few months before Olivia's +flight, he introduced a woman as her companion—a disreputable woman +probably; but he calls her his cousin, and I do not know how Olivia +could prove her an unfit person to be with her. Our suspicions may be +very strong, but suspicion is not enough for an English judge and jury. +Since I saw her this morning I have been thinking of her position in +every light, and I really do not see any thing she could have done, +except running away as she did, or making up her mind to be deaf and +blind and dumb. There was no other alternative."</p> + +<p>"But could he not be induced to leave her in peace if she gave up a +portion of her property?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Why should he?" she retorted. "If she was in his hands the whole of the +property would be his. He will never release her—never. No, her only +chance is to hide herself from him. The law cannot deal with wrongs like +hers, because they are as light as air apparently, though they are as +all-pervading as air is, and as poisonous as air can be. They are like +choke-damp, only not quite fatal. He is as crafty and cunning as a +serpent. He could prove himself the kindest, most considerate of +husbands, and Olivia next thing to an idiot. Oh, it is ridiculous to +think of pitting a girl like her against him!"</p> + +<p>"If she had been older, or if she had had a child, she would never have +left him," said my mother's gentle and sorrowful voice.</p> + +<p>"But what can be done for her?" I asked, vehemently and passionately. +"My poor Olivia! what can I do to protect her?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing!" answered Kate Daltrey, coldly. "Her only chance is +concealment, and what a poor chance that is! I went over to Sark, never +thinking that your Miss Ollivier whom I had heard so much of was Olivia +Foster. It is an out-of-the-world place; but so much the more readily +they will find her, if they once get a clew. A fox is soon caught when +it cannot double; and how could Olivia escape if they only traced her to +Sark?"</p> + +<p>My dread of the woman into whose hands my imbecile curiosity had put the +clew was growing greater every minute. It seemed as if Olivia could not +be safe now, day or night; yet what protection could I or Tardif give to +her?</p> + +<p>"You will not betray her?" I said to Kate Daltrey, though feeling all +the time that I could not trust her in the smallest degree.</p> + +<p>"I have promised dear Julia that," she answered.</p> + +<p>I should fail to give you any clear idea of my state of mind should I +attempt to analyze it. The most bitter thought in it was that my own +imprudence had betrayed Olivia. But for me she might have remained for +years, in peace and perfect seclusion, in the home to which she had +drifted. Richard Foster and his accomplice must have lost all hope of +finding her during the many months that had elapsed between her +disappearance and my visit to their solicitors. That had put them on the +track again. If the law forced her back to her husband, it was I who had +helped him to find her. That was a maddening thought. My love for her +was hopeless; but what then? I discovered to my own amazement that I had +loved her for her sake, not my own. I had loved the woman in herself, +not the woman as my wife. She could never become that, but she was +dearer to me than ever. She was as far removed from me as from Tardif. +Could I not serve her with as deep a devotion and as true a chivalry as +his? She belonged to both of us by as unselfish and noble a bond as ever +knights of old were pledged to.</p> + +<p>It became my duty to keep a strict watch over the woman who had come to +Guernsey to find Olivia. If possible I must decoy her away from the +lowly nest where my helpless bird was sheltered. She had not sent for me +again, but I called upon her the next morning professionally, and stayed +some time talking with her. But nothing resulted from the visit beyond +the assurance that she had not yet made any progress toward the +discovery of my secret. I almost marvelled at this, so universal had +been the gossip about my visits to Sark in connection with the +breaking-off of my engagement to Julia. But that had occurred in the +spring, and the nine-days' wonder had ceased before my patient came to +the island. Still, any accidental conversation might give her the +information, and open up a favorable chance for her. I must not let her +go across to Sark unknown to myself.</p> + +<p>Neither did I feel quite safe about Kate Daltrey. She gave me the +impression of being as crafty and cunning as she described her +half-brother. Did she know this woman by sight? That was a question I +could not answer. There was another question hanging upon it. If she saw +her, would she not in some way contrive to give her a sufficient hint, +without positively breaking her promise to Julia? Kate Daltrey's name +did not appear in the newspapers among the list of visitors, as she was +staying in a private house; but she and this woman might meet any day in +the streets or on the pier.</p> + +<p>Then the whole story had been confided by Julia at once to Captain Carey +and Johanna. That was quite natural; but it was equally natural for them +to confide it again to some one or two of their intimate friends. The +secret was already an open one among six persons. Could it be considered +a secret any longer? The tendency of such a singular story, whispered +from one to another, is to become in the long-run more widely circulated +than if it were openly proclaimed. I had a strong affection for my +circle of cousins, which widened as the circle round a stone cast into +water; but I knew I might as well try to arrest the eddying of such +waters as stop the spread of a story like Olivia's.</p> + +<p>I had resolved, in the first access of my curiosity, to cross over to +Sark the next week, alone and independent of Captain Carey. Every Monday +the Queen of the Isles made her accustomed trip to the island, to convey +visitors there for the day.</p> + +<p>I had not been on deck two minutes the following Monday when I saw my +patient step on after me. The last clew was in her fingers now, that was +evident.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_SECOND'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND.</h2> + +<p>OLIVIA GONE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>She did not see me at first; but her air was exultant and satisfied. +There was no face on board so elated and flushed. I kept out of her way +as long as I could without consigning myself to the black hole of the +cabin; but at last she caught sight of me, and came down to the +forecastle to claim me as an acquaintance.</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha! Dr. Dobrée!" she exclaimed; "so you are going to visit Sark +too?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered, more curtly than courteously.</p> + +<p>"You are looking rather low," she said, triumphantly—"rather blue, I +might say. Is there any thing the matter with you? Your face is as long +as a fiddle. Perhaps it is the sea that makes you melancholy."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," I answered, trying to speak briskly; "I am an old sailor. +Perhaps you will feel melancholy by-and-by."</p> + +<p>Luckily for me, my prophecy was fulfilled shortly after, for the day was +rough enough to produce uncomfortable sensations in those who were not +old sailors like myself. My tormentor was prostrate to the last moment.</p> + +<p>When we anchored at the entrance of the Creux, and the small boats came +out to carry us ashore, I managed easily to secure a place in the first, +and to lose sight of her in the bustle of landing. As soon as my feet +touched the shore I started off at my swiftest pace for the Havre +Gosselin.</p> + +<p>But I had not far to go, for at Vaudin's Inn, which stands at the top of +the steep lane running from the Creux Harbor, I saw Tardif at the door. +Now and then he acted as guide when young Vaudin could not fill that +office, or had more parties than he could manage; and Tardif was now +waiting the arrival of the weekly stream of tourists. He came to me +instantly, and we sat down on a low stone wall on the roadside, but +well out of hearing of any ears but each other's.</p> + +<p>"Tardif," I said, "has mam'zelle told you her secret?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," he answered; "poor little soul! and she is a hundredfold +dearer to me now than before."</p> + +<p>He looked as if he meant it, for his eyes moistened and his face +quivered.</p> + +<p>"She is in great danger at this moment," I continued. "A woman sent by +her husband has been lurking about in Guernsey to get news of her, and +she has come across in the steamer to-day. She will be in sight of us in +a few minutes. There is no chance of her not learning where she is +living. But could we not hide Olivia somewhere? There are caves +strangers know nothing of. We might take her over to Breckhou. Be quick, +Tardif! we must decide at once what to do."</p> + +<p>"But mam'zelle is not here. She is gone!" he answered.</p> + +<p>"Gone!" I ejaculated. I could not utter another word; but I stared at +him as if my eyes could tear further information from him.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said; "that lady came last week with Miss Dobrée, your cousin. +Then mam'zelle told me all, and we took counsel together. It was not +safe for her to stay any longer, though I would have died for her +gladly. But what could be done? We knew she must go elsewhere, and the +next morning I rowed her over to Peter-Port in time for the steamer to +England. Poor little thing! poor little hunted soul!"</p> + +<p>His voice faltered as he spoke, and he drew his fisherman's cap close +down over his eyes. I did not speak again for a minute or two.</p> + +<p>"Tardif," I said at last, as the foremost among the tourists came in +sight, "did she leave no message for me?"</p> + +<p>"She wrote a letter for you," he said, "the very last thing. She did not +go to bed that night, neither did I. I was going to lose her, doctor, +and she had been like the light of the sun to me. But what could I do? +She was terrified to death at the thought of her husband claiming her. I +promised to give the letter into your own hands; but we settled I must +not show myself in Peter-Port the day she left. Here it is."</p> + +<p>It had been lying in his breast-pocket, and the edges were worn already. +He gave it to me lingeringly, as if loath to part with it. The tourists +were coming up in greater numbers, and I made a retreat hastily toward a +quiet and remote part of the cliffs seldom visited in Little Sark.</p> + +<p>There, with the sea, which had carried her away from me, playing +buoyantly among the rocks, I read her farewell letter. It ran thus:</p> + +<p>"My dear Friend: I am glad I can call you my friend, though nothing can +ever come of our friendship—nothing, for we may not see one another as +other friends do. My life was ruined four years ago, and every now and +then I see afresh how complete and terrible the ruin is. Yet if I had +known beforehand how your life would be linked with mine, I would have +done any thing in my power to save you from sharing in my ruin. Ought I +to have told you at once that I was married? But just that was my +secret, and it seemed so much safer while no one knew it but myself. I +did not see, as I do now, that I was acting a falsehood. I do not see +how I can help doing that. It is as shocking to me as to you. Do not +judge me harshly.</p> + +<p>"I do not like to speak to you about my marriage. I was very young and +very miserable; any change seemed better than living with my +step-mother. I did not know what I was doing. The Saviour said, 'Father, +forgive them, for they know not what they do.' I hope I shall be +forgiven by you, and your mother, and God, for indeed I did not know +what I was doing.</p> + +<p>"Last October when I escaped from them, it was partly because I felt I +should soon be as wicked as they. I do not think any one ought to remain +where there is no chance of being good. If I am wrong, remember I am not +old yet. I may learn what my duty is, and then I will do it. I am only +waiting to find out exactly what I ought to do, and then I will do it, +whatever it may be.</p> + +<p>"Now I am compelled to flee away again from this quiet, peaceful home +where you and Tardif have been so good to me. I began to feel perfectly +safe here, and all at once the refuge fails me. It breaks my heart, but +I must go, and my only gladness is that it will be good for you. +By-and-by you will forget me, and return to your cousin Julia, and be +happy just as you once thought you should be—as you would have been but +for me. You must think of me as one dead. I am quite dead—lost to you.</p> + +<p>"Yet I know you will sometimes wish to hear what has become of me. +Tardif will. And I owe you both more than I can ever repay. But it would +not be well for me to write often. I have promised Tardif that I will +write to him once a year, that you and he may know that I am still +alive. When there comes no letter, say, 'Olivia is dead!' Do not be +grieved for that; it will be the greatest, best release God can give me. +Say, 'Thank God, Olivia is dead!'</p> + +<p>"Good-by, my dear friend; good-by, good-by!</p> + +<p>"OLIVIA."</p> + +<p>The last line was written in a shaken, irregular hand, and her name was +half blotted out, as if a tear had fallen upon it. I remained there +alone on the wild and solitary cliffs until it was time to return to the +steamer.</p> + +<p>Tardif was waiting for me at the entrance of the little tunnel through +which the road passes down to the harbor. He did not speak at first, but +he drew out of his pocket an old leather pouch filled with yellow +papers. Among them lay a long curling tress of shining hair. He touched +it gently with his finger, as if it had feeling and consciousness.</p> + +<p>"You would like to have it, doctor?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Ay," I answered, and that only. I could not venture upon another word.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_THIRD'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD.</h2> + +<p>THE EBB OF LIFE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>There was nothing now for me to do but to devote myself wholly to my +mother.</p> + +<p>I made the malady under which she was slowly sinking my special study. +There remained a spark of hope yet in my heart that I might by diligent, +intense, unflagging search, discover some remedy yet untried, or perhaps +unthought of. I succeeded only in alleviating her sufferings. I pored +over every work which treated of the same class of diseases. At last in +an old, almost-forgotten book, I came upon a simple medicament, which, +united with appliances made available by modern science, gave her +sensible relief, and without doubt tended to prolong her shortening +days. The agonizing thought haunted me that, had I come upon this +discovery at an earlier stage of her illness, her life might have been +spared for many years.</p> + +<p>But it was too late now. She suffered less, and her spirits grew calm +and even. We even ventured, at her own wish, to spend a week together in +Sark, she and I—a week never to be forgotten, full of exquisite pain +and exquisite enjoyment to us both. We revisited almost every place +where we had been many years before, while I was but a child and she was +still young and strong. Tardif rowed us out in his boat under the +cliffs. Then we came home again, and she sank rapidly, as if the flame +of life had been burning too quickly in the breath of those innocent +pleasures.</p> + +<p>Now she began to be troubled again with the dread of leaving me alone +and comfortless. There is no passage in Christ's farewell to His +disciples which, touches me so much as those words, "I will not leave +you comfortless; I will come unto you." My mother could not promise to +come back to me, and her dying vision looked sorrowfully into the future +for me. Sometimes she put her fear into words—faltering and foreboding +words; but it was always in her eyes, as they followed me wherever I +went with a mute, pathetic anxiety. No assurances of mine, no assumed +cheerfulness and fortitude could remove it. I even tried to laugh at +it, but my laugh only brought the tears into her eyes. Neither reason +nor ridicule could root it out—a root of bitterness indeed.</p> + +<p>"Martin," she said, in her failing, plaintive voice, one evening when +Julia and I were both sitting with her, for we met now without any +regard to etiquette—"Martin, Julia and I have been talking about your +future life while you were away."</p> + +<p>Julia's face flushed a little. She was seated on a footstool by my +mother's sofa, and looked softer and gentler than I had ever seen her +look. She had been nursing my mother with a single-hearted, +self-forgetful devotion that had often touched me, and had knit us to +one another by the common bond of an absorbing interest. Certainly I had +never leaned upon or loved Julia as I was doing now.</p> + +<p>"There is no chance of your ever marrying Olivia now," continued my +mother, faintly, "and it is a sin for you to cherish your love for her. +That is a very plain duty, Martin."</p> + +<p>"Such love as I cherish for Olivia will hurt neither her nor myself," I +answered. "I would not wrong her by a thought."</p> + +<p>"But she can never be your wife," she said.</p> + +<p>"I never think of her as my wife," I replied; "but I can no more cease +to love her than I can cease to breathe. She has become part of my life, +mother."</p> + +<p>"Still, time and change must make a difference," she said. "You will +realize your loneliness when I am gone, though you cannot before. I want +to have some idea of what you will be doing in the years to come, before +we meet again. If I think at all, I shall be thinking of you, and I do +long to have some little notion. You will not mind me forming one poor +little plan for you once more, my boy?"</p> + +<p>"No," I answered, smiling to keep back the tears that were ready to +start to my eyes.</p> + +<p>"I scarcely know how to tell you," she said. "You must not be angry or +offended with us. But my dear Julia has promised me, out of pure love +and pity for me, you know, that if ever—how can I express it?—if you +ever wish you could return to the old plans—it may be a long time +first, but if you conquered your love for Olivia, and could go back, and +wished to go back to the time before you knew her—Julia will forget all +that has come between. Julia would consent to marry you if you asked her +to be your wife. O Martin, I should die so much happier if I thought you +would ever marry Julia, and go to live in the house I helped to get +ready for you!"</p> + +<p>Julia's head had dropped upon my mother's shoulder, and her face was +hidden, while my mother's eyes sought mine beseechingly. I was +irresistibly overcome by this new proof of her love for both of us, for +I knew well what a struggle it must have been to her to gain the mastery +over her proper pride and just resentment. I knelt down beside her, +clasping her hand and my mother's in my own.</p> + +<p>"Mother, Julia," I said, "I promise that if ever I can be true in heart +and soul to a wife, I will ask Julia to become mine. But it may be many +years hence; I dare not say how long. God alone knows how dear Olivia is +to me. And Julia is too good to waste herself upon so foolish a fellow. +She may change, and see some one she can love better."</p> + +<p>"That is nonsense, Martin," answered Julia, with a ring of the old +sharpness in her tone; "at my age I am not likely to fall in love +again.—Don't be afraid, aunt; I shall not change, and I will take care +of Martin. His home is ready, and he will come back to me some day, and +it will all be as you wish."</p> + +<p>I know that promise of ours comforted her, for she never lamented over +my coming solitude again.</p> + +<p>I have very little more I can say about her. When I look back and try to +write more fully of those last, lingering days, my heart fails me. The +darkened room, the muffled sounds, the loitering, creeping, yet too +rapid hours! I had no time to think of Julia, of Olivia, or of myself; I +was wrapped up in her.</p> + +<p>One evening—we were quite alone—she called me to come closer to her, +in that faint, far-off voice of hers, which seemed already to be +speaking from another world. I was sitting so near to her that I could +touch her with my hand, but she wanted me nearer—with my arm across +her, and my cheek against hers.</p> + +<p>"My boy," she whispered, "I am going."</p> + +<p>"Not yet, mother," I cried; "not yet! I have so much to say. Stay with +me a day or two longer."</p> + +<p>"If I could," she murmured, every word broken with her panting breath, +"I would stay with you forever! Be patient with your father, Martin. Say +good-by for me to him and Julia. Don't stir. Let me die so!"</p> + +<p>"You shall not die, mother," I said, passionately.</p> + +<p>"There is no pain," she whispered—"no pain at all; it is taken away. I +am only sorry for my boy. What will he do when I am gone? Where are you, +Martin?"</p> + +<p>"I am here, mother!" I answered—"close to you. O God! I would go with +you if I could."</p> + +<p>Then she lay still for a time, pressing my arm about her with her feeble +fingers. Would she speak to me no more? Had the dearest voice in the +world gone away altogether into that far-off, and, to us, silent country +whither the dying go? Dumb, blind, deaf to <i>me</i>? She was breathing yet, +and her heart fluttered faintly against my arm. Would not my mother know +me again?</p> + +<p>"O Martin!" she murmured, "there is great love in store for us all! I +did not know how great the love was till now!"</p> + +<p>There had been a quicker, more irregular throbbing of her heart as she +spoke. Then—I waited, but there came no other pulsation. Suddenly I +felt as if I also must be dying, for I passed into a state of utter +darkness and unconsciousness.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_FOURTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH.</h2> + +<p>A DISCONSOLATE WIDOWER.</p> +<br /> + +<p>My senses returned painfully, with a dull and blunted perception that +some great calamity had overtaken me. I was in my mother's +dressing-room, and Julia was holding to my nostrils some sharp essence, +which had penetrated to the brain and brought back consciousness. My +father was sitting by the empty grate, sobbing and weeping vehemently. +The door into my mother's bedroom was closed. I knew instantly what was +going on there.</p> + +<p>I suppose no man ever fainted without being ashamed of it. Even in the +agony of my awakening consciousness I felt the inevitable sting of shame +at my weakness and womanishness. I pushed away Julia's hand, and raised +myself. I got up on my feet and walked unsteadily and blindly toward the +shut door.</p> + +<p>"Martin," said Julia, "you must not go back there. It is all over."</p> + +<p>I heard my father calling me in a broken voice, and I turned to him. His +frame was shaken by the violence of his sobs, and he could not lift up +his head from his hands. There was no effort at self-control about him. +At times his cries grew loud enough to be heard all over the house.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my son!" he said, "we shall never see any one like your poor mother +again! She was the best wife any man ever had! Oh, what a loss she is to +me!"</p> + +<p>I could not speak of her just then, nor could I say a word to comfort +him. She had bidden me be patient with him, but already I found the task +almost beyond me. I told Julia I was going up to my own room for the +rest of the night, if there were nothing for me to do. She put her arms +round my neck and kissed me as if she had been my sister, telling me I +could leave every thing to her. Then I went away into the solitude that +had indeed begun to close around me.</p> + +<p>When the heart of a man is solitary, there is no society for him even +among a crowd of friends. All deep love and close companionship seemed +stricken out of my life.</p> + +<p>We laid her in the cemetery, in a grave where the wide-spreading +branches of some beech-trees threw a pleasant shadow over it during the +day. At times the moan of the sea could be heard there, when the surf +rolled in strongly upon the shore of Cobo Bay. The white crest of the +waves could be seen from it, tossing over the sunken reefs at sea; yet +it lay in the heart of our island. She had chosen the spot for herself, +not very long ago, when we had been there together. Now I went there +alone.</p> + +<p>I counted my father and his loud grief as nothing. There was neither +sympathy nor companionship between us. He was very vehement in his +lamentations, repeating to every one who came to condole with us that +there never had lived such a wife, and his loss was the greatest that +man could bear. His loss was nothing to mine.</p> + +<p>Yet I did draw a little nearer to him in the first few weeks of our +bereavement. Almost insensibly I fell into our old plan of sharing the +practice, for he was often unfit to go out and see our patients. The +house was very desolate now, and soon lost those little delicate traces +of feminine occupancy which constitute the charm of a home, and to which +we had been all our lives accustomed. Julia could not leave her own +household, even if it had been possible for her to return to her place +in our deserted dwelling. The flowers faded and died unchanged in the +vases, and there was no dainty woman's work lying about—that litter of +white and colored shreds of silk and muslin, which give to a room an +inhabited appearance. These were so familiar to me, that the total +absence of them was like the barrenness of a garden without flowers in +bloom.</p> + +<p>My father did not feel this as I did, for he was not often at home after +the first violence of his grief had spent itself. Julia's house was open +to him in a manner it could not be open to me. I was made welcome there, +it is true; but Julia was not unembarrassed and at home with me. The +half-engagement renewed between us rendered it difficult to us both to +meet on the simple ground of friendship and relationship. Moreover, I +shrank from setting gossips' tongues going again on the subject of my +chances of marrying my cousin; so I remained at home, alone, evening +after evening, unless I was called out professionally, declining all +invitations, and brooding unwholesomely over my grief. There is no more +cowardly a way of meeting a sorrow. But I was out of heart, and no words +could better express the morbid melancholy I was sinking into.</p> + +<p>There was some tedious legal business to go through, for my mother's +small property, bringing in a hundred a year, came to me on her death. I +could not alienate it, but I wished Julia to receive the income as part +payment of my father's defalcations. She would not listen to such a +proposal, and she showed me that she had a shrewd notion of the true +state of our finances. They were in such a state that if I left Guernsey +with my little income my father would positively find some difficulty in +making both ends meet; the more so as I was becoming decidedly the +favorite with our patients, who began to call him slightingly the "old +doctor." No path opened up for me in any other direction. It appeared as +if I were to be bound to the place which was no longer a home to me.</p> + +<p>I wrote to this effect to Jack Senior, who was urging my return to +England. I could not bring myself to believe that this dreary, +monotonous routine of professional duties, of very little interest or +importance, was all that life should offer to me. Yet for the present my +duty was plain. There was no help for it.</p> + +<p>I made some inquiries at the lodging-house in Vauvert Road, and learned +that the person who had been in search of Olivia had left Guernsey about +the time when I was so fully engrossed with my mother as to have but +little thought for any one else. Of Olivia there was neither trace nor +tidings. Tardif came up to see me whenever he crossed over from Sark, +but he had no information to give to me. The chances were that she was +in London; but she was as much lost to me as if she had been lying +beside my mother under the green turf of Foulon Cemetery.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_FIFTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH.</h2> + +<p>THE WIDOWER COMFORTED.</p> +<br /> + +<p>In this manner three months passed slowly away after my mother's death. +Dr. Dobrée, who was utterly inconsolable the first few weeks, fell into +all his old maundering, philandering ways again, spending hours upon his +toilet, and paying devoted attentions to every passable woman who came +across his path. My temper grew like touch-wood; the least spark would +set it in a blaze. I could not take such things in good part.</p> + +<p>We had been at daggers-drawn for a day or two, he and I, when one +morning I was astonished by the appearance of Julia in our +consulting-room, soon after my father, having dressed himself +elaborately, had quitted the house. Julia's face was ominous, the upper +lip very straight, and a frown upon her brow. I wondered what could be +the matter, but I held my tongue. My knowledge of Julia was intimate +enough for me to hit upon the right moment for speech or silence—a rare +advantage. It was the time to refrain from speaking. Julia was no +termagant—simply a woman who had had her own way all her life, and was +so sure it was the best way that she could not understand why other +people should wish to have theirs.</p> + +<p>"Martin," she began in a low key, but one that might run up to +shrillness if advisable, "I am come to tell you something that fills me +with shame and anger. I do not know how to contain myself. I could never +have believed that I could have been so blind and foolish. But it seems +as if I were doomed to be deceived and disappointed on every hand—I who +would not deceive or disappoint anybody in the world. I declare it makes +me quite ill to think of it. Just look at my hands, how they tremble."</p> + +<p>"Your nervous system is out of order," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"It is the world that is out of order," she said, petulantly; "I am well +enough. Oh, I do not know how ever I am to tell you. There are some +things it is a shame to speak of."</p> + +<p>"Must you speak of them?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes; you must know, you will have to know all, sooner or later. If +there was any hope of it coming to nothing, I should try to spare you +this; but they are both so bent upon disgracing themselves, so deaf to +reason! If my poor, dear aunt knew of it, she could not rest in her +grave. Martin, cannot you guess? Are men born so dull that they cannot +see what is going on under their own eyes?"</p> + +<p>"I have not the least idea of what you are driving at," I answered. "Sit +down, my dear Julia, and calm yourself. Shall I give you a glass of +wine?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," she said, with a gesture of impatience. "How long is it since +my poor, dear aunt died?"</p> + +<p>"You know as well as I do," I replied, wondering that she should touch +the wound so roughly. "Three months next Sunday."</p> + +<p>"And Dr. Dobrée," she said, in a bitter accent—then stopped, looking me +full in the face. I had never heard her call my father Dr. Dobrée in my +life. She was very fond of him, and attracted by him, as most women +were, and as few women are attracted by me. Even now, with all the +difference in our age, the advantage being on my side, it was seldom I +succeeded in pleasing as much as he did. I gazed back in amazement at +Julia's dark and moody face.</p> + +<p>"What now?" I asked. "What has my unlucky father been doing now?"</p> + +<p>"Why," she exclaimed, stamping her foot, while the blood mantled to her +forehead, "Dr. Dobrée is in haste to take a second wife! He is indeed, +my poor Martin. He wishes to be married immediately to that viper, Kate +Daltrey."</p> + +<p>"Impossible!" I cried, stung to the quick by these words. I remembered +my mother's mild, instinctive dislike to Kate Daltrey, and her harmless +hope that I would not go over to her side. Go over to her side! No. If +she set her foot into this house as my mother's successor, I would never +dwell under the same roof. As soon as my father made her his wife I +would cut myself adrift from them both. But he knew that; he would never +venture to outrage my mother's memory or my feelings in such a flagrant +manner.</p> + +<p>"It is possible, for it is true," said Julia. She had not let her voice +rise above its low, angry key, and now it sank nearly to a whisper, as +she glanced round at the door. "They have understood each other these +four weeks. You may call it an engagement, for it is one; and I never +suspected them, not for a moment! He came down to my house to be +comforted, he said: his house was so dreary now. And I was as blind as a +mole. I shall never forgive myself, dear Martin. I knew he was given to +all that kind of thing, but then he seemed to mourn for my poor aunt so +deeply, and was so heart-broken. He made ten times more show of it than +you did. I have heard people say you bore it very well, and were quite +unmoved, but I knew better. Everybody said <i>he</i> could never get over it. +Couldn't you take out a commission of lunacy against him? He must be mad +to think of such a thing."</p> + +<p>"How did you find it out?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I was so ashamed!" she said. "You see I had not the faintest shadow +of a suspicion. I had left them in the drawing-room to go up-stairs, and +I thought of something I wanted, and went back suddenly, and there they +were—his arm around her waist, and her head on his shoulder—he with +his gray hairs too! She says she is the same age as me, but she is forty +if she is a day. The simpletons! I did not know what to say, or how to +look. I could not get out of the room again as if I had not seen, for I +cried 'Oh!' at the first sight of them. Then I stood staring at them; +but I think they felt as uncomfortable as I did."</p> + +<p>"What did they say?" I asked, sternly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he came up to me quite in his dramatic way, you know, trying to +carry it off by looking grand and majestic; and he was going to take my +hand and lead me to her, but I would not stir a step. 'My love,' he +said, 'I am about to steal your friend from you.' 'She is no friend of +mine,' I said, 'if she is going to be what all this intimates, I +suppose. I will never speak to her or you again, Dr. Dobrée.' Upon that +he began to weep, and protest, and declaim, while she sat still and +glared at me. I never thought her eyes could look like that. 'When do +you mean to be married?' I asked, for he made no secret of his intention +to make her his wife. 'What is the good of waiting?' he said, 'My home +is miserable with no woman in it.' 'Uncle,' I said, 'if you will promise +me to give up the idea of a second marriage, which is ridiculous at your +age, I will come back to you, in spite of all the awkwardness of my +position with regard to Martin. For my aunt's sake I will come back.' +Even an arrangement like this would be better than his marriage with +that woman—don't you think so?"</p> + +<p>"A hundred times better," I said, warmly. "It was very good of you, +Julia. But he would not agree to that, would he?"</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't hear of it. He swore that Kate was as dear to him as ever +my poor aunt was. He vowed he could not live without her and her +companionship. He maintained that his age did not make it ridiculous. +Kate hid her brazen face in her hands, and sobbed aloud.</p> + +<p>"That made him ten times worse an idiot. He knelt down before her, and +implored her to look at him. I reminded him how all the island would +rise against him—worse than it did against you, Martin—and he declared +he did not care a fig for the island! I asked him how he would face the +Careys, and the Brocks, and the De Saumarez, and all the rest of them, +and he snapped his fingers at them all. Oh, he must be going out of his +mind."</p> + +<p>I shook my head. Knowing him as thoroughly as a long and close study +could help me to know any man, I was less surprised than Julia, who had +only seen him from a woman's point of view, and had always been lenient +to his faults. Unfortunately, I knew my father too well.</p> + +<p>"Then I talked to him about the duty he owed to our family name," she +resumed, "and I went so far as to remind him of what I had done to +shield him and it from disgrace, and he mocked at it—positively mocked +at it! He said there was no sort of parallel. It would be no dishonor to +our house to receive Kate into it, even if they were married at once. +What did it signify to the world that only three months had elapsed? +Besides, he did not mean to marry her for a month to come, as the house +would need beautifying for her—beautifying for her! Neither had he +spoken of it to you; but he had no doubt you would be willing to go on +as you have done."</p> + +<p>"Never!" I said.</p> + +<p>"I was sure not," continued Julia. "I told him I was convinced you would +leave Guernsey again, but he pooh-poohed that. I asked him how he was +to live without any practice, and he said his old patients might turn +him off for a while, but they would be glad to send for him again. I +never saw a man so obstinately bent upon his own ruin."</p> + +<p>"Julia," I said, "I shall leave Guernsey before this marriage can come +off. I would rather break stones on the highway than stay to see that +woman in my mother's place. My mother disliked her from the first."</p> + +<p>"I know it," she replied, with tears in her eyes, "and I thought it was +nothing but prejudice. It was my fault, bringing her to Guernsey. But I +could not bear the idea of her coming as mistress here. I said so +distinctly. 'Dr. Dobrée,' I said, 'you must let me remind you that the +house is mine, though you have paid me no rent for years. If you ever +take Kate Daltrey into it, I will put my affairs into a notary's hands. +I will, upon my word, and Julia Dobrée never broke her word yet.' That +brought him to his senses better than any thing. He turned very pale, +and sat down beside Kate, hardly knowing what to say. Then she began. +She said if I was cruel, she would be cruel too. Whatever grieved you, +Martin, would grieve me, and she would let her brother Richard Foster +know where Olivia was."</p> + +<p>"Does she know where she is?" I asked, eagerly, in a tumult of surprise +and hope.</p> + +<p>"Why, in Sark, of course," she replied.</p> + +<p>"What! Did you never know that Olivia left Sark before my mother's +death?" I said, with a chill of disappointment. "Did I never tell you +she was gone, nobody knows where?"</p> + +<p>"You have never spoken of her in my hearing, except once—you recollect +when, Martin? We have supposed she was still living in Tardif's house. +Then there is nothing to prevent me from carrying out my threat. Kate +Daltrey shall never enter this house as mistress."</p> + +<p>"Would you have given it up for Olivia's sake?" I asked, marvelling at +her generosity.</p> + +<p>"I should have done it for your sake," she answered, frankly.</p> + +<p>"But," I said, reverting to our original topic, "if my father has set +his mind upon marrying Kate Daltrey, he will brave any thing."</p> + +<p>"He is a dotard," replied Julia. "He positively makes me dread growing +old. Who knows what follies one may be guilty of in old age! I never +felt afraid of it before. Kate says she has two hundred a year of her +own, and they will go and live on that in Jersey, if Guernsey becomes +unpleasant to them. Martin, she is a viper—she is indeed. And I have +made such a friend of her! Now I shall have no one but you and the +Careys. Why wasn't I satisfied with Johanna as my friend?"</p> + +<p>She stayed an hour longer, turning over this unwelcome subject till we +had thoroughly discussed every point of it. In the evening, after +dinner, I spoke to my father briefly but decisively upon the same topic. +After a very short and very sharp conversation, there remained no +alternative for me but to make up my mind to try my fortune once more +out of Guernsey. I wrote by the next mail to Jack Senior, telling him my +purpose, and the cause of it, and by return of post I received his +reply:</p> + + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Dear old boy: Why shouldn't you come, and go halves with me? + Dad says so. He is giving up shop, and going to live in the + country at Fulham. House and practice are miles too big for + me. 'Senior and Dobrée,' or 'Dobrée and Senior,' whichever you + please. If you come I can pay dutiful attention to Dad without + losing my customers. That is his chief reason. Mine is that I + only feel half myself without you at hand. Don't think of + saying no.</p> + +<p> "JACK."</p></div> + +<p>It was a splendid opening, without question. Dr. Senior had been in good +practice for more than thirty years, and he had quietly introduced Jack +to the position he was about to resign. Yet I pondered over the proposal +for a whole week before agreeing to it. I knew Jack well enough to be +sure he would never regret his generosity; but if I went I would go as +junior partner, and with a much smaller proportion of the profits than +that proffered by Jack. Finally I resolved to accept the offer, and +wrote to him as to the terms upon which alone I would join him.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_SIXTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SIXTH.</h2> + +<p>FINAL ARRANGEMENTS.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I did not wait for my father to commit the irreparable folly of his +second marriage. Guernsey had become hateful to me. In spite of my +exceeding love for my native island, more beautiful in the eyes of its +people than any other spot on earth, I could no longer be happy or at +peace there. A few persons urged me to stay and live down my chagrin and +grief, but most of my friends congratulated me on the change in my +prospects, and bade me God-speed. Julia could not conceal her regret, +but I left her in the charge of Captain Carey and Johanna. She promised +to be my faithful correspondent, and I engaged to write to her +regularly. There existed between us the half-betrothal to which we had +pledged ourselves at my mother's urgent request. She would wait for the +time when Olivia was no longer the first in my heart; then she would be +willing to become my wife. But if ever that day came, she would require +me to give up my position in England, and settle down for life in +Guernsey.</p> + +<p>Fairly, then, I was launched upon the career of a physician in the great +city. The completeness of the change suited me. Nothing here, in +scenery, atmosphere, or society, could remind me of the fretted past. +The troubled waters subsided into a dull calm, as far as emotional life +went. Intellectual life, on the contrary, was quickened in its current, +and day after day drifted me farther away from painful memories. To be +sure, the idea crossed me often that Olivia might be in London—even in +the same street with me. I never caught sight of a faded green dress but +my steps were hurried, and I followed till I was sure that the wearer +was not Olivia. But I was aware that the chances of our meeting were so +small that I could not count upon them. Even if I found her, what then? +She was as far away from me as though the Atlantic rolled between us. If +I only knew that she was safe, and as happy as her sad destiny could let +her be, I would be content. For this assurance I looked forward through +the long months that must intervene before her promised communication +would come to Tardif.</p> + +<p>Thus I was thrown entirely upon my profession for interest and +occupation. I gave myself up to it with an energy that amazed Jack, and +sometimes surprised myself. Dr. Senior, who was an old veteran, loved it +with ardor for its own sake, was delighted with my enthusiasm. He +prophesied great things for me.</p> + +<p>So passed my first winter in London.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_SEVENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SEVENTH.</h2> + +<p>THE TABLES TURNED.</p> +<br /> + +<p>A dreary season was that first winter in London.</p> + +<p>It happened quite naturally that here, as in Guernsey, my share of the +practice fell among the lower and least important class of patients. +Jack Senior had been on the field some years sooner, and he was +London-born and London-bred. All the surroundings of his life fitted him +without a wrinkle. He was at home everywhere, and would have counted the +pulse of a duchess with as little emotion as that of a dairy-maid. On +the other hand, I could not accommodate myself altogether to haughty and +aristocratic strangers—though I am somewhat ante-dating later +experiences, for during the winter our fashionable clients were all out +of town, and our time comparatively unoccupied. To be at ease anywhere, +it was, at that time, essential to me to know something of the people +with whom I was associating—an insular trait, common to all those who +are brought up in a contracted and isolated circle.</p> + +<p>Besides this rustic embarrassment which hung like a clog about me +out-of-doors, within-doors I missed wofully the dainty feminine ways I +had been used to. There was a trusty female servant, half cook, half +house-keeper, who lived in the front-kitchen and superintended our +household; but she was not at all the angel in the house whom I needed. +It was a well-appointed, handsome dwelling, but it was terribly gloomy. +The heavy, substantial leather chairs always remained undisturbed in +level rows against the wall, and the crimson cloth upon the table was as +bare as a billiard-table. A thimble lying upon it, or fallen on the +carpet and almost crushed by my careless tread, would have been as +welcome a sight to me as a blade of grass or a spring of water in some +sandy desert. The sound of a light foot and rustling dress, and low, +soft voice, would have been the sweetest music in my ears. If a young +fellow of eight-and-twenty, with an excellent appetite and in good +health, could be said to pine, I was pining for the pretty, fondling +woman's ways which had quite vanished out of my life.</p> + +<p>At times my thoughts dwelt upon my semi-engagement to Julia. As soon as +I could dethrone the image of Olivia from its pre-eminence in my heart, +she was willing to welcome me back again—a prodigal suitor, who had +spent all his living in a far country. We corresponded regularly and +frequently, and Julia's letters were always good, sensible, and +affectionate. If our marriage, and all the sequel to it, could have been +conducted by epistles, nothing could have been more satisfactory. But I +felt a little doubtful about the termination of this Platonic +friendship, with its half-betrothal. It did not appear to me that +Olivia's image was fading in the slightest degree; no, though I knew her +to be married, though I was ignorant where she was, though there was not +the faintest hope within me that she would ever become mine.</p> + +<p>During the quiet, solitary evenings, while Jack was away at some ball or +concert, to which I had no heart to go, my thoughts were pretty equally +divided between my lost mother and my lost Olivia—lost in such +different ways! It would have grieved Julia in her very soul if she +could have known how rarely, in comparison, I thought of her.</p> + +<p>Yet, on the whole, there was a certain sweetness in feeling myself not +altogether cut off from womanly love and sympathy. There was a home +always open to me—a home, and a wife devotedly attached to me, whenever +I chose to claim them. That was not unpleasant as a prospect. As soon as +this low fever of the spirit was over, there was a convalescent hospital +to go to, where it might recover its original tone and vigor. At present +the fever had too firm and strong a hold for me to pronounce myself +convalescent; but if I were to believe all that sages had said, there +would come a time when I should rejoice over my own recovery.</p> + +<p>Early in the spring I received a letter from Julia, desiring me to look +out for apartments, somewhere in my neighborhood, for herself, and +Johanna and Captain Carey. They were coming to London to spend two or +three months of the season. I had not had any task so agreeable since I +left Guernsey. Jack was hospitably anxious for them to come to our own +house, but I knew they would not listen to such a proposal. I found some +suitable rooms for them, however, in Hanover Street, where I could be +with them at any time in five minutes.</p> + +<p>On the appointed day I met them at Waterloo Station, and installed them +in their new apartments.</p> + +<p>It struck me that, notwithstanding the fatigue of the journey, Julia was +looking better and happier than I had seen her look for a long time. Her +black dress suited her, and gave her a style which she never had in +colors. Her complexion looked dark, but not sallow; and her brown hair +was certainly more becomingly arranged. Her appearance was that of a +well-bred, cultivated, almost elegant woman, of whom no man need be +ashamed. Johanna was simply herself, without the least perceptible +change. But Captain Carey again looked ten years younger, and was +evidently taking pains with his appearance. That suit of his had never +been made in Guernsey; it must have come out of a London establishment. +His hair was not so gray, and his face was less hypochondriac. He +assured me that his health had been wonderfully good all the winter. I +was more than satisfied, I was proud of all my friends.</p> + +<p>"We want you to come and have a long talk with us to-morrow," said +Johanna; "it is too late to-night. We shall be busy shopping in the +morning, but can you come in the evening?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," I answered; "I am at leisure most evenings, and I count upon +spending them with you. I can escort you to as many places of amusement +as you wish to visit."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, then," she said, "we shall take tea at eight o'clock."</p> + +<p>I bade them good-night with a lighter heart than I had felt for a long +while. I held Julia's hand the longest, looking into her face earnestly, +till it flushed and glowed a little under my scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"True heart!" I said to myself, "true and constant! and I have nothing, +and shall have nothing, to offer it but the ashes of a dead passion. +Would to Heaven," I thought as I paced along Brook Street, "I had never +been fated to see Olivia!"</p> + +<p>I was punctual to my time the next day. The dull, stiff drawing-room was +already invested with those tokens of feminine occupancy which I missed +so greatly in our much handsomer house. There were flowers blooming in +the centre of the tea-table, and little knick-knacks lay strewed about. +Julia's work-basket stood on a little stand near the window. There was +the rustle and movement of their dresses, the noiseless footsteps, the +subdued voices caressing my ear. I sat among them quiet and silent, but +revelling in this partial return of olden times. When Julia poured out +my tea, and passed it to me with her white hand, I felt inclined to kiss +her jewelled fingers. If Captain Carey had not been present I think I +should have done so.</p> + +<p>We lingered over the pleasant meal as if time were made expressly for +that purpose, instead of hurrying over it, as Jack and I were wont to +do. At the close Captain Carey announced that he was about to leave us +alone together for an hour or two. I went down to the door with him, for +he had made me a mysterious signal to follow him. In the hall he laid +his hand upon my shoulder, and whispered a few incomprehensible +sentences into my ear.</p> + +<p>"Don't think any thing of me, my boy. Don't sacrifice yourself for me. +I'm an old fellow compared to you, though I'm not fifty yet; everybody +in Guernsey knows that. So put me out of the question, Martin. 'There's +many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.' That I know quite well, my dear +fellow."</p> + +<p>He was gone before I could ask for an explanation, and I saw him tearing +off toward Regent Street. I returned to the drawing-room, pondering over +his words. Johanna and Julia were sitting side by side on a sofa, in the +darkest corner of the room—though the light was by no means brilliant +anywhere, for the three gas-jets were set in such a manner as not to +turn on much gas.</p> + +<p>"Come here, Martin," said Johanna; "we wish to consult you on a subject +of great importance to us all."</p> + +<p>I drew up a chair opposite to them, and sat down, much as if it was +about to be a medical consultation. I felt almost as if I must feel +somebody's pulse, and look at somebody's tongue.</p> + +<p>"It is nearly eight months since your poor dear mother died," remarked +Johanna.</p> + +<p>Eight months! Yes; and no one knew what those eight months had been to +me—how desolate! how empty!</p> + +<p>"You recollect," continued Johanna, "how her heart was set on your +marriage with Julia, and the promise you both made to her on her +death-bed?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered, bending forward and pressing Julia's hand, "I +remember every word."</p> + +<p>There was a minute's silence after this; and I waited in some wonder as +to what this prelude was leading to.</p> + +<p>"Martin," asked Johanna, in a solemn tone, "are you forgetting Olivia?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said, dropping Julia's hand as the image of Olivia flashed +across me reproachfully, "not at all. What would you have me say? She is +as dear to me at this moment as she ever was."</p> + +<p>"I thought you would say so," she replied; "I did not think yours was a +love that would quickly pass away, if it ever does. There are men who +can love with the constancy of a woman. Do you know any thing of her?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing!" I said, despondently; "I have no clew as to where she may be +now."</p> + +<p>"Nor has Tardif," she continued; "my brother and I went across to Sark +last week to ask him."</p> + +<p>"That was very good of you," I interrupted.</p> + +<p>"It was partly for our own sakes," she said, blushing faintly. "Martin, +Tardif says that if you have once loved Olivia, it is once for all. You +would never conquer it. Do you think that this is true? Be candid with +us."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered, "it is true. I could never love again as I love +Olivia."</p> + +<p>"Then, my dear Martin," said Johanna, very softly, "do you wish to keep +Julia to her promise?"</p> + +<p>I started violently. What! Did Julia wish to be released from that +semi-engagement, and be free? Was it possible that any one else coveted +my place in her affections, and in the new house which we had fitted up +for ourselves? I felt like the dog in the manger. It seemed an +unheard-of encroachment for any person to come between my cousin Julia +and me.</p> + +<p>"Do you ask me to set you free from your promise, Julia?" I asked, +somewhat sternly.</p> + +<p>"Why, Martin," she said, averting her face from me, "you know I should +never consent to marry you, with the idea of your caring most for that +girl. No, I could never do that. If I believed you would ever think of +me as you used to do before you saw her, well, I would keep true to you. +But is there any hope of that?"</p> + +<p>"Let us be frank with one another," I answered; "tell me, is there any +one else whom you would marry if I release you from this promise, which +was only given, perhaps, to soothe my mothers last hours?"</p> + +<p>Julia hung her head, and did not speak. Her lips trembled. I saw her +take Johanna's hand and squeeze it, as if to urge her to answer the +question.</p> + +<p>"Martin," said Johanna, "your happiness is dear to every one of us. If +we had believed there was any hope of your learning to love Julia as she +deserves, and as a man ought to love his wife, not a word of this would +have been spoken. But we all feel there is no such hope. Only say there +is, and we will not utter another word."</p> + +<p>"No," I said, "you must tell me all now. I cannot let the question rest +here. Is there any one else whom Julia would marry if she felt quite +free?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Johanna, while Julia hid her face in her hands, "she +would marry my brother."</p> + +<p>Captain Carey! I fairly gasped for breath. Such an idea had never once +occurred to me; though I knew she had been spending most of her time +with the Careys at the Vale. Captain Carey to marry! and to marry Julia! +To go and live in our house! I was struck dumb, and fancied that I had +heard wrongly. All the pleasant, distant vision of a possible marriage +with Julia, when my passion had died out, and I could be content in my +affection and esteem for her—all this vanished away, and left my whole +future a blank. If Julia wished for revenge—and when is not revenge +sweet to a jilted woman?—she had it now. I was as crestfallen, as +amazed, almost as miserable, as she had been. Yet I had no one to blame, +as she had. How could I blame her for preferring Captain Carey's love to +my <i>réchauffé</i> affections?</p> + +<p>"Julia," I said, after a long silence, and speaking as calmly as I +could, "do you love Captain Carey?"</p> + +<p>"That is not a fair question to ask," answered Johanna. "We have not +been treacherous to you. I scarcely know how it has all come about. But +my brother has never asked Julia if she loves him; for we wished to see +you first, and hear how you felt about Olivia. You say you shall never +love again as you love her. Set Julia free then, quite free, to accept +my brother or reject him. Be generous, be yourself, Martin."</p> + +<p>"I will," I said.—"My dear Julia, you are as free as air from all +obligation to me. You have been very good and very true to me. If +Captain Carey is as good and true to you, as I believe he will be, you +will be a very happy woman—happier than you would ever be with me."</p> + +<p>"And you will not make yourself unhappy about it?" asked Julia, looking +up.</p> + +<p>"No," I answered, cheerfully, "I shall be a merry old bachelor, and +visit you and Captain Carey, when we are all old folks. Never mind me, +Julia; I never was good enough for you. I shall be very glad to know +that you are happy."</p> + +<p>Yet when I found myself in the street—for I made my escape as soon as I +could get away from them—I felt as if every thing worth living for were +slipping away from me. My mother and Olivia were gone, and here was +Julia forsaking me. I did not grudge her her new happiness. There was +neither jealousy nor envy in my feelings toward my supplanter. But in +some way I felt that I had lost a great deal since I entered their +drawing-room two hours ago.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_EIGHTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH.</h2> + +<p>OLIVIA'S HUSBAND.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I did not go straight home to our dull, gloomy, bachelor dwelling-place; +for I was not in the mood for an hour's soliloquy. Jack and I had +undertaken between us the charge of the patients belonging to a friend +of ours, who had been called out of town for a few days. I was passing +by the house, chewing the bitter cud of my reflections, and, recalling +this, I turned in to see if any messages were waiting there for us. +Lowry's footman told me a person had been with an urgent request that he +would go as soon as possible to No. 19 Bellringer Street. I did not know +the street, or what sort of a locality it was in.</p> + +<p>"What kind of a person called?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"A woman, sir; not a lady. On foot—poorly dressed. She's been here +before, and Dr. Lowry has visited the case twice. No. 19 Bellringer +Street. Perhaps you will find him in the case-book, sir."</p> + +<p>I went in to consult the case-book. Half a dozen words contained the +diagnosis. It was the same disease, in an incipient form, of which my +poor mother died. I resolved to go and see this sufferer at once, late +as the hour was.</p> + +<p>"Did the person expect some one to go to-night?" I asked, as I passed +through the hall.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't promise her that, sir," was the answer. "I did say I'd send +on the message to you, and I was just coming with it, sir. She said +she'd sit up till twelve o'clock."</p> + +<p>"Very good," I said.</p> + +<p>Upon inquiry I found that the place was two miles away; and, as our old +friend Simmons was still on the cab-stand, I jumped into his cab, and +bade him drive me as fast as he could to No. 19 Bellringer Street. I +wanted a sense of motion, and a chance of scene. If I had been in +Guernsey, I should have mounted Madam, and had another midnight ride +round the island. This was a poor substitute for that; but the visit +would serve to turn my thoughts from Julia. If any one in London could +do the man good. I believed it was I; for I had studied that one malady +with my soul thrown into it.</p> + +<p>"We turned at last into a shabby street, recognizable even in the +twilight of the scattered lamps as being a place for cheap +lodging-houses. There was a light burning in the second-floor windows of +No. 19; but all the rest of the front was in darkness. I paid Simmons +and dismissed him, saying I would walk home. By the time I turned to +knock at the door, it was opened quietly from within. A woman stood in +the doorway; I could not see her face, for the candle she had brought +with her was on the table behind her; neither was there light enough for +her to distinguish mine.</p> + +<p>"Are you come from Dr. Lowry's?" she asked.</p> + +<p>The voice sounded a familiar one, but I could not for the life of me +recall whose it was.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered, "but I do not know the name of my patient here."</p> + +<p>"Dr. Martin Dobrée!" she exclaimed, in an accent almost of terror.</p> + +<p>I recollected her then as the person who had been in search of Olivia. +She had fallen back a few paces, and I could now see her face. It was +startled and doubtful, as if she hesitated to admit me. Was it possible +I had come to attend Olivia's husband?</p> + +<p>"I don't know whatever to do!" she ejaculated; "he is very ill to-night, +but I don't think he ought to see <i>you</i>—I don't think he would."</p> + +<p>"Listen to me," I said; "I do not think there is another man in London +as well qualified to do him good."</p> + +<p>"Why?" she asked, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Because I have made this disease my special study," I answered. "Mind, +I am not anxious to attend him. I came here simply because my friend is +out of town. If he wishes to see me, I will see him, and do my best for +him. It rests entirely with himself."</p> + +<p>"Will you wait here a few minutes?" she asked, "while I see what he +will do?"</p> + +<p>She left me in the dimly-lighted hall, pervaded by a musty smell of +unventilated rooms, and a damp, dirty underground floor. The place was +altogether sordid, and dingy, and miserable. At last I heard her step +coming down the two flights of stairs, and I went to meet her.</p> + +<p>"He will see you," she said, eying me herself with a steady gaze of +curiosity.</p> + +<p>Her curiosity was not greater than mine. I was anxious to see Olivia's +husband, partly from the intense aversion I felt instinctively toward +him. He was lying back in an old, worn-out easy-chair, with a woman's +shawl thrown across his shoulders, for the night was chilly. His face +had the first sickly hue and emaciation of the disease, and was probably +refined by it. It was a handsome, regular, well-cut face, narrow across +the brows, with thin, firm lips, and eyes perfect in shape, but cold and +glittering as steel. I knew afterward that he was fifteen years older +than Olivia. Across his knees lay a shaggy, starved-looking cat, which +he held fast by the fore-paws, and from time to time entertained himself +by teasing and tormenting it. He scrutinized me as keenly as I did him.</p> + +<p>"I believe we are in some sort connected. Dr. Martin Dobrée," he said, +smiling coldly; "my half-sister, Kate Daltrey, is married to your +father, Dr. Dobrée."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered, shortly. The subject was eminently disagreeable to +me, and I had no wish to pursue it with him.</p> + +<p>"Ay! she will make him a happy man," he continued, mockingly; "you are +not yourself married, I believe, Dr. Martin Dobrée?"</p> + +<p>I took no notice whatever of his question, or the preceding remark, but +passed on to formal inquiries concerning his health. My close study of +his malady helped me here. I could assist him to describe and localize +his symptoms, and I soon discovered that the disease was as yet in a +very early stage.</p> + +<p>"You have a better grip of it than Lowry," he said, sighing with +satisfaction. "I feel as if I were made of glass, and you could look +through me. Can you cure me?"</p> + +<p>"I will do my best," I answered.</p> + +<p>"So you all say," he muttered, "and the best is generally good for +nothing. You see I care less about getting over it than my wife does. +She is very anxious for my recovery."</p> + +<p>"Your wife!" I repeated, in utter surprise; "you are Richard Foster, I +believe?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Does your wife know of your present illness?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"To be sure," he answered; "let me introduce you to Mrs. Richard +Foster."</p> + +<p>The woman looked at me with flashing eyes and a mocking smile, while Mr. +Foster indulged himself with extorting a long and plaintive mew from the +poor cat on his knees.</p> + +<p>"I cannot understand," I said. I did not know how to continue my speech. +Though they might choose to pass as husband and wife among strangers, +they could hardly expect to impose upon me.</p> + +<p>"Ah! I see you do not," said Mr. Foster, with a visible sneer. "Olivia +is dead."</p> + +<p>"Olivia dead!" I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>I repeated the words mechanically, as if I could not make any meaning +out of them. Yet they had been spoken with such perfect deliberation and +certainty that there seemed to be no question about the fact. Mr. +Foster's glittering eyes dwelt delightedly upon my face.</p> + +<p>"You were not aware of it?" he said, "I am afraid I have been too +sudden. Kate tells us you were in love with my first wife, and +sacrificed a most eligible match for her. Would it be too late to open +fresh negotiations with your cousin? You see I know all your family +history."</p> + +<p>"When did Olivia die?" I inquired, though my tongue felt dry and +parched, and the room, with his fiendish face, was swimming giddily +before my eyes.</p> + +<p>"When was it, Carry?" he asked, turning to his wife.</p> + +<p>"We heard she was dead on the first of October," she answered. "You +married me the next day."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes!" he said; "Olivia had been dead to me for more than twelve +months and the moment I was free I married her, Dr. Martin. We could not +be married before, and there was no reason to wait longer. It was quite +legal."</p> + +<p>"But what proof have you?" I asked, still incredulous, yet with a heart +so heavy that it could hardly rouse itself to hope.</p> + +<p>"Carry, have you those letters?" said Richard Foster.</p> + +<p>She was away for a few minutes, while he leaned back again in his chair, +regarding nic with his half-closed, cruel eyes. I said nothing, and +resolved to betray no emotion. Olivia dead! my Olivia! I could not +believe it.</p> + +<p>"Here are the proofs," said Mrs. Foster, reentering the room. She put +into my hand an ordinary certificate of death, signed by J. Jones, M.D. +It stated that the deceased, Olivia Foster, had died on September the +27th, of acute inflammation of the lungs. Accompanying this was a letter +written in a good handwriting, purporting to be from a clergyman or +minister, of what denomination it was not stated, who had attended +Olivia in her fatal illness. He said that she had desired him to keep +the place of her death and burial a secret, and to forward no more than +the official certificate of the former event. This letter was signed E. +Jones. No clew was given by either document as to the place where they +were written.</p> + +<p>"Are you not satisfied?" asked Foster.</p> + +<p>"No," I replied; "how is it, if Olivia is dead, that you have not taken +possession of her property?"</p> + +<p>"A shrewd question," he said, jeeringly. "Why am I in these cursed poor +lodgings? Why am I as poor as Job, when there are twenty thousand pounds +of my wife's estate lying unclaimed? My sweet, angelic Olivia left no +will, or none in my favor, you may be sure; and by her father's will, if +she dies intestate or without children, his property goes to build +almshouses, or some confounded nonsense, in Melbourne. All she bequeaths +to me is this ring, which I gave to her on our wedding-day, curse her!"</p> + +<p>He held out his hand, on the little finger of which shone a diamond, +which might, as far as I knew, be the one I had once seen in Olivia's +possession.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you do not know," he continued, "that it was on this very +point, the making of her will, or securing her property to me in some +way, that my wife took offence and ran away from me. Carry was just a +little too hard upon her, and I was away in Paris. But consider, I +expected to be left penniless, just as you see me left, and Carry was +determined to prevent it."</p> + +<p>"Then you are sure of her death?" I said.</p> + +<p>"So sure," he replied, calmly, "that we were married the next day. +Olivia's letter to me, as well as those papers, was conclusive of her +identity. Will you like to see it?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foster gave me a slip of paper, on which were written a few lines. +The words looked faint, and grew paler as I read them. They were without +doubt Olivia's writing:</p> + +<p>"I know that, you are poor, and I send you all I can spare—the ring you +once gave to me. I am even poorer than yourself, but I have just enough +for my last necessities. I forgive you, as I trust that God forgives +me."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There was no more to be said or done. Conviction had been brought home +to me. I rose to take my leave, and Foster held out his hand to me, +perhaps with a kindly intention. Olivia's ring was glittering on it, and +I could not take it into mine.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," he said, "I understand; I am sorry for you. Come again, +Dr. Martin Dobrée. If you know of any remedy for my ease, you are no +true man if you do not try it."</p> + +<p>I went down the narrow staircase, closely followed by Mrs. Foster. Her +face had lost its gayety and boldness, and looked womanly and careworn, +as she laid her hand upon my arm before opening the house-door.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, come again," she said, "if you can do any thing for +him! We have money left yet, and I am earning more every day. We can pay +you well. Promise me you will come again."</p> + +<p>"I can promise nothing to-night," I answered.</p> + +<p>"You shall not go till you promise," she said, emphatically.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I promise," I answered, and she unfastened the chain almost +noiselessly, and opened the door into the street.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_THIRTY_NINTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-NINTH.</h2> + +<p>SAD SEWS.</p> +<br /> + +<p>A fine, drizzling rain was falling; I was just conscious of it as an +element of discomfort, but it did not make me quicken my steps. I +wanted no rapidity of motion now. There was nothing to be done, nothing +to look forward to, nothing to flee away from. Olivia was dead!</p> + +<p>I had said the same thing again and again to myself, that Olivia was +dead to me; but at this moment I learned how great a difference there +was between the words as a figure of speech and as a terrible reality. I +could no longer think of her as treading the same earth—the same +streets, perhaps; speaking the same language; seeing the same daylight +as myself. I recalled her image, as I had seen her last in Sark; and +then I tried to picture her white face, with lips and eyes closed +forever, and the awful chill of death resting upon her. It seemed +impossible; yet the cuckoo-cry went on in my brain, "Olivia is dead—is +dead!"</p> + +<p>I reached home just as Jack was coming in from his evening amusement. He +let me in with his latch-key, giving me a cheery greeting; but as soon +as we had entered the dining-room, and he saw my face, he exclaimed. +"Good Heavens! Martin, what has happened to you?"</p> + +<p>"Olivia is dead," I answered.</p> + +<p>His arm was about my neck in a moment, for we were like boys together +still, when we were alone. He knew all about Olivia, and he waited +patiently till I could put my tidings into words.</p> + +<p>"It must be true," he said, though in a doubtful tone; "the scoundrel +would not have married again if he had not sufficient proof."</p> + +<p>"She must have died very soon after my mother," I answered, "and I never +knew it!"</p> + +<p>"It's strange!" he said. "I wonder she never got anybody to write to you +or Tardif."</p> + +<p>There was no way of accounting for that strange silence toward us. We +sat talking in short, broken sentences, while Jack smoked a cigar; but +we could come to no conclusion about it. It was late when we parted, and +I went to bed, but not to sleep.</p> + +<p>For as soon as the room was quite dark, visions of Olivia haunted me. +Phantasms of her followed one another rapidly through my brain. She had +died, so said the certificate, of inflammation of the lungs, after an +illness of ten days. I felt myself bound to go through every stage of +her illness, dwelling upon all her sufferings, and thinking of her as +under careless or unskilled attendance, with no friend at hand to take +care of her. She ought not to have died, with her perfect constitution. +If I had been there she should not have died.</p> + +<p>About four o'clock Jack tapped softly upon the wall between our +bedrooms—it was a signal we had used when we were boys—as though to +inquire if I was all right; but it was quiet enough not to wake me if I +were asleep. It seemed like the friendly "Ahoy!" from a boat floating on +the same dark sea. Jack was lying awake, thinking of me as I was +thinking of Olivia. There was something so consolatory in this sympathy +that I fell asleep while dwelling upon it.</p> + +<p>Upon going downstairs in the morning I found that Jack was already off, +having left a short note for me, saving he would visit my patients that +day. I had scarcely begun breakfast when the servant announced "a lady," +and as the lady followed close upon his heels, I saw behind his shoulder +the familiar face of Johanna, looking extremely grave. She was soon +seated beside me, watching me with something of the tender, wistful gaze +of my mother. Her eyes were of the same shape and color, and I could +hardly command myself to speak calmly.</p> + +<p>"Your friend Dr. John Senior called upon us a short time since," she +said; "and told us this sad, sad news."</p> + +<p>I nodded silently.</p> + +<p>"If we had only known it yesterday," she continued, "you would never +have heard what we then said. This makes so vast a difference. Julia +could not have become your wife while there was another woman living +whom you loved more. You understand her feeling?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said; "Julia is right."</p> + +<p>"My brother and I have been talking about the change this will make," +she resumed. "He would not rob you of any consolation or of any future +happiness; not for worlds. He relinquishes all claim to or hope of +Julia's affection—"</p> + +<p>"That would be unjust to Julia," I interrupted. "She must not be +sacrificed to me any longer. I do not suppose I shall ever marry—"</p> + +<p>"You must marry, Martin," she interrupted in her turn, and speaking +emphatically; "you are altogether unfitted for a bachelor's life. It is +all very well for Dr. John Senior, who has never known a woman's +companionship, and who can do without it. But it is misery to you—this +cold, colorless life. No. Of all the men I ever knew, you are the least +fitted for a single life."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I am," I admitted, as I recalled my longing for some sign of +womanhood about our bachelor dwelling.</p> + +<p>"I am certain of it," she said. "Now, but for our precipitation last +night, you would have gone naturally to Julia for comfort. So my brother +sends word that he is going back to Guernsey to-night, leaving us in +Hanover Street, where we are close to you. We have said nothing to Julia +yet. She is crying over this sad news—mourning for your sorrow. You +know that my brother has not spoken directly to Julia of his love; and +now all that is in the past, and is to be as if it had never been, and +we go on exactly as if we had not had that conversation yesterday."</p> + +<p>"But that cannot be," I remonstrated. "I cannot consent to Julia wasting +her love and time upon me. I assure you most solemnly I shall never +marry my cousin now."</p> + +<p>"You love her?" said Johanna.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," I answered, "as my sister."</p> + +<p>"Better than any woman now living?" she pursued.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied.</p> + +<p>"That is all Julia requires," she continued; "so let us say no more at +present, Martin. Only understand that all idea of marriage between her +and my brother is quite put away. Don't argue with me, don't contradict +me. Come to see us as you would have done but for that unfortunate +conversation last night. All will come right by-and-by."</p> + +<p>"But Captain Carey—" I began.</p> + +<p>"There! not a word!" she interrupted imperatively. "Tell me all about +that wretch, Richard Foster. How did you come across him? Is he likely +to die? Is he any thing like Kate Daltrey?—I will never call her Kate +Dobrée as long as the world lasts. Come, Martin, tell me every thing +about him."</p> + +<p>She sat with me most of the morning, talking with animated perseverance, +and at last prevailed upon me to take her a walk in Hyde Park. Her +pertinacity did me good in spite of the irritation it caused me. When +her dinner-hour was at hand I felt bound to attend her to her house in +Hanover Street; and I could not get away from her without first speaking +to Julia. Her face was very sorrowful, and her manner sympathetic. We +said only a few words to one another, but I went away with the +impression that her heart was still with me.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FORTIETH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FORTIETH.</h2> + +<p>A TORMENTING DOUBT.</p> +<br /> + +<p>At dinner Jack announced his intention of paying a visit to Richard +Foster.</p> + +<p>"You are not fit to deal with the fellow," he said; "you may be sharp +enough upon your own black sheep in Guernsey, but you know nothing of +the breed here. Now, if I see him, I will squeeze out of him every +mortal thing he knows about Olivia. Where did those papers come from?"</p> + +<p>"There was no place given," I answered.</p> + +<p>"But there would be a post-mark on the envelop," he replied; "I will +make him show me the envelop they were in."</p> + +<p>"Jack," I said, "you do not suppose he has any doubt of her death?"</p> + +<p>"I can't say," he answered. "You see he has married again, and if she +were not dead that would be bigamy—an ugly sort of crime. But are you +sure they are married?"</p> + +<p>"How can I be sure?" I asked fretfully, for grief as often makes men +fretful as illness. "I did not ask for their marriage-certificate."</p> + +<p>"Well, well! I will go," he answered.</p> + +<p>I awaited his return with impatience. With this doubt insinuated by +Jack, it began to seem almost incredible that Olivia's exquisitely +healthy frame should have succumbed suddenly under a malady to which she +had no predisposition whatever. Moreover, her original soundness of +constitution had been strengthened by ten months' residence in the pure, +bracing air of Sark. Yet what was I to think in face of those undated +documents, and of her own short letter to her husband? The one I knew +was genuine; why should I suppose the others to be forged? And if +forgeries, who had been guilty of such a cruel and crafty artifice, and +for what purpose?</p> + +<p>I had not found any satisfactory answer to these queries before Jack +returned, his face kindled with excitement. He caught my hand, and +grasped it heartily.</p> + +<p>"I no more believe she is dead than I am," were his first words. "You +recollect me telling you of a drunken brawl in a street off the Strand, +where a fellow, as drunk as a lord, was for claiming a pretty girl as +his wife; only I had followed her out of Ridley's agency-office, and was +just in time to protect her from him—a girl I could have fallen in love +with myself. You recollect?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," I said, almost breathless.</p> + +<p>"He was the man, and Olivia was the girl!" exclaimed Jack.</p> + +<p>"No!" I cried.</p> + +<p>"Yes!" continued Jack, with an affectionate lunge at me; "at any rate I +can swear he is the man; and I would bet a thousand to one that the girl +was Olivia."</p> + +<p>"But when was it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Since he married again," he answered; "they were married on the 2d of +October, and this was early in November. I had gone to Ridley's after a +place for a poor fellow as an assistant to a druggist; and I saw the +girl distinctly. She gave the name of Ellen Martineau. Those letters +about her death are all forgeries."</p> + +<p>"Olivia's is not," I said; "I know her handwriting too well."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," observed Jack, "there is only one explanation. She has +sent them herself to throw Foster off the scent; she thinks she will be +safe if he believes her dead."</p> + +<p>"No," I answered, hotly, "she would never have done such a thing as +that."</p> + +<p>"Who else is benefited by it?" he asked, gravely. "It does not put +Foster into possession of any of her property; or that would have been a +motive for him to do it. But he gains nothing by it; and he is so +convinced of her death that he has married a second wife."</p> + +<p>It was difficult to hit upon any other explanation; yet I could not +credit this one. I felt firmly convinced that Olivia could not be guilty +of an artifice so cunning. I was deceived in her indeed if she would +descend to any fraud so cruel. But I could not discuss the question even +with Jack Senior. Tardif was the only person who knew Olivia well enough +to make his opinion of any value. Besides, my mind was not as clear as +Jack's that she was the girl he had seen in November. Yet the doubt of +her death was full of hope; it made the earth more habitable, and life +more endurable.</p> + +<p>"What can I do now?" I said, speaking aloud, though I was thinking to +myself.</p> + +<p>"Martin," he replied, gravely, "isn't it wisest to leave the matter as +it stands? If you find Olivia, what then? she is as much separated from +you as she can be by death. So long as Foster lives, it is worse than +useless to be thinking of her. There is no misery like that of hanging +about a woman you have no right to love."</p> + +<p>"I only wish to satisfy myself that she is alive," I answered. "Just +think of it, Jack, not to know whether she is living or dead! You must +help me to satisfy myself. Foster has got the only valuable thing she +had in her possession, and if she is living she may be in absolute want. +I cannot be contented with that dread on my mind. There can be no harm +in my taking some care of her at a distance. This mystery would be +intolerable to me."</p> + +<p>"You're right, old fellow," he said, cordially; "we will go to Ridley's +together to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>We were there soon after the doors were open. There were not many +clients present, and the clerks were enjoying a slack time. Jack had +recalled to his mind the exact date of his former visit; and thus the +sole difficulty was overcome. The clerk found the name of Ellen +Martineau entered under that date in his book.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "Miss Ellen Martineau, English teacher in a French +school; premium to be paid, about 10 Pounds; no salary; reference, Mrs. +Wilkinson, No. 19 Bellringer Street."</p> + +<p>"No. 19 Bellringer Street!" we repeated in one breath.</p> + +<p>"Yes, gentlemen, that is the address," said the clerk, closing the book. +"Shall I write it down for you? Mrs. Wilkinson was the party who should +have paid our commission; as you perceive, a premium was required +instead of a salary given. We feel pretty sure the young lady went to +the school, but Mrs. Wilkinson denies it, and it is not worth our while +to pursue our claim in law."</p> + +<p>"Can you describe the young lady?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Well, no. We have such hosts of young ladies here. But she was pretty, +decidedly pretty; she made that impression upon me, at least. We are too +busy to take particular notice; but I should know her again if she came +in. I think she would have been here again, before this, if she had not +got that engagement."</p> + +<p>"Do you know where the school is?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No. Mrs. Wilkinson was the party," he said. "We had nothing to do with +it, except send any ladies to her who thought it worth their while. That +was all."</p> + +<p>As we could obtain no further information, we went away, and paced up +and down the tolerably quiet street, deep in consultation. That we +should have need for great caution, and as much craftiness as we both +possessed, in pursuing our inquiries at No. 19 Bellringer Street, was +quite evident. Who could be this unknown Mrs. Wilkinson? Was it possible +that she might prove to be Mrs. Foster herself? At any rate, it would +not do for either of us to present ourselves there in quest of Miss +Ellen Martineau. It was finally settled between us that Johanna should +be intrusted with the diplomatic enterprise. There was not much chance +that Mrs. Foster would know her by sight, though she had been in +Guernsey; and it would excite less notice for a lady to be inquiring +after Olivia. We immediately turned our steps toward Hanover Street, +where we found her and Julia seated at some fancy-work in their sombre +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Julia received me with a little embarrassment, but conquered it +sufficiently to give me a warm pressure of the hand, and to whisper in +my ear that Johanna had told her every thing. Unluckily, Johanna herself +knew nothing of our discovery the night before. I kept Julia's hand in +mine, and looked steadily into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"My dear Julia," I said, "we bring strange news. We have reason to +believe that Olivia is not dead, but that something underhand is going +on, which we cannot yet make out."</p> + +<p>Julia's face grew crimson, but I would not let her draw her hand away +from my clasp. I held it the more firmly; and, as Jack was busy talking +to Johanna, I continued speaking to her in a lowered tone.</p> + +<p>"My dear," I said, "you have been as true, and faithful, and generous a +friend as any man ever had. But this must not go on, for your own sake. +You fancied you loved me, because every one about us wished it to be so; +but I cannot let you waste your life on me. Speak to me exactly as your +brother. Do you believe you could be really happy with Captain Carey?"</p> + +<p>"Arthur is so good," she murmured, "and he is so fond of me."</p> + +<p>I had never heard her call him Arthur before. The elder members of our +Guernsey circle called him by his Christian name, but to us younger ones +he had always been Captain Carey. Julia's use of it was more eloquent +than many phrases. She had grown into the habit of calling him +familiarly by it.</p> + +<p>"Then, Julia," I said, "what folly it would be for you to sacrifice +yourself to a false notion of faithfulness! I could not accept such a +sacrifice. Think no more of me or my happiness."</p> + +<p>"But my poor aunt was so anxious for you to have a home of your own," +she said, sobbing, "and I do love you dearly. Now you will never marry. +I know you will not, if you can have neither Olivia nor me for your +wife."</p> + +<p>"Very likely," I answered, trying to laugh away her agitation; "I shall +be in love with two married women instead. How shocking that will sound +in Guernsey! But I'm not afraid that Captain Carey will forbid me his +house."</p> + +<p>"How little we thought!" exclaimed Julia. I knew very well what her mind +had gone back to—the days when she and I and my mother were furnishing +and settling the house that would now become Captain Carey's home.</p> + +<p>"Then it is all settled," I said, "and I shall write to him by +to-night's post, inviting him back again—that is, if he really left you +last night."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied; "he would not stay a day longer."</p> + +<p>Her face had grown calm as we talked together. A scarcely perceptible +smile was lurking about her lips, as if she rejoiced that her suspense +was over. There was something very like a pang in the idea of some one +else filling the place I had once fully occupied in her heart; but the +pain was unworthy of me. I drove it away by throwing myself heart and +soul into the mystery which hung over the fate of Olivia.</p> + +<p>"We have hit upon a splendid plan," said Jack: "Miss Carey will take +Simmons's cab to Bellringer Street, and reach the house about the same +time as I visit Foster. That is for me to be at hand if she should need +any protection, you know. I shall stay up-stairs with Foster till I +hear the cab drive off again, and it will wait for me at the corner of +Dawson Street. Then we will come direct here, and tell you every thing +at once. Of course, Miss Dobrée will wish to hear it all."</p> + +<p>"Cannot I go with Johanna?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No," I said, hastily; "it is very probable Mrs. Foster knows you by +sight, though she is less likely to know Johanna. I fancy Mrs. Wilkinson +will turn out to be Mrs. Foster herself. Yet why they should spirit +Olivia away into a French school, and pretend that she is dead, I cannot +see."</p> + +<p>Nor could any one of the others see the reason. But as the morning was +fast waning away, and both Jack and I were busy, we were compelled to +close the discussion, and, with our minds preoccupied to a frightful +extent, make those calls upon our patients which were supposed to be in +each case full of anxious and particular thought for the ailments we +were attempting to alleviate.</p> + +<p>Upon meeting again for a few minutes at luncheon, we made a slight +change in our plan; for we found a note from Foster awaiting me, in +which he requested me to visit him in the future, instead of Dr. John +Senior, as he felt more confidence in my knowledge of his malady.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_FIRST'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIRST.</h2> + +<p>MARTIN DOBRÉE'S PLEDGE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I followed Simmons's cab up Bellringer Street, and watched Johanna +alight and enter the house. The door was scarcely closed upon her when I +rang, and asked the slatternly drudge of a servant if I could see Mr. +Foster. She asked me to go up to the parlor on the second floor, and I +went alone, with little expectation of finding Mrs. Foster there, unless +Johanna was there also, in which case I was to appear as a stranger to +her.</p> + +<p>The parlor looked poorer and shabbier by daylight than at night. There +was not a single element of comfort in it. The curtains hung in rags +about a window begrimed with soot and smoke. The only easy-chair was the +one occupied by Foster, who himself looked as shabby and worn as the +room. The cuffs and collar of his shirt were yellow and tattered; his +hair hung long and lank; and his skin had a sallow, unwholesome tint. +The diamond ring upon his finger was altogether out of keeping with his +threadbare coat, buttoned up to the chin, as if there were no waistcoat +beneath it. From head to foot he looked a broken-down, seedy fellow, yet +still preserving some lingering traces of the gentleman. This was +Olivia's husband!</p> + +<p>A good deal to my surprise, I saw Mrs. Foster seated quietly at a table +drawn close to the window, very busily writing—engrossing, as I could +see, for some miserable pittance a page. She must have had some +considerable practice in the work, for it was done well, and her pen ran +quickly over the paper. A second chair left empty opposite to her showed +that Foster had been engaged at the same task, before he heard my step +on the stairs. He looked weary, and I could not help feeling something +akin to pity for him. I did not know that they had come down as low as +that.</p> + +<p>"I did not expect you to come before night," he said, testily; "I like +to have some idea when my medical attendant is coming."</p> + +<p>"I was obliged to come now," I answered, offering no other apology. The +man irritated me more than any other person that had ever come across +me. There was something perverse and splenetic in every word he uttered, +and every expression upon his face.</p> + +<p>"I do not like your partner," he said; "don't send him again. He knows +nothing about his business."</p> + +<p>He spoke with all the haughtiness of a millionnaire to a country +practitioner. I could hardly refrain from smiling as I thought of Jack's +disgust and indignation.</p> + +<p>"As for that," I replied, "most probably neither of us will visit you +again. Dr. Lowry will return to-morrow, and you will be in his hands +once more."</p> + +<p>"No!" he cried, with a passionate urgency in his tone—"no, Martin +Dobrée; you said if any man in London could cure me, it was yourself. I +cannot leave myself in any other hands. I demand from you the fulfilment +of your words. If what you said is true, you can no more leave me to the +care of another physician, than you could leave a fellow-creature to +drown without doing your utmost to save him. I refuse to be given up to +Dr. Lowry."</p> + +<p>"But it is by no means a parallel ease," I argued; "you were under his +treatment before, and I have no reason whatever to doubt his skill. Why +should you feel safer in my hands than in his?"</p> + +<p>"Well!" he said, with a sneer, "if Olivia were alive, I dare scarcely +have trusted you, could I? But you have nothing to gain by my death, you +know; and I have so much faith in you, in your skill, and your honor, +and your conscientiousness—if there be any such qualities in the +world—that I place myself unfalteringly under your professional care. +Shake hands upon it, Martin Dobrée."</p> + +<p>In spite of my repugnance, I could not resist taking his offered hand. +His eyes were fastened upon me with something of the fabled fascination +of a serpent's. I knew instinctively that he would have the power, and +use it, of probing every wound he might suspect in me to the quick. Yet +he interested me; and there was something not entirely repellent to me +about him. Above all for Olivia's sake, should we find her still living, +I was anxious to study his character. It might happen, as it does +sometimes, that my honor and straight-forwardness might prove a match +for his crafty shrewdness.</p> + +<p>"There," he said, exultantly, "Martin Dobrée pledges himself to cure +me.—Carry, you are the witness of it. If I die, he has been my assassin +as surely as if he had plunged a stiletto into me."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" I answered; "it is not in my power to heal or destroy. I +simply pledge myself to use every means I know of for your recovery."</p> + +<p>"Which comes to the same thing," he replied; "for, mark you, I will be +the most careful patient you ever had. There should be no chance for +you, even if Olivia were alive."</p> + +<p>Always harping on that one string. Was it nothing more than a lore of +torturing some one that made him reiterate those words? Or did he wish +to drive home more deeply the conviction that she was indeed dead?</p> + +<p>"Have you communicated the intelligence of her death to her trustee in +Australia?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No; why should I?" he said, "no good would come of it to me. Why should +I trouble myself about it?"</p> + +<p>"Nor to your step-sister?" I added.</p> + +<p>"To Mrs. Dobrée?" he rejoined; "no, it does not signify a straw to her +either. She holds herself aloof from me now, confound her! You are not +on very good terms with her yourself, I believe?"</p> + +<p>"The cab was still standing at the door, and I could not leave before it +drove away, or I should have made my visit a short one. Mrs. Foster was +glancing through the window from time to time, evidently on the watch to +see the visitor depart. Would she recognize Johanna? She had stayed some +weeks in Guernsey; and Johanna was a fine, stately-looking woman, +noticeable among strangers. I must do something to get her away from her +post of observation.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Foster," I said, and her eyes sparkled at the sound of her name, +"I should be exceedingly obliged to you if you will give me another +sight of those papers you showed to me the last time I was here."</p> + +<p>She was away for a few minutes, and I heard the cab drive off before she +returned. That was the chief point gained. When the papers were in my +hand, I just glanced at them, and that was all.</p> + +<p>"Have you any idea where they came from?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"There is the London post-mark on the envelop," answered Foster.—"Show +it to him, Carry. There is nothing to be learned from that."</p> + +<p>"No," I said, comparing the handwriting on the envelop with the letter, +and finding them the same. "Well, good-by! I cannot often pay you as +long a visit as this."</p> + +<p>I hurried off quickly to the corner of Dawson Street, where Johanna was +waiting for me. She looked exceedingly contented when I took my seat +beside her in the cab.</p> + +<p>"Well, Martin," she said, "you need suffer no more anxiety. Olivia has +gone as English teacher in an excellent French school, where the lady is +thoroughly acquainted with English ways and comforts. This is the +prospectus of the establishment. You see there are 'extensive grounds +for recreation, and the comforts of a cheerfully happy home, the +domestic arrangements being on a thoroughly liberal scale.' Here is also +a photographic view of the place: a charming villa, you see, in the best +French style. The lady's husband is an <i>avocat</i>; and every thing is +taught by professors—cosmography and pedagogy, and other studies of +which we never heard when I was a girl. Olivia is to stay there twelve +months, and in return for her services will take lessons from any +professors attending the establishment. Your mind may be quite at ease +now."</p> + +<p>"But where is the place?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Oh! it is in Normandy—Noireau," she said—"quite out of the range of +railways and tourists. There will be no danger of any one finding her +out there; and you know she has changed her name altogether this time."</p> + +<p>"Did you discover that Olivia and Ellen Martineau are the same persons?" +I asked.</p> + +<p>An expression of bewilderment and consternation came across her +contented face.</p> + +<p>"No, I did not," she answered; "I thought you were sure of that."</p> + +<p>But I was not sure of it; neither could Jack be sure. He puzzled himself +in trying to give a satisfactory description of his Ellen Martineau; but +every answer he gave to my eager questions plunged us into greater +uncertainty. He was not sure of the color either of her hair or eyes, +and made blundering guesses at her height. The chief proof we had of +Olivia's identity was the drunken claim made upon Ellen Martineau by +Foster, a month after he had received convincing proof that she was +dead. What was I to believe?</p> + +<p>It was running too great a risk to make any further inquiries at No. 19 +Bellringer Street. Mrs. Wilkinson was the landlady of the lodging-house, +and she had told Johanna that Madame Perrier boarded with her when she +was in London. But she might begin to talk to her other lodgers, if her +own curiosity were excited; and once more my desire to fathom the +mystery hanging about Olivia might plunge her into fresh difficulties, +should they reach the ears of Foster or his wife.</p> + +<p>"I must satisfy myself about her safety now," I said. "Only put yourself +in my place, Jack. How can I rest till I know more about Olivia?"</p> + +<p>"I do put myself in your place," he answered. "What do you say to having +a run down to this place in Basse-Normandie, and seeing for yourself +whether Miss Ellen Martineau is your Olivia?"</p> + +<p>"How can I?" I asked, attempting to hang back from the suggestion. It +was a busy time with us. The season was in full roll, and our most +aristocratic patients were in town. The easterly winds were bringing in +their usual harvest of bronchitis and diphtheria. If I went, Jack's +hands would be more than full. Had these things come to perplex us only +two months earlier, I could have taken a holiday with a clear +conscience.</p> + +<p>"Dad will jump at the chance of coming back for a week," replied Jack; +"he is bored to death down at Fulham. Go you must, for my sake, old +fellow. You are good for nothing as long as you're so down in the mouth. +I shall be glad to be rid of you."</p> + +<p>We shook hands upon that, as warmly as if he had paid me the most +flattering compliments.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_SECOND'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FORTY-SECOND.</h2> + +<p>NOIREAU</p> +<br /> + +<p>In this way it came to pass that two evenings later I was crossing the +Channel to Havre, and found myself about five o'clock in the afternoon +of the next day at Falaise. It was the terminus of the railway in that +direction; and a very ancient conveyance, bearing the name of La Petite +Vitesse, was in waiting to carry on any travellers who were venturesome +enough to explore the regions beyond. There was space inside for six +passengers, but it smelt too musty, and was too full of the fumes of bad +tobacco, for me; and I very much preferred sitting beside the driver, a +red-faced, smooth-cheeked Norman, habited in a blue blouse, who could +crack his long whip with almost the skill of a Parisian omnibus-driver. +We were friends in a trice, for my <i>patois</i> was almost identical with +his own, and he could not believe his own ears that he was talking with +an Englishman.</p> + +<p>"La Petite Vitesse" bore out its name admirably, if it were meant to +indicate exceeding slowness. We never advanced beyond a slow trot, and +at the slightest hint of rising ground the trot slackened into a walk, +and eventually subsided into a crawl. By these means the distance we +traversed was made to seem tremendous, and the drowsy jingle of the +collar-bells, intimating that progress was being accomplished, added to +the delusion. But the fresh, sweet air, blowing over leagues of fields +and meadows, untainted with a breath of smoke, gave me a delicious +tingling in the veins. I had not felt such a glow of exhilaration since +that bright morning when I bad crossed the channel to Sark, to ask +Olivia to become mine.</p> + +<p>The sun sank below the distant horizon, with the trees showing clearly +against it, for the atmosphere was as transparent as crystal; and the +light of the stars that came out one by one almost cast a defined shadow +upon our path, from the poplar-trees standing in long, straight rows in +the hedges. If I found Olivia at the end of that starlit path my +gladness in it would be completed. Yet if I found her, what then? I +should see her for a few minutes in the dull <i>salon</i> of a school perhaps +with some watchful, spying Frenchwoman present. I should simply satisfy +myself that she was living. There could be nothing more between us. I +dare not tell her how dear she was to me, or ask her if she ever thought +of me in her loneliness and friendlessness. I began to wish that I had +brought Johanna with me, who could have taken her in her arms, and +kissed and comforted her. Why had I not thought of that before?</p> + +<p>As we proceeded at our delusive pace along the last stage of our +journey, I began to sound the driver, cautiously wheeling about the +object of my excursion into those remote regions. I had tramped through +Normandy and Brittany three or four times, but there had been no +inducement to visit Noireau, which resembled a Lancashire cotton-town, +and I had never been there.</p> + +<p>"There are not many English at Noireau?" I remarked, suggestively.</p> + +<p>"Not one," he replied—"not one at this moment. There was one little +English mam'zelle—peste!—a very pretty little English girl, who was +voyaging precisely like you, m'sieur, some months ago. There was a +little child with her, and the two were quite alone. They are very +intrepid, are the English mam'zelles. She did not know a word of our +language. But that was droll, m'sieur! A French demoiselle would never +voyage like that."</p> + +<p>The little child puzzled me. Yet I could not help fancying that this +young Englishwoman travelling alone, with no knowledge of French, must +be my Olivia. At any rate it could be no other than Miss Ellen +Martineau.</p> + +<p>"Where was she going to?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"She came to Noireau to be an instructress in an establishment," +answered the driver, in a tone of great enjoyment—"an establishment +founded by the wife of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the avocat! He! he! he! +Mon Dieu! how droll that was, m'sieur! An avocat! So they believed that +in England? Bah! Emile Perrier an avocat—mon Dieu!"</p> + +<p>"But what is there to laugh at?" I asked, as the man's laughter rang +through the quiet night.</p> + +<p>"Am I an avocat?" he inquired derisively, "am I a proprietor? am I even +a curé? Pardon, m'sieur, but I am just as much avocat, proprietor, curé, +as Emile Perrier. He was an impostor. He became bankrupt; he and his +wife ran away to save themselves; the establishment was broken up. It +was a bubble, m'sieur, and it burst comme ça."</p> + +<p>My driver clapped his hands together lightly, as though Monsieur +Perrier's bubble needed very little pressure to disperse it.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, "but what became of Oli—of the young +English lady, and the child?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, m'sieur!" he said, "I do not know. I do not live in Noireau, but I +pass to and fro from Falaise in La Petite Vitesse. She has not returned +in my omnibus, that is all I know. But she could go to Granville, or to +Caen. There are other omnibuses, you see. Somebody will tell you down +there."</p> + +<p>For three or four miles before us there lay a road as straight as a +rule, ending in a small cluster of lights glimmering in the bottom of a +valley, into which we were descending with great precaution on the part +of the driver and his team. That was Noireau. But already my +exhilaration was exchanged for profound anxiety. I extorted from the +Norman all the information he possessed concerning the bankrupt; it was +not much, and it only served to heighten my solicitude.</p> + +<p>It was nearly eleven o'clock before we entered the town; but I learned a +few more particulars from the middle-aged woman in the omnibus bureau. +She recollected the name of Miss Ellen Martineau, and her arrival; and +she described her with the accuracy and faithfulness of a woman. If she +were not Olivia herself, she must be her very counterpart. But who was +the child, a girl of nine or ten years of age, who had accompanied her? +It was too late to learn any more about them. The landlady of the hotel +confirmed all I had heard, and added several items of information. +Monsieur Perrier and his wife had imposed upon several English families, +and had succeeded in getting dozens of English pupils, so she assured +me, who had been scattered over the country, Heaven only knew where, +when the school was broken up, about a month ago.</p> + +<p>I started out early the next morning to find the Rue de Grâce, where the +inscription on my photographic view of the premises represented them as +situated. The town was in the condition of a provincial town in England +about a century ago. The streets were as dirty as the total absence of +drains and scavengers could make them, and the cleanest path was up the +kennel in the centre. The filth of the houses was washed down into them +by pipes, with little cisterns at each story, and under almost every +window. There were many improprieties, and some indecencies, shocking to +English sensibilities. In the Rue de Grâce I saw two nuns in their hoods +and veils, unloading a cart full of manure. A ladies' school for English +people in a town like this seemed ridiculous.</p> + +<p>There was no difficulty in finding the houses in my photographic view. +There were two of them, one standing in the street, the other lying back +beyond a very pleasant garden. A Frenchman was pacing up and down the +broad gravel-path which connected them, smoking a cigar, and examining +critically the vines growing against the walls. Two little children were +gambolling about in close white caps, and with frocks down to their +heels. Upon seeing me, he took his cigar from his lips with two fingers +of one hand, and lifted his hat with the other. I returned the +salutation with a politeness as ceremonious as his own.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur is an Englishman?" he said, in a doubtful tone.</p> + +<p>"From the Channel Islands," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Ah! you belong to us," he said, "but you are hybrid, half English, half +French; a fine race. I also have English blood in my veins."</p> + +<p>I paid monsieur a compliment upon the result of the admixture of blood +in his own instance, and then proceeded to unfold my object in visiting +him.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he said, "yes, yes, yes; Perrier was an impostor. These houses are +mine, monsieur. I live in the front, yonder; my daughter and son-in-law +occupy the other. We had the photographs taken for our own pleasure, but +Perrier must have bought them from the artist, no doubt. I have a small +cottage at the back of my house; voilà, monsieur! there it is. Perrier +rented it from me for two hundred francs a year. I permitted him to pass +along this walk, and through our coach-house into a passage which leads +to the street where madame had her school. Permit me, and I will show it +to you."</p> + +<p>He led me through a shed, and along a dirty, vaulted passage, into a +mean street at the back. A small, miserable-looking house stood in it, +shut up, with broken <i>persiennes</i> covering the windows. My heart sank at +the idea of Olivia living here, in such discomfort, and neglect, and +sordid poverty.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see a young English lady here, monsieur?" I asked; "she +arrived about the beginning of last November."</p> + +<p>"But yes, certainly, monsieur," he replied, "a charming English +demoiselle! One must have been blind not to observe her. A face sweet +and <i>gracieuse</i>; with hair of gold, but a little more sombre. Yes, yes! +The ladies might not admire her, but we others—"</p> + +<p>He laughed, and shrugged his shoulders in a detestable manner.</p> + +<p>"What height was she, monsieur?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"A just height," he answered, "not tall like a camel, nor too short like +a monkey. She would stand an inch or two above your shoulder, monsieur."</p> + +<p>It could be no other than my Olivia! She had been living here, then, in +this miserable place, only a month ago; but where could she be now? How +was I to find any trace of her?</p> + +<p>"I will make some inquiries from my daughter," said the Frenchman; "when +the establishment was broken up I was ill with the fever, monsieur. We +have fever often here. But she will know—I will ask her."</p> + +<p>He returned to me after some time, with the information that the English +demoiselle had been seen in the house of a woman who sold milk, +Mademoiselle Rosalie by name; and he volunteered to accompany me to her +dwelling.</p> + +<p>It was a poor-looking house, of one room only, in the same street as the +school; but we found no one there except an old woman, exceedingly deaf, +who told us, after much difficulty in making her understand our object, +that Mademoiselle Rosalie was gone somewhere to nurse a relative, who +was dangerously ill. She had not had any cows of her own, and she had +easily disposed of her small business to this old woman and her +daughter. Did the messieurs want any milk for their families? No. Well, +then, she could not tell us any thing more about Mam'zelle Rosalie; and +she knew nothing of an Englishwoman and a little girl.</p> + +<p>I turned away baffled and discouraged; but my new friend was not so +quickly depressed. It was impossible, he maintained, that the English +girl and the child could have left the town unnoticed. He went with me +to all the omnibus bureaus, where we made urgent inquiries concerning +the passengers who had quitted Noireau during the last month. No places +had been taken for Miss Ellen Martineau and the child, for there was no +such name in any of the books. But at each bureau I was recommended to +see the drivers upon their return in the evening; and I was compelled to +give up the pursuit for that day.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_THIRD'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FORTY-THIRD.</h2> + +<p>A SECOND PURSUER.</p> +<br /> + +<p>No wonder there was fever in the town, I thought, as I picked my way +among the heaps of garbage and refuse lying out in the streets. The most +hideous old women I ever saw, wrinkled over every inch of their skin, +blear-eyed, and with eyelids reddened by smoke, met me at each turn. +Sallow weavers, in white caps, gazed out at me from their looms in +almost every house. There was scarcely a child to be seen about. The +whole district, undrained and unhealthy, bears the name of the +"Manufactory of Little Angels," from the number of children who die +there. And this was the place where Olivia had been spending a very hard +and severe winter!</p> + +<p>There was going to be a large cattle-fair the next day, and all the town +was alive. Every inn in the place was crowded to overflowing. As I sat +at the window of my <i>café</i>, watching the picturesque groups which formed +in the street outside, I heard a vehement altercation going on in the +archway, under which was the entrance to my hotel.</p> + +<p>"Grands Dieux!" cried the already familiar voice of my landlady, shrill +as the cackling of a hen—"grands Dieux! not a single soul from +Ville-en-bois can rest here, neither man nor woman! They have the fever +like a pest there. No, no, m'sieur, that is impossible; go away, you and +your beast. There is room at the Lion d'or. But the gensdarmes should +not let you enter the town. We have fever enough of our own."</p> + +<p>"But my farm is a league from Ville-en-bois," was the answer, in the +slow, rugged accents of a Norman peasant.</p> + +<p>"But I tell you it is impossible,'" she retorted; "I have an Englishman +here, very rich, a milor, and he will not hear of any person from +Ville-en-bois resting in the house. Go away to the Lion d'or, my good +friend, where there are no English. They are as afraid of the fever as +of the devil."</p> + +<p>I laughed to myself at my landlady's ingenious excuses; but after this +the conversation fell into a lower key, and I heard no more of it.</p> + +<p>I went out late in the evening to question each of the omnibus—drivers, +but in vain. Whether they were too busy to give me proper attention, or +too anxious to join the stir and mirth of the townspeople, they all +declared they knew nothing of any Englishwoman. As I returned dejectedly +to my inn, I heard a lamentable voice, evidently English, bemoaning in +doubtful French. The omnibus from Falaise had just come in, and under +the lamp in the entrance of the archway stood a lady before my hostess, +who was volubly asserting that there was no room left in her house. I +hastened to the assistance of my countrywoman, and the light of the lamp +falling full upon her face revealed to me who she was.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Foster!" I exclaimed, almost shouting her name in my astonishment. +She looked ready to faint with fatigue and dismay, and she laid her hand +heavily on my arm, as if to save herself from sinking to the ground.</p> + +<p>"Have you found her?" she asked, involuntarily.</p> + +<p>"Not a trace of her," I answered.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foster broke into an hysterical laugh, which was very quickly +followed by sobs. I had no great difficulty in persuading the landlady +to find some accommodation for her, and then I retired to my own room to +smoke in peace, and turn over the extraordinary meeting which had been +the last incident of the day.</p> + +<p>It required very little keenness to come to the conclusion that the +Fosters had obtained their information concerning Miss Ellen Martineau, +where we had got ours, from Mrs. Wilkinson. Also that Mrs. Foster had +lost no time in following up the clew, for she was only twenty-four +hours behind me. She had looked thoroughly astonished and dismayed when +she saw me there; so she had had no idea that I was on the same track. +But nothing could be more convincing than this journey of hers that +neither she nor Foster really believed in Olivia's death. That was as +clear as day. But what explanation could I give to myself of those +letters, of Olivia's above all? Was it possible that she had caused them +to be written, and sent to her husband? I could not even admit such a +question, without a sharp sense of disappointment in her.</p> + +<p>I saw Mrs. Foster early in the morning, somewhat as a truce-bearer may +meet another on neutral ground. She was grateful to me for my +interposition in her behalf the night before; and, as I knew Ellen +Martineau to be safely out of the way, I was inclined to be tolerant +toward her. I assured her, upon my honor, that I had failed in +discovering any trace of Olivia in Noireau, and I told her all I had +learned about the bankruptcy of Monsieur Perrier, and the scattering of +the school.</p> + +<p>"But why should you undertake such a chase?" I asked; "if you and Foster +are satisfied that Olivia is dead, why should you be running after Ellen +Martineau? You show me the papers which seem to prove her death, and now +I find you in this remote part of Normandy, evidently in pursuit of her. +What does this mean?"</p> + +<p>"You are doing the same thing yourself," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied, "because I am not satisfied. But you have proved your +conviction by becoming Richard Foster's second wife."</p> + +<p>"That is the very point," she said, shedding a few tears; "as soon as +ever Mrs. Wilkinson described Ellen Martineau to me, when she was +talking about her visitor who had come to inquire after her, in that cab +which was standing at the door the last time you visited Mr. Foster—and +I had no suspicion of it—I grew quite frightened lest he should ever be +charged with marrying me while she was alive. So I persuaded him to let +me come here and make sure of it, though the journey costs a great deal, +and we have very little money to spare. We did not know what tricks +Olivia might do, and it made me very miserable to think she might be +still alive, and I in her place."</p> + +<p>I could not but acknowledge to myself that there was some reason in Mrs. +Foster's statement of the case.</p> + +<p>"There is not the slightest chance of your finding her," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"Isn't there?" she asked, with an evil gleam in her eyes, which I just +caught before she hid her face again in her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"At any rate," I said, "you would have no power over her if you found +her. You could not take her back with you by force. I do not know how +the French laws would regard Foster's authority, but you can have none +whatever, and he is quite unfit to take this long journey to claim her. +Really I do not see what you can do; and I should think your wisest +plan would be to go back and take care of him, leaving her alone. I am +here to protect her, and I shall stay until I see you fairly out of the +place."</p> + +<p>She did not speak again for some minutes, but she was evidently +reflecting upon what I had just said.</p> + +<p>"But what are we to live upon?" she asked at last; "there is her money +lying in the bank, and neither she nor Richard can touch it. It must be +paid to her personally or to her order; and she cannot prove her +identity herself without the papers Richard holds. It is aggravating. I +am at my wits' end about it."</p> + +<p>"Listen to me," I said. "Why cannot we come to some arrangement, +supposing Ellen Martineau proves to be Olivia? It would be better for +you all to make some division of her property by mutual agreement. You +know best whether Olivia could insist upon a judicial separation. But in +any other case why should not Foster agree to receive half her income, +and leave her free, as free as she can be, with the other half? Surely +some mutual agreement could be made."</p> + +<p>"He would never do it!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands round her +knees, and swaying to and fro passionately; "he never loses any power. +She belongs to him, and he never gives up any thing. He would torment +her almost to death, but he would never let her go free. No, no. You do +not know him, Dr. Martin."</p> + +<p>"Then we will try to get a divorce," I said, looking at her steadily.</p> + +<p>"On what grounds?" she asked, looking at me as steadily.</p> + +<p>I could not and would not enter into the question with her.</p> + +<p>"There has been no personal cruelty on Richard's part toward her," she +resumed, with a half-smile. "It's true I locked her up for a few days +once, but he was in Paris, and had nothing to do with it. You could not +prove a single act of cruelty toward her."</p> + +<p>Still I did not answer, though she paused and regarded me keenly.</p> + +<p>"We were not married till we had reason to believe her dead," she +continued; "there is no harm in that. If she has forged those papers, +she is to blame. We were married openly, in our parish church; what +could be said against that?"</p> + +<p>"Let us return to what I told you at first," I said; "if you find +Olivia, you have no more authority over her than I have. You will be +obliged to return to England alone; and I shall place her in some safe +custody. I shall ascertain precisely how the law stands, both, here and +in England. Now I advise you, for Foster's sake, make as much haste home +as you can; for he will be left without nurse or doctor while we two are +away."</p> + +<p>She sat gnawing her under lip for some minutes, and looking as vicious +as Madam was wont to do in her worst tempers.</p> + +<p>"You will let me make some inquiries to satisfy myself?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," I replied; "you will only discover, as I have, that the +school was broken up a month ago, and Ellen Martineau has disappeared."</p> + +<p>I kept no very strict watch over her during the day, for I felt sure she +would find no trace of Olivia in Noireau. At night I saw her again. She +was worn out and despondent, and declared herself quite ready to return +to Falaise by the omnibus at five o'clock in the morning. I saw her off, +and gave the driver a fee, to bring me word for what town she took her +ticket at the railway-station. When he returned in the evening, he told +me he had himself bought her one for Honfleur, and started her fairly on +her way home.</p> + +<p>As for myself, I had spent the day in making inquiries at the offices of +the <i>octrois</i>—those local custom-houses which stand at every entrance +into a town or village in France, for the gathering of trifling, +vexatious taxes upon articles of food and merchandise. At one of these I +had learned, that, three or four weeks ago, a young Englishwoman with a +little girl had passed by on foot, each carrying a small bundle, which +had not been examined. It was the <i>octroi</i> on the road to Granville, +which was between thirty and forty miles away. From Granville was the +nearest route to the Channel Islands. Was it not possible that Olivia +had resolved to seek refuge there again? Perhaps to seek me! My heart, +bowed down by the sad picture of her and the little child leaving the +town on foot, beat high again at the thought of Olivia in Guernsey.</p> + +<p>I set off for Granville by the omnibus next morning, and made further +inquiries at every village we passed through, whether any thing had been +seen of a young Englishwoman and a little girl. At first the answer was +yes; then it became a matter of doubt; at last everywhere they replied +by a discouraging no. At one point of our journey we passed a +dilapidated sign-post with a rude, black figure of the Virgin hanging +below it. I could just decipher upon one finger of the post, in +half-obliterated letters, "Ville-en-bois." It recurred to me that this +was the place where fever was raging like the pest.</p> + +<p>"It is a poor place," said the driver, disparagingly; "there is nothing +there but the fever, and a good angel of a curé, who is the only doctor +into the bargain. It is two leagues and a kilometre, and it is on the +road to nowhere."</p> + +<p>I could not stop in my quest to turn aside, and visit this village +smitten with fever, though I felt a strong inclination to do so. At +Granville I learned that a young lady and a child had made the voyage to +Jersey a short time before; and I went on with stronger hope. But in +Jersey I could obtain no further information about her; nor in Guernsey, +whither I felt sure Olivia would certainly have proceeded. I took one +day more to cross over to Sark, and consult Tardif; but he knew no more +than I did. He absolutely refused to believe that Olivia was dead.</p> + +<p>"In August," he said, "I shall hear from her. Take courage and comfort. +She promised it, and she will keep her promise. If she had known herself +to be dying, she would have sent me word."</p> + +<p>"It is a long time to wait," I said, with an utter sinking of spirit.</p> + +<p>"It is a long time to wait!" he echoed, lifting up his hands, and +letting them fall again with a gesture of weariness; "but we must wait +and hope."</p> + +<p>To wait in impatience, and to hope at times, and despair at times, I +returned to London.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_FOURTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FORTY-FOURTH.</h2> + +<p>THE LAW OF MARRIAGE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>One of my first proceedings, after my return, was to ascertain how the +English law stood with regard to Olivia's position. Fortunately for me, +one of Dr. Senior's oldest friends was a lawyer of great repute, and he +discussed the question with me after a dinner at his house at Fulham.</p> + +<p>"There seems to be no proof against the husband of any kind," he said, +after I had told him all.</p> + +<p>"Why!" I exclaimed, "here you have a girl, brought up in luxury and +wealth, willing to brave any poverty rather than continue to live with +him."</p> + +<p>"A girl's whim," he said; "mania, perhaps. Is there insanity in her +family?"</p> + +<p>"She is as sane as I am," I answered. "Is there no law to protect a wife +against the companionship of such a woman as this second Mrs. Foster?"</p> + +<p>"The husband introduces her as his cousin," he rejoined, "and places her +in some little authority on the plea that his wife is too young to be +left alone safely in Continental hotels. There is no reasonable +objection to be taken to that."</p> + +<p>"Then Foster could compel her to return to him?" I said.</p> + +<p>"As far as I see into the case, he certainly could," was the answer, +which drove me nearly frantic.</p> + +<p>"But there is this second marriage," I objected.</p> + +<p>"There lies the kernel of the case," he said, daintily peeling his +walnuts. "You tell me there are papers, which you believe to be +forgeries, purporting to be the medical certificate, with corroborative +proof of her death. Now, if the wife be guilty of framing these, the +husband will bring them against her as the grounds on which he felt free +to contract his second marriage. She has done a very foolish and a very +wicked thing there."</p> + +<p>"You think she did it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He smiled significantly, but without saying any thing.</p> + +<p>"I cannot!" I cried.</p> + +<p>"Ah! you are blind," he replied, with the same maddening smile; "but let +me return. On the other hand, <i>if</i> the husband has forged these papers, +it would go far with me as strong presumptive evidence against him, upon +which we might go in for a divorce, not a separation merely. If the +young lady had remained with him till she had collected proof of his +unfaithfulness to her, this, with his subsequent marriage to the same +person during her lifetime, would probably have set her absolutely +free."</p> + +<p>"Divorced from him?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Divorce," he repeated.</p> + +<p>"But what can be done now?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"All you can do," he answered, "is to establish your influence over this +fellow, and go cautiously to work with him. As long as the lady is in +France, if she be alive, and he is too ill to go after her, she is safe. +You may convince him by degrees that it is to his interest to come to +some terms with her. A formal deed of separation might be agreed upon, +and drawn up; but even that will not perfectly secure her in the +future."</p> + +<p>I was compelled to remain satisfied with this opinion. Yet how could I +be satisfied, while Olivia, if she was still living, was wandering about +homeless, and, as I feared, destitute, in a foreign country?</p> + +<p>I made my first call upon Foster the next evening. Mrs. Foster had been +to Brook Street every day since her return, to inquire for me, and to +leave an urgent message that I should go to Bellringer Street as soon as +I was again in town. The lodging-house looked almost as wretched as the +forsaken dwelling down at Noireau, where Olivia had perhaps been living; +and the stifling, musty air inside it almost made me gasp for breath.</p> + +<p>"So you are come back!" was Foster's greeting, as I entered the dingy +room.</p> + +<p>"Yes." I replied.</p> + +<p>"I need not ask what success you've had," he said, sneering, 'Why so +pale and wan, fond lover?' Your trip has not agreed with you, that is +plain enough. It did not agree with Carry, either, for she came back +swearing she would never go on such a wild-goose chase again. You know I +was quite opposed to her going?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said, incredulously. The diamond ring had disappeared from his +finger, and it was easy to guess how the funds had been raised for the +journey.</p> + +<p>"Altogether opposed," he repeated. "I believe Olivia is dead. I am quite +sure she has never been under this roof with me, as Miss Ellen Martineau +has been. I should have known it as surely as ever a tiger scented its +prey. Do you suppose I have no sense keen enough to tell me she was in +the very house where I was?"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" I answered. His eyes glistened cruelly, and made me almost +ready to spring upon him. I could have seized him by the throat and +shaken him to death, in my sudden passion of loathing against him; but I +sat quiet, and ejaculated "Nonsense!" Such power has the spirit of the +nineteenth century among civilized classes.</p> + +<p>"Olivia is dead," he said, in a solemn tone. "I am convinced of that +from another reason: through all the misery of our marriage, I never +knew her guilty of an untruth, not the smallest. She was as true as the +Gospel. Do you think you or Carry could make me believe that she would +trifle with such an awful subject as her own death? No. I would take my +oath that Olivia would never have had that letter sent, or write to me +those few lines of farewell, but to let me know that she was really +dead."</p> + +<p>His voice faltered a little, as though even he were moved by the thought +of her early death. Mrs. Foster glanced at him jealously, and he looked +back at her with a provoking curve about his lips. For the moment there +was more hatred than love in the regards exchanged between them. I saw +it was useless to pursue the subject.</p> + +<p>"Well," I said, "I came to arrange a time for Dr. Lowry to visit you +with me, for the purpose of a thorough examination. It is possible that +Dr. Senior may be induced to join us, though he has retired from +practice. I am anxious for his opinion as well as Lowry's." "You really +wish to cure me?" he answered, raising his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"To be sure," I replied. "I can have no other object in undertaking your +case. Do you imagine it is a pleasure to me? It is possible that your +death would be a greater benefit to the world than your life, but that +is no question for me to decide. Neither is it for me to consider +whether you are my friend or my enemy. There is simply a life to be +saved if possible; whose, is not my business. Do you understand me?"</p> + +<p>"I think so," he said. "I am nothing except material for you to exercise +your craft upon."</p> + +<p>"Precisely," I answered; "that and nothing more. As some writer says, +'It is a mere matter of instinct with me. I attend you just as a +Newfoundland dog saves a drowning man.'"</p> + +<p>I went from him to Hanover Street, where I found Captain Carey, who met +me with the embarrassment and shamefacedness of a young girl. I had not +yet seen them since my return from Normandy. There was much to tell +them, though they already knew that my expedition had failed, and that +it was still doubtful whether Ellen Martineau and Olivia were the same +person.</p> + +<p>Captain Carey walked along the street with me toward home. He had taken +my arm in his most confidential manner, but he did not open his lips +till we reached Brook Street.</p> + +<p>"Martin," he said, "I've turned it over in my own mind, and I agree with +Tardif. Olivia is no more dead than you or me. We shall find out all +about it in August, if not before. Cheer up, my boy! I tell you what: +Julia and I will wait till we are sure about Olivia."</p> + +<p>"No, no," I interrupted; "you and Julia have nothing to do with it. +When is your wedding to be?"</p> + +<p>"If you have no objection," he answered—"have you the least shadow of +an objection?"</p> + +<p>"Not a shadow of a shadow," I said.</p> + +<p>"Well, then," he resumed, bashfully, "what do you think of August? It is +a pleasant month, and would give us time for that trip to Switzerland, +you know. Not any sooner, because of your poor mother; and later, if you +like that better."</p> + +<p>"Not a day later," I said; "my father has been married again these four +months."</p> + +<p>Yet I felt a little sore for my mother's memory. How quickly it was +fading away from every heart but mine! If I could but go to her now, and +pour out all my troubled thoughts into her listening, indulgent ear! Not +even Olivia herself, who could never be to me more than she was at this +moment, could fill her place.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_FIFTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIFTH.</h2> + +<p>FULFILLING THE PLEDGE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>We—that is, Dr. Senior, Lowry, and I—made our examination of Foster, +and held our consultation, three days from that time.</p> + +<p>There was no doubt whatever that he was suffering from the same disease +as that which had been the death of my mother—a disease almost +invariably fatal, sooner or later. A few cases of cure, under most +favorable circumstances, had been reported during the last half-century; +but the chances were dead against Foster's recovery. In all probability, +a long and painful illness, terminating in inevitable death, lay before +him. In the opinion of my two senior physicians, all that I could do +would be to alleviate the worst pangs of it.</p> + +<p>His case haunted me day and night. In that deep under-current of +consciousness which lurks beneath our surface sensations and +impressions, there was always present the image of Foster, with his +pale, cynical face, and pitiless eyes. With this, was the perpetual +remembrance that a subtile malady, beyond the reach of our skill, was +slowly eating away his life. The man I abhorred; but the sufferer, +mysteriously linked with the memories which clung about my mother, +aroused her most urgent, instinctive compassion. Only once before had I +watched the conflict between disease and its remedy with so intense an +interest.</p> + +<p>It was a day or two after our consultation that I came accidentally upon +the little note-book which I had kept in Guernsey—a private note-book, +accessible only to myself. It was night; Jack, as usual, was gone out, +and I was alone. I turned over the leaves merely for listless want of +occupation. All at once I came upon an entry, made in connection with my +mother's illness, which recalled to me the discovery I believed I had +made of a remedy for her disease, had it only been applied in its +earlier stages. It had slipped out of my mind, but now my memory leaped +upon it with irresistible force.</p> + +<p>I must tell the whole truth, however terrible and humiliating it may be. +Whether I had been true or false to myself up to that moment I cannot +say. I had taken upon myself the care, and, if possible, the cure of +this man, who was my enemy, if I had an enemy in the world. His life and +mine could not run parallel without great grief and hurt to me, and to +one dearer than myself. Now that a better chance was thrust upon me in +his favor, I shrank from seizing it with unutterable reluctance. I +turned heart-sick at the thought of it. I tried my utmost to shake off +the grip of my memory. Was it possible that, in the core of my heart, I +wished this man to die?</p> + +<p>Yes, I wished him to die. Conscience flashed the answer across the inner +depths of my soul, as a glare of lightning over the sharp crags and +cruel waves of our island in a midnight storm. I saw with terrible +distinctness that there had been lurking within a sure sense of +satisfaction in the certainty that he must die. I had suspected nothing +of it till that moment. When I told him it was the instinct of a +physician to save his patient, I spoke the truth. But I found something +within me deeper than instinct, that was wailing and watching for the +fatal issue of his malady, with a tranquil security so profound that it +never stirred the surface of my consciousness, or lifted up its ghostly +face to the light of conscience.</p> + +<p>I took up my note-book, and went away to my room, lest Jack should come +in suddenly, and read my secret on my face. I thrust the book into a +drawer in my desk, and locked it away out of my sight. What need had I +to trouble myself with it or its contents? I found a book, one of +Charles Dickens's most amusing stories, and set myself resolutely to +read it; laughing aloud at its drolleries, and reading faster and +faster; while all the time thoughts came crowding into my mind of my +mother's pale, worn face, and the pains she suffered, and the remedy +found out too late. These images grew so strong at last that my eyes ran +over the sentences mechanically, but my brain refused to take in the +meaning of them. I threw the book from me; and, leaning my head on my +hands, I let all the waves of that sorrowful memory flow over me.</p> + +<p>How strong they were! how persistent! I could hear the tones of her +languid voice, and see the light lingering to the last in her dim eyes, +whenever they met mine. A shudder crept through me as I recollected how +she travelled that dolorous road, slowly, day by day, down to the grave. +Other feet were beginning to tread the same painful journey; but there +was yet time to stay them, and the power to do it was intrusted to me. +What was I to do with my power?</p> + +<p>It seemed cruel that this power should come to me from my mother's +death. If she were living still, or if she had died from any other +cause, the discovery of this remedy would never have been made by me. +And I was to take it as a sort of miraculous gift, purchased by her +pangs, and bestow it upon the only man I hated. For I hated him; I said +so to myself, muttering the words between my teeth.</p> + +<p>What was the value of his life, that I should ransom it by such a +sacrifice? A mean, selfish, dissipated life—a life that would be +Olivia's curse as long as it lasted. For an instant a vision stood out +clear before me, and made my heart beat fast, of Olivia free, as she +must be in the space of a few months, should I leave the disease to take +its course; free and happy, disenthralled from the most galling of all +bondage. Could I not win her then? She knew already that I loved her; +would she not soon learn to love me in return? If Olivia were living, +what an irreparable injury it would be to her for this man to recover!</p> + +<p>That seemed to settle the question. I could not be the one to doom her +to a continuation of the misery she was enduring. It was irrational and +over-scrupulous of my conscience to demand such a thing from me. I would +use all the means practised in the ordinary course of treatment to +render the recovery of my patient possible, and so fulfil my duty. I +would carefully follow all Dr. Senior's suggestions. He was an +experienced and very skilful physician; I could not do better than +submit my judgment to his.</p> + +<p>Besides, how did I know that this fancied discovery of mine was of the +least value? I had never had a chance of making experiment of it, and no +doubt it was an idle chimera of my brain, when it was overwrought by +anxiety for my mother's sake. I had not hitherto thought enough of it to +ask the opinion of any of my medical friends and colleagues. Why should +I attach any importance to it now? Let it rest. Not a soul knew of it +but myself. I had a perfect right to keep or destroy my own notes. +Suppose I destroyed that one at once?</p> + +<p>I unlocked the desk, and took out my book again. The leaf on which these +special notes were written was already loose, and might have been easily +lost at any time, I thought. I burned it by the flame of the gas, and +threw the brown ashes into the grate. For a few minutes I felt elated, +as if set free from an oppressive burden; and I returned to the story I +had been reading, and laughed more heartily than before at the grotesque +turn of the incidents. But before long the tormenting question came up +again. The notes were not lost. They seemed now to be burned in upon my +brain.</p> + +<p>The power has been put into your hands to save life, said my conscience, +and you are resolving to let it perish. What have you to do with the +fact that the nature is mean, selfish, cruel? It is the physical life +simply that you have to deal with. What is beyond that rests in the +hands of God. What He is about to do with this soul is no question for +you. Your office pledges you to cure him if you can, and the fulfilment +of this duty is required of you. If you let this man die, you are a +murderer.</p> + +<p>But, I said in answer to myself, consider what trivial chances the whole +thing has hung upon. Besides the accident that this was my mother's +malady, there was the chance of Lowry not being called from home. The +man was his patient, not mine. After that there was the chance of Jack +going to see him, instead of me; or of him refusing my attendance. If +the chain had broken at one of these links, no responsibility could have +fallen upon me. He would have died, and all the good results of his +death would have followed naturally. Let it rest at that.</p> + +<p>But it could not rest at that. I fought a battle with myself all through +the quiet night, motionless and in silence, lest Jack should become +aware that I was not sleeping. How should I ever face him, or grasp his +hearty hand again, with such a secret weight upon my soul? Yet how could +I resolve to save Foster at the cost of dooming Olivia to a life-long +bondage should he discover where she was, or to life-long poverty should +she remain concealed? If I were only sure that she was alive! But if she +were dead—why, then all motive for keeping back this chance of saving +him would be taken away. It was for her sake merely that I hesitated.</p> + +<p>For her sake, but for my own as well, said my conscience; for the subtle +hope, which had taken deeper root day by day, that by-and-by the only +obstacle between us would be removed. Suppose then that he was dead, and +Olivia was free to love me, to become my wife. Would not her very +closeness to me be a reproving presence forever at my side? Could I ever +recall the days before our marriage, as men recall them when they are +growing gray and wrinkled, as a happy golden time? Would there not +always be a haunting sense of perfidy, and disloyalty to duty, standing +between me and her clear truth and singleness of heart? There could be +no happiness for me, even with Olivia, my cherished and honored wife, if +I had this weight and cloud resting upon my conscience.</p> + +<p>The morning dawned before I could decide. The decision, when made, +brought no feeling of relief or triumph to me. As soon as it was +probable that Dr. Senior could see me; I was at his house at Fulham; and +in rapid, almost incoherent words laid what I believed to be my +important discovery before him. He sat thinking for some time, running +over in his own mind such cases as had come under his own observation. +After a while a gleam of pleasure passed over his face, and his eyes +brightened as he looked at me.</p> + +<p>"I congratulate you, Martin," he said, "though I wish Jack had hit upon +this. I believe it will prove a real benefit to our science. Let me turn +it over a little longer, and consult some of my colleagues about it. But +I think you are right. You are about to try it on poor Foster?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered, with a chilly sensation in my veins, the natural +reaction upon the excitement of the past night.</p> + +<p>"It can do him no harm," he said, "and in my opinion it will prolong his +life to old age, if he is careful of himself. I will write a paper on +the subject for the <i>Lancet</i>, if you will allow me."</p> + +<p>"With all my heart," I said sadly.</p> + +<p>The old physician regarded me for a minute with his keen eyes, which had +looked through the window of disease into many a human soul. I shrank +from the scrutiny, but I need not have done so. He grasped my hand +firmly and closely in his own.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, Martin!" he said, "God bless you!"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_SIXTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FORTY-SIXTH.</h2> + +<p>A DEED OF SEPARATION.</p> +<br /> + +<p>That keen, benevolent glance of Dr. Senior's was like a gleam of +sunlight piercing through the deepest recesses of my troubled spirit. I +felt that I was no longer fighting my fight out alone. A friendly eye +was upon me; a friendly voice was cheering me on. "The dead shall look +me through and through," says Tennyson. For my part I should wish for a +good, wise man to look me through and through; feel the pulse of my soul +from time to time, when it was ailing, and detect what was there +contrary to reason and to right. Dr. Senior's hearty "God bless you!" +brought strength and blessing with it.</p> + +<p>I went straight from Fulham to Bellringer Street. A healthy impulse to +fulfil all my duty, however difficult, was in its first fervid moment of +action. Nevertheless there was a subtle hope within me founded upon one +chance that was left—it was just possible that Foster might refuse to +be made the subject of an experiment; for an experiment it was.</p> + +<p>I found him not yet out of bed. Mrs. Foster was busy at her task of +engrossing in the sitting-room—- a task she performed so well that I +could not believe but that she had been long accustomed to it. I +followed her to Foster's bedroom, a small close attic at the back, with +a cheerless view of chimneys and the roofs of houses. There was no means +of ventilation, except by opening a window near the head of the bed, +when the draught of cold air would blow full upon him. He looked +exceedingly worn and wan. The doubt crossed me, whether the disease had +not made more progress than we supposed. His face fell as he saw the +expression upon mine.</p> + +<p>"Worse, eh?" he said; "don't say I am worse."</p> + +<p>I sat down beside him, and told him what I believed to be his chance of +life; not concealing from him that I proposed to try, if he gave his +consent, a mode of treatment which had never been practised before. His +eye, keen and sharp as that of a lynx, seemed to read my thoughts as Dr. +Senior's had done.</p> + +<p>"Martin Dobrée," he said, in a voice so different from his ordinary +caustic tone that it almost startled me, "I can trust you. I put myself +with implicit confidence into your hands."</p> + +<p>The last chance—dare I say the last hope?—was gone. I stood pledged on +my honor as a physician, to employ this discovery, which had been laid +open to me by my mother's fatal illness, for the benefit of the man +whose life was most harmful to Olivia and myself. I felt suffocated, +stifled. I opened the window for a minute or two, and leaned through it +to catch the fresh breath of the outer air.</p> + +<p>"I must tell you," I said, when I drew my head in again, "that you must +not expect to regain your health and strength so completely as to be +able to return to your old dissipations. You must make up your mind to +lead a regular, quiet, abstemious life, avoiding all excitement. Nine +months out of the twelve at least, if not the whole year, you must spend +in the country for the sake of fresh air. A life in town would kill you +in six months. But if you are careful of yourself you may live to sixty +or seventy."</p> + +<p>"Life at any price!" he answered, in his old accents, "yet you put it in +a dreary light before me. It hardly seems worth while to buy such an +existence, especially with that wife of mine downstairs, who cannot +endure the country, and is only a companion for a town-life. Now, if it +had been Olivia—you could imagine life in the country endurable with +Olivia?"</p> + +<p>What could I answer to such a question, which ran through me like an +electric shock? A brilliant phantasmagoria flashed across my brain—a +house in Guernsey with Olivia in it—sunshine—flowers—the singing of +birds—the music of the sea—the pure, exhilarating atmosphere. It had +vanished into a dead blank before I opened my mouth, though probably a +moment's silence had not intervened. Foster's lips were curled into a +mocking smile.</p> + +<p>"There would be more chance for you now," I said, "if you could have +better air than this."</p> + +<p>"How can I?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Be frank with me," I answered, "and tell me what your means are. It +would be worth your while to spend your last farthing upon this chance."</p> + +<p>"Is it not enough to make a man mad," he said, "to know there are +thousands lying in the bank in his wife's name, and he cannot touch a +penny of it? It is life itself to me; yet I may die like a dog in this +hole for the want of it. My death will lie at Olivia's door, curse her!"</p> + +<p>He fell back upon his pillows, with a groan as heavy and deep as ever +came from the heart of a wretch perishing from sheer want. I could not +choose but feel some pity for him; but this was an opportunity I must +not miss.</p> + +<p>"It is of no use to curse her," I said; "come, Foster, let us talk over +this matter quietly and reasonably. If Olivia be alive, as I cannot help +hoping she is, your wisest course would be to come to some mutual +agreement, which-would release you both from your present difficulties; +for you must recollect she is as penniless as yourself. Let me speak to +you as if I were her brother. Of this one thing you may be quite +certain, she will never consent to return to you; and in that I will aid +her to the utmost of my power. But there is no reason why you should not +have a good share of the property, which she would gladly relinquish on +condition that you left her alone. Now just listen carefully. I think +there would be small difficulty, if we set about it, in proving that you +were guilty against her with your present wife; and in that case she +could claim a divorce absolutely, and her property would remain her own. +Your second marriage with the same person would set her free from you +altogether."</p> + +<p>"You could prove nothing." he replied, fiercely, "and my second marriage +is covered by the documents I could produce."</p> + +<p>"Which are forged," I said, calmly; "we will find out by whom. You are +in a net of your own making. But we do not wish to push this question to +a legal issue. Let us come to some arrangement. Olivia will consent to +any terms I agree to."</p> + +<p>Unconsciously I was speaking as if I knew where Olivia was, and could +communicate with her when I chose. I was merely anticipating the time +when Tardif felt sure of hearing from her. Foster lay still, watching me +with his cold, keen eyes.</p> + +<p>"If those letters are forged," he said, uneasily, "it is Olivia who has +forged them. But I must consult my lawyers. I will let you know the +result in a few days."</p> + +<p>But the same evening I received a note, desiring me to go and see him +immediately. I was myself in a fever of impatience, and glad at the +prospect of any settlement "of this subject, in the hope of setting +Olivia free, as far as she could be free during his lifetime. He was +looking brighter and better than in the morning, and an odd smile played +now and then about his face as he talked to me, after having desired +Mrs. Foster to leave us alone together.</p> + +<p>"Mark!" he said, "I have not the slightest reason to doubt Olivia's +death, except your own opinion to the contrary, which is founded upon +reasons of which I know nothing. But, acting on the supposition that she +may be still alive, I am quite willing to enter into negotiations with +her, I suppose it must be through you."</p> + +<p>"It must," I answered, "and it cannot be at present. You will have to +wait for some months, perhaps, while I pursue my search for her. I do +not know where she is any more than you do."</p> + +<p>A vivid gleam crossed his face at these words, but whether of +incredulity or satisfaction I could not tell.</p> + +<p>"But suppose I die in the mean time?" he objected.</p> + +<p>That objection was a fair and obvious one. His malady would not pause in +its insidious attack while I was seeking Olivia. I deliberated for a few +minutes, endeavoring to look at a scheme which presented itself to me +from every point of view.</p> + +<p>"I do not know that I might not leave you in your present position," I +said at last; "it may be I am acting from an over-strained sense of +duty. But if you will give me a formal deed protecting her from +yourself, I am willing to advance the funds necessary to remove you to +purer air, and more open quarters than these. A deed of separation, +which both of you must sign, can be drawn up, and receive your +signature. There will be no doubt as to getting hers, when we find her. +But that may be some months hence, as I said. Still I will run the +risk."</p> + +<p>"For her sake?" he said, with a sneer.</p> + +<p>"For her sake, simply," I answered; "I will employ a lawyer to draw up +the deed, and as soon as you sign it I will advance the money you +require. My treatment of your disease I shall begin at once; that falls, +under my duty as your doctor; but I warn you that fresh air and freedom +from agitation are almost, if not positively, essential to its success. +The sooner you secure these for yourself, the better your chance."</p> + +<p>Some further conversation passed between us, as to the stipulations to +be insisted upon, and the division of the yearly income from Olivia's +property, for I would not agree to her alienating any portion of it. +Foster wished to drive a hard bargain, still with that odd smile on his +face; and it was after much discussion that we came to an agreement.</p> + +<p>I had the deed drawn up by a lawyer, who warned me that, if Foster sued +for a restitution of his rights, they would be enforced. But I hoped +that when Olivia was found she would have some evidence in her own +favor, which would deter him from carrying the case into court. The deed +was signed by Foster, and left in my charge till Olivia's signature +could be obtained.</p> + +<p>As soon as the deed was secured, I had my patient removed from +Bellringer Street to some apartments in Fulham, near to Dr. Senior, +whose interest in the case was now almost equal to my own. Here, if I +could not visit him every day, Dr. Senior did, while his great +professional skill enabled him to detect symptoms which might have +escaped my less experienced eye. Never had any sufferer, under the +highest and wealthiest ranks, greater care and science expended upon him +than Richard Foster.</p> + +<p>The progress of his recovery was slow, but it was sure. I felt that it +would be so from the first. Day by day I watched the pallid hue of +sickness upon his face changing into a more natural tone. I saw his +strength coming back by slight but steady degrees. The malady was forced +to retreat into its most hidden citadel, where it might lurk as a +prisoner, but not dwell as a destroyer, for many years to come, if +Foster would yield himself to the <i>régime</i> of life we prescribed. But +the malady lingered there, ready to break out again openly, if its +dungeon-door were set ajar. I had given life to him, but it was his part +to hold it fast.</p> + +<p>There was no triumph to me in this, as there would have been had my +patient been any one else. The cure aroused much interest among my +colleagues, and made my name more known. But what was that to me? As +long as this man lived, Olivia was doomed to a lonely and friendless +life. I tried to look into the future for her, and saw it stretch out +into long, dreary years. I wondered where she would find a home. Could I +persuade Johanna to receive her into her pleasant dwelling, which would +become so lonely to her when Captain Carey had moved into Julia's house +in St. Peter-Port? That was the best plan I could form.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_SEVENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FORTY-SEVENTH.</h2> + +<p>A FRIENDLY, CABMAN.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Julia's marriage arrangements were going on speedily. There was +something ironical to me in the chance that made me so often the witness +of them. We were so merely cousins again, that she discussed her +purchases, and displayed them before me, as if there had never been any +notion between us of keeping house together. Once more I assisted in the +choice of a wedding-dress, for the one made a year before was said to be +yellow and old-fashioned. But this time Julia did not insist upon having +white satin. A dainty tint of gray was considered more suitable, either +to her own complexion or the age of the bridegroom. Captain Carey +enjoyed the purchase with the rapture I had failed to experience.</p> + +<p>The wedding was fixed to take place the last week in July, a fortnight +earlier than the time proposed; it was also a fortnight earlier than the +date I was looking forward to most anxiously, when, if ever, news would +reach Tardif from Olivia. All my plans were most carefully made, in the +event of her sending word where she was. The deed of separation, signed +by Foster, was preserved by me most cautiously, for I had a sort of +haunting dread that Mrs. Foster would endeavor to get possession of it. +She was eminently sulky, and had been so ever since the signing of the +deed. Now that Foster was very near convalescence, they might be trying +some stratagem to recover it. But our servants were trustworthy, and the +deed lay safe in the drawer of my desk.</p> + +<p>At last Dr. Senior agreed with me that Foster was sufficiently advanced +on the road to recovery to be removed from Fulham to the better air of +the south coast. The month of May had been hotter than usual, and June +was sultry. It was evidently to our patient's advantage to exchange the +atmosphere of London for that of the sea-shore, even though he had to +dispense with our watchful attendance. In fact he could not very well +fall back now, with common prudence and self-denial. We impressed upon +him the urgent necessity of these virtues, and required Mrs. Foster to +write us fully, three times a week, every variation she might observe in +his health. After that we started them off to a quiet village in Sussex. +I breathed more freely when they were out of my daily sphere of duty.</p> + +<p>But before they went a hint of treachery reached me, which put me doubly +on my guard. One morning, when Jack and I were at breakfast, each deep +in our papers, with an occasional comment to one another on their +contents, Simmons, the cabby, was announced, as asking to speak to one +or both of us immediately. He was a favorite with Jack, who bade the +servant show him in; and Simmons appeared, stroking his hat round and +round with his hand, as if hardly knowing what to do with his limbs off +the box.</p> + +<p>"Nothing amiss with your wife, or the brats. I hope?" said Jack.</p> + +<p>"No, Dr. John, no," he answered, "there ain't any thing amiss with them, +except being too many of 'em p'raps, and my old woman won't own to that. +But there's some thing in the wind as concerns Dr. Dobry, so I thought +I'd better come and give you a hint of it."</p> + +<p>"Very good, Simmons," said Jack.</p> + +<p>"You recollect taking my cab to Gray's-Inn Road about this time last +year, when I showed up so green, don't you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"To be sure," I said, throwing down my paper, and listening eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Well, doctors," he continued, addressing us both, "the very last Monday +as ever was, a lady walks slowly along the stand, eying us all very +hard, but taking no heed to any of 'em, till she catches sight of <i>me</i>. +That's not a uncommon event, doctors. My wife says there's something +about me as gives confidence to her sex. Anyhow, so it is, and I can't +gainsay it. The lady comes along very slowly—she looks hard at me—she +nods her head, as much as to say, 'You, and your cab, and your horse, +are what I'm on the lookout for;' and I gets down, opens the door, and +sees her in quite comfortable. Says she, 'Drive me to Messrs. Scott and +Brown, in Gray's-Inn Road.'"</p> + +<p>"No!" I ejaculated.</p> + +<p>"Yes, doctors," replied Simmons. "'Drive me,' she says, 'to Messrs. +Scott and Brown, Gray's-Inn Road.' Of course I knew the name again; I +was vexed enough the last time I were there, at showing myself so green. +I looks hard at her. A very fine make of a woman, with hair and eyes as +black as coals, and a impudent look on her face somehow. I turned it +over and over again in my head, driving her there—could there be any +reason in it? or had it any thing to do with last time? and cetera. She +told me to wait for her in the street; and directly after she goes in, +there comes down the gent I had seen before, with a pen behind his ear. +He looks very hard at me, and me at him. Says he, 'I think I have seen +your face before, my man.' Very civil; as civil as a orange, as folks +say. 'I think you have,' I says. 'Could you step up-stairs for a minute +or two?' says he, very polite; 'I'll find a boy to take charge of your +horse.' And he slips a arf-crown into my hand, quite pleasant."</p> + +<p>"So you went in, of course?" said Jack.</p> + +<p>"Doctors," he answered, solemnly, "I did go in. There's nothing to be +said against that. The lady is sitting in a orfice up-stairs, talking to +another gent, with hair and eyes like hers, as black as coals, and the +same look of brass on his face. All three of 'em looked a little under +the weather. 'What's your name, my man?' asked the black gent. 'Walker,' +I says. 'And where do you live?' he says, taking me serious. 'In Queer +Street,' I says, with a little wink to show 'em I were up to a trick or +two. They all three larfed a little among themselves, but not in a +pleasant sort of way. Then the gent begins again. 'My good fellow,' he +says, 'we want you to give us a little information that 'ud be of use to +us, and we are willing to pay you handsome for it. It can't do you any +harm, nor nobody else, for it's only a matter of business. You're not +above taking ten shillings for a bit of useful information?' 'Not by no +manner of means.' I says."</p> + +<p>"Go on," I said, impatiently, as Simmons paused to look as hard at us as +he had done at these people.</p> + +<p>"Jest so doctors," he continued, "but this time I was minding my P's and +Q's. 'You know Dr. Senior, of Brook Street?' he says. 'The old doctor?' +I says; 'he's retired out of town.' 'No,' he says, 'nor the young doctor +neither; but there's another of 'em isn't there?' 'Dr. Dobry?' I says. +'Yes,' he says, 'he often takes your cab, my friend?' 'First one and +then the other,' I says, 'sometimes Dr. John and sometimes Dr. Dobry. +They're as thick as brothers, and thicker.' 'Good friends of yours?' he +says. 'Well,' says I, 'they take my cab when they can have it; but +there's not much friendship, as I see, in that. It's the best cab and +horse on the stand, though I say it, as shouldn't. Dr. John's pretty +fair, but the other's no great favorite of mine.' 'Ah!' he says."</p> + +<p>Simmons's face was illuminated with delight, and he winked sportively at +us.</p> + +<p>"It were all flummery, doctors," he said; "I don't deny as Dr. John is a +older friend, and a older favorite; but that is neither here nor there. +I jest see them setting a trap, and I wanted to have a finger in it. +'Ah!' he says, 'all we want to know, but we do want to know that very +particular, is where you drive Dr. Dobry to the oftenest. He's going to +borrow money from us, and we'd like to find out something about his +habits; specially where he spends his spare time, and all that sort of +thing, you understand. You know where he goes in your cab.' 'Of course I +do,' I says; 'I drove him and Dr. John here nigh a twelvemonth ago. The +other gent took my number down, and knew where to look for me when you +wanted me.' 'You're a clever fellow,' he says. 'So my old woman thinks,' +I says. 'And you'd be glad to earn a little more for your old woman?' he +says. 'Try me,' I says. 'Well then,' says he, 'here's a offer for you. +If you'll bring us word where he spends his spare time, we'll give you +ten shillings; and if it turns out of any use to us, well make it five +pounds.' 'Very good,' I says. 'You've not got any information to tell us +at once?' he says. 'Well, no,' I says, 'but I'll keep my eye upon him +now.' 'Stop,' he says, as I were going away; 'they keep a carriage, of +course?' 'Of course,' I says; 'what's the good of a doctor that hasn't a +carriage and pair?' 'Do they use it at night?' says he. 'Not often,' +says I; 'they take a cab; mine if it's on the stand.' 'Very good,' he +says; 'good-morning, my friend.' So I come away, and drives back again +to the stand."</p> + +<p>"And you left the lady there?" I asked, with no doubt in my mind that it +was Mrs. Foster.</p> + +<p>"Yes, doctor," he answered, "talking away like a poll-parrot with the +black-haired gent. That were last Monday; to-day's Friday, and this +morning there comes this bit of a note to me at our house in Dawson +Street. So my old woman says. 'Jim, you'd better go and show it to Dr. +John.' That's what's brought me here at this time, doctors."</p> + +<p>He gave the note into Jack's hands; and he, after glancing at it, passed +it on to me. The contents were simply these words: "James Simmons is +requested to call at No.—Gray's-Inn Road, at 6.30 Friday evening." The +handwriting struck me as one I had seen and noticed before. I scanned it +more closely for a minute or two; then a glimmering of light began to +dawn upon my memory. Could it be? I felt almost sure it was. In another +minute I was persuaded that it was the same hand as that which had +written the letter announcing Olivia's death. Probably if I could see +the penmanship of the other partner, I should find it to be identical +with that of the medical certificate which had accompanied the letter.</p> + +<p>"Leave this note with me, Simmons," I said, giving him half a crown in +exchange for it. I was satisfied now that the papers had been forged, +but not with Olivia's connivance. Was Foster himself a party to it? Or +had Mrs. Foster alone, with the aid of these friends or relatives of +hers, plotted and carried out the scheme, leaving him in ignorance and +doubt like my own?</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_EIGHTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FORTY-EIGHTH.</h2> + +<p>JULIA'S WEDDING.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Before the Careys and Julia returned to Guernsey, Captain Carey came to +see me one evening, at our own house in Brook Street. He seemed +suffering from some embarrassment and shyness; and I could not for some +time lead him to the point he was longing to gain.</p> + +<p>"You are quite reconciled to all this, Martin?" he said, stammering. I +knew very well what he meant.</p> + +<p>"More than reconciled," I answered, "I am heartily glad of it. Julia +will make you an excellent wife."</p> + +<p>"I am sure of that," he said, simply, "yet it makes me nervous a little +at times to think I may be standing in your light. I never thought what +it was coming to when I tried to comfort Julia about you, or I would +have left Johanna to do it all. It is very difficult to console a person +without seeming very fond of them; and then there's the danger of them +growing fond of you. I love Julia now with all my heart: but I did not +begin comforting her with that view, and I am sure you exonerate me, +Martin?"</p> + +<p>"Quite, quite," I said, almost laughing at his contrition; "I should +never have married Julia, believe me; and I am delighted that she is +going to be married, especially to an old friend like you. I shall make +your house my home."</p> + +<p>"Do, Martin," he answered, his face brightening; "and now I am come to +ask you a great favor—a favor to us all."</p> + +<p>"I'll do it, I promise that beforehand," I said.</p> + +<p>"We have all set our hearts on your being my best man," he replied—"at +the wedding, you know. Johanna says nothing will convince the Guernsey +people that we are all good friends except that. It will have a queer +look, but if you are there everybody will be satisfied that you do not +blame either Julia or me. I know it will be hard for you, dear Martin, +because of your poor mother, and your father being in Guernsey still; +but if you can conquer that, for our sakes, you would make us every one +perfectly happy."</p> + +<p>I had not expected them to ask this; but, when I came to think of it, it +seemed very natural and reasonable. There was no motive strong enough to +make me refuse to go to Julia's wedding; so I arranged to be with them +the last week in July.</p> + +<p>About ten days before going, I ran down to the little village on the +Sussex coast to visit Foster, from whom, or from his wife, I had +received a letter regularly three times a week. I found him as near +complete health as he could ever expect to be, and I told him so; but I +impressed upon him the urgent necessity of keeping himself quiet and +unexcited. He listened with that cool, taunting sneer which had always +irritated me.</p> + +<p>"Ah! you doctors are like mothers," he said, "who try to frighten their +children with bogies. A doctor is a good crutch to lean upon when one is +quite lame, but I shall be glad to dispense with my crutch as soon as my +lameness is gone."</p> + +<p>"Very good," I replied; "you know your life is of no value to me. I have +simply done my duty by you."</p> + +<p>"Your mother, Mrs. Dobrée, wrote to me this week." he remarked, smiling +as I winced at the utterance of that name; "she tells me there is to be +a grand wedding in Guernsey; that of your <i>fiancée</i>, Julia Dobrée, with +Captain Carey. You are to be present, so she says."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied.</p> + +<p>"It will be a pleasure to you to revisit your native island," he said, +"particularly under such circumstances."</p> + +<p>I took no notice of the taunt. My conversation with this man invariably +led to full stops. He said something to which silence was the best +retort. I did not stay long with him, for the train by which I was to +return passed through the village in less than an hour from my arrival. +As I walked down the little street I turned round once by a sudden +impulse, and saw Foster gazing after me with his pale face and +glittering eyes. Ho waved his hand in farewell to me, and that was the +last I saw of him.</p> + +<p>Some days after this I crossed in the mail-steamer to Guernsey, on a +Monday night, as the wedding was to take place at an early hour on +Wednesday morning, in time for Captain Carey and Julia to catch the boat +to England. The old gray town, built street above street on the rock +facing the sea, rose before my eyes, bathed in the morning sunlight. But +there was no home in it for me now. The old familiar house in the Grange +Road was already occupied by strangers. I did not even know where I was +to go. I did not like the idea of staying under Julia's roof, where +every thing would remind me of that short spell of happiness in my +mother's life, when she was preparing it for my future home. Luckily, +before the steamer touched the pier, I caught sight of Captain Carey's +welcome face looking out for my appearance. He stood at the end of the +gangway, as I crossed over it with my portmanteau.</p> + +<p>"Come along, Martin," hee said; "you are to go with me to the Vale, as +my groomsman, you know. Are all the people staring at us, do you think? +I daren't look round. Just look about you for me, my boy."</p> + +<p>"They are staring awfully," I answered, "and there are scores of them +waiting to shake hands with us."</p> + +<p>"Oh, they must not!" he said, earnestly; "look as if you did not see +them, Martin. That's the worst of getting married; yet most of them are +married themselves, and ought to know better. There's the dog-cart +waiting for us a few yards off, if we could only get to it. I have kept +my face seaward ever since I came on the pier, with my collar turned up, +and my hat over my eyes. Are you sure they see who we are?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" I cried, "why, there's Carey Dobrée, and Dobrée Carey, and Brock +de Jersey, and De Jersey le Cocq, and scores of others. They know us as +well as their own brothers. We shall have to shake hands with every one +of them."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you come in disguise?" asked Captain Carey, reproachfully; +but before I could answer I was seized upon by the nearest of our +cousins, and we were whirled into a very vortex of greetings and +congratulations. It was fully a quarter of an hour before we were +allowed to drive off in the dog-cart; and Captain Carey was almost +breathless with exhaustion.</p> + +<p>"They are good fellows," he said, after a time, "very good fellows, but +it is trying, isn't it, Martin? It is as if no man was ever married +before; though they have gone through it themselves, and ought to know +how one feels. Now you take it quietly, my boy, and you do not know how +deeply I feel obliged to you."</p> + +<p>There was some reason for me to take it quietly. I could not help +thinking how nearly I had been myself in Captain Carey's position. I +knew that Julia and I would have led a tranquil, matter-of-fact, +pleasant enough life together, but for the unlucky fate that had carried +me across to Sark to fall in love with Olivia. There was something +enviable in the tranquil prosperity I had forfeited. Guernsey was the +dearest spot on earth to me, yet I was practically banished from it. +Julia was, beyond all doubt, the woman I loved most, next to Olivia, but +she was lost to me. There was no hope for me on the other hand. Foster +was well again, and by my means. Probably I might secure peace and +comparative freedom for Olivia, but that was all. She could never be +more to me than she was now. My only prospect was that of a dreary +bachelorhood; and Captain Carey's bashful exultation made the future +seem less tolerable to me.</p> + +<p>I felt it more still when, after dinner in the cool of the summer +evening, we drove lack into town to see Julia for the last time before +we met in church the next morning. There was an air of glad excitement +pervading the house. Friends were running in, with gifts and pleasant +words of congratulation. Julia herself had a peculiar modest stateliness +and frank dignity, which suited her well. She was happy and content, and +her face glowed. Captain Carey's manner was one of tender chivalry, +somewhat old-fashioned. I found it a hard thing to "look at happiness +through another man's eyes."</p> + +<p>I drove Captain Carey and Johanna home along the low, level shore which +I had so often traversed with my heart full of Olivia. It was dusk, the +dusk of a summer's night; but the sea was luminous, and Sark lay upon it +a bank of silent darkness, sleeping to the music of the waves. A strong +yearning came over me, a longing to know immediately the fate of my +Olivia. Would to Heaven she could return to Sark, and be cradled there +in its silent and isolated dells! Would to Heaven this huge load of +anxiety and care for her, which bowed me down, might be taken away +altogether!</p> + +<p>"A fortnight longer," I said to myself, "and Tardif will know where she +is; then I can take measures for her tranquillity and safety in the +future."</p> + +<p>It was well for me that I had slept during my passage, for I had little +sleep during that night. Twice I was aroused by the voice of Captain +Carey at my door, inquiring what the London time was, and if I could +rely upon my watch not having stopped. At four o'clock he insisted upon +everybody in the house getting up. The ceremony was to be solemnized at +seven, for the mail-steamer from Jersey to England was due in Guernsey +at nine, and there were no other means of quitting the island later in +the day. Under these circumstances there could be no formal +wedding-breakfast, a matter not much to be regretted. There would not be +too much time, so Johanna said, for the bride to change her +wedding-dress at her own house for a suitable travelling-costume, and +the rest of the day would be our own.</p> + +<p>Captain Carey and I were standing at the altar of the old church some +minutes before the bridal procession appeared. He looked pale, but wound +up to a high pitch of resolute courage. The church was nearly full of +eager spectators, all of whom I had known from my childhood—faces that +would have crowded about me, had I been standing in the bridegroom's +place. Far back, half sheltered by a pillar, I saw the white head and +handsome face of my father, with Kate Daltrey by his side; but though +the church was so full, nobody had entered the same pew. His name had +not been once mentioned in my hearing. As far as his old circle in +Guernsey was concerned, Dr. Dobrée was dead.</p> + +<p>At length Julia appeared, pale like the bridegroom, but dignified and +prepossessing. She did not glance at me; she evidently gave no thought +to me. That was well, and as it should be. If any fancy had been +lingering in my head that she still regretted somewhat the exchange she +had made, that fancy vanished forever. Julia's expression, when Captain +Carey drew her hand through his arm, and led her down the aisle to the +vestry, was one of unmixed contentment.</p> + +<p>Yet there was a pang in it—reason as I would, there was a pang in it +for me. I should have liked her to glance once at me, with a troubled +and dimmed eye. I should have liked a shade upon her face as I wrote my +name below hers in the register. But there was nothing of the kind. She +gave me the kiss, which I demanded as her cousin Martin, without +embarrassment, and after that she put her hand again upon the +bridegroom's arm, and marched off with him to the carriage.</p> + +<p>A whole host of us accompanied the bridal pair to the pier, and saw them +start off on their wedding-trip, with a pyramid of bouquets before them +on the deck of the steamer. We ran round to the light-house, and waved +out hats and handkerchiefs as long as they were in sight. That duty +done, the rest of the day was our own.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='2CHAPTER_THE_FORTY_NINTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FORTY-NINTH.</h2> + +<p>A TELEGRAM IN PATOIS.</p> +<br /> + +<p>What a long day it was! How the hours seemed to double themselves, and +creep along at the slowest pace they could!</p> + +<p>I had had some hope of running over to Sark to see Tardif, but that +could not be. I was needed too much by the party that had been left +behind by Captain Carey and Julia. We tried to while away the time by a +drive round the island, and by visiting many of my old favorite haunts; +but I could not be myself.</p> + +<p>Everybody rallied me on my want of spirits, but I found it impossible to +shake off my depression. I was glad when the day was over, and Johanna +and I were left in the quiet secluded house in the Vale, where the moan +of the sea sighed softly through the night air.</p> + +<p>"This has been a trying day for you, Martin," said Johanna.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered; "though I can hardly account for my own depression. +Johanna, in another fortnight I shall learn where Olivia is. I want to +find a home for her. Just think of her desolate position! She has no +friends but Tardif and me; and you know how the world would talk if I +were too openly her friend. Indeed, I do not wish her to come to live in +London; the trial would be too great for me. I could not resist the +desire to see her, to speak to her—and that would be fatal to her. +Dearest Johanna, I want such a home as this for her."</p> + +<p>Johanna made no reply, and I could not see her face in the dim moonlight +which filled the room. I knelt down beside her, to urge my petition more +earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Your name would be such a protection to her." I went on, "this house +such a refuge! If my mother were living, I would ask her to receive her. +You have been almost as good to me as my mother. Save me, save Olivia +from the difficulty I see before us."</p> + +<p>"Will you never get over this unfortunate affair?"' she asked, half +angrily.</p> + +<p>"Never!" I said; "Olivia is so dear to me that I am afraid of harming +her by my love. Save her from me, Johanna. You have it in your power. I +should be happy if I knew she was here with you. I implore you, for my +mother's sake, to receive Olivia into your home."</p> + +<p>"She shall come to me," said Johanna, after a few minutes' silence. I +was satisfied, though the consent was given with a sigh. I knew that, +before long, Johanna would be profoundly attached to my Olivia.</p> + +<p>It was almost midnight the next day when I reached Brook Street, where I +found Jack expecting my return. He had bought, in honor of it, some +cigars of special quality, over which I was to tell him all the story of +Julia's wedding. But a letter was waiting for me, directed in queer, +crabbed handwriting, and posted in Jersey a week before. It had been so +long on the road in consequence of the bad penmanship of the address. I +opened it carelessly as I answered Jack's first inquiries; but the +instant I saw the signature I held up my hand to silence him. It was +from Tardif. This is a translation:</p> + + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"DEAR DOCTOR AND FRIEND: This day I received a letter from + mam'zelle; quite a little letter with only a few lines in it. + She says, 'Come to me. My husband has found me; he is here. I + have no friends but you and one other, and I cannot send for + him. You said you would come to me whenever I wanted you. I + have not time to write more. I am in a little village called + Ville-en-bois, between Granville and Noireau. Come to the + house of the curé; I am there.'</p> + +<p> "Behold, I am gone, dear monsieur. I write this in my boat, + for we are crossing to Jersey to catch the steamboat to + Granville. To-morrow evening I shall be in Ville-en-bois. Will + you learn the law of France about this affair? They say the + code binds a woman to follow her husband wherever he goes. At + London you can learn any thing. Believe me, I will protect + mam'zelle, or I should say madame, at the loss of my life. + Write to me as soon as you receive this. There will be an inn + at Ville-en-bois; direct to me there. Take courage, monsieur. + Your devoted TARDIF."</p></div> + +<p>"I must go!" I exclaimed, starting to my feet, about to rush out of the +house.</p> + +<p>"Where?" cried Jack, catching my arm between both his hands, and holding +me fast.</p> + +<p>"To Olivia," I answered; "that villain, that scoundrel has hunted her +out in Normandy. Read that, Jack. Let me go."</p> + +<p>"Stay!" he said; "there is no chance of going so late as this; it is +after twelve o'clock. Let us think a few minutes, and look at Bradshaw."</p> + +<p>But at that moment a furious peal of the bell rang through the house. +We both ran into the hall. The servant had just opened the door, and a +telegraph-clerk stood on the steps, with a telegram, which he thrust +into his hands. It was directed to me. I tore it open. "From Jean +Grimont, Granville, to Dr. Dobrée. Brook Street, London." I did not know +any Jean Grimont, of Granville, it was the name of a stranger to me. A +message was written underneath in Norman <i>patois</i>, but so mispelt and +garbled in its transmission that I could not make out the sense of it. +The only words I was sure about were "mam'zelle," "Foster," "Tardif," +and "<i>à l'agonie</i>." Who was on the point of death I could not tell.</p> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='PART_THE_THIRD'></a><h2>PART THE THIRD.</h2> + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_FIRST'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FIRST.</h2> + +<p>OLIVIA'S JUSTIFICATION.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I know that in the eyes of the world I was guilty of a great fault—a +fault so grave that society condemns it bitterly. How shall I justify +myself before those who believe a woman owes her whole self to her +husband, whatever his conduct to her may be? That is impossible. To them +I merely plead "guilty," and say nothing of extenuating circumstances.</p> + +<p>But there are others who will listen, and be sorry for me. There are +women like Johanna Carey, who will pity me, and lay the blame where it +ought to lie.</p> + +<p>I was little more than seventeen when I was married; as mere a child as +any simple, innocent girl of seventeen among you. I knew nothing of what +life was, or what possibilities of happiness or misery it contained. I +married to set away from a home that had been happy, but which had +become miserable. This was how it was:</p> + +<p>My own mother died when I was too young a child to feel her loss. For +many years after that, my father and I lived alone together on one of +the great sheep-farms of Adelaide, which belonged to him, and where he +made all the fortune that he left me. A very happy life, very free, with +no trammels of society and no fetters of custom; a simple, rustic life, +which gave me no preparation for the years that came after it.</p> + +<p>When I was thirteen my father married again—for my sake, and mine +only. I knew afterward that he was already foreseeing his death, and +feared to leave me alone in the colony. He thought his second wife would +be a mother to me, at the age when I most needed one. He died two years +after, leaving me to her care. He died more peacefully than he could +have done, because of that. This he said to me the very last day of his +life. Ah! I trust the dead do not know the troubles that come to the +living. It would have troubled my father—nay, it would have been +anguish to him, even in heaven itself, if he could have seen my life +after he was gone. It is no use talking or thinking about it. After two +wretched years I was only too glad to be married, and get away from the +woman who owed almost the duty of a mother to me.</p> + +<p>Richard Foster was a nephew of my step-mother, the only man I was +allowed to see. He was almost twice my age; but he had pleasant manners, +and a smooth, smooth tongue. I believed he loved me, he swore it so +often and so earnestly; and I was in sore need of love. I wanted some +one to take care of me, and think of me, and comfort me, as my father +had been used to do. So much alone, so desolate I had been since his +death, no one caring whether I were happy or miserable, ill or well, +that I felt grateful to Richard Foster when he said he loved me. He +seemed to come in my father's stead, and my step-mother urged and +hurried on our marriage, and I did not know what I was doing. The +trustees who had charge of my property left me to the care of my +father's widow. That was how I came to marry him when I was only a girl +of seventeen, with no knowledge of the world but what I had learned on +my father's sheep-run.</p> + +<p>It was a horrible, shameful thing, if you will only think of it. There +was I, an ignorant, unconscious, bewildered girl, with the film of +childhood over my eyes still; and there was he, a crafty, unprincipled, +double-tongued adventurer, who was in love with my fortune, not with me. +As quickly as he could carry me off from my home, and return to his own +haunts in Europe, he brought me away from the colony, where all whom I +could ever call friends were living. I was utterly alone with him—at +his mercy. There was not an ear that I could whisper a complaint to; not +one face that would look at me in pity and compassion. My father had +been a good man, single-hearted, high-minded, and chivalrous. This man +laughed at all honor and conscience scornfully.</p> + +<p>I cannot tell you the shock and horror of it. I had not known there were +such places and such people in the world, until I was thrust suddenly +into the midst of them; innocent at first, like the child I was, but the +film soon passed away from my eyes. I grew to loathe myself as well as +him. How would an angel feel, who was forced to go down to hell, and +become like the lost creatures there, remembering all the time the +undefiled heaven he was banished from? I was no angel, but I had been a +simple, unsullied, clear-minded girl, and I found myself linked in +association with men and women such as frequent the gambling-places on +the Continent. For we lived upon the Continent, going from one +gambling-place to another. How was a girl like me to possess her own +soul, and keep it pure, when it belonged to a man like Richard Foster?</p> + +<p>There was one more injury and degradation for me to suffer. I recollect +the first moment I saw the woman who wrought me so much misery +afterward. We were staying in Homburg for a few weeks at a hotel; and +she was seated at a little table in a window, not far from the one where +we were sitting. A handsome, bold-looking, arrogant woman. They had +known one another years before, it seemed. He said she was his cousin. +He left me to go and speak to her, and I watched them, though I did not +know then that any thing more would come of it than a casual +acquaintance. I saw his face grow animated, and his eyes look into hers, +with an expression that stirred something like jealousy within me, if +jealousy can exist without love. When he returned to me, he told me he +had invited her to join us as my companion. She came to us that evening.</p> + +<p>She never left us after that. I was too young, he said, to be left alone +in foreign towns while he was attending to his business, and his cousin +would be the most suitable person to take care of me. I hated the woman +instinctively. She was civil to me just at first, but soon there was +open war between us, at which he laughed only; finding amusement for +himself in my fruitless efforts to get rid of her. After a while I +discovered it could only be by setting myself free from him.</p> + +<p>Now judge me. Tell me what I was bound to do. Three voices I hear speak.</p> + +<p>One says: "You, a poor hasty girl, very weak yet innocent, ought to have +remained in the slough, losing day by day your purity, your worth, your +nobleness, till you grew like your companions. You had vowed ignorantly, +with a profound ignorance it might be, to obey and honor this man till +death parted you. You had no right to break that vow."</p> + +<p>Another says: "You should have made of yourself a spy, you should have +laid traps; you should have gathered up every scrap of evidence you +could find against them, that might have freed you in a court of law."</p> + +<p>A third says: "It was right for you, for the health of your soul, and +the deliverance of your whole self from an intolerable bondage, to break +the ignorantly-taken vow, and take refuge in flight. No soul can be +bound irrevocably to another for its own hurt and ruin."</p> + +<p>I listened then, as I should listen now, to the third voice. The chance +came to me just before I was one-and-twenty. They were bent upon +extorting from me that portion of my father's property which would come +to me, and be solely in my own power, when I came of age. It had been +settled upon me in such a way, that if I were married my husband could +not touch it without my consent.</p> + +<p>I must make this quite clear. One-third, of my fortune was so settled +that I myself could not take any portion of it save the interest; but +the other two-thirds were absolutely mine, whether I was married or +single. By locking up one-third, my father had sought to provide against +the possibility of my ever being reduced to poverty. The rest was my +own, to keep if I pleased; to give up to my husband if I pleased.</p> + +<p>At first they tried what fair words and flattery would do with me. Then +they changed their tactics. They brought me over to London, where not a +creature knew me. They made me a prisoner in dull, dreary rooms, where I +had no employment and no resources. That is, the woman did it. My +husband, after settling us in a house in London, disappeared, and I saw +no more of him. I know now he wished to keep himself irresponsible for +my imprisonment. She would have been the scape-goat, had any legal +difficulties arisen. He was anxious to retain all his rights over me.</p> + +<p>I can see how subtle he was. Though my life was a daily torture, there +was positively nothing I could put into words against him—nothing that +would have authorized me to seek a legal separation. I did not know any +thing of the laws, how should I? except the fact which he dinned into my +ears that he could compel me to live with him. But I know now that the +best friends in the world could not have saved me from him in any other +way than the one I took. He kept within the letter of the law. He +forfeited no atom of his claim upon me.</p> + +<p>Then God took me by the hand, and led me into a peaceful and untroubled +refuge, until I had gathered strength again.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_SECOND'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SECOND.</h2> + +<p>ON THE WING AGAIN.</p> +<br /> + +<p>How should I see that Dr. Martin Dobrée was falling in love with me? I +was blind to it; strangely blind those wise people will think, who say a +woman always knows when a man loves her. I knew so well that all my life +was shut out from the ordinary hopes and prospects of girlhood, that I +never realized the fact that to him I was a young girl whom he might +love honorably, were he once set free from his engagement to his cousin +Julia.</p> + +<p>I had not looked for any trouble of that kind. He had been as kind to me +as any brother could have been—kind, and chivalrous, and considerate. +The first time I saw him I was weak and worn out with great pain, and my +mind seemed wandering. His face came suddenly and distinctly before me; +a pleasant face, though neither handsome nor regular in features. It +possessed great vivacity and movement, changing readily, and always full +of expression. He looked at me so earnestly and compassionately, his +dark eyes seeming to search for the pain I was suffering, that I felt +perfect confidence in him at once. I was vaguely conscious of his close +attendance, and unremitting care, during the whole week that I lay ill. +All this placed us on very pleasant terms of familiarity and friendship.</p> + +<p>How grieved I was when this friendship came to an end—when he confessed +his unfortunate love to me—it is impossible for me to say. Such a +thought had never crossed my mind. Not until I saw the expression on his +face, when he called to us from the shore to wait for him, and waded +eagerly through the water to us, and held my hands fast as I helped him +into the boat—not till then did I suspect his secret. Poor Martin!</p> + +<p>Then there came the moment when I was compelled to say to him. "I was +married four years ago, and my husband is still living"—a very bitter +moment to me; perhaps more bitter than to him. I knew we must see one +another no more; and I who was so poor in friends, lost the dearest of +them by those words. That was a great shock to me.</p> + +<p>But the next day came the second shock of meeting Kate Daltrey, my +husband's half-sister. Martin had told me that there was a person in +Guernsey who had traced my flight so far; but in my trouble and sorrow +for him, I had not thought much of this intelligence. I saw in an +instant that I had lost all again, my safety, my home, my new friends. I +must flee once more, alone and unaided, leaving no trace behind me. When +old Mother Renouf, whom Tardif had set to watch me for very fear of this +mischance, had led me away from Kate Daltrey to the cottage, I sought +out Tardif at once.</p> + +<p>He was down at the water's edge, mending his boat, which lay with its +keel upward. He heard my footsteps among the pebbles, and turned round +to greet me with one of his grave smiles, which had never failed me +whenever I went to him.</p> + +<p>"Mam'zelle is triste," he said; "is there any thing I can do for you?"</p> + +<p>"I must go away from here, Tardif," I answered, with a choking voice.</p> + +<p>A change swept quickly across his face, but he passed his hand for a +moment over it, and then regarded me again with his grave smile.</p> + +<p>"For what reason, mam'zelle?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I must tell you every thing!" I cried.</p> + +<p>"Tell me every thing," he repeated; "it shall be buried here, in my +heart, as if it was buried in the depths of the sea. I will try not to +think of it even, if you bid me. I am your friend as well as your +servant."</p> + +<p>Then leaning against his boat, for I could not control my trembling, I +told him almost all about my wretched life, from which God had delivered +me, leading me to him for shelter and comfort. He listened with his eyes +cast down, never once raising them to my face, and in perfect silence, +except that once or twice he groaned within himself, and clinched his +hard hands together. I know that I could never have told my history to +any other man as I told it to him, a homely peasant and fisherman, but +with as noble and gentle a heart as ever beat.</p> + +<p>"You must go," he said, when I had finished. His voice was hollow and +broken, but the words were spoken distinctly enough for me to hear them.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is no help for me," I answered; "there is no rest for me but +death."</p> + +<p>"It would be better to die," he said, solemnly, "than return to a life +like that. I would sooner bury you up yonder, in our little graveyard, +than give you up to your husband."</p> + +<p>"You will help me to get away at once?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"At once," he repeated, in the same broken voice. His face looked gray, +and his mouth twitched. He leaned against his boat, as if he could +hardly stand; as I was doing myself, for I felt utterly weak and shaken.</p> + +<p>"How soon?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow I will row you to Guernsey in time for the packet to +England," he answered. Mon Dieu! how little I thought what I was mending +my boat for! Mam'zelle, is there nothing, nothing in the world I can do +for you?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, Tardif," I said, sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>"Nothing!" he assented, dropping his head down upon his hands. No, there +was positively nothing he could do for me. There was no person on the +face of the earth who could help me.</p> + +<p>"My poor Tardif," I said, laying my hand on his shoulder, "I am a great +trouble to you."</p> + +<p>"I cannot bear to let you go in this way," he replied, without looking +up. "If it had been to marry Dr. Martin—why, then—but you have to go +alone, poor little child!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said, "alone."</p> + +<p>After that we were both silent for some minutes. We could hear the +peaceful lapping of the water at our feet, and its boom against the +rocks, and the shrieking of the sea-gulls; but there was utter silence +between us two. I felt as if it would break my heart to leave this +place, and go whither I knew not. Yet there was no alternative.</p> + +<p>"Tardif," I said at last, "I will go first to London. It is so large a +place, nobody will find me there. Besides, they would never think of me +going back to London. When I am there I will try to get a situation as +governess somewhere. I could teach little children; and if I go into a +school there will be no one to fall in love with me, like Dr. Martin. I +am very sorry for him."</p> + +<p>"Sorry for him!" repeated Tardif.</p> + +<p>"Yes, very sorry," I replied; "it is as if I must bring trouble +everywhere. You are troubled, and I cannot help it."</p> + +<p>"I have only had one trouble as great," he said, as if to himself, "and +that was when my poor little wife died. I wish to God I could keep you +here in safety, but that is impossible."</p> + +<p>"Quite impossible," I answered.</p> + +<p>Yet it seemed too bad to be true. What had I done, to be driven away +from this quiet little home into the cold, wide world? Poor and +friendless, after all my father's far-seeing plans and precautions to +secure me from poverty and friendlessness! What was to be my lot in that +dismal future, over the rough threshold of which I must cross to-morrow?</p> + +<p>Tardif and I talked it all over that evening, sitting at the +cottage-door until the last gleam of daylight had faded from the sky. He +had some money in hand just then, which he had intended to invest the +next time he went to Guernsey, and could see his notary. This money, +thirty pounds, he urged me to accept as a gift; but I insisted upon +leaving with him my watch and chain in pledge, until I could repay the +money. It would be a long time before I could do that, I knew; for I was +resolved never to return to Richard Foster, and to endure any privation +rather than claim my property.</p> + +<p>I left Tardif after a while, to pack up my very few possessions. We did +not tell his mother that I was going, for he said it would be better +not. In the morning he would simply let her know I was going over to +Guernsey. No communication had ever passed between the old woman and me +except by signs, yet I should miss even her in that cold, careless crowd +in which I was about to be lost, in the streets of London.</p> + +<p>We started at four in the morning, while the gray sky was dappled over +with soft clouds, and the sea itself seemed waking up from sleep, as if +it too had been slumbering through the night. The morning mist upon the +cliffs made them look mysterious, as if they had some secrets to +conceal. Untrodden tracks climbed the surface of the rocks, and were +lost in the fine filmy haze. The water looked white and milky, with +lines across it like the tracks on the cliffs, which no human foot could +tread; and the tide was coming back to the shore with a low, tranquil, +yet sad moan. The sea-gulls skimmed past us with their white wings, +almost touching us; their plaintive wailing seeming to warn us of the +treachery and sorrow of the sea. I was not afraid of the treachery of +the sea, yet I could not bear to hear them, nor could Tardif.</p> + +<p>We landed at one of the stone staircases running up the side of the pier +at Guernsey; for we were only just in time for the steamer. The steps +were slimy and wet with seaweed, but Tardif's hand grasped mine firmly. +He pushed his way through the crowd of idlers who were watching the +lading of the cargo, and took me down immediately into the cabin.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, mam'zelle," he said; "I must leave you. Send for me, or come +to me, if you are in trouble and I can do any thing for you. If it were +to Australia, I would follow you. I know I am only fit to be your +servant, but all the same I am your friend. You have a little regard for +me, mam'zelle?"</p> + +<p>"O Tardif!" I sobbed, "I love you very dearly."</p> + +<p>"Now that makes me glad," he said, holding my hand between his, and +looking down at me with tears in his eyes; "you said that from your good +heart, mam'zelle. When I am out alone in my boat, I shall think of it, +and in the long winter nights by the fire, when there is no little +mam'zelle to come and talk to me, I shall say to myself, 'She loves you +very dearly.' Good-by, mam'zelle. God be with you and protect you!"</p> + +<p>"Good-by," I said, with a sore grief in my heart, "good-by, Tardif. It +is very dreadful to be alone again."</p> + +<p>There was no time to say more, for a bell rang loudly on deck, and we +heard the cry, "All friends on shore!" Tardif put his lips to my hand, +and left me. I was indeed alone.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_THIRD'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRD.</h2> + +<p>IN LONDON LODGINGS.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Once more I found myself in London, a city so strange to me that I did +not know the name of any street in it. I had more acquaintance with +almost every great city on the Continent. Fortunately, Tardif had given +me the address of a boarding-house, or rather a small family hotel, +where he had stayed two or three times, and I drove there at once. It +was in a quiet back street, within sound of St. Paul's clock. The hour +was so late, nearly midnight, that I was looked upon with suspicion, as +a young woman travelling alone, and with little luggage. It was only +when I mentioned Tardif, whose island bearing had made him noticeable +among the stream of strangers passing through the house, that the +mistress of the place consented to take me in.</p> + +<p>This was my first difficulty, but not the last. By the advice of the +mistress of the boarding-house, I went to several governess agencies, +which were advertising for teachers in the daily papers. At most of +these they would not even enter my name, as soon as I confessed my +inability to give one or two references to persons who would vouch for +my general character, and my qualifications. This was a fatal +impediment, and one that had never occurred to me; yet the request was a +reasonable one, even essential. What could be more suspicious than a +girl of my age without a friend to give a guarantee of her +respectability? There seemed no hope whatever of my entering into the +ill-paid ranks of governesses.</p> + +<p>When a fortnight had passed with no opening for me, I felt it necessary +to leave the boarding-house which had been my temporary home. I must +economize my funds, for I did not know how long I must make them hold +out. Wandering about the least fashionable suburbs, where lodgings would +cost least, I found a bedroom in the third story of a house in a +tolerably respectable street. The rent was six shillings a week, to be +paid in advance. In this place, I entered upon a new phase of life, so +different from that in Sark that, in the delusions which solitude often +brings, I could not always believe myself the same person.</p> + +<p>A dreamy, solitary, gloomy life; shut in upon myself, with no outlet for +association with my fellow creatures. My window opened upon a back-yard, +with a row of half-built houses standing opposite to it. These houses +had been left half-finished, and were partly falling into ruin. A row of +bare, empty window-frames faced me whenever I turned my wearied eyes to +the scene without. Not a sound or sign of life was there about them. +Within, my room was; small and scantily furnished, yet there was +scarcely space enough for me to move about it. There was no table for me +to take my meals at, except the top of the crazy chest of drawers, which +served as my dressing-table. One chair, broken in the back, and tied +together with a faded ribbon, was the only seat, except my box, which, +set in a corner where I could lean against the wall, made me the most +comfortable place for resting. There was a little rusty grate, but it +was still summer-time, and there was no need of a fire. A fire indeed +would have been insupportable, for the sultry, breathless atmosphere of +August, with the fever-heat of its sun burning in the narrow streets and +close yards, made the temperature as parching as an oven. I panted for +the cool cliffs and sweet fresh air of Sark.</p> + +<p>In this feverish solitude one day dragged itself after another with +awful monotony. As they passed by, the only change they brought was that +the sultry heat grew ever cooler, and the long days shorter. The winter +seemed inclined to set in early, and with unusual rigor, for a month +before the usual time fires became necessary. I put off lighting mine, +for fear of the cost, until my sunless little room under the roof was +almost like an ice-house. A severe cold, which made me afraid of having +to call in a doctor, compelled me to have a fire; and the burning of it, +and the necessity of tending it, made it like a second person and +companion in the lonely place. Hour after hour I sat in front of it on +my box, with my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands, watching the +changeful scenery of its embers, and the exquisite motion of the flames, +and the upward rolling of the tiny columns of smoke, and the fiery, +gorgeous colors that came and went with a breath. To see the tongues of +fire lap round the dull, black coal, and run about it, and feel it, and +kindle it with burning touches, and never quit it till it was glowing +and fervid, and aflame like themselves—that was my sole occupation for +hours together.</p> + +<p>Think what a dreary life for a young girl! I was as fond of +companionship, and needed love, as much as any girl. Was it strange that +my thoughts dwelt somewhat dangerously upon the pleasant, peaceful days +in Sark?</p> + +<p>When I awoke in the morning to a voiceless, solitary, idle day, how +could I help thinking of Martin Dobrée, of Tardif, even of old Mother +Renouf, with her wrinkled face and her significant nods and becks? +Martin Dobrée's pleasant face would come before me, with his eyes +gleaming so kindly under his square forehead, and his lips moving +tremulously with every change of feeling. Had he gone back to his cousin +Julia again, and were they married? I ought not to feel any sorrow at +that thought. His path had run side by side with mine for a little +while, but always with a great barrier between us; and now they had +diverged, and must grow farther and farther apart, never to touch again. +Yet, how my father would have loved him had he known him! How securely +he would have trusted to his care for me! But stop! There was folly and +wickedness in thinking that way. Let me make an end of that.</p> + +<p>There was no loneliness like that loneliness. Twice a day I exchanged a +word or two with the overworked drudge of a servant in the house where I +lived; but I had no other voice to speak to me. No wonder that my +imagination sometimes ran in forbidden and dangerous channels.</p> + +<p>When I was not thinking and dreaming thus, a host of anxieties crowded +about me. My money was melting away again, though slowly, for I denied +myself every thing but the bare necessaries of life. What was to become +of me when it was all gone? It was the old question; but the answer was +as difficult to find as ever. I was ready for any kind of work, but no +chance of work came to me. With neither work nor money, what was I to +do? What was to be the end of it?</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_FOURTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FOURTH.</h2> + +<p>RIDLEY'S AGENCY-OFFICE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Now and then, when I ventured out into the streets, a panic would seize +me, a dread unutterably great, that I might meet my husband amid the +crowd. I did not even know that he was in London; he had always spoken +of it as a place he detested. His habits made the free, unconventional +life upon the Continent more agreeable to him. How he was living now, +what he was doing, where he was, were so many enigmas to me; and I did +not care to run any risk in finding out the answers to them. Twice I +passed the Bank of Australia, where very probably. I could have learned +if he was in the same city as myself; but I dared not do it, and as soon +as I knew how to avoid that street, I never passed along it.</p> + +<p>I had been allowed to leave my address with the clerk of a large general +agency in the city, when I had not been permitted to enter my name in +the books for want of a reference. Toward the close of October I +received a note from him, desiring me to call at the office at two +o'clock the following afternoon, without fail.</p> + +<p>No danger of my failing to keep such an appointment! I felt in better +spirits that night than I had done since I had been driven from Sark. +There was an opening for me, a chance of finding employment, and I +resolved beforehand to take it, whatever it might be.</p> + +<p>It was an agency for almost every branch of employment not actually +menial, from curates to lady's-maids, and the place of business was a +large one. There were two entrances, and two distinct compartments, at +the opposite ends of the building; but a broad, long counter ran the +whole length of it, and a person at one end could see the applicants at +the other as they stood by the counter. The compartment into which I +entered was filled with a crowd of women, waiting their turn to transact +their business. Behind the counter were two or three private boxes, in +which employers might see the candidates, and question them on the spot. +A lady was at that moment examining a governess, in a loud, imperious +voice which we could all hear distinctly. My heart sank at the idea of +passing through such a cross-examination as to my age, my personal +history, my friends, and a number of particulars foreign to the question +of whether I was fit for the work I offered myself for.</p> + +<p>At last I heard the imperious voice say, "You may go. I do not think you +will suit me," and a girl of about my own age came away from the +interview, pale and trembling, and with tears stealing down her cheeks. +A second girl was summoned to go through the same ordeal.</p> + +<p>What was I to do if this person, unseen in her chamber of torture, was +the lady I had been summoned to meet?</p> + +<p>It was a miserable sight, this crowd of poor women seeking work, and my +spirits sank like lead. A set of mournful, depressed, broken-down women! +There was not one I would have chosen to be a governess for my girls. +Those who were not dispirited were vulgar and self-asserting; a class +that wished to rise above the position they were fitted for by becoming +teachers. These were laughing loudly among themselves at the +cross-questioning going on so calmly within their hearing. I shrank away +into a corner, until my turn to speak to the busy clerk should come.</p> + +<p>I had a long time to wart. The office clock pointed to half-past three +before I caught the clerk's eye, and saw him beckon me up to the +counter. I had thrown back my veil, for here I was perfectly safe from +recognition. At the other end of the counter, in the compartment devoted +to curates, doctors' assistants, and others, there stood a young man in +earnest consultation with another clerk. He looked earnestly at me, but +I was sure he could not know me.</p> + +<p>"Miss Ellen Martineau?" said the clerk. That was my mother's name, and I +had adopted it for my own, feeling as if I had some right to it.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Would you object to go into a French school as governess?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Not in the least," I said, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"And pay a small premium?" he added. "How much?" I asked, my spirits +falling again.</p> + +<p>"A mere trifle," he said; "about ten pounds or so for twelve months. You +would perfect yourself in French, you know; and you would gain a referee +for the future."</p> + +<p>"I must think about it," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Well, there is the address of a lady who can give you all the +particulars," he said, handing me a written paper.</p> + +<p>I left the office heavy-hearted. Ten pounds would be more than the half +of the little store left to me. Yet, would it not be wiser to secure a +refuge and shelter for twelve months than run the risk of hearing of +some other situation? I walked slowly along the street toward the busier +thoroughfares, with my head bent down and my mind busy, when suddenly a +heavy hand was laid upon my arm, grasping it with crushing force, and a +harsh, thick voice shouted triumphantly in my ear:</p> + +<p>"The devil! I've caught you at last!"</p> + +<p>It was like the bitterness of death, that chill and terror sweeping over +me. My husband's hot breath was upon my cheek, and his eyes were looking +closely into mine. But before I could speak his grasp was torn away from +me, and he was sent whirling into the middle of the road. I turned, +almost in equal terror, to see who had thrust himself between us. It was +the stranger whom I had seen in the agency-office. But his face was now +dark with passion, and as my husband staggered back again toward us, his +hand was ready to thrust him away a second time.</p> + +<p>"She's my wife," he stammered, trying to get past the stranger to me. By +this time a knot of spectators had formed about us, and a policeman had +come up. The stranger drew my arm through his, and faced them defiantly.</p> + +<p>"He's a drunken vagabond!" he said; "he has just come out of those +spirit-vaults. This young lady is no more his wife than she is mine, and +I know no more of her than that she has just come away from Ridley's +office, where she has been looking after a situation. Good Heavens! +cannot a lady walk through the streets of London without being insulted +by a drunken scoundrel like that"?"</p> + +<p>"Will you give him in charge, sir?" asked the policeman, while Richard +Foster was making vain efforts to speak coherently, and explain his +claim upon me. I clung to the friendly arm that had come to my aid, sick +and almost speechless with fear.</p> + +<p>"Shall I give him in charge?" he asked me.</p> + +<p>"I have only just heard of a situation," I whispered, unable to speak +aloud.</p> + +<p>"And you are afraid of losing it?" he said; "I understand.—Take the +fellow away, policeman, and lock him up if you can for being drunk and +disorderly in the streets; but the lady won't give him in charge. I've a +good mind to make him go down on his knees and beg her pardon."</p> + +<p>"Do, do!" said two or three voices in the crowd.</p> + +<p>"Don't," I whispered again, "oh! take me away quickly."</p> + +<p>He cleared a passage for us both with a vigor and decision that there +was no resisting. I glanced back for an instant, and saw my husband +struggling with the policeman, the centre of the knot of bystanders from +which I was escaping. He looked utterly unlike a gay, prosperous, +wealthy man, with a well-filled purse, such as he had used to appear. He +was shabby and poor enough now for the policeman to be very hard upon +him, and to prevent him from following me. The stranger kept my hand +firmly on his arm, and almost carried me into Fleet Street, where, in a +minute or two we were quite lost in the throng, and I was safe from all +pursuit.</p> + +<p>"You are not fit to go on," he said, kindly; "come out of the noise a +little."</p> + +<p>He led me down a covered passage between two shops, into a quiet cluster +of squares and gardens, where only a subdued murmur of the uproar of the +streets reached us. There were a sufficient number of passers-by to +prevent it seeming lonely, but we could hear our own voices, and those +of others, even in whispers.</p> + +<p>"This is the Temple," he said, smiling, "a fit place for a sanctuary."</p> + +<p>"I do not know how to thank you," I answered falteringly.</p> + +<p>"You are trembling still!" he replied; "how lucky it was that I +followed you directly out of Ridley's! If I ever come across that +scoundrel again, I shall know him, you may be sure. I wish we were a +little nearer home, you should go in to rest; but our house is in Brook +Street, and we have no women-kind belonging to us. My name is John +Senior. Perhaps you have heard of my father, Dr. Senior, of Brook +Street?"</p> + +<p>"No." I replied, "I know nobody in London."</p> + +<p>"That's bad," he said. "I wish I was Jane Senior instead of John Senior; +I do indeed. Do you feel better now, Miss Martineau?"</p> + +<p>"How do you know my name?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"The clerk at Ridley's called you Miss Ellen Martineau," he answered. +"My hearing is very good, and I was not deeply engrossed in my business. +I heard and saw a good deal while I was there, and I am very glad I +heard and saw you. Do you feel well enough now for me to see you home?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I cannot let you see me home," I said, hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"I will do just what you like best." he replied. "I have no more right +to annoy you than that drunken vagabond had. If I did, I should be more +blamable than he was. Tell me what I shall do for you then. Shall I call +a cab?"</p> + +<p>I hesitated, for my funds were low, and would be almost spent by the +time I had paid the premium of ten pounds, and my travelling expenses; +yet I dared not trust myself either in the streets or in an omnibus. I +saw my new friend regard me keenly; my dress, so worn and faded, and my +old-fashioned bonnet. A smile flickered across his face. He led me back +into Fleet Street, and called an empty cab that was passing by. We shook +hands warmly. There was no time for loitering; and I told him the name +of the suburb where I was living, and he repeated it to the cabman.</p> + +<p>"All right," he said, speaking through the window, "the fare is paid, +and I've taken cabby's number. If he tries to cheat you, let me know; +Dr. John Senior, Brook Street. I hope that situation will be a good one, +and very pleasant. Good-by."</p> + +<p>"Good-by," I cried, leaning forward and looking at his face till the +crowd came between us, and I lost sight of it. It was a handsomer face +than Dr. Martin Dobrée's, and had something of the same genial, +vivacious light about it. I knew it well afterward, but I had not +leisure to think much of it then.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_FIFTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FIFTH.</h2> + +<p>BELLRINGER STREET.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I was still trembling with the terror that my meeting with Richard +Foster had aroused. A painful shuddering agitated me, and my heart +fluttered with an excess of fear which I could not conquer. I could +still feel his grasp upon my arm, where the skin was black with the +mark; and there was before my eyes the sight of his haggard and enraged +face, as he struggled to get free from the policeman. When he was sober +would he recollect all that had taken place, and go to make inquiries +after me at Ridley's agency-office? Dr. John Senior had said he had +followed me from there. I scarcely believed he would. Yet there was a +chance of it, a deadly chance to me. If so, the sooner I could fly from +London and England the better.</p> + +<p>I felt safer when the cabman set me down at the house where I lodged, +and I ran up-stairs to my little room. I kindled the fire, which had +gone out during my absence, and set my little tin tea-kettle upon the +first clear flame which burned up amid the coal. Then I sat down on my +box before it, thinking.</p> + +<p>Yes; I must leave London. I must take this situation, the only one open +to me, in a school in France. I should at least be assured of a home for +twelve months; and, as the clerk had said, I should perfect myself in +French and gain a referee. I should be earning a character, in fact. At +present I had none, and so was poorer than the poorest servant-maid. No +character, no name, no money; who could be poorer than the daughter of +the wealthy colonist, who had owned thousands of acres in Adelaide? I +almost laughed and cried hysterically at the thought of my father's vain +care and provision for my future.</p> + +<p>But the sooner I fled from London again the better, now that I knew my +husband was somewhere in it and might be upon my track. I unfolded the +paper on which was written the name of the lady to whom I was to apply. +Mrs. Wilkinson. 19 Bellringer Street. I ran down to the sitting-room, to +ask my landlady where it was, and told her, in my new hopefulness, that +I had heard of a situation in France. Bellringer Street was less than a +mile away, she said. I could be there before seven o'clock, not too late +perhaps for Mrs. Wilkinson to give me an interview.</p> + +<p>A thick yellow fog had come in with nightfall—a fog that could almost +be tasted and smelt—but it did not deter me from my object. I inquired +my way of every policeman I met, and at length entered the street. The +fog hid the houses from my view, but I could see that some of the lower +windows were filled with articles for sale, as if they were shops +struggling into existence. It was not a fashionable street, and Mrs. +Wilkinson could not be a very aristocratic person.</p> + +<p>No. 19 was not difficult to find, and I pulled the bell-handle with a +gentle and quiet pull, befitting my errand. I repeated this several +times without being admitted, when it struck me that the wire might be +broken. Upon that I knocked as loudly as I could upon the panels of the +broad old door; a handsome, heavy door, such as are to be found in the +old streets of London, from which the tide of fashion has ebbed away. A +slight, thin child in rusty mourning opened it, with the chain across, +and asked who I was in a timid voice.</p> + +<p>"Does Mrs. Wilkinson live here?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the child.</p> + +<p>"Who is there?" I heard a voice calling shrilly from within; not an +English voice, I felt sure, for each word was uttered distinctly and +slowly.</p> + +<p>"I am come about a school in France," I said to the child.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I'll let you in," she answered, eagerly; "she will see you about +that, I'm sure. I'm to go with you, if you go."</p> + +<p>She let down the chain, and opened the door. There was a dim light +burning in the hall, which looked shabby and poverty-stricken. There was +no carpet upon the broad staircase, and nothing but worn-out oil-cloth +on the floor. I had only time to take in a vague general impression, +before the little girl conducted me to a room on the ground-floor. That +too was uncarpeted and barely furnished; but the light was low, and I +could see nothing distinctly, except the face of the child looking +wistfully at me with shy curiosity.</p> + +<p>"I'm to go if you go," she said again; "and, oh! I do so hope you will +agree to go."</p> + +<p>"I think I shall," I answered.</p> + +<p>"I daren't be sure," she replied, nodding her head with an air of +sagacity; "there have been four or five governesses here, and none of +them would go. You'd have to take me with you; and, oh! it is such a +lovely, beautiful place. See! here is a picture of it."</p> + +<p>She ran eagerly to a side-table, on which lay a book or two, one of +which she opened, and reached out a photograph, which had been laid +there for security. When she brought it to me, she stood leaning lightly +against me as we both looked at the same picture. It was a clear, +sharply-defined photograph, with shadows so dark yet distinct as to show +the clearness of the atmosphere in which it had been taken. At the left +hand stood a handsome house, with windows covered with lace curtains, +and provided with outer Venetian shutters. In the centre stood a large +square garden, with fountains, and arbors, and statues, in the French +style of gardening, evidently well kept; and behind this stood a long +building of two stories, and a steep roof with dormer windows, every +casement of which was provided, like the house in the front, with rich +lace curtains and Venetian shutters. The whole place was clearly in good +order and good taste, and looked like a very pleasant home. It would +probably be my home for a time, and I scrutinized it the more closely. +Which of those sunny casements would be mine? What nook in that garden +would become my favorite? If I could only get there undetected, how +secure and happy I might be!</p> + +<p>Above the photograph was written in ornamental characters, "Pensionnat +de Demoiselles, à Noireau, Calvados." Underneath it were the words, +"Fondé par M. Emile Perrier, avocat, et par son épouse." Though I knew +very little of French, I could make out the meaning of these sentences. +Monsieur Perrier was an <i>avocat</i>. Tardif had happened to speak to me +about the notaries in Guernsey, who appeared to me to be of the same +rank as our solicitors, while the <i>avocats</i> were on a par with our +barristers. A barrister founding a boarding-school for young ladies +might be somewhat opposed to English customs, but it was clear that he +must be a man of education and position; a gentleman, in fact.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it a lovely place?" asked the child beside me, with a deep sigh +of longing.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said; "I should like to go."</p> + +<p>I had had time to make all these observations before the owner of the +foreign voice, which I had heard at the door, came in. At the first +glance I knew her to be a Frenchwoman, with the peculiar yellow tone in +her skin which seems inevitable in middle-aged Frenchwomen. Her black +eyes were steady and cold, and her general expression one of +watchfulness. She had wrapped tightly about her a China crape shawl, +which had once been white, but had now the same yellow tint as her +complexion. The light was low, but she turned it a little higher, and +scrutinized me with a keen and steady gaze.</p> + +<p>"I have not the honor of knowing you," she said politely.</p> + +<p>"I come from Ridley's agency-office," I answered, "about a situation as +English teacher in a school in France."</p> + +<p>"Be seated, miss," she said, pointing me to a stiff, high-backed chair, +whither the little girl followed me, stroking with her hand the soft +seal-skin jacket I was wearing.</p> + +<p>"It is a great chance," she continued; "my friend Madame Perrier is very +good, very amiable for her teachers. She is like a sister for them. The +terms are very high, very high for France; but there is absolutely every +comfort. The arrangements are precisely like England. She has lived in +England for two years, and knows what English young ladies look for; and +the house is positively English. I suppose you could introduce a few +English pupils."</p> + +<p>"No," I answered, "I am afraid I could not. I am sure I could not."</p> + +<p>"That of course must be considered in the premium," she continued; "if +you could have introduced, say, six pupils, the premium would be low. I +do not think my friend would take one penny less than twenty pounds for +the first year, and ten for the second."</p> + +<p>The tears started to my eyes. I had felt so sure of going if I would pay +ten pounds, that I was quite unprepared for this disappointment. There +was still my diamond ring left; but how to dispose of it, for any thing +like its value, I did not know. It was in my purse now, with all my +small store of money, which I dared not leave behind me in my lodgings.</p> + +<p>"What were you prepared to give?" asked Mrs. Wilkinson, while I +hesitated.</p> + +<p>"The clerk at Ridley's office told me the premium would be ten pounds," +I answered;</p> + +<p>"I do not see how I can give more."</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, after musing a little, while I watched her face +anxiously, "it is time this child went. She has been here a month, +waiting for somebody to take her down to Noireau. I will agree with you, +and will explain it to Madame Perrier. How soon could you go?"</p> + +<p>"I should like to go to-morrow," I replied, feeling that the sooner I +quitted London the better. Mrs. Wilkinson's steady eyes fastened upon me +again with sharp curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Have you references, miss?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No," I faltered, my hope sinking again before this old difficulty.</p> + +<p>"It will be necessary then," she said, "for you to give the money to me, +and I will forward it to Madame Perrier. Pardon, miss, but you perceive +I could not send a teacher to them unless I knew that she could pay the +money down. There is my commission to receive the money for my friend."</p> + +<p>She gave me a paper written in French, of which I could read enough to +see that it was a sort of official warrant to receive accounts for +Monsieur Perrier, <i>avocat</i>, and his wife. I did not waver any longer. +The prospect seemed too promising for me to lose it by any irresolution. +I drew out my purse, and laid down two out of the three five-pound notes +left me. She gave me a formal receipt in the names of Emile and Louise +Perrier, and her sober face wore an expression of satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"There! it is done," she said, wiping her pen carefully. "You will take +lessons, any lessons you please, from the professors who attend the +school. It is a grand chance, miss, a grand chance. Let us say you go +the day after to-morrow; the child will be quite ready. She is going for +four years to that splendid place, a place for ladies of the highest +degree."</p> + +<p>At that moment an imperious knock sounded upon the outer door, and the +little girl ran to answer it, leaving the door of our room open. A voice +which I knew well, a voice which made my heart stand still and my veins +curdle, spoke in sharp loud tones in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Foster come home yet?" were the words the terrible voice +uttered, quite close to me it seemed; so close that I shrank back +shivering as if every syllable struck a separate blow. All my senses +were awake: I could hear every sound in the hall, each step that came +nearer and nearer. Was she about to enter the room where I was sitting? +She stood still for half a minute as if uncertain what to do.</p> + +<p>"He is up stairs," said the child's voice. "He told me he was ill when I +opened the door for him."</p> + +<p>"Where is Mrs. Wilkinson?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"She is here," said the child, "but there's a lady with her."</p> + +<p>Then the woman's footsteps went on up the staircase. I listened to them +climbing up one step after another, my brain throbbing with each sound, +and I heard a door opened and closed. Mrs. Wilkinson had gone to the +door, and looked out into the hall, as if expecting some other questions +to be asked. She had not seen my panic of despair. I must get away +before I lost the use of my senses, for I felt giddy and faint.</p> + +<p>"I will send the child to you in a cab on Wednesday," she said, as I +stood up and made my way toward the hall; "you have not told me your +address."</p> + +<p>I paused for a moment. Dared I tell her my address? Yet my money was +paid, and if I did not I should lose both it and the refuge I had bought +with it. Besides, I should awaken suspicion and inquiry by silence. It +was a fearful risk to run; yet it seemed safer than a precipitous +retreat. I gave her my address, and saw her write it down on a slip of +paper.</p> + +<p>As I returned to my lodgings I grew calmer and more hopeful. It was not +likely that my husband would see the address, or even hear that any one +like me had been at the house. I did not suppose he would know the name +of Martineau as my mother's maiden name. As far as I recollected, I had +never spoken of her to him. Moreover he was not a man to make himself at +all pleasant and familiar with persons whom he looked upon as inferiors. +It was highly improbable that he would enter into any conversation with +his landlady. If that woman did so, all she would learn would be that a +young lady, whose name was Martineau, had taken a situation as English +teacher in a French school. What could there be in that to make her +think of me?</p> + +<p>I tried to soothe and reassure myself with these reasonings, but I could +not be quiet or at peace. I watched all through the next day, listening +to every sound in the house below; but no new terror assailed me. The +second night I was tranquil enough to sleep.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_SIXTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SIXTH.</h2> + +<p>LEAVING ENGLAND.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I was on the rack all the next day. It was the last day I should be in +England, and I had a nervous dread of being detained. If I should once +more succeed in quitting the country undetected, it seemed as though I +might hope to be in safety in Calvados. Of Calvados I knew even less +than of the Channel Islands; I had never heard the name before. But Mrs. +Wilkinson had given me the route by which we were to reach Noireau: by +steamer to Havre, across the mouth of the Seine to Honfleur, to Falaise +by train, and finally from Falaise to Noireau by omnibus. It was an +utterly unknown region to me; and I had no reason to imagine that +Richard Foster was better acquainted with it than I. My anxiety was +simply to get clear away.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon the little girl arrived quite alone, except that a man +had been hired to carry a small box for her, and to deliver her into my +charge. This was a great relief to me, and I paid the shilling he +demanded gladly. The child was thinly and shabbily dressed for our long +journey, and there was a forlorn loneliness about her position, left +thus with a stranger, which touched me to the heart. We were alike poor, +helpless, friendless—I was about to say childish, and in truth I was in +many things little more than a child still. The small elf, with her +sharp, large eyes, which were too big for her thin face, crept up to +me, as the man slammed the door after him and clattered noisily +downstairs.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad!" she said, with a deep-drawn sigh of relief; "I was afraid +I should never go, and school is such a heavenly place!"</p> + +<p>The words amused yet troubled me; they were so different from a child's +ordinary opinion.</p> + +<p>"It's such a hateful place at Mrs. Wilkinson's," she went on, "everybody +calling me at once, and scolding me; and there are such a many people to +run errands for. You don't know what it is to run errands when you are +tired to death. And it's such a beautiful, splendid place where we're +going to!"</p> + +<p>"What is your name, my dear?" I asked, sitting down on my box and taking +her on my lap. Such a thin, stunted little woman, precociously learned +in trouble! Yet she nestled in my arms like a true child, and a tear or +two rolled down her cheeks, as if from very contentment.</p> + +<p>"Nobody has nursed me like this since mother died," she said. "I'm +Mary; but father always called me Minima, because I was the least in the +house. He kept a boys' school out of London, in Epping Forest, you know; +and it was so heavenly! All the boys were good to me, and we used to +call father Dominie. Then he died, and mother died just before him; and +he said,'Courage, Minima! God will take care of my little girl.' So the +boys' fathers and mothers made a subscription for me, and they got a +great deal of money, a hundred pounds; and somebody told them about this +school, where I can stay four years for a hundred pounds, and they all +said that was the best thing they could do with me. But I've had to stay +with Mrs. Wilkinson nearly two months, because she could not find a +governess to go with me. I hate her; I detest her; I should like to spit +at her!"</p> + +<p>The little face was all aflame, and the large eyes burning.</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush!" I said, drawing her head down upon my shoulder again.</p> + +<p>"Then there is Mr. Foster," she continued, almost sobbing; "he torments +me so. He likes to make fun of me, and tease me, till I can't bear to go +into his room. Father used to say it was wicked to hate anybody, and I +didn't hate anybody then. I was so happy. But you'd hate Mr. Foster, and +Mrs. Foster, if you only knew them."</p> + +<p>"Why?" I asked in a whisper. My voice sounded husky to me, and my throat +felt parched. The child's impotent rage and hatred struck a slumbering +chord within me.</p> + +<p>"Oh! they are horrid in every way," she said, with emphasis; "they +frighten me. He is fond of tormenting any thing because he's cruel. We +had a cruel boy in our school once, so I know. But they are very +poor—poor as Job, Mrs. Wilkinson says, and I'm glad. Aren't you glad?"</p> + +<p>The question jarred in my memory against a passionate craving after +revenge, which had died away in the quiet and tranquillity of Sark. A +year ago I should have rejoiced in any measure of punishment or +retribution, which had overtaken those who had destroyed my happiness. +But it was not so now; or perhaps I should rather own that it was only +faintly so. It had never occurred to me that my flight would plunge him +into poverty similar to my own. But now that the idea was thrust upon +me. I wondered how I could have overlooked this necessary consequence of +my conduct. Ought I to do any thing for him? Was there any thing I could +do to help him?"</p> + +<p>"He is ill, too," pursued the child; "I heard him say once to Mrs. +Foster, he knew he should die like a dog. I was a little tiny bit sorry +for him then; for nobody would like to die like a dog, and not go to +heaven, you know. But I don't care now, I shall never see them +again—never, never! I could jump out of my skin for joy. I sha'n't even +know when he is dead, if he does die like a dog."</p> + +<p>Ill! dead! My heart beat faster and faster as I pondered over these +words. Then I should be free indeed; his death would release me from +bondage, from terror, from poverty—those three evils which dogged my +steps. I had never ventured to let my thoughts run that way, but this +child's prattling had forced them into it. Richard Foster ill—dying! O +God! what ought I to do?</p> + +<p>I could not make myself known to him; that was impossible. I would ten +thousand times sooner die myself than return to him. He was not alone +either. But yet there came back to my mind the first days when I knew +him, when he was all tenderness and devotion to me, declaring that he +could find no fault in his girl-wife. How happy I had been for a little +while, exchanging my stepmother's harshness for his indulgence! He might +have won my love; he had almost won it. But that happy, golden time was +gone, and could never come back to me. Yet my heart was softened toward +him, as I thought of him ill, perhaps dying. What could I do for him, +without placing myself in his power?</p> + +<p>There was one thing only that I could do, only one little sacrifice I +could make for him whom I had vowed, in childish ignorance, to love, +honor, and cherish in sickness and in health, until death parted us. A +home was secured to me for twelve months, and at the end of that time I +should have a better career open to me. I had enough money still to last +me until then. My diamond ring, which had been his own gift to me on our +wedding-day, would be valuable to him. Sixty pounds would be a help to +him, if he were as poor as this child said. He must be poor, or he would +never have gone to live in that mean street and neighborhood.</p> + +<p>Perhaps—if he had been alone—I do not know, but possibly if he had +been quite alone, ill, dying in that poor lodging of his, I might have +gone to him. I ask myself again, could you have done this thing? But I +cannot answer it even to myself. Poor and ill he was, but he was not +alone.</p> + +<p>It was enough for me, then, that I could do something, some little +service for him. The old flame of vengeance had no spark of heat left in +it. I was free from hatred of him. I set the child gently away from me, +and wrote my last letter to my husband. Both the letter and the ring I +enclosed in a little box. These are the words I wrote, and I put neither +date nor name of place:</p> + +<p>"I know that you are poor, and I send you all I can spare—the ring you +once gave to me. I am even poorer than yourself, but I have just enough +for my immediate wants. I forgive you, as I trust God forgives me."</p> + +<p>I sat looking at it, thinking of it for some time. There was a vague +doubt somewhere in my mind that this might work some mischief. But at +last I decided that it should go. I must register the packet at a +post-office on our way to the station, and it could not fail to reach +him.</p> + +<p>This business settled, I returned to the child, who was sitting, as I +had so often, done, gazing pensively into the fire. Was she to be a sort +of miniature copy of myself?</p> + +<p>"Come, Minima," I said, "we must be thinking of tea. Which would you +like best, buns, or cake, or bread-and-butter? We must go out and buy +them, and you shall choose."</p> + +<p>"Which would cost the most?" she asked, looking at me with the careworn +expression of a woman. The question sounded so oddly, coming from lips +so young, that it grieved me. How bitterly and heavily must the burden +of poverty have already fallen upon this child! I was almost afraid to +think what it must mean. I put my arm round her, pressing my cheek +against hers, while childish visions, more childish than any in this +little head, flitted before me, of pantomimes, and toys, and sweetmeats, +and the thousand things that children love. If I had been as rich as my +father had planned for me to be, how I would have lavished them upon +this anxious little creature!</p> + +<p>We were discussing this question with befitting gravity, when a great +thump against the door brought a host of fears upon me. But before I +could stir the insecure handle gave way, and no one more formidable +appeared than the landlady of the house, carrying before her a tray on +which was set out a sumptuous tea, consisting of buttered crumpets and +shrimps. She put it down on my dressing-table, and stood surveying it +and us with an expression of benign exultation, until she had recovered +her breath sufficiently to speak.</p> + +<p>"Those as are going into foring parts," she said, "ought to get a good +English meal afore they start. If you was going to stay in England, +miss, it would be quite a differing thing; but me and my master don't +know what they may give you to eat where you're going to. Therefore we +beg you'll accept of the crumpets, and the shrimps, and the +bread-and-butter, and the tea, and every thing; and we mean no offence +by it. You've been a very quiet, regular lodger, and give no trouble; +and we're sorry to lose you. And this, my master says, is a testimonial +to you."</p> + +<p>I could hardly control my laughter, and I could not keep back my tears. +It was a long time now since any one had shown me so much kindness and +sympathy as this. The dull face of the good woman was brightened by her +kind-hearted feeling, and instead of thanking her I put my lips to her +cheek.</p> + +<p>"Lor!" she exclaimed, "why! God bless you, my dear! I didn't mean any +offence, you know. Lor! I never thought you'd pay me like that. It's +very pretty of you, it is; for I'm sure you're a lady to the backbone, +as often and often I've said to my master. Be good enough to eat it all, +you and the little miss, for you've a long journey before you. God bless +you both, my dears, and give you a good appetite!"</p> + +<p>She backed out of the room as she was speaking, her face beaming upon us +to the last.</p> + +<p>There was a pleasant drollery about her conduct, and about the intense +delight of the child, and her hearty enjoyment of the feast, which for +the time effectually dissipated my fears and my melancholy thoughts. It +was the last hour I should spend in my solitary room; my lonely days +were past. This little elf, with her large sharp eyes, and sagacious +womanly face, was to be my companion for the future. I felt closely +drawn to her. Even the hungry appetite with which she ate spoke of the +hard times she had gone through. When she had eaten all she could eat, I +heard her say softly to herself, "Courage, Minima!"</p> + +<br /> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_SEVENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.</h2> + +<p>A LONG JOURNEY.</p> +<br /> + +<p>It as little more than twelve months since I had started from the same +station on the same route; but there was no Tardif at hand now. As I +went into the ticket-office, Minima caught me by the dress and whispered +earnestly into my ear.</p> + +<p>"We're not to travel first-class," she said; "it costs too much. Mrs. +Wilkinson said we ought to go third, if we could; and you're to pay for +me, please, only half-price, and they'll pay you again when we reach the +school. I'll come with you, and then they'll see I'm only half-price. I +don't look too old, do I?"</p> + +<p>"You look very old," I answered, smiling at her anxious face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, dear!" she said; "but I sit very small. Perhaps I'd better +not come to the ticket-office; the porters are sure to think me only a +little girl."</p> + +<p>She was uneasy until we had fairly started from the station, her right +to a half-ticket unchallenged.</p> + +<p>The November night was cold and foggy, and there was little difference +between the darkness of the suburbs and the darkness of the open +country.</p> + +<p>Once again the black hulls and masts of two steamers stood before us, at +the end of our journey, and hurrying voices shouted, "This way for +Jersey and Guernsey," "This way to Havre." What would I not have given +to return to Sark, to my quiet room under Tardif's roof, with his true +heart and steadfast friendship to rest upon! But that could not be. My +feet were setting out upon a new track, and I did not know where the +hidden path would lead me.</p> + +<p>The next morning found us in France. It was a soft, sunny day, with a +mellow light, which seemed to dwell fondly on the many-tinted leaves of +the trees which covered the banks of the Seine. From Honfleur to Falaise +the same warm, genial sunshine filled the air. The slowly-moving train +carried us through woods where the autumn seemed but a few days old, and +where the slender leaflets of the acacias still fluttered in the +caressing breath of the wind. We passed through miles upon miles of +orchards, where a few red leaves were hanging yet upon the knotted +branches of the apple-trees, beneath which lay huge pyramids of apples. +Truck-loads of them stood at every station. The air was scented by them. +Children were pelting one another with them; and here and there, where +the orchards had been cleared and the trees stripped, flocks of geese +were searching for those scattered among the tufts of grass. The roses +were in blossom, and the chrysanthemums were in their first glory. The +few countrywomen who got into our carriage were still wearing their +snowy muslin caps, as in summer. Nobody appeared cold and pinched yet, +and everybody was living out-of-doors.</p> + +<p>It was almost like going into a new world, and I breathed more freely +the farther we travelled down into the interior. At Falaise we exchanged +the train for a small omnibus, which bore the name "Noireau" +conspicuously on its door. I had discovered that the little French I +knew was not of much service, as I could in no way understand the rapid +answers that were given to my questions. A woman came to us, at the door +of a <i>café</i>, where the omnibus stopped in Falaise, and made a long and +earnest harangue, of which I did not recognize one word. At length we +started off on the last stage of our journey.</p> + +<p>Where could we be going to? I began to ask myself the question anxiously +after we had crept on, at a dog-trot, for what seemed an interminable +time. We had passed through long avenues of trees, and across a series +of wide, flat plains, and down gently-sloping roads into narrow valleys, +and up the opposite ascents; and still the bells upon the horses' +collars jingled sleepily, and their hoof-beats shambled along the roads. +We were seldom in sight of any house, and we passed through very few +villages. I felt as if we were going all the way to Marseilles.</p> +<br /> + +<p>"I'm so hungry!" said Minima, after a very long silence.</p> + +<p>I too had been hungry for an hour or two past. We had breakfasted at +mid-day at one of the stations, but we had had nothing to eat since, +except a roll which Minima had brought away from breakfast, with wise +prevision; but this had disappeared long ago.</p> + +<p>"Try to go to sleep," I said; "lean against me. We must be there soon."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered, "and it's such a splendid school! I'm going to stay +there four years, you know, so it's foolish to mind being hungry now. +'Courage, Minima!' I must recollect that."</p> + +<p>"Courage, Olivia!" I repeated to myself. "The farther you go, the more +secure will be your hiding-place." The child nestled against me, and +soon fell asleep. I went to sleep myself—an unquiet slumber, broken by +terrifying dreams. Sometimes I was falling from the cliffs in Sark into +the deep, transparent waters below, where the sharp rocks lay like +swords. Then I was in the Gouliot Caves, with Martin Dobrée at my side, +and the tide was coming in too strongly for us; and beyond, in the +opening through which we might have escaped, my husband's face looked in +at us, with a hideous exultation upon it. I woke at last, shivering with +cold and dread, for I had fancied that he had found me, and was carrying +me away again to his old hateful haunts.</p> + +<p>Our omnibus was jolting and rumbling down some steep and narrow streets +lighted by oil-lamps swung across them. There were no lights in any of +the houses, save a few in the upper windows, as though the inmates were +all in bed, or going to bed. Only at the inn where we stopped was there +any thing like life. A lamp, which hung over the archway leading to the +yard and stables, lit up a group of people waiting for the arrival of +the omnibus. I woke up Minima from her deep and heavy sleep.</p> + +<p>"We are here at Noireau!" I said. "We have reached our home at last!"</p> + +<p>The door was opened before the child was fairly awake. A small cluster +of bystanders gathered round us as we alighted, and watched our luggage +put down from the roof; while the driver ran on volubly, and with many +gesticulations, addressed to the little crowd. He, the chamber-maid, the +landlady, and all the rest, surrounded us as solemnly as if they were +assisting at a funeral. There was not a symptom of amusement, but they +all stared at us unflinchingly, as if a single wink of their eyelids +would cause them to lose some extraordinary spectacle. If I had been a +total eclipse of the sun, and they a group of enthusiastic astronomers +bent upon observing every phenomenon, they could not have gazed more +steadily. Minima was leaning against me, half asleep. A narrow vista of +tall houses lay to the right and left, lost in impenetrable darkness. +The strip of sky overhead was black with midnight.</p> + +<p>"Noireau?" I asked, in a tone of interrogation.</p> + +<p>"Oui, oui, madame," responded a chorus of voices.</p> + +<p>"Carry me to the house of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the <i>avocat</i>," I said, +speaking slowly and distinctly.</p> + +<p>The words, simple as they were, seemed to awaken considerable +excitement. The landlady threw up her hands, with an expression of +astonishment, and the driver recommenced his harangue. Was it possible +that I could have made a mistake in so short and easy a sentence? I +said it over again to myself, and felt sure I was right. With renewed +confidence I repeated it aloud, with a slight variation.</p> + +<p>"I wish to go to the house of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the <i>avocat</i>," I +said.</p> + +<p>But while they still clustered round Minima and me, giving no sign of +compliance with my request, two persons thrust themselves through the +circle. The one was a man, in a threadbare brown greatcoat, with a large +woollen comforter wound several times about his neck; and the other a +woman, in an equally shabby dress, who spoke to me in broken English.</p> + +<p>"Mees, I am Madame Perrier, and this my husband," she said; "come on. +The letter was here only an hour ago; but all is ready. Come on; come +on."</p> + +<p>She put her hand through my arm, and took hold of Minima's hand, as if +claiming both of us. A dead silence had fallen upon the little crowd, as +if they were trying to catch the meaning of the English words. But as +she pushed on, with us both in her hands, a titter for the first time +ran from lip to lip. I glanced back, and saw Monsieur Perrier, the +<i>avocat</i>, hurriedly putting our luggage on a wheelbarrow, and preparing +to follow us with it along the dark streets.</p> + +<p>I was too bewildered yet to feel any astonishment. We were in France, in +a remote part of France, and I did not know what Frenchmen would or +would not do. Madame Perrier, exhausted with her effort at speaking +English, had ceased speaking to me, and contented herself with guiding +us along the strange streets. We stopped at last opposite the large, +handsome house, which stood in the front of the photograph I had seen in +London. I could just recognize it in the darkness; and behind lay the +garden and the second range of building. Not a glimmer of light shone in +any of the windows.</p> + +<p>"It is midnight nearly," said Madame Perrier, as we came to a +stand-still and waited for her husband, the <i>avocat</i>.</p> + +<p>Even when he came up with the luggage there seemed some difficulty in +effecting an entrance. He passed through the garden-gate, and +disappeared round the corner of the house, walking softly, as if careful +not to disturb the household. How long the waiting seemed! For we were +hungry, sleepy, and cold—strangers in a very strange land. I heard +Minima sigh weariedly.</p> + +<p>At last he reappeared round the corner, carrying a candle, which +flickered in the wind. Not a word was spoken by him or his wife as the +latter conducted us toward him. We were to enter by the back-door, that +was evident. But I did not care what door we entered by, so that we +might soon find rest and food. She led us into a dimly-lighted room, +where I could just make out what appeared to be a carpenter's bench, +with a heap of wood-shavings lying under it. But I was too weary to be +certain about any thing.</p> + +<p>"It is a leetle cabinet of work of my husband," said Madame Perrier; +"our chamber is above, and the chamber for you and leetle mees is there +also. But the school is not there. Will you go to bed? Will you sleep? +Come on, mees."</p> + +<p>"But we are very hungry," I remonstrated; "we have had nothing to eat +since noon. We could not sleep without food."</p> + +<p>"Bah! that is true," she said. "Well, come on. The food is at the +school. Come on."</p> + +<p>That must be the house at the back. We went down the broad gravel walk, +with the pretty garden at the side of us, where a fountain was tinkling +and splashing busily in the quiet night. But we passed the front of the +house behind it without stopping, at the door. Madame led us through a +cart-shed into a low, long, vaulted passage, with doors opening on each +side; a black, villanous-looking place, with the feeble, flickering +light of the candle throwing on to the damp walls a sinister gleam. +Minima pressed very close to me, and I felt a strange quiver of +apprehension: but the thought that there was no escape from it, and no +help at hand, nerved me to follow quietly to the end.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_EIGHTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.</h2> + +<p>AT SCHOOL IN FRANCE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>The end brought us out into a mean, poor street, narrow even where the +best streets were narrow. A small house, the exterior of which I +discovered afterward to be neglected and almost dilapidated, stood +before us; and madame unlocked the door with a key from her pocket. We +were conducted into a small kitchen, where a fire had been burning +lately, though it was now out, and only a little warmth lingered about +the stove. Minima was set upon a chair opposite to it, with her feet in +the oven, and I was invited to do the same. I assented mechanically, and +looked furtively about me, while madame was busy in cutting a huge hunch +or two of black bread, and spreading upon them a thin scraping of rancid +butter.</p> + +<p>There was an oil-lamp here, burning with a clear, bright blaze. Madame's +face was illuminated by it. It was a coarse, sullen face, with an +expression of low cunning about it. There was not a trace of refinement +or culture about her, not even the proverbial taste of a Frenchwoman in +dress. The kitchen was a picture of squalid dirt and neglect; the walls +and ceiling black with smoke, and the floor so crusted over with unswept +refuse and litter that I thought it was not quarried. The few +cooking-utensils were scattered about in disorder. The stove before +which we sat was rusty. Could I be dreaming of this filthy dwelling and +this slovenly woman? No; it was all too real for me to doubt their +existence for an instant.</p> + +<p>She was pouring out some cold tea into two little cups, when Monsieur +Perrier made his appearance, his face begrimed and his shaggy hair +uncombed. I had been used to the sight of rough men in Adelaide, on our +sheep-farm, but I had never seen one more boorish. He stood in the +doorway, rubbing his hands, and gazing at us unflinchingly with the hard +stare of a Norman peasant, while he spoke in rapid, uncouth tones to his +wife. I turned away my head, and shut my eyes to this unwelcome sight.</p> + +<p>"Eat, mees," said the woman, bringing us our food. "There is tea. We +give our pupils and instructresses tea for supper at six o'clock: after +that there is no more to eat."</p> + +<p>I took a mouthful of the food, but I could hardly swallow it, exhausted +as I was from hunger. The bread was sour and the butter rancid; the tea +tasted of garlic. Minima ate hers ravenously, without uttering a word. +The child had not spoken since we entered these new scenes: her careworn +face was puckered, and her sharp eyes were glancing about her more +openly than mine. As soon as she had finished her hunch of black bread, +I signified to Madame Perrier that we were ready to go to our bedroom.</p> + +<p>We had the same vaulted passage and cart-shed to traverse on our way +back to the other house. There we were ushered into a room containing +only two beds and our two boxes. I helped Minima to undress, and tucked +her up in bed, trying not to see the thin little face and sharp eyes +which wanted to meet mine, and look into them. She put her arm round my +neck, and drew down my head to whisper cautiously into my ear.</p> + +<p>"They're cheats," she said, earnestly, "dreadful cheats. This isn't a +splendid place at all. Oh! whatever shall I do? Shall I have to stay +here four years?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, Minima!" I answered. "Perhaps it is better than we think now. We +are tired. To-morrow we shall see the place better, and it may be +splendid after all. Kiss me, and go to sleep."</p> + +<p>But it was too much for me, far too much. The long, long journey; the +hunger the total destruction of all my hopes; the dreary prospect that +stretched before me. I laid my aching head on my pillow, and cried +myself to sleep like a child.</p> + +<p>I was awakened, while it was yet quite dark, by the sound of a +carpenter's tool in the room below me. Almost immediately a loud knock +came at my door, and the harsh voice of madame called to us.</p> + +<p>"Get up, mees, get up, and come on," she said; "you make your toilet at +the school. Come on, quick!"</p> + +<p>Minima was more dexterous than I in dressing herself in the dark; but we +were not long in getting ready. The air was raw and foggy when we turned +out-of-doors, and it was so dark still that we could scarcely discern +the outline of the walls and houses. But madame was waiting to conduct +us once more to the other house, and as she did so she volunteered an +explanation of their somewhat singular arrangement of dwelling in two +houses. The school, she informed me, was registered in the name of her +head governess, not in her own; and as the laws of France prohibited any +man dwelling under the same roof with a school of girls, except the +husband of the proprietor, they were compelled to rent two dwellings.</p> + +<p>"How many pupils have you, madame?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"We have six, mees," she replied. "They are here; see them."</p> + +<p>We had reached the house, and she opened the door of a long, low room. +There was an open hearth, with a few logs of green wood upon it, but +they were not kindled. A table ran almost the whole length of the room, +with forms on each side. A high chair or two stood about. All was +comfortless, dreary, and squalid.</p> + +<p>But the girls who were sitting on the hard benches by the table were +still more squalid and dreary-looking. Their faces were pinched, and +just now blue with cold, and their hands were swollen and red with +chilblains. They had a cowed and frightened expression, and peeped +askance at us as we went in behind madame. Minima pressed closely to me, +and clasped my hand tightly in her little fingers. We were both entering +upon the routine of a new life, and the first introduction to it was +disheartening.</p> + +<p>"Three are English," said madame, "and three are French. The English are +<i>frileuses</i>; they are always sheever, sheever, sheever. Behold, how they +have fingers red and big! Bah! it is disgusting."</p> + +<p>She rapped one of the swollen hands which lay upon the table, and the +girl dropped it out of sight upon her lap, with a frightened glance at +the woman. Minima's fingers tightened upon mine. The head governess, a +Frenchwoman of about thirty, with a number of little black papillotes +circling about her head, was now introduced to me; and an animated +conversation followed between her and madame.</p> + +<p>"You comprehend the French?" asked the latter, turning with a suspicious +look to me.</p> + +<p>"No," I answered; "I know very little of it yet."</p> + +<p>"Good!" she replied. "We will eat breakfast."</p> + +<p>"But I have not made my toilet," I objected; "there was neither +washingstand nor dressing-table in my room."</p> + +<p>"Bah!" she said, scornfully; "there are no gentlemans here. No person +will see you. You make your toilet before the promenade; not at this +moment."</p> + +<p>It was evident that uncomplaining submission was expected, and no +remonstrance would be of avail. Breakfast was being brought in by one of +the pupils. It consisted of a teacupful of coffee at the bottom of a big +basin, which was placed before each of us, a large tablespoon to feed +ourselves with; and a heaped plateful of hunches of bread, similar to +those I had turned from last night. But I could fast no longer. I sat +down with the rest at the long table, and ate my food with a sinking and +sorrowful heart.</p> + +<p>Minima drank her scanty allowance of coffee thirstily, and then asked, +in a timid voice, if she could have a little more. Madame's eyes glared +upon her, and her voice snapped out an answer; while the English girls +looked frightened, and drew in their bony shoulders, as if such temerity +made them shudder. As soon as madame was gone, the child flung her arms +around me, and hid her face in my bosom.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried, "don't you leave me; don't forsake me! I have to stay +here four years, and it will kill me. I shall die if you go away and +leave me."</p> + +<p>I soothed her as best I could, without promising to remain in this trap. +Would it not be possible in some way to release her as well as myself? I +sat thinking through the long cold morning, with the monotonous hum of +lessons in my ears. There was nothing for me to do, and I found that I +could not return to the house where I had slept, and where my luggage +was, until night came again. I sat all the morning in the chilly room, +with Minima on the floor at my feet, clinging to me for protection and +warmth, such as I could give.</p> + +<p>But what could I do either for her or myself? My store of money was +almost all gone, for our joint expenses had cost more than I had +anticipated, and I could very well see that I must not expect Madame +Perrier to refund Minima's fare. There was perhaps enough left to carry +me back to England, and just land me on its shores. But what then? Where +was I to go then? Penniless, friendless; without character, without a +name—but an assumed one—what was to become of me? I began to wonder +vaguely whether I should be forced to make myself known to my husband; +whether fate would not drive me back to him. No; that should never be. I +would face and endure any hardship rather than return to my former life. +A hundred times better this squalid, wretched, foreign school, than the +degradation of heart and soul I had suffered with him.</p> + +<p>I could do no more for Minima than for myself, for I dared not even +write to Mrs. Wilkinson, who was either an accomplice or a dupe of +these Perriers. My letter might fall into the hands of Richard Foster, +or the woman living with him, and so they would track me out, and I +should have no means of escape. I dared not run that risk. The only +thing I could do for her was to stay with her, and as far as possible +shield her from the privations and distress that threatened us both. I +was safe here; no one was likely to come across me, in this remote +place, who could by any chance know me. I had at least a roof over my +head; I had food to eat. Elsewhere I was not sure of either. There +seemed to be no other choice given me than to remain in the trap.</p> + +<p>"We must make the best of it, Minima," I whispered to the child, through +the hum of lessons. Her shrewd little face brightened with a smile that +smoothed all the wrinkles out of it.</p> + +<p>"That's what father said!" she cried; "he said, 'Courage, Minima. God +will take care of my little daughter.' God has sent you to take care of +me. Suppose I'd come all the way alone, and found it such a horrid +place!"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_NINTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE NINTH.</h2> + +<p>A FRENCH AVOCAT.</p> +<br /> + +<p>December came in with intense severity. Icicles a yard long hung to the +eaves, and the snow lay unmelted for days together on the roofs. More +often than not we were without wood for our fire, and when we had it, it +was green and unseasoned, and only smouldered away with a smoke that +stung and irritated our eyes. Our insufficient and unwholesome food +supplied us with no inward warmth. Coal in that remote district cost too +much for any but the wealthiest people, Now and then I caught a glimpse +of a blazing fire in the houses I had to pass, to get to our chamber +over Monsieur Perrier's workshop; and in an evening the dainty, savory +smell of dinner, cooking in the kitchen adjoining, sometimes filled the +frosty air. Both sight and scent were tantalizing, and my dreams at +night were generally of pleasant food and warm firesides.</p> + +<p>At times the pangs of hunger grew too strong for us both, and forced me +to spend a little of the money I was nursing so carefully. As soon as I +could make myself understood, I went out occasionally after dark, to buy +bread-and-milk.</p> + +<p>Noireau was a curious town, the streets everywhere steep and narrow, and +the houses, pell-mell, rich and poor, large and small huddled together +without order. Almost opposite the handsome dwelling, the photograph of +which had misled me, stood a little house where I could buy rich, creamy +milk. It was sold by a Mademoiselle Rosalie, an old maid, whom I +generally found solitarily reading a <i>Journal pour Tous</i> with her feet +upon a <i>chaufferette</i>, and no light save that of her little oil-lamp. +She had never sat by a fire in her life, she told me, burning her face +and spoiling her <i>teint</i>. Her dwelling consisted of a single room, with +a shed opening out of it, where she kept her milkpans. She was the only +person I spoke to out of Madame Perrier's own household.</p> + +<p>"Is Monsieur Perrier an avocat?" I asked her one day, as soon as I could +understand what she might say in reply. There was very little doubt in +my mind as to what her answer would be.</p> + +<p>"An avocat, mademoiselle?" She repeated, shrugging her shoulders; "who +has told you that? Are the avocats in England like Emile? He is my +relation, and you see me! He is a bailiff; do you understand? If I go in +debt, he comes and takes possession of my goods, you see. It is very +simple. One need not be very learned to do that. Emile Perrier an +avocat? Bah!"</p> + +<p>"What is an avocat?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"An avocat is even higher than a notaire," she answered; "he gives +counsel; he pleads before the judges. It is a high <i>rôle</i>. One must be +very learned, very eloquent, to be an avocat."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he must be a gentleman," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"A gentleman, mademoiselle?" she said; "I do not understand you. There +is equality in France. We are all messieurs and mesdames. There is +monsieur the bailiff, and monsieur the duke; and there is madame the +washer-woman, and madame the duchess. We are all gentlemen, all ladies. +It is not the same in your country."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Did my little Emile tell you he was an avocat, mademoiselle?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>"No," I said. I was on my guard, even if I had known French well enough +to explain the deception practised upon me. She looked as if she did not +believe me, but smiled and nodded with imperturbable politeness, as I +carried off my jug of milk.</p> + +<p>So Monsieur Perrier was nothing higher than a bailiff, and with very +little to do even in that line of the law! He took off his tasselled cap +to me as I passed his workshop, and went up-stairs with the milk to +Minima, who was already gone to bed for the sake of warmth. The +discovery did not affect me with surprise. If he had been an avocat, my +astonishment at French barristers would have been extreme.</p> + +<p>Yet there was something galling in the idea of being under the roof of a +man and woman of that class, in some sort in their power and under their +control. The low, vulgar cunning of their nature appeared more clearly +to me. There was no chance of success in any contest with them, for they +were too boorish to be reached by any weapon I could use. All I could do +was to keep as far aloof from them as possible.</p> + +<p>This was not difficult to do, for neither of them interfered with the +affairs of the school, and we saw them only at meal times, when they +watched every mouthful we ate with keen eyes.</p> + +<p>I found that I had no duties to perform as a teacher, for none of the +three French pupils desired to learn English. English girls, who had +been decoyed into the same snare by the same false photograph and +prospectus which had entrapped me, were all of families too poor to be +able to forfeit the money which had been paid in advance for their +French education. Two of them, however, completed their term at +Christmas, and returned home weak and ill; the third was to leave in the +spring. I did not hear that any more pupils were expected, and why +Madame Perrier should have engaged any English teacher became a problem +to me. The premium I had paid was too small to cover my expenses for a +year, though we were living at so scanty a cost. It was not long before +I understood my engagement better.</p> + +<p>I studied the language diligently. I felt myself among foreigners and +foes, and I was helpless till I could comprehend what they were saying +in my presence. Having no other occupation, I made rapid progress, +though Mademoiselle Morel, the head governess, gave me very little +assistance.</p> + +<p>She was a dull, heavy, yet crafty-looking woman, who had taken a +first-class diploma as a teacher; yet, as far as I could judge, knew +very much less than most English governesses who are uncertificated. So +far from there being any professors attending the school, I could not +discover that there were any in the town. It was a cotton-manufacturing +town, with a population of six thousand, most of them hand-loom weavers. +There were three or four small factories, built on the banks of the +river, where the hands were at work from six in the morning till ten at +night, Sundays included. There was not much intellectual life here; a +professor would have little chance of making a living.</p> + +<p>At first Minima, and I took long walks together into the country +surrounding Noireau, a beautiful country, even in November. Once out of +the vapor lying in the valley, at the bottom of which the town was +built, the atmosphere showed itself as exquisitely clear, with no smoke +in it, except the fine blue smoke of wood-fire. We could distinguish the +shapes of trees standing out against the horizon, miles and miles away; +while between us and it lay slopes of brown woodland and green pastures, +with long rows of slim poplars, the yellow leaves clinging to them +still, and winding round them, like garlands on a May-pole. But this +pleasure was a costly one, for it awoke pangs of hunger, which I was +compelled to appease by drawing upon my rapidly-emptying purse. We +learned that it was necessary to stay in-doors, and cultivate a small +appetite.</p> + +<p>"Am I getting very thin?" asked Minima one day, as she held up her +transparent hand against the light; "how thin do you think I could get +without dying, Aunt Nelly?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! a great deal thinner, my darling," I said, kissing the little +fingers, My heart was bound up in the child. I had been so lonely +without her, that now her constant companionship, her half-womanly, +half-babyish prattle seemed necessary to me. There was no longer any +question in my mind as to whether I could leave her. I only wondered +what I should do when my year was run out, and only one of those four of +hers, for which these wretches had received the payment.</p> + +<p>"Some people can get very thin indeed," she went on, with her shrewd, +quaint smile; "I've heard the boys at school talk about it. One of them +had seen a living skeleton, that was all skin and bone, and no flesh. I +shouldn't like to be a living skeleton, and be made a show of. Do you +think I ever shall be, if I stay here four years? Perhaps they'd take me +about as a show."</p> + +<p>"Why, you are talking nonsense, Minima," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Am I?" she said, wistfully, as if the idea really troubled her; "I +dream of it often and often. I can feel all my bones now, and count +them, when I'm in bed. Some of them are getting very sharp. The boys +used to say they'd get as sharp as knives sometimes, and cut through the +skin. But father said it was only boys' talk."</p> + +<p>"Your father was right," I answered; "you must think of what he said, +not the boys' talk."</p> + +<p>"But," she continued, "the boys said sometimes people get so hungry they +bite pieces out of their arms. I don't think I could ever be so hungry +as that; do you?"</p> + +<p>"Minima," I said, starting up, "let us run to Mademoiselle Rosalie's for +some bread-and-milk."</p> + +<p>"You're afraid of me beginning to eat myself!" she cried, with a little +laugh. But she was the first to reach Mademoiselle Rosalie's door; and I +watched her devouring her bread-and-milk with the eagerness of a +ravenous appetite.</p> + +<p>Very fast melted away my money. I could not see the child pining with +hunger, though every sou I spent made our return to England more +difficult. Madame Perrier put no hinderance in my way, for the more food +we purchased ourselves, the less we ate at her table. The bitter cold +and the coarse food told upon Minima's delicate little frame. Yet what +could I do? I dared not write to Mrs. Wilkinson, and I very much doubted +if there would be any benefit to be hoped for if I ran the risk. Minima +did not know the address of any one of the persons who had subscribed +for her education and board; to her they were only the fathers and +mothers of the boys of whom she talked so much. She was as friendless as +I was in the world.</p> + +<p>So far away were Dr. Martin Dobrée and Tardif, that I dared not count +them as friends who could have any power to help me. Better for Dr. +Martin Dobrée if he could altogether forget me, and return to his cousin +Julia. Perhaps he had done so already.</p> + +<p>How long was this loneliness, this friendlessness to be my lot? I was so +young yet, that my life seemed endless as it stretched before me. Poor, +desolate, hunted, I shrank from life as an evil thing, and longed +impatiently to be rid of it. Yet how could I escape even from its +present phase?</p> + +<br /> + +<p>CHAPTER THE TENTH.</p> + +<p>A MISFORTUNE WITHOUT PARALLEL.</p> + +<p>My escape was nearer than I expected, and was forced upon me in a manner +I could never have foreseen.</p> + +<p>Toward the middle of February, Mademoiselle Morel appeared often in +tears. Madame Perrier's coarse face was always overcast, and monsieur +seemed gloomy, too gloomy to retain even French politeness of manner +toward any of us. The household was under a cloud, but I could not +discover why. What little discipline and work there had been in the +school was quite at an end. Every one was left to do as she chose.</p> + +<p>Early one morning, long before daybreak, I was startled out of my sleep +by a hurried knock at my door. I cried out, "Who is there?" and a +voice, indistinct with sobbing, replied, "C'est moi."</p> + +<p>The "moi" proved to be Mademoiselle Morel. I opened the door for her, +and she appeared in her bonnet and walking-dress, carrying a lamp in her +hand, which lit up her weary and tear-stained face. She took a seat at +the foot of my bed, and buried her face in her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle," she said, "here is a grand misfortune, a misfortune +without parallel. Monsieur and madame are gone."</p> + +<p>"Gone!" I repeated; "where are they gone?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know, mademoiselle," she answered; "I know nothing at all. +They are gone away. The poor good people were in debt, and their +creditors are as hard as stone. They wished to take every sou, and they +talked of throwing monsieur into prison, you understand. That is +intolerable. They are gone, and I have no means to carry on the +establishment. The school is finished."</p> + +<p>"But I am to stay here twelve months," I cried, in dismay, "and Minima +was to stay four years. The money has been paid to them for it. What is +to become of us?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot say, mademoiselle; I am desolated myself," she replied, with a +fresh burst of tears; "all is finished here. If you have not money +enough to take you back to England, you must write to your friends. I'm +going to return to Bordeaux. I detest Normandy; it is so cold and +<i>triste</i>."</p> + +<p>"But what is to be done with the other pupils?" I inquired, still lost +in amazement, and too bewildered to realize my own position.</p> + +<p>"The English pupil goes with me to Paris," she answered; "she has her +friends there. The French demoiselles are not far from their own homes, +and they return to-day by the omnibus to Granville. It is a misfortune +without parallel, mademoiselle—a misfortune quite without parallel."</p> + +<p>By the way she repeated this phrase, it was evidently a great +consolation to her—as phrases seem to be to all classes of the French +people. But both the tone of her voice, and the expression of her face, +impressed upon me the conviction that it was not her only consolation. +In answer to my urgent questions, she informed me that, without doubt, +the goods left in the two houses would be seized, as soon as the flight +of madame and monsieur became known.</p> + +<p>To crown all, she was going to start immediately by the omnibus to +Falaise, and on by rail to Paris, not waiting for the storm to burst. +She kissed me on both cheeks, bade me adieu, and was gone, leaving me in +utter darkness, before I fairly comprehended the rapid French in which +she conveyed her intention. I groped to the window, and saw the +glimmering of her lamp, as she turned into the cart-shed, on her way to +the other house. Before I could dress and follow her, she would be gone.</p> + +<p>I had seen my last of Monsieur and Madame Perrier, and of Mademoiselle +Morel.</p> + +<p>I had time to recover from my consternation, and to see my position +clearly, before the dawn came. Leagues of land, and leagues of sea, lay +between me and England. Ten shillings was all that was left of my money. +Besides this, I had Minima dependent upon me, for it was impossible to +abandon her to the charity of foreigners. I had not the means of sending +her back to Mrs. Wilkinson, and I rejected the mere thought of doing so, +partly because I dared not run the risk, and partly because I could not +harden myself against the appeals the child would make against such a +destiny. But then what was to become of us?</p> + +<p>I dressed myself as soon as the first faint light came, and hurried to +the other house. The key was in the lock, as mademoiselle had left it. A +fire was burning in the school-room, and the fragments of a meal were +scattered about the table. The pupils up-stairs were preparing for their +own departure, and were chattering too volubly to one another for me to +catch the meaning of their words. They seemed to know very well how to +manage their own affairs, and they informed me their places were taken +in the omnibus, and a porter was hired to fetch their luggage.</p> + +<p>All I had to do was to see for myself and Minima.</p> + +<p>I carried our breakfast back with me, when I returned to Minima. Her +wan and womanly face was turned toward the window, and the light made it +look more pinched and worn than usual. She sat up in bed to eat her +scanty breakfast—the last meal we should have in this shelter of +ours—and I wrapped a shawl about her thin shoulders.</p> + +<p>"I wish I'd been born a boy," she said, plaintively; "they can get their +own living sooner than girls, and better. How soon do you think I could +get my own living? I could be a little nurse-maid now, you know; and I'd +eat very little."</p> + +<p>"What makes you talk about getting your living?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"How pale you look!" she answered, nodding her little head; "why, I +heard something of what mademoiselle said. They've all run away, and +left us to do what we can. We shall both have to get our own living. +I've been thinking how nice it would be if you could get a place as +housemaid and me nurse, in the same house. Wouldn't that be first-rate? +You're very poor, aren't you, Aunt Nelly?"</p> + +<p>"Very poor!" I repeated, hiding my face on her pillow, while hot tears +forced themselves through my eyelids.</p> + +<p>"Oh! this will never do," said the childish voice; "we mustn't cry, you +know. The boys always said it was like a baby to cry; and father used to +say, 'Courage, Minima!' Perhaps, when all our money is gone, we shall +find a great big purse full of gold; or else a beautiful French prince +will see you, and fall in love with you, and take us both to his palace, +and make you his princess; and we shall all grow up till we die."</p> + +<p>I laughed at the oddity of this childish climax in spite of the +heaviness of my heart and the springing of my tears. Minima's fresh +young fancies were too droll to resist, especially in combination with +her shrewd, old-womanish knowledge of many things of which I was +ignorant.</p> + +<p>"I should know exactly what to do if we were in London," she resumed; +"we could take our things to the pawnbroker's, and get lots of money for +them. That is what poor people do. Mrs. Foster has pawned all her rings +and brooches. It is quite easy to do, you know; but perhaps there are no +pawn-shops in France."</p> + +<p>This incidental mention of Mrs. Foster had sent my thoughts and fears +fluttering toward a deep, unutterable dread, which was lurking under all +my other cares. Should I be driven by the mere stress of utter poverty +to return to my husband? There must be something wrong in a law which +bound me captive, body and soul, to a man whose very name had become a +terror to me, and to escape whom I was willing to face any difficulties, +any distresses. But all my knowledge of the law came from his lips, and +he would gladly deceive me. It might be that I was suffering all these +troubles quite needlessly. Across the darkness of my prospects flushed a +thought that seemed like an angel of light. Why should I not try to make +my way to Mrs. Dobrée, Martin's mother, to whom I could tell my whole +history, and on whose friendship and protection I could rely implicitly? +She would learn for me how far the law would protect me. By this time +Kate Daltrey would have quitted the Channel Islands, satisfied that I +had eluded her pursuit. The route to the Channel Islands was neither +long nor difficult, for at Granville a vessel sailed directly for +Jersey, and we were not more than thirty miles from Granville. It was a +distance that we could almost walk. If Mrs. Dobrée could not help me, +Tardif would take Minima into his house for a time, and the child could +not have a happier home. I could count upon my good Tardif doing that. +These plans were taking shape in my brain, when I heard a voice calling +softly under the window. I opened the casement, and, leaning out, saw +the welcome face of Rosalie, the milk-woman.</p> + +<p>"Will you permit me to come in?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, come in," I said, eagerly.</p> + +<p>She entered, and saluted us both with much ceremony. Her clumsy wooden +<i>sabots</i> clattered over the bare boards, and the wings of her high +Norman cap flapped against her sallow cheeks. No figure could have +impressed upon me more forcibly the unwelcome fact that I was in great +straits in a foreign land. I regarded her with a vague kind of fear.</p> + +<p>"So my little Emile and his spouse are gone, mademoiselle," she said, in +a mysterious whisper. "I have been saying to myself, 'What will my +little English lady do?' That is why I am here. Behold me."</p> + +<p>"I do not know what to do," I answered.</p> + +<p>"If mademoiselle is not difficult," she said, "she and the little one +could rest with me for a day or two. My bed is clean and soft—bah! ten +times softer than these paillasses. I would ask only a franc a night for +it. That is much less than at the hotels, where they charge for light +and attendance. Mademoiselle could write to her friends, if she has not +enough money to carry her and the little one back to their own country."</p> + +<p>"I have no friends," I said, despondently.</p> + +<p>"No friends! no relations!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Not one," I replied.</p> + +<p>"But that is terrible!" she said. "Has mademoiselle plenty of money?"</p> + +<p>"Only twelve francs," I answered.</p> + +<p>Rosalie's face grew long and grave. This was an abyss of misfortune she +had not dreamed of. She looked at us both critically, and did not open +her lips again for a minute or two.</p> + +<p>"Is the little one your relation?" she inquired, after this pause.</p> + +<p>"No," I replied; "I did not know her till I brought her here. She does +not know of any friends or relations belonging to her."</p> + +<p>"There is the convent for her," she said; "the good sisters would take a +little girl like her, and make a true Christian of her. She might become +a saint some day—"</p> + +<p>"No, no," I interrupted, hastily; "I could not leave her in a convent."</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Rosalie was very much offended; her sallow face flushed a +dull red, and the wings of her cap flapped as if she were about to take +flight, and leave me in my difficulties. She had kindliness of feeling, +but it was not proof against my poverty and my covert slight of her +religion. I caught her hand in mine to prevent her going.</p> + +<p>"Let us come to your house for to-day," I entreated: "to-morrow we will +go. I have money enough to pay you."</p> + +<p>I was only too glad to get a shelter for Minima and myself for another +night. She explained to me the French system of borrowing money upon +articles left in pledge and offered to accompany me to the <i>mont de +piété</i> with those things that we could spare. But, upon packing up our +few possessions, I remembered that only a few days before Madame Perrier +had borrowed from me my seal-skin mantle, the only valuable thing I had +remaining. I had lent it reluctantly, and in spite of myself; and it had +never been returned. Minima's wardrobe was still poorer than my own. All +the money we could raise was less than two napoleons; and with this we +had to make our way to Granville, and thence to Guernsey. We could not +travel luxuriously.</p> + +<p>The next morning we left Noireau on foot.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_ELEVENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.</h2> + +<p>LOST AT NIGHTFALL.</p> +<br /> + +<p>It was a soft spring morning, with an exhilarating, jubilant lightness +in the air, such as only comes in the very early spring, or at sunrise +on a dewy summer-day. A few gray clouds lay low along the horizon, but +overhead the sky was a deep, rich blue, with fine, filmy streaks of +white vapor floating slowly across it. The branches of the trees were +still bare, showing the blue through their delicate net-work; but the +ends of the twigs were thickening, and the leaf-buds swelling under the +rind. The shoots of the hazel-bushes wore a purple bloom, with yellow +catkins already hanging in tassels about them. The white buds of the +chestnut-trees shone with silvery lustre. In the orchards, though the +tangled boughs of the apple-trees were still thickly covered with gray +lichens, small specks of green among the gray gave a promise of early +blossom. Thrushes were singing from every thorn-bush; and the larks, +lost in the blue heights above us, flung down their triumphant carols, +careless whether our ears caught them or no. A long, straight road +stretched before us, and seemed to end upon the skyline in the far +distance. Below us, when we looked back, lay the valley and the town; +and all around us a vast sweep of country, rising up to the low floor of +clouds from which the bright dome of the sky was springing.</p> + +<p>We strolled on as if we were walking on air, and could feel no fatigue; +Minima with a flush upon her pale cheeks, and chattering incessantly +about the boys, whose memories were her constant companions. I too had +my companions; faces and voices were about me, which no eye or ear but +mine could perceive.</p> + +<p>During the night, while my brain had been between waking and sleeping, I +had been busy with the new idea that had taken possession of it. The +more I pondered upon the subject, the more impossible it appeared that +the laws of any Christian country should doom me, and deliver me up +against my will, to a bondage more degrading and more cruel than slavery +itself. If every man, I had said to myself, were proved to be good and +chivalrous, of high and steadfast honor, it might be possible to place +another soul, more frail and less wise, into his charge unchallenged. +But the law is made for evil men, not for good. I began to believe it +incredible that it should subject me to the tyranny of a husband who +made my home a hell, and gave me no companionship but that of the +vicious. Should the law make me forfeit all else, it would at least +recognize my right to myself. Once free from the necessity of hiding, I +did not fear to face any difficulty. Surely he had been deceiving me, +and playing upon my ignorance, when he told me I belonged to him as a +chattel!</p> + +<p>Every step which carried us nearer to Granville brought new hope to me. +The face of Martin's mother came often to my mind, looking at me, as she +had done in Sark, with a mournful yet tender smile—a smile behind which +lay many tears. If I could but lay my head upon her lap, and tell her +all, all which I had never breathed into any ear, I should feel secure +and happy. "Courage!" I said to myself; "every hour brings you nearer to +her."</p> + +<p>Now and then, whenever we came to a pleasant place, where a fallen tree, +or the step under a cross, offered us a resting-place by the roadside, +we sat down, scarcely from weariness, but rather for enjoyment. I had +full directions as to our route, and I carried a letter from Rosalie to +a cousin of hers, who lived in a convent about twelve miles from +Noirean; where, she assured me, they would take us in gladly for a +night, and perhaps send us on part of our way in their conveyance, in +the morning. Twelve miles only had to be accomplished this first day, +and we could saunter as we chose, making our dinner of the little loaves +which we had bought hot from the oven, as we quitted the town, and +drinking of the clear little rills, which were gurgling merrily under +the brown hedge-rows. If we reached the convent before six o'clock we +should find the doors open, and should gain admission.</p> + +<p>But in the afternoon the sky changed. The low floor of clouds rose +gradually, and began to spread themselves, growing grayer and thicker as +they crept higher into the sky. The blue became paler and colder. The +wind changed a point or two from the south, and a breath from the east +blew, with a chilly touch, over the wide open plain we were now +crossing.</p> + +<p>Insensibly our high spirits sank. Minima ceased to prattle; and I began +to shiver a little, more from an inward dread of the utterly unknown +future, than from any chill of the easterly wind. The road was very +desolate. Not a creature had we seen for an hour or two, from whom I +could inquire if we were on the high-road to Granville. About noon we +had passed a roadside cross, standing where three ways met, and below it +a board had pointed toward Granville. I had followed its direction in +confidence, but now I began to feel somewhat anxious. This road, along +which the grass was growing, was strangely solitary and dreary.</p> + +<p>It brought us after a while to the edge of a common, stretching before +us, drear and brown, as far as my eye could reach. A wild, weird-looking +flat, with no sign of cultivation; and the road running across it lying +in deep ruts, where moss and grass were springing. As far as I could +guess, it was drawing near to five o'clock; and, if we had wandered out +of our way, the right road took an opposite direction some miles behind +us. There was no gleam of sunshine now, no vision of blue overhead. All +there was gray, gloomy, and threatening. The horizon was rapidly +becoming invisible; a thin, cold, clinging vapor shut it from us. Every +few minutes a fold of this mist overtook us, and wrapped itself about +us, until the moaning wind drifted it away. Minima was quite silent now, +and her weary feet dragged along the rough road. The hand which rested +upon my wrist felt hot, as it clasped it closely. The child was worn +out, and was suffering more than I did, though in uncomplaining +patience.</p> + +<p>"Are you very tired, my Minima?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"It will be so nice to go to bed, when we reach the convent," she said, +looking up with a smile. "I can't imagine why the prince has not come +yet."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he is coming all the time," I answered, "and he'll find us when +we want him worst."</p> + +<p>We plodded on after that, looking for the convent, or for any dwelling +where we could stay till morning. But none came in sight, or any person +from whom we could learn where we were wandering. I was growing +frightened, dismayed. What would become of us both, if we could find no +shelter from the cold of a February night?</p> + +<p>There were unshed tears in my eyes—for I would not let Minima know my +fears—when I saw dimly, through the mist, a high cross standing in the +midst of a small grove of yews and cypresses, planted formally about it. +There were three tiers of steps at its foot, the lowest partly screened +from the gathering rain by the trees. The shaft of the cross, with a +serpent twining about its base, rose high above the cypresses; and the +image of the Christ hanging upon its crossbeams fronted the east, which +was now heavy with clouds. The half-closed eyes seemed to be gazing over +the vast wintry plain, lying in the brown desolateness of a February +evening. The face was full of an unutterable and complete agony, and +there was the helpless languor of dying in the limbs. The rain was +beating against it, and the wind sobbing in the trees surrounding it. It +seemed so sad, so forsaken, that it drew us to it. Without speaking the +child and I crept to the shelter at its foot, and sat down to rest +there, as if we were companions to it in its loneliness.</p> + +<p>There was no sound to listen to save the sighing of the east wind +through the fine needle-like leaflets of the yew-trees; and the mist was +rapidly shutting out every sight but the awful, pathetic form above us. +Evening had closed in, night was coming gradually, yet swiftly. Every +minute was drawing the darkness more densely about us. If we did not +bestir ourselves soon, and hasten along, it would overtake us, and find +us without resource. Yet I felt as if I had no heart to abandon that +gray figure, with the rain-drops beating heavily against it. I forgot +myself, forgot Minima, forgot all the world, while looking up to the +face, growing more dim to me through my own tears.</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush!" cried Minima, though I was neither moving nor speaking, +and the stillness was profound; "hark! I hear something coming along the +road, only very far off."</p> + +<p>I listened for a minute or two, and there reached my ears a faint +tinkling, which drew nearer and nearer every moment. At last it was +plainly the sound of bells on a horse's collar; and presently I could +distinguish the beat of a horse's hoofs coming slowly along the road. In +a few minutes some person would be passing by, who would be able to help +us; and no one could be so inhuman as to leave us in our distress.</p> + +<p>It was too dark now to see far along the road, but as we waited and +watched there came into sight a rude sort of covered carriage, like a +market-cart, drawn by a horse with a blue sheep-skin hanging round his +neck. The pace at which he was going was not above a jog-trot, and he +came almost to a stand-still opposite the cross, as if it was customary +to pause there.</p> + +<p>This was the instant to appeal for aid. I darted forward in front of the +<i>char à bancs</i>, and stretched out my hands to the driver.</p> + +<p>"Help us," I cried; we have lost our way, and the night is come. "Help +us, for the love of Christ!" I could see now that the driver was a +burly, red-faced, cleanshaven Norman peasant, wearing a white cotton +cap, with a tassel over his forehead, who stared at me, and at Minima +dragging herself weariedly to my side, as if we had both dropped from +the clouds. He crossed himself hurriedly, and glanced at the grove of +dark, solemn trees from which we had come. But by his side sat a priest, +in his cassock and broad-brimmed hat fastened up at the sides, who +alighted almost before I had finished speaking, and stood before us +bareheaded, and bowing profoundly.</p> + +<p>"Madame," he said, in a bland tone, "to what town are you going?"</p> + +<p>"We are going to Granville," I answered, "but I am afraid I have lost +the way. We are very tired, this little child and I. We can walk no +more, monsieur. Take care of us, I pray you."</p> + +<p>I spoke brokenly, for in an extremity like this it was difficult to put +my request into French. The priest appeared perplexed, but he went back +to the <i>char à bancs</i>, and held a short, earnest conversation with the +driver, in a subdued voice.</p> + +<p>"Madame," he said, returning to me, "I am Francis Laurentie, the curé of +Ville-en-bois. It is quite a small village about a league from here, and +we are on the road to it; but the route to Granville is two leagues +behind us, and it is still farther to the first village. There is not +time to return with you this evening. Will you, then, go with us to +Ville-en-bois, and to-morrow we will send you on to Granville?"</p> + +<p>He spoke very slowly and distinctly, with a clear, cordial voice, which +filled me with confidence. I could hardly distinguish his features, but +his hair was silvery white, and shone in the gloom, as he still stood +bareheaded before me, though the rain was falling fast.</p> + +<p>"Take care of us, monsieur?" I replied, putting my hand in his; "we will +go with you."</p> + +<p>"Make haste then, my children," he said, cheerfully; "the rain will hurt +you. Let me lift the <i>mignonne</i> into the <i>char à bancs</i>. Bah! How little +she is! <i>Voilà!</i> Now, madame, permit me."</p> + +<p>There was a seat in the back of the <i>char à bancs</i> which we reached by +climbing over the front bench, assisted by the driver. There we were +well sheltered from the driving wind and rain, with our feet resting +upon a sack of potatoes, and the two strange figures of the Norman +peasant in his blouse and white cotton cap, and the curé in his hat and +cassock, filling up the front of the car before us.</p> + +<p>It was so unlike any thing I had foreseen, that I could scarcely believe +that it was real.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_TWELFTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.</h2> + +<p>THE CURÉ OF VILLE-EN-BOIS.</p> +<br /> + +<p>"They are not Frenchwomen, Monsieur le Curé," observed the driver, after +a short pause. We were travelling slowly, for the curé would not allow +the peasant to whip on the shaggy cart-horse. We were, moreover, going +up-hill, along roads as rough as any about my father's sheep-walk, with +large round stones deeply bedded in the soil.</p> + +<p>"No, no, my good Jean," was the curé's answer; "by their tongue I should +say they are English. Englishwomen are extremely intrepid, and voyage +about all the world quite alone, like this. It is only a marvel to me +that we have never encountered one of them before to-day."</p> + +<p>"But, Monsieur le Curé, are they Christian?" inquired Jean, with a +backward glance at us. Evidently he had not altogether recovered from +the fright we had given him, when we appeared suddenly from out of the +gloomy shadows of the cypresses.</p> + +<p>"The English nation is Protestant," replied the curé, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"But, monsieur," exclaimed Jean, "if they are Protestants they cannot be +Christians! Is it not true that all the Protestants go to hell on the +back of that bad king who had six wives all at one time?"</p> + +<p>"Not all at one time, my good Jean," the curé answered mildly; "no, no, +surely they do not all go to perdition. If they know any thing of the +love of Christ, they must be Christians, however feeble and ignorant. He +does not quench the smoking flax, Jean. Did you not hear madame say, +'Help me, for the love of Christ?' Good! There is the smoking flax, +which may burn into a flame brighter than yours or mine some day, my +poor friend. We must make her and the <i>mignonne</i> as welcome as if they +were good Catholics. She is very poor, cela saute aux yeux—"</p> + +<p>"Monsieur," I interrupted, feeling almost guilty in having listened so +far, "I understand French very well, though I speak it badly."</p> + +<p>"Pardon, madame!" he replied, "I hope you will not be grieved by the +foolish words we have been speaking one to the other."</p> + +<p>After that all was still again for some time, except the tinkling of the +bells, and the pad-pad of the horse's feet upon the steep and rugged +road. Hills rose on each side of us, which were thickly planted with +trees. Even the figures of the curé and driver were no longer well +defined in the denser darkness. Minima had laid her head on my shoulder, +and seemed to be asleep. By-and-by a village clock striking echoed +faintly down the valley; and the curé turned round and addressed me +again.</p> + +<p>"There is my village, madame," he said, stretching forth his hand to +point it out, though we could not see a yard beyond the <i>char à bancs</i>; +"it is very small, and my parish contains but four hundred and +twenty-two souls, some of them very little ones. They all know me, and +regard me as a father. They love me, though I have some rebel sons.—Is +it not so, Jean? Rebel sons, but not many rebel daughters. Here we are!"</p> + +<p>We entered a narrow and roughly-paved village-street. The houses, as I +saw afterward, were all huddled together, with a small church at the +point farthest from the entrance; and the road ended at its porch, as if +there were no other place in the world beyond it.</p> + +<p>As we clattered along the dogs barked, and the cottage-doors flew open. +Children toddled to the thresholds, and called after us, in shrill +notes, "Good-evening, and a good-night, Monsieur le Curé!" Men's voices, +deeper and slower, echoed the salutation. The curé was busy greeting +each one in return: "Good-night, my little rogue," "Good-night, my +lamb." "Good-night to all of you, my friends;" his cordial voice making +each word sound as if it came from his very heart. I felt that we were +perfectly secure in his keeping.</p> + +<p>Never, as long as I live, shall I smell the pungent, pleasant scent of +wood burning without recalling to my memory that darksome entrance into +Ville-en-bois.</p> + +<p>"We drove at last into a square courtyard, paved with pebbles. Almost +before the horse could stop I saw a stream of light shining from an open +door across a causeway, and the voice of a woman, whom I could not see, +spoke eagerly as soon as the horse's hoofs had ceased to scrape upon the +pebbles.</p> + +<p>"Hast thou brought a doctor with thee, my brother?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I have brought no doctor except thy brother, my sister," answered +Monsieur Laurentie, "also a treasure which I found at the foot of the +Calvary down yonder."</p> + +<p>He had alighted while saying this, and the rest of the conversation was +carried on in whispers. There was some one ill in the house, and our +arrival was ill-timed, that was quite clear. Whoever the woman was that +had come to the door, she did not advance to speak to me, but retreated +as soon as the conversation was over; while the curé returned to the +side of the <i>char à bancs</i>, and asked me to remain where I was, with +Minima, for a few minutes.</p> + +<p>The horse was taken out by Jean, and led away to the stable, the shafts +of the <i>char à bancs</i> being supported by two props put under them. Then +the place grew profoundly quiet. I leaned forward to look at the +presbytery, which I supposed this house to be. It was a low, large +building of two stories, with eaves projecting two or three feet over +the upper one. At the end of it rose the belfry of the church—an open +belfry, with one bell hanging underneath a little square roof of tiles. +The church itself was quite hidden by the surrounding walls and roofs. +All was dark, except a feeble glimmering in four upper casements, which +seemed to belong to one large room. The church-clock chimed a quarter, +then half-past, and must have been near upon the three-quarters; but yet +there was no sign that we were remembered. Minima was still asleep. I +was growing cold, depressed, and anxious, when the house-door opened +once more, and the curé appeared carrying a lamp, which he placed on the +low stone wall surrounding the court.</p> + +<p>"Pardon, madame," he said, approaching us, "but my sister is too much +occupied with a sick person to do herself the honor of attending upon +you. Permit me to fill her place, and excuse her, I pray you. Give me +the poor <i>mignonne</i>; I will lift her down first, and then assist you to +descend."</p> + +<p>His politeness did not seem studied; it had too kindly a tone to be +artificial. I lifted Minima over the front seat, and sprang down myself, +glad to be released from my stiff position, and hardly availing myself +of his proffered help. He did not conduct us through the open door, but +led us round the angle of the presbytery to a small outhouse, opening on +to the court, and with no other entrance. It was a building lying +between the porch and belfry of the church and his own dwelling place. +But it looked comfortable and inviting. A fire had been hastily kindled +on an open hearth, and a heap of wood lay beside it. A table stood close +by, in the light and warmth, on which were steaming two basins of soup, +and an omelette fresh from the frying-pan; with fruit and wine for a +second course. Two beds were in this room: one with hangings over the +head, and a large, tall cross at the foot-board; the other a low, narrow +pallet, lying along the foot of it. A crucifix hung upon the wall, and +the wood-work of the high window also formed a cross. It seemed a +strange goal to reach after our day's wanderings.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Laurentie put the lamp down on the table, and drew the logs of +wood together on the hearth. He was an old man, as I then thought, over +sixty. He looked round upon us with a benevolent smile.</p> + +<p>"Madame," he said, "our hospitality is rude and simple, but you are very +welcome guests. My sister is desolated that she must leave you to my +cares. But if there be any thing you have need of, tell me, I pray you."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing, monsieur," I answered; "you are too good to us, too +good."</p> + +<p>"No, no, madame," he said, "be content. To-morrow I will send you to +Granville under the charge of my good Jean. Sleep well, my children, and +fear nothing. The good God will protect you."</p> + +<p>He closed the door after him as he spoke, but opened it again to call my +attention to a thick wooden bar, with which I might fasten it inside if +I chose; and to tell me not to alarm myself when I heard the bell +overhead toll for matins, at half-past five in the morning. I listened +to his receding footsteps, and then turned eagerly to the food, which I +began to want greatly.</p> + +<p>But Minima had thrown herself upon the low pallet-bed, and I could not +persuade her to swallow more than a few spoonfuls of soup. I toot off +her damp clothes, and laid her down comfortably to rest. Her eyes were +dull and heavy, and she said her head was aching; but she looked up at +me with a faint smile.</p> + +<p>"I told you how nice it would be to be in bed," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"It was not long before I was also sleeping soundly the deep, dreamless +sleep which comes to any one as strong as I was, after unusual physical +exertion. Once or twice a vague impression forced itself upon me that +Minima was talking a great deal in her dreams. It was the clang of the +bell for matins which fully roused me at last, but it was a minute or +two before I could make out where I was. Through the uncurtained window, +high in the opposite wall, I could see a dim, pallid moon sinking slowly +into the west. The thick beams of the cross were strongly delineated +against its pale light. For a moment I fancied that Minima and I had +passed the night under the shelter of the solitary image, which we had +left alone in the dark and rainy evening. I knew better immediately, and +lay still, listening to the tramp of the wooden <i>sabots</i> hurrying past +the door into the church-porch. Then Minima began to talk.</p> + +<p>"How funny that is!" she said, "there the boys run, and I can't catch +one of them. Father, Temple Secundus is pulling faces at me, and all the +boys are laughing." "Well! it doesn't matter, does it? Only we are so +poor, Aunt Nelly and all. We're so poor—so poor—so poor!"</p> + +<p>Her voice fell into a murmur too low for me to hear what she was saying, +though she went on talking rapidly, and laughing and sobbing at times. I +called to her, but she did not answer.</p> + +<p>What could ail the child? I went to her, and took her hands in +mine—burning little hands. I said, "Minima! and she turned to me with +a caressing gesture, raising her hot fingers to stroke my face.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Aunt Nelly. How poor we are, you and me! I am so tired, and the +prince never comes!"</p> + +<p>There was hardly room for me in the narrow bed, but I managed to lie +down beside her, and took her into my arms to soothe her. She rested +there quietly enough; but her head was wandering, and all her whispered +chatter was about the boys, and the dominie, her father, and the happy +days at home in the school in Epping Forest. As soon as it was light I +dressed myself in haste, and opened my door to see if I could find any +one to send to Monsieur Laurentie.</p> + +<p>The first person I saw was himself, coming in my direction. I had not +fairly looked at him before, for I had seen him only by twilight and +firelight. His cassock was old and threadbare, and his hat brown. His +hair fell in rather long locks below his hat, and was beautifully white. +His face was healthy-looking, like that of a man who lived much +out-of-doors, and his clear, quick eyes shone with a kindly light. I +ran impulsively to meet him, with outstretched hands, which he took into +his own with a pleasant smile.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, monsieur," I cried; "make haste! She is ill, my poor Minima!"</p> + +<p>The smile faded away from his face in an instant, and he did not utter a +word. He followed me quickly to the side of the little bed, laid his +hand softly on the child's forehead, and felt her pulse. He lifted up +her head gently, and, opening her mouth, looked at her tongue and +throat. He shook his head as he turned to me with a grave and perplexed +expression, and he spoke with a low, solemn accent.</p> + +<p>"Madame," he said, "it is the fever."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_THIRTEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.</h2> + +<p>A FEVER-HOSPITAL.</p> +<br /> + +<p>The fever! What fever? Was it any thing more than some childish malady +brought on by exhaustion? I stood silent, in amazement at his solemn +manner, and looking from him to the delirious child. He was the first to +speak again.</p> + +<p>"It will be impossible for you to go to-day," he said; "the child cannot +be removed. I must tell Jean to put up the horse and <i>char à bancs</i> +again. I shall return in an instant to you, madame."</p> + +<p>He left me, and I sank down on a chair, half stupefied by this new +disaster. It would be necessary to stay where we were until Minima +recovered; yet I had no means to pay these people for the trouble we +should give them, and the expense we should be to them. Monsieur le Curé +had all the appearance of a poor parish priest, with a very small +income. I had not time to decide upon any course, however, before he +returned and brought with him his sister.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Thérèse was a tall, plain, elderly woman, but with the same +pleasant expression of open friendliness as that of her brother. She +went through precisely the same examination of Minima as he had done.</p> + +<p>"The fever!" she ejaculated, in much the same tone as his. They looked +significantly at each other, and then held a hurried consultation +together outside the door, after which the curé returned alone.</p> + +<p>"Madame," he said, "this child is not your own, as I supposed last +night. My sister says you are too young to be her mother. Is she your +sister?"</p> + +<p>"No, monsieur," I answered.</p> + +<p>"I called you madame because you were travelling alone," he continued, +smiling; "French demoiselles never travel alone before they are married. +You are mademoiselle, no doubt?"</p> + +<p>An awkward question, for he paused as if it were a question. I look into +his kind, keen face and honest eyes.</p> + +<p>"No, monsieur," I said, frankly, "I am married."</p> + +<p>"Where, then, is your husband?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"He is in London," I answered. "Monsieur, it is difficult for me to +explain it; I cannot speak your language well enough. I think in +English, and I cannot find the right French words. I am very unhappy, +but I am not wicked."</p> + +<p>"Good," he said, smiling again, "very good, my child; I believe you. You +will learn my language quickly; then you shall tell me all, if you +remain with us. But you said the <i>mignonne</i> is not your sister."</p> + +<p>"No; she is not my relative at all," I replied; "we were both in a +school at Noireau, the school of Monsieur Emile Perrier. Perhaps you +know it, monsieur?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, madame," he said.</p> + +<p>"He has failed and run away," I continued; "all the pupils are +dispersed. Minima and I were returning through Granville."'</p> + +<p>"Bien! I understand, madame," he responded; "but it is villanous, this +affair! Listen, my child. I have much to say to you. Do I speak gently +and slowly enough for you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered; "I understand you perfectly."'</p> + +<p>"We have had the fever in Ville-en-bois for some weeks," he went on; "it +is now bad, very bad. Yesterday I went to Noireau to seek a doctor, but +I could only hear of one, who is in Paris at present, and cannot come +immediately. When you prayed me for succor last night, I did not know +what to do. I could not leave you by the way-side, with the night coming +on, and I could not take you to my own house. At present we have made my +house into a hospital for the sick. My people bring their sick to me, +and we do our best, and put our trust in God. I said to myself and to +Jean, 'We cannot receive these children into the presbytery, lest they +should take the fever.' But this little house has been kept free from +all infection, and you would be safe here for one night, so I hoped. The +<i>mignonne</i> must have caught the fever some days ago. There is no blame, +therefore, resting upon me, you understand. Now I must carry her into my +little hospital. But you, madame, what am I to do with you? Do you wish +to go on to Granville, and leave the <i>mignonne</i> with me? We will take +care of her as a little angel of God. What shall I do with you, my +child?"</p> + +<p>"Monsieur," I exclaimed, speaking so eagerly that I could scarcely bring +my sentences into any kind of order, "take me into your hospital too. +Let me take care of Minima and your other sick people. I am very strong, +and in good health; I am never ill, never, never. I will do all you say +to me. Let me stay, dear monsieur."</p> + +<p>"But your husband, your friends—" he said.</p> + +<p>"I have no friends," I interrupted, "and my husband does not love me. If +I have the fever, and die—good! very good! I am not wicked; I am a +Christian, I hope. Only let me stay with Minima, and do all I can in the +hospital."</p> + +<p>He stood looking at me scrutinizingly, trying to read, I fancied, if +there were any sign of wickedness in my face. I felt it flush, but I +would not let my eyes sink before his. I think he saw in them, in my +steadfast, tearful eyes, that I might be unfortunate, but that I was not +wicked. A pleasant gleam came across his features.</p> + +<p>"Be content, my child," he said, "you shall stay with us."</p> + +<p>I felt a sudden sense of contentment take possession of me; for here was +work for me to do, as well as a refuge. Neither should I be compelled to +leave Minima. I wrapped her up warmly in the blankets, and Monsieur +Laurentie lifted her carefully and tenderly from the low bed. He told me +to accompany him, and we crossed the court, and entered the house by the +door I had seen the night before. A staircase of red quarries led up to +the second story, and the first door we came to was a long, low room, +with a quarried floor, which had been turned into a hastily-fitted-up +fever-ward for women and children. There were already nine beds in it, of +different sizes, brought with the patients who now occupied them. But +one of these was empty.</p> + +<p>I learned afterward that the girl to whom the bed belonged had died the +day before, during the curé's absence, and was going to be buried that +morning, in a cemetery lying in a field on the side of the valley. +Mademoiselle Thérèse was making up the bed with homespun linen, scented +with rosemary and lavender, and the curé laid Minima down upon it with +all the skill of a woman. In this home-like ward I took up my work as +nurse.</p> + +<p>It was work that seemed to come naturally to me, as if I had a special +gift for it. I remembered how some of the older shepherds on the station +at home used to praise my mother's skill as a nurse. I felt as if I knew +by instinct the wants of my little patients, when they could not put +them into coherent words for themselves. They were mostly children, or +quite young girls; for the older people who were stricken by the fever +generally clung to their own homes, and the curé visited them there with +the regularity of a physician. I liked to find for these suffering +children a more comfortable position when they were weary; or to bathe +their burning heads with some cool lotion; or to give the parched lips +the <i>titane</i> Mademoiselle Thérèse prepared. Even the delirium of these +little creatures was but a babbling about playthings, and <i>fétes</i>, and +games. Minima, whose fever took faster hold of her day after day, +prattled of the same things in English, only with sad alternations of +moaning over our poverty.</p> + +<p>It was probably these lamentations of Minima which made me sometimes +look forward with dread to the time when this season of my life should +be ended. I knew it could be only for a little while, an interlude, a +brief, passing term, which must run quickly to its conclusion, and bring +me face to face again with the terrible poverty which the child bemoaned +in words no one could understand but myself. Already my own appearance +was changing, as Mademoiselle Thérèse supplied the place of my clothing, +which wore out with my constant work, replacing it with the homely +costume of the Norman village. I could not expect to remain here when my +task was done. The presbytery was too poor to offer me a shelter when I +could be nothing but a burden in it. This good curé, who was growing +fonder of me every day, and whom I had learned to love and honor, could +not be a father to me as he was to his own people. Sooner or later there +would come an hour when we must say adieu to one another, and I must go +out once again to confront the uncertain future.</p> + +<p>But for the present these fears were very much in the background, and I +only felt that they were lurking there, ready for any moment of +depression. I was kept too busy with the duties of the hour to attend to +them. Some of the children died, and I grieved over them; some recovered +sufficiently to be removed to a farm on the brow of the hill, where the +air was fresher than in the valley. There was plenty to do and to think +of from day to day.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_FOURTEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.</h2> + +<p>OUTCAST PARISHIONERS.</p> +<br /> + +<p>"Madame." said Monsieur Laurentie; one morning, the eighth that I had +been in the fever-smitten village, "you did not take a promenade +yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Not yesterday, monsieur."</p> + +<p>"Nor the day before yesterday?" he continued.</p> + +<p>"No, monsieur," I answered; "I dare not leave Minima, I fear she is +going to die."</p> + +<p>My voice failed me as I spoke to him. I was sitting down for a few +minutes on a low seat, between Minima's bed and one where a little boy +of six years of age lay. Both were delirious. He was the little son of +Jean, our driver, and the sacristan of the church; and his father had +brought him into the ward the evening of the day after Minima had been +taken ill. Jean had besought me with tears to be good to his child. The +two had engrossed nearly all my time and thoughts, and I was losing +heart and hope every hour.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Laurentie raised me gently from my low chair, and seated +himself upon it, with a smile, as he looked up at me.</p> + +<p>"<i>Voilà</i>, madame," he said, "I promise not to quit the chamber till you +return. My sister has a little commission for you to do. Confide the +<i>mignonne</i> to me, and make your promenade in peace. It is necessary, +madame; you must obey me."</p> + +<p>The commission for mademoiselle was to carry some food and medicine to a +cottage lower down the valley; and Jean's eldest son, Pierre, was +appointed to be my guide. Both the curé and his sister gave me a strict +charge as to what we were to do; neither of us was upon any account to +go near or enter the dwelling; but after the basket was deposited upon a +flat stone, which Pierre was to point out to me, he was to ring a small +hand-bell which he carried with him for that purpose. Then we were to +turn our backs and begin our retreat, before any person came out of the +infected house.</p> + +<p>I set out with Pierre, a solemn-looking boy of about twelve years of +age, who cast upon me sidelong glances of silent scrutiny. We passed +down the village street, with its closely-packed houses forming a very +nest for fever, until we reached the road by which I had first entered +Ville-en-bois. Now that I could see it by daylight, the valley was +extremely narrow, and the hills on each side so high that, though the +sun had risen nearly three hours ago, it had but just climbed above the +brow of the eastern slope. There was a luxurious and dank growth of +trees, with a tangle of underwood and boggy soil beneath them. A vapor +was shining in rainbow colors against the brightening sky. In the depth +of the valley, but hidden by the thicket, ran a noisy stream—too noisy +to be any thing else than shallow. There had been no frost since the +sharp and keen wintry weather in December, and the heavy rains which had +fallen since had flooded the stream, and made the lowlands soft and oozy +with undrained moisture. My guide and I trudged along in silence for +almost a kilometre.</p> + +<p>"Are you a pagan, madame?" inquired Pierre, at last, with eager +solemnity of face and voice. His blue eyes were fastened upon me +pityingly.</p> + +<p>"No, Pierre," I replied.</p> + +<p>"But you are a heretic," he pursued.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," I said.</p> + +<p>"Pagans and heretics are the same," he rejoined, dogmatically; "you are +a heretic, therefore you are a pagan, madame."</p> + +<p>"I am not a pagan," I persisted; "I am a Christian like you."</p> + +<p>"Does Monsieur le Curé say you are a Christian?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"You can ask him, Pierre," I replied.</p> + +<p>"He will know," he said, in a confident tone; "he knows every thing. +There is no curé like monsieur between Ville-en-bois and Paris. All the +world must acknowledge that. He is our priest, our doctor, our <i>juge de +paix</i>, our school-master. Did you ever know a curé like him before, +madame?"</p> + +<p>"I never knew any curé before," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Never knew any cure!" he repeated slowly; "then, madame, you must be a +pagan. Did you never confess? Were you never prepared for your first +communion? Oh! it is certain, madame, you are a true pagan."</p> + +<p>We had not any more time to discuss my religion, for we were drawing +near the end of our expedition. Above the tops of the trees appeared a +tall chimney, and a sudden turn in the by-road we had taken brought us +full in sight of a small cotton-mill, built on the banks of the noisy +stream. It was an ugly, formal building, as all factories are, with +straight rows of window-frames; but both walls and roof were mouldering +into ruin, and looked as though they must before long sink into the +brawling waters that were sapping the foundations. A more +mournfully-dilapidated place I had never seen. A blight seemed to have +fallen upon it; some solemn curse might be brooding over it, and slowly +working out its total destruction.</p> + +<p>In the yard adjoining this deserted factory stood a miserable cottage, +with a thatched roof, and eaves projecting some feet from the walls, and +reaching nearly to the ground, except where the door was. The small +casements of the upper story, if there were any, were completely hidden. +A row of <i>fleur-de-lis</i> was springing up, green and glossy, along the +peak of the brown thatch; this and the picturesque eaves forming its +only beauty. The thatch looked old and rotten, and was beginning to +steam in the warm sunshine. The unpaved yard about it was a slough of +mire and mud. There were mould and mildew upon all the wood-work. The +place bore the aspect of a pest-house, shunned by all the inmates of the +neighboring village. Pierre led me to a large flat stone, which had once +been a horse-block, standing at a safe distance from this hovel, and I +laid down my basket upon it. Then he rang his hand-bell noisily, and the +next instant was scampering back along the road.</p> + +<p>But I could not run away. The desolate, plague-stricken place had a +dismal fascination for me. I wondered what manner of persons could dwell +in it; and, as I lingered, I saw the low door opened, and a thin, +spectral figure standing in the gloom within, but delaying to cross the +mouldering door-sill as long as I remained in sight. In another minute +Pierre had rushed back for me, and dragged me away with all his boyish +strength and energy.</p> + +<p>"Madame," he said, in angry remonstrance, "you are disobeying Monsieur +le Curé. If you catch the fever, and die while you are a pagan, it will +be impossible for you to go to heaven. It would be a hundred times +better for me to die, who have taken my first communion."</p> + +<p>"But who lives there?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"They are very wicked people," he answered, emphatically; "no one goes +near them, except Monsieur le Curé, and he would go and nurse the devil +himself, if he had the fever in his parish. They became wicked before my +time, and Monsieur le Curé has forbidden us to speak of them with +rancor, so we do not speak of them at all."</p> + +<p>I walked back in sadness, wondering at this misery and solitariness by +the side of the healthy, simple society of the lonely village, with its +interwoven family interests. As I passed through the street again, I +heard the click of the hand-looms in most of the dwellings, and saw the +pale-faced weavers, in their white and tasselled caps, here a man and +there a woman, look after me, while they suspended their work for a +moment. Every door was open; the children ran in and out of any house, +playing together as if they were of one family; the women were knitting +in companies under the eaves. Who were these pariahs, whose name even +was banished from every tongue? I must ask the curé himself.</p> + +<p>But I had no opportunity that day. When I returned to the sick-ward, I +found Monsieur Laurentie pacing slowly up and down the long room, with +Jean's little son in his arms, to whom he was singing in a low, soft +voice, scarcely louder than a whisper. His eyes, when they met mine, +were glistening with tears, and he shook his head mournfully.</p> + +<p>I went on to look at Minima. She was lying quiet, too weak and exhausted +to be violent, but chattering all the time in rapid, childish sentences. +I could do nothing for her, and I went back to the hearth, where the +curé was now standing, looking sadly at the child in his arms. He bade +me sit down on a tabouret that stood there, and laid his little burden +on my lap.</p> + +<p>"The child has no mother, madame," he said; "let him die in a woman's +arms."</p> + +<p>I had never seen any one die, not even my father, and I shrank from +seeing it. But the small white face rested helplessly against my arm, +and the blue eyes unclosed for a moment, and gazed into mine, almost +with a smile. Monsieur Laurentie called in Jean and Pierre, and they +knelt before us in silence, broken only by sobs. In the room there were +children's voices talking about their toys, and calling to one another +in shrill, feverish accents. How many deaths such as this was I to +witness?</p> + +<p>"Monsieur le Curé!" murmured the failing voice of the little child.</p> + +<p>"What is it, my little one?" he said, stooping over him.</p> + +<p>"Shall I play sometimes with the little child Jesus?"</p> + +<p>The words fell one by one from the feeble lips.</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>mon chéri</i>, yes. The holy child Jesus knows what little children +need," answered the curé.</p> + +<p>"He is always good and wise," whispered the dying child; "so good, so +wise."</p> + +<p>How quickly it was over after that!</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_FIFTEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.</h2> + +<p>A TACITURN FRENCHWOMAN.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Minima was so much worse that night, that Monsieur Laurentie gave me +permission to sit up with Mademoiselle Thérèse, to watch beside her. +There was a kindly and unselfish disposition about Monsieur le Curé +which it was impossible to resist, or even gainsay. His own share of the +trouble, anxiety, and grief, was so large, that he seemed to stand above +us all, and be naturally our director and ruler. But to-night, when I +begged to stay with Minima, he conceded the point without a word.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Thérèse was the most silent woman I ever met. She could +pass a whole day without uttering a word, and did not seem to suffer any +<i>ennui</i> from her silence. In the house she wore always, like the other +inhabitants of the village, men and women, soundless felt socks, which +slipped readily into the wooden <i>sabots</i> used for walking out-of-doors. +I was beginning to learn to walk in <i>sabots</i> myself, for the time was +drawing rapidly near when otherwise I should be barefoot.</p> + +<p>With this taciturn Frenchwoman I entered upon my night-watch by Minima, +whose raving no one could understand but myself. The long, dark hours +seemed interminable. Mademoiselle sat knitting a pair of gray stockings +in the intervals of attendance upon our patients. The subdued glimmer +of the night-lamp, the ticking of the clock, the chimes every quarter of +an hour from the church-tower, all conspired to make me restless and +almost nervous.</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle," I said, at last, "talk to me. I cannot bear this +tranquillity. Tell me something."</p> + +<p>"What can I tell you, madame?" she inquired, in a pleasant tone.</p> + +<p>"Tell me about those people I saw this morning," I answered.</p> + +<p>"It is a long history," she said, her face kindling, as if this were a +topic that excited her; and she rolled up her knitting, as though she +could not trust herself to continue that while she was talking; "all the +world knows it here, and we never talk of it now. Bat you are a +stranger; shall I tell it you?"</p> + +<p>I had hit upon the only subject that could unlock her lips. It was the +night-time too. At night one is naturally more communicative than in the +broad light of day.</p> + +<p>"Madame," she said, in an agitated voice, "you have observed already +that my brother is not like other curés. He has his own ideas, his own +sentiments. Everybody knows him at this moment as the good Curé of +Ville-en-bois; but when he came here first, thirty years ago, all the +world called him infidel, heretic, atheist. It was because he would make +many changes in the church and parish. The church had been famous for +miracles; but Francis did not believe in them, and he would not +encourage them. There used to be pilgrimages to it from all the country +round; and crowds of pilgrims, who spend much money. There was a great +number of crutches left at the shrine of the Virgin by cripples who had +come here by their help, but walked away without them. He cleared them +all away, and called them rubbish. So every one said he was an +infidel—you understand?"</p> + +<p>"I understand it very well," I said.</p> + +<p>"Bien! At that time there was one family richer than all the others. +They were the proprietors of the factory down yonder, and everybody +submitted to them. There was a daughter not married, but very dévote. I +have been dévote, myself. I was coquette till I was thirty-five, then I +became dévote. It is easier than being a simple Christian, like my +brother the curé. Mademoiselle Pineau was accustomed to have visions, +ecstasies. Sometimes the angels lifted her from the ground into the air +when she was at her prayers. Francis did not like that. He was young, +and she came very often to the confessional, and told him of these +visions and ecstasies. He discouraged them, and enjoined penances upon +her. Bref! she grew to detest him, and she was quite like a female curé +in the parish. She set everybody against him. At last, when he removed +all the plaster images of the saints, and would have none but wood or +stone, she had him cited to answer for it to his bishop."</p> + +<p>"But what did he do that for?" I asked, seeing no difference between +plaster images, and those of wood or stone.</p> + +<p>"Madame, these Normans are ignorant and very superstitious," she +replied; "they thought a little powder from one of the saints would cure +any malady. Some of the images were half-worn away with having powder +scraped off them. My brother would not hold with such follies, and his +bishop told him he might fight the battle out, if he could. No one +thought he could; but they did not know Francis. It was a terrible +battle, madame. Nobody would come to the confessional, and every month +or so, he was compelled to have a vicaire from some other parish to +receive the confessions of his people. Mademoiselle Pineau fanned the +flame, and she had the reputation of a saint."</p> + +<p>"But how did it end?" I inquired. Mademoiselle's face was all aglow, and +her voice rose and fell in her excitement; yet she lingered over the +story as if reluctant to lose the rare pleasure of telling it.</p> + +<p>"In brief, madame," she resumed, "there was a terrible conflagration in +the village. You perceive that all our houses are covered with tiles? In +those days the roofs were of thatch, very old and very dry, and there +was much timber in the walls. How the fire began, the good God alone +knows. It was a sultry day in July; the river was almost dry, and there +was no hope of extinguishing the flames. They ran like lightning from +roof to roof. All that could be done was to save life, and a little +property. My brother threw off his cassock, and worked like Hercules.</p> + +<p>"The Pineaux lived then close by the presbytery, in a house half of +wood, which blazed like tinder; there was nothing comparable to it in +all the village. A domestic suddenly cried out that mademoiselle was in +her oratory, probably in a trance. Not a soul dares venture through the +flames to save her, though she is a saint. Monsieur le Curé hears the +rumor of it; he steps in through the doorway through which the smoke is +rolling; walks in as tranquilly as if he were going to make a visit as +pastor; he is lost to their sight; not a man stirs to look after his own +house. Bref! he comes back to the day, his brown hair all singed and his +face black, carrying mademoiselle in his arms. Good: The battle is +finished. All the world adores him."</p> + +<p>"Continue, mademoiselle, I pray you," I said, eagerly; "do not leave off +there."</p> + +<p>"Bien! Monsieur le Curé and his unworthy sister had a small fortune +which was spent, for the people. He begged for them; he worked with +them; he learned to do many things to help them. He lives for them and +them only. He has refused to leave them for better positions. They are +not ungrateful; they love him, they lean upon him."</p> + +<p>"But the Pineaux?" I suggested.</p> + +<p>"Bah! I had forgotten them. Their factory was burnt at the same time. It +is more than a kilometre from here; but who can say how far the burning +thatch might be carried on the wind? It was insured for a large sum in a +bureau in Paris. But there were suspicions raised and questions asked. +Our sacristan, Jean, who was then a young boy, affirmed that he had seen +some one carrying a lighted torch around the building, after the +work-people had all fled to see after their own houses. The bureau +refused to pay, except by a process of law; and the Pineaux never began +their process. They worked the factory a few years on borrowed money; +but they became poor, very poor. Mademoiselle ceased to be dévote, and +did not come near the church or the confessional again. Now they are +despised and destitute. Not a person goes near them, except my good +brother, whom they hate still. There remain but three of them, the old +monsieur, who is very aged, a son, and mademoiselle, who is as old as +myself. The son has the fever, and Francis visits him almost every day."</p> + +<p>"It is a wretched, dreadful place," I said, shuddering at the +remembrance of it.</p> + +<p>"They will die there probably," she remarked, in a quiet voice, and with +an expression of some weariness now the tale was told; "my brother +refuses to let me go to see them. Mademoiselle hates me, because in some +part I have taken her place. Francis says there is work enough for me at +home. Madame, I believe the good God sent you here to help us."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_SIXTEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.</h2> + +<p>SENT BY GOD.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I discovered that mademoiselle's opinion was shared by all the people in +Ville-en-bois, and Monsieur Laurentie favored the universal impression. +I had been sent to them by a special providence. There was something +satisfactory and consolatory to them all in my freedom from personal +anxieties and cares like their own. I had neither parent, nor husband, +nor child to be attacked by the prevailing infection. As soon as Minima +had passed safely through the most dangerous stages of the fever, I was +at leisure to listen to and sympathize with each one of them. Possibly +there was something in the difficulty I still experienced in expressing +myself fluently which made me a better listener, and so won them to pour +out their troubles into my attentive ear. Jean and Pierre especially +were devoted to me, since the child that had belonged to them had died +upon my lap.</p> + +<p>Through March, April, and May, the fever had its fling, though we were +not very long without a doctor. Monsieur Laurentie found one who came +and, I suppose, did all he could for the sick; but he could not do much. +I was kept too busily occupied to brood much either upon the past or the +future, of my own life. Not a thought crossed my mind of deserting the +little Norman village where I could be of use. Besides, Minima gained +strength very slowly, too slowly to be removed from the place, or to +encounter any fresh privations.</p> + +<p>When June came there were no new cases in the village, though the +summer-heat kept our patients languid. The last person who died of the +fever was Mademoiselle Pineau, in the mill-cottage. The old man and his +son had died before her, the former of old age, the latter of fever. Who +was the heir to the ruined factory and the empty cottage no one as yet +knew, but, until he appeared, every thing had to be left as it was. The +curé kept the key of the dwelling, though there was no danger of any one +trespassing upon the premises, as all the villagers regarded it as an +accursed place. Of the four hundred and twenty-two souls which had +formed the total of Monsieur le Curé's flock, he had lost thirty-one.</p> + +<p>In July the doctor left us, saying there was no fear of the fever +breaking out again at present. His departure seemed the signal for mine. +Monsieur Laurentie was not rich enough to feed two idle mouths, like +mine and Minima's, and there was little for me to do but sit still in +the uncarpeted, barely-furnished <i>salon</i> of the presbytery, listening to +the whirr of mademoiselle's spinning-wheel, and the drowsy, sing-song +hum of the village children at school, in a shed against the walls of +the house. Every thing seemed falling back into the pleasant monotony of +a peaceful country life, pleasant after the terror and grief of the past +months. The hay-harvest was over, and the cherry-gathering; the corn and +the apples were ripening fast in the heat of the sun. In this lull, this +pause, my heart grew busy again with itself.</p> + +<p>"My child," said the curé to me, one evening, when his long day's work +was over, "your face is <i>triste</i>. What are you thinking of?"</p> + +<p>I was seated under a thick-leaved sycamore, a few paces from the +church-porch. Vespers were just ended; the low chant had reached my +ears, and I missed the soothing undertone. The women, in their high +white caps, and the men, in their blue blouses, were sauntering slowly +homeward. The children were playing all down the village street, and not +far away a few girls and young men were beginning to dance to the piping +of a flute. Over the whole was creeping the golden twilight of a summer +evening.</p> + +<p>"I am very <i>triste</i>" I replied; "I am thinking that it is time for me to +go away from you all. I cannot stay in this tranquil place."</p> + +<p>"But wherefore must you leave us?" he asked, sitting down on the bench +beside me; "I found two little stray lambs, wandering without fold or +shepherd, and I brought them to my own house. What compels them to go +into the wide world again?"</p> + +<p>"Monsieur, we are poor," I answered, "and you are not rich. We should be +a burden to you, and we have no claim upon you."</p> + +<p>"You have a great claim," he said; "there is not a heart in the parish +that does not love you already. Have not our children died in your arms? +Have you not watched over them? spent sleepless nights and watchful days +for them? How could we endure to see you go away? Remain with us, +madame; live with us, you and my <i>mignonne</i>, whose face is white yet."</p> + +<p>Could I stay then? It was a very calm, very secure refuge. There was no +danger of discovery. Yet there was a restlessness in my spirit at war +with the half-mournful, half-joyous serenity of the place, where I had +seen so many people die, and where there were so many new graves in the +little cemetery up the hill. If I could go away for a while, I might +return, and learn to be content amid this tranquillity.</p> + +<p>"Madame," said the pleasant tones of Monsieur Laurentie, "do you know +our language well enough to tell me your history now? You need not prove +to me that you are not wicked; tell me how you are unfortunate. Where +were you wandering to that night when I found you at the foot of the +Calvary?"</p> + +<p>There, in the cool, deepening twilight, I told him my story, little by +little; sometimes at a loss for words, and always compelled to speak in +the simplest and most direct phrases. He listened, with no other +interruption than to supply me occasionally with an expression when I +hesitated. He appeared to understand me almost by intuition. It was +quite dark before I had finished, and the deep blue of the sky above us +was bright with stars. A glow-worm was moving among the tufts of grass +growing between the roots of the tree; and I watched it almost as +intently as if I had nothing else to think of.</p> + +<p>"Speak to me as if I were your daughter," I said. "Have I done right or +wrong? Would you give me up to him, if he came to claim me?"</p> + +<p>"I am thinking of thee as my daughter," he answered, leaning his hands +and his white head above them, upon the top of the stick he was holding, +and sitting so for some moments in silent thought. "Thy voice is not the +voice of passion," he continued; "it is the voice of conviction, +profound and confirmed. Thou mayst have fled from him in a paroxysm of +wrath, but thy judgment and conscience acquit thee of wrong. In my eyes +it is a sacrament which thou hast broken; yet he had profaned it first. +My daughter, if thy husband returned to thee, penitent, converted, +confessing his offences against thee, couldst thou forgive him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered, "yes! I could forgive him."</p> + +<p>"Thou wouldst return to him?" he said, in calm, penetrating accents, but +so low as to seem almost the voice of my own heart; "thou wouldst be +subject to him as the Church is subject to Christ? He would be thy head; +wouldst thou submit thyself unto him as unto the Lord?"</p> + +<p>"I shivered with dread as the quiet, solemn tones fell upon my ear, +poignantly, as if they must penetrate to my heart. I could not keep +myself from sobbing. His face was turned toward me in the dusk, and I +covered mine with my hands.</p> + +<p>"Not now," I cried; "I cannot, I cannot. I was so young, monsieur; I did +not know what I was promising. I could never return to him, never."</p> + +<p>"My daughter," pursued the inexorable voice beside me, "is it because +there is any one whom thou lovest more?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" I cried, almost involuntarily, and speaking now in my own +language, "I do not know. I could have loved Martin dearly—dearly."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand thy words," said Monsieur Laurentie, "but I +understand thy tears and sighs. Thou must stay here, my daughter, with +me, and these poor, simple people who love thee. I will not let thee go +into temptation. Courage; thou wilt be happy among us, when thou hast +conquered this evil. As for the rest, I must think about it. Let us go +in now. The lamp has been lit and supper served this half-hour. There is +my sister looking out at us. Come, madame. You are in my charge, and I +will take care of you."</p> + +<p>A few days after this, the whole community was thrown into a tumult by +the news that their curé was about to undertake the perils of a voyage +to England, and would be absent a whole fortnight. He said it was to +obtain some information as to the English system of drainage in +agricultural districts, which might make their own valley more healthy +and less liable to fever. But it struck me that he was about to make +some inquiries concerning my husband, and perhaps about Minima, whose +desolate position had touched him deeply. I ventured to tell him what +danger might arise to me if any clew to my hiding-place fell into +Richard Foster's hands.</p> + +<p>"My poor child," he said, "why art thou so fearful? There is not a man +here who would not protect thee. He would be obliged to prove his +identity, and thine, before he could establish his first right to claim +thee. Then we would enter a <i>procés</i>. Be content. I am going to consult +some lawyers of my own country and thine."</p> + +<p>He bade us farewell, with as many directions and injunctions as a father +might leave to a large family of sons and daughters. Half the village +followed his <i>char-à-banc</i> as far as the cross where he had found Minima +and me, six miles on his road to Noireau. His sister and I, who had +ridden with him so far, left him there, and walked home up the steep, +long road, in the midst of that enthusiastic crowd of his parishioners.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_SEVENTEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.</h2> + +<p>A MOMENT OF TRIUMPH.</p> +<br /> + +<p>The afternoon of that day was unusually sultry and oppressive. The blue +of the sky was almost livid. I was weary with the long walk in the +morning, and after our mid-day meal I stole away from mademoiselle and +Minima in the <i>salon</i>, and betook myself to the cool shelter of the +church, where the stone walls three feet thick, and the narrow casements +covered with vine-leaves, kept out the heat more effectually than the +half-timber walls of the presbytery. A <i>vicaire</i> from a neighboring +parish was to arrive in time for vespers, and Jean and Pierre were +polishing up the interior of the church, with an eye to their own +credit. It was a very plain, simple building, with but few images in it, +and only two or three votive pictures, very ugly, hanging between the +low Norman arches of the windows. A shrine occupied one transept, and +before it the offerings of flowers were daily renewed by the unmarried +girls of the village.</p> + +<p>I sat down upon a bench just within the door, and the transept was not +in sight, but I could hear Pierre busy at his task of polishing the +oaken floor, by skating over it with brushes fastened to his feet. Jean +was bustling in and out of the sacristy, and about the high altar in the +chancel. There was a faint scent yet of the incense which had been +burned at the mass celebrated before the curé's departure, enough to +make the air heavy and to deepen the drowsiness and languor which were +stealing over me. I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes, +with a pleasant sense of sleep coming softly toward me, when suddenly a +hand was laid upon my arm, with a firm, close, silent gripe.</p> + +<p>I do not know why terror always strikes me dumb and motionless. I did +not stir or speak, but looked steadily, with a fascinated gaze, into my +husband's face—a worn, white, emaciated face, with eyes peering cruelly +into mine. It was an awful look; one of dark triumph, of sneering, +cunning exultation. Neither of us spoke. Pierre I could hear still busy +in the transept, and Jean, though he had disappeared into the sacristy, +was within call. Yet I felt hopelessly and helplessly alone under the +cruel stare of those eyes. It seemed as if he and I were the only beings +in the whole world, and there was none to help, none to rescue. In the +voiceless depths of my spirit I cried, "O God!"</p> + +<p>He sank down on the seat beside me, with an air of exhaustion, yet with +a low, fiendish laugh which sounded hideously loud in my ears. His +fingers were still about my arm, but he had to wait to recover from the +first shock of his success—for it had been a shock. His face was bathed +with perspiration, and his breath came and went fitfully. I thought I +could even hear the heavy throbbing of his heart. He spoke after a time, +while my eyes were still fastened upon him, and my ears listening to +catch the first words he uttered.</p> + +<p>"I've found you," he said, his hand tightening its hold, and at the +first sound of his voice the spell which bound me snapped; "I've tracked +you out at last to this cursed hole. The game is up, my little lady. By +Heaven! you'll repent of this. You are mine, and no man on earth shall +come between us."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you," I muttered. He had spoken in an undertone, and +I could not raise my voice above a whisper, so parched and dry my throat +was.</p> + +<p>"Understand?" he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I know all about +Dr. Martin Dobrée. You understand that well enough. I am here to take +charge of you, to carry you home with me as my wife, and neither man nor +woman can interfere with me in that. It will be best for you to come +with me quietly."</p> + +<p>"I will not go with you," I answered, in the same hoarse whisper; "I am +living here in the presbytery, and you cannot force me away. I will not +go."</p> + +<p>He laughed a little once more, and looked down upon me contemptuously in +silence, as if there were no notice to be taken of words so foolish.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me," I continued. "When I refused to sign away the money my +father left me, it was because I said to myself it was wrong to throw +away his life's toil and skill upon pursuits like yours. He had worked, +and saved, and denied himself for me, not for a man like you. His money +should not be flung away at gambling-tables. But now I know he would +rather a thousand times you had the money and left me free. Take it +then. You shall have it all. We are both poor as it is, but if you will +let me be free of you, you may have it all—all that I can part with."</p> + +<p>"I prefer having the money and you," he replied, with his frightful +smile. "Why should I not prize what other people covet? You are my wife; +nothing can set that aside. Your money is mine, and you are mine; why +should I forfeit either?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said, growing calmer; "I do not belong to you. No laws on earth +can give you the ownership you claim over me. Richard, you might have +won me, if you had been a good man. But you are evil and selfish, and +you have lost me forever."</p> + +<p>"The silly raving of an ignorant girl!" he sneered; "the law will compel +you to return to me. I will take the law into my own hands, and compel +you to go with me at once. If there is no conveyance to be hired in this +confounded hole, we will walk down the road together, like two lovers, +and wait for the omnibus. Come, Olivia."</p> + +<p>Our voices had not risen much above their undertones yet, but these last +words he spoke more loudly. Jean opened the door of the sacristy and +looked out, and Pierre skated down to the corner of the transept to see +who was speaking. I lifted the hand Richard was not holding, and +beckoned Jean to me.</p> + +<p>"Jean," I said, in a low tone still, "this man is my enemy. Monsieur le +Curé knows all about him; but he is not here. You must protect me."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, madame," he replied, his eyes more roundly open than +ordinarily.—"Monsieur, have the goodness to release madame."</p> + +<p>"She is my wife," retorted Richard Foster.</p> + +<p>"I have told all to Monsieur le Curé," I said.</p> + +<p>"<i>Bon!</i>" ejaculated Jean. Monsieur le Curé is gone to England; it is +necessary to wait till his return, Monsieur Englishman."</p> + +<p>"Fool!" said Richard in a passion, "she is my wife, I tell you."</p> + +<p>"<i>Bon!</i>" he replied phlegmatically, "but it is my affair to protect +madame. There is no resource but to wait till Monsieur le Curé returns +from his voyage. If madame does not say, 'This is my husband,' how can I +believe you? She says, 'He is my enemy.' I cannot confide madame to a +stranger."</p> + +<p>"I will not leave her," he exclaimed with an oath, spoken in English, +which Jean could not understand.</p> + +<p>"Good! very good! Pardon, monsieur," responded Jean, laying his iron +fingers upon the hand that held me, and loosening its grip as easily as +if it had been the hand of a child.—"<i>Voilà</i>! madame, you are free. +Leave Monsieur the Englishman to me, and go away into the house, if you +please."</p> + +<p>I did not wait to hear any further altercation, but fled as quickly as I +could into the presbytery. Up into my own chamber I ran, drew a heavy +chest against the door, and fell down trembling and nerveless upon the +floor beside it.</p> + +<p>But there was no time to lose in womanish terrors; my difficulty and +danger were too great. The curé was gone, and would be away at least a +fortnight. How did I know what French law might do with me, in that +time? I dragged myself to the window, and, with my face just above the +sill, looked down the street, to see if my husband were in sight. He was +nowhere to be seen, but loitering at one of the doors was the +letter-carrier, whose daily work it was to meet the afternoon omnibus +returning from Noireau to Granville. Why should I not write to Tardif? +He had promised to come to my help whenever and wherever I might summon +him. I ran down to Mademoiselle Thérèse for the materials for a letter, +and in a few minutes it was written, and on the way to Sark.</p> + +<p>I was still watching intently from my own casement, when I saw Richard +Foster come round the corner of the church, and turn down the street. +Many of the women were at their doors, and he stopped to speak to first +one and then another. I guessed what he wanted. There was no inn in the +valley, and he was trying to hire a lodging for the night. But Jean was +following him closely, and from every house he was turned away, baffled +and disappointed. He looked weary and bent, and he leaned heavily upon +the strong stick he carried. At last he passed slowly out of sight, and +once more I could breathe freely.</p> + +<p>But I could not bring myself to venture downstairs, where the +uncurtained windows were level with the court, and the unfastened door +opened to my hand. The night fell while I was still alone, unnerved by +the terror I had undergone. Here and there a light glimmered in a +lattice-window, but a deep silence reigned, with no other sound than the +brilliant song of a nightingale amid the trees which girdled the +village. Suddenly there was the noisy rattle of wheels over the rough +pavement—the baying of dogs—an indistinct shout from the few men who +were still smoking their pipes under the broad eaves of their houses. A +horrible dread took hold of me. Was it possible that he returned, with +some force—I knew not what—which should drag me away from my refuge, +and give me up to him? What would Jean and the villagers do? What could +they do against a body of <i>gendarmes</i>?</p> + +<p>I gazed shrinkingly into the darkness. The conveyance looked, as far as +I could make out of its shape, very like the <i>char-à-banc</i>, which was +not to return from Noireau till the next day. But there was only the +gleam of the lantern it carried on a pole rising above its roof, and +throwing crossbeams of light upon the walls and windows on each side of +the street. It came on rapidly, and passed quickly out of my sight round +the angle of the presbytery. My heart scarcely beat, and my ear was +strained to catch every sound in the house below.</p> + +<p>I heard hurried footsteps and joyous voices. A minute or two afterward, +Minima beat against my barricaded door, and shouted gleefully through +the key-hole:</p> + +<p>"Come down in a minute, Aunt Nelly," she cried; "Monsieur Laurentie is +come home again!"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_EIGHTEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.</h2> + +<p>PIERRE'S SECRET.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I felt as if some strong hand had lifted me out of a whirl of troubled +waters, and set me safely upon a rock. I ran down into the <i>salon</i>, +where Monsieur Laurentie was seated, as tranquilly as if he had never +been away, in his high-backed arm-chair, smiling quietly at Minima's +gambols of delight, which ended in her sitting down on a <i>tabouret</i> at +his feet. Jean stood just within the door, his hands behind his back, +holding his white cotton cap in them: he had been making his report of +the day's events. Monsieur held out his hand to me, and I ran to him, +caught it in both of mine, bent down my face upon it, and burst into a +passion of weeping, in spite of myself.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, madame!" he said, his own voice faltering a little, "I am +here, my child; behold me! There is no place for fear now. I am king in +Ville-en-bois.—Is it not so, my good Jean?"</p> + +<p>"Monsieur le Curé, you are emperor," replied Jean.</p> + +<p>"If that is the case," he continued, "madame is perfectly secure in my +castle. You do not ask me what brings me back again so soon. But I will +tell you, madame. At Noireau, the proprietor of the omnibus to Granville +told me that an Englishman had gone that morning to visit my little +parish. Good! We do not have that honor every day. I ask him to have the +goodness to tell me the Englishman's name. It is written in the book at +the bureau. Monsieur Fostère. I remember that name well, very well. That +is the name of the husband of my little English daughter. Fostère! I see +in a moment it will not do to proceed, on my voyage. But I find that my +good Jacques has taken on the <i>char-à-banc</i> a league or two beyond +Noireau, and I am compelled to await his return. There is the reason +that I return so late."</p> + +<p>"O monsieur!" I exclaimed, "how good you are—"</p> + +<p>"Pardon, madame," he interrupted, "let me hear the end of Jean's +history."</p> + +<p>Jean continued his report in his usual phlegmatic tone, and concluded +with the assurance that he had seen the Englishman safe out of the +village, and returning by the road he came.</p> + +<p>"I could have wished," said the curé, regretfully, "that we might have +shown him some hospitality in Ville-en-bois; but you did what was very +good, Jean. Yet we did not encounter any stranger along the route."</p> + +<p>"Not possible, monsieur," replied Jean; "it was four o'clock when he +returned on his steps, and it is now after nine. He would pass the +Calvary before six. After that, Monsieur le Curé, he might take any +route which pleased him."</p> + +<p>"That is true, Jean," he said, mildly; "you have done well. You may go +now. Where is Monsieur the Vicaire?"</p> + +<p>"He sleeps, monsieur, in the guest's chamber, as usual."</p> + +<p>"<i>Bien</i>! Good-evening, Jean, and a good-night."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Monsieur le Curé, and all the company," said Jean.</p> + +<p>"And you also, my child," continued Monsieur Laurentie, when Jean was +gone, "you have great need of rest. So has this baby, who is very +sleepy."</p> + +<p>"I am not sleepy," protested Minima, "and I am not a baby."</p> + +<p>"You are a baby," said the curé, laughing, "to make such rejoicing over +an old papa like me. But go now, my children. There is no danger for +you. Sleep well and have pleasant dreams."</p> + +<p>I slept well, but I had no pleasant dreams, for I did not dream at all. +The curé's return, and his presence under the same roof, gave me such a +sense of security as was favorable to profound, unbroken slumber. When +the chirping of the birds awoke me in the morning, I could not at first +believe that the events of the day before were not themselves a dream. +The bell rang for matins at five o'clock now, to give the laborers the +cool of the morning for their work in the fields, after they were over. +I could not sleep again, for the coming hours must be full of suspense +and agitation to me. So at the first toll of the deep-toned bell, I +dressed myself, and went out into the dewy freshness of the new day.</p> + +<p>Matins were ended, and the villagers were scattered about their farms +and households, when I noticed Pierre loitering stealthily about the +presbytery, as if anxious not to be seen. He made me a sign as soon as +he caught my eye, to follow him out of sight, round the corner of the +church. It was a mysterious sign, and I obeyed it quickly.</p> + +<p>"I know a secret, madame," he said, in a troubled tone, and with an +apprehensive air—"that monsieur who came yesterday has not left the +valley. My father bade me stay in the church, at my work; but I could +not, madame, I could not. Not possible, you know. I wished to see your +enemy again. I shall have to confess it to Monsieur le Curé, and he will +give me a penance, perhaps a very great penance. But it was not possible +to rest tranquil, not at all. I followed monsieur, your enemy, <i>à la +dérobée</i>. He did not go far away."</p> + +<p>"But where is he, then?" I asked, looking down the street, with a +thrill of fear.</p> + +<p>"Madame," whispered Pierre, "he is a stranger to this place, and the +people would not receive him into their houses—not one of them. My +father only said, 'He is an enemy to our dear English madame,' and all +the women turned the back upon him. I stole after him, you know, behind +the trees and the hedges. He marched very slowly, like a man very weary, +down the road, till he came in sight of the factory of the late Pineaux. +He turned aside into the court there. I saw him knock at the door of the +house, try to lift the latch, and peep through the windows. Bien! After +that, he goes into the factory; there is a door from it into the house. +He passed through. I dared not follow him, but in one short half-hour I +saw smoke coming out of the chimney. Bon! The smoke is there again this +morning. The Englishman has sojourned there all the night."</p> + +<p>"But, Pierre," I said, shivering, though the sun was already shining +hotly—"Pierre, the house is like a lazaretto. No one has been in it +since Mademoiselle Pineau died. Monsieur le Curé locked it up, and +brought away the key."</p> + +<p>"That is true, madame," answered the boy; "no one in the village would +go near the accursed place; but I never thought of that. Perhaps +monsieur your enemy will take the fever, and perish."</p> + +<p>"Run, Pierre, run," I cried; "Monsieur Laurentie is in the sacristy, +with the strange vicaire. Tell him I must speak to him this very moment. +There is no time to be lost."</p> + +<p>I dragged myself to the seat under the sycamore-tree, and hid my face in +my hands, while shudder after shudder quivered through me. I seemed to +be watching him again, as he strode weariedly down the street, leaning, +with bent shoulders, on his stick, and turned away from every door at +which he asked for rest and shelter for the night. Oh! that the time +could but come back again, that I might send Jean to find some safe +place for him where he could sleep! Back to my memory rushed the old +days, when he screened me from the unkindness of my step-mother, and +when he seemed to love me. For the sake of those times, would to God +the evening that was gone, and the sultry, breathless night, could only +come back again!</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_NINETEENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.</h2> + +<p>SUSPENSE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>I felt as if I had passed through an immeasurable spell, both of memory +and anguish, before Monsieur Laurentie came to me, though he had +responded to my summons immediately. I told him, in hurried, broken +sentences, what Pierre had confessed to me. His face grew overcast and +troubled; yet he did not utter a word of his apprehensions to me.</p> + +<p>"Madame," he said, "permit me to take my breakfast first; then I will +seek Monsieur Foster without delay. I will carry with me some food for +him. We will arrange this affair before I return; Jean shall bring the +<i>char à bancs</i> to the factory, and take him back to Noireau."</p> + +<p>"But the fever, monsieur? Can he pass a night there without taking it?"</p> + +<p>"He is in the hands of his Creator," he answered; "we can know nothing +till I have seen him. We cannot call back the past."</p> + +<p>"Ought I not to go with you?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Wherefore, my child?"</p> + +<p>"He is my husband," I said, falteringly; "if he is ill, I will nurse +him."</p> + +<p>"Good! my poor child," he replied, "leave all this affair to me; leave +even thy duty to me. I will take care there shall be no failure in it, +on thy part."</p> + +<p>We were not many minutes over our frugal breakfast of bread-and-milk, +and then we set out together, for he gave me permission to go with him, +until we came within sight of the factory and the cottage. We walked +quickly and in foreboding silence. He told me, as soon as he saw the +place, that I might stay on the spot where he left me, till the +church-clock struck eight; and then, if he had not returned to me, I +must go back to the village, and send Jean with the <i>char à bancs</i>. I +sat down on the felled trunk of a tree, and watched him, in his old +threadbare cassock, and sunburnt hat, crossing the baked, cracked soil +of the court, till he reached the door, and turned round to lift his hat +to me with a kindly gesture of farewell. He fitted the key into the +lock, passed out of my sight; but I could not withdraw my eyes from the +deep, thatched eaves, and glossy <i>fleur-de-lis</i> growing along the roof.</p> + +<p>How interminable seemed his absence! I sat so still that the crickets +and grasshoppers in the tufted grass about me kept up their ceaseless +chirruping, and leaped about my feet, unaware that I could crush their +merry life out of them by a single movement. The birds in the dusky +branches overhead whistled their wild wood-notes, as gayly as if no one +were near their haunts. Now and then there came a pause, when the +silence deepened until I could hear the cones, in the fir-trees close at +hand, snapping open their polished scales, and setting free the winged +seeds, which fluttered softly down to the ground. The rustle of a +swiftly—gliding snake through the fallen leaves caught my ear, and I +saw the blunted head and glittering eyes lifted up to look at me for a +moment; but I did not stir. All my fear and feeling, my whole life, were +centred upon the fever-cottage yonder.</p> + +<p>There was not the faintest line of smoke from the chimney, when we first +came in sight of it. Was it not quite possible that Pierre might have +been mistaken? And if he had made a mistake in thinking he saw smoke +this morning, why not last night also? Yet the curé was lingering there +too long for it to be merely an empty place. Something detained him, or +why did he not come back to me? Presently a thin blue smoke curled +upward into the still air. Monsieur Laurentie was kindling a fire on the +hearth. <i>He</i> was there then.</p> + +<p>What would be the end of it all? My heart contracted, and my spirit +shrank from the answer that was ready to flash upon my mind. I refused +to think of the end. If Richard were ill, why, I would nurse him, as I +should have nursed him if he had always been tender and true to me. That +at least was a clear duty. What lay beyond that need not be decided +upon now. Monsieur Laurentie would tell me what I ought to do.</p> + +<p>He came, after a long, long suspense, and opened the door, looking out +as if to make sure that I was still at my post. I sprang to my feet, and +was running forward, when he beckoned me to remain where I was. He came +across to the middle of the court, but no nearer; and he spoke to me at +that distance, in his clear, deliberate, penetrating voice.</p> + +<p>"My child," he said, "monsieur is ill! attacked, I am afraid, by the +fever. He is not delirious at present, and we have been talking together +of many things. But the fever has taken hold upon him, I think. I shall +remain with him all the day. You must bring us what we have need of, and +leave it on the stone there, as it used to be."</p> + +<p>"But cannot he be removed at once?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"My dear," he answered, "what can I do? The village is free from +sickness now; how can I run the risk of carrying the fever there again? +It is too far to send monsieur to Noireau. If he is ill of it, it is +best for us all that he should remain here. I will not abandon him; no, +no. Obey me, my child, and leave him to me and to God. Cannot you +confide in me yet?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said, weeping, "I trust you with all my heart."</p> + +<p>"Go, then, and do what I bid you," he replied. "Tell my sister and Jean, +tell all my people, that no one must intrude upon me, no one must come +nearer this house than the appointed place. Monsieur le Vicaire must +remain in Ville-en-bois, and officiate for me, as though I were pursuing +my journey to England. You must think of me as one absent, yet close at +hand: that is the difference. I am here, in the path of my duty. Go, and +fulfil yours."</p> + +<p>"Ought you not to let me share your work and your danger?" I ventured to +ask.</p> + +<p>"If there be any need, you shall share both," he answered, in a tranquil +tone, "though your life should be the penalty. Life is nothing in +comparison with duty. When it is thy duty, my daughter, to be beside thy +husband, I will call thee without fail."</p> + +<p>Slowly I retraced my steps to the village. The news had already spread, +from Pierre—for no one else knew it—that the Englishman, who had been +turned away from their doors the day before, had spent the night in the +infected dwelling. A group of weavers, of farmers, of women from their +household work, stopped me as I entered the street. I delivered to them +their curé's message, and they received it with sobs and cries, as +though it bore in it the prediction of a great calamity. They followed +me up the street to the presbytery, and crowded the little court in +front of it.</p> + +<p>When mademoiselle had collected the things Monsieur Laurentie had sent +me for—a mattress, a chair, food, and medicine—every person in the +crowd wished to carry some small portion of them. We returned in a troop +to the factory, and stood beyond the stone, a group of sorrowful, almost +despairing people. In a few minutes we saw the curé open the door, close +it behind him, and stand before the proscribed dwelling. His voice came +across the space between us and him in distinct and cheerful tones.</p> + +<p>"My good children," he said, "I, your priest, forbid any one of you to +come a single step nearer to this house. It may be but for a day or two, +but let no one venture to disobey me. Think of me as though I had gone +to England, and should be back again among you in a few days. God is +here, as near to me under this roof, as when I stand before him and you +at his altar."</p> + +<p>He lifted up his hands to give them his benediction, and we all knelt to +receive it. Then, with unquestioning obedience, but with many +lamentations, the people returned to their daily work.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTIETH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.</h2> + +<p>A MALIGNANT CASE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>For three days, morning after morning, while the dew lay still upon the +grass, I went down, with a heavy and foreboding heart, to the place +where I could watch the cottage, through the long, sultry hours of the +summer-day. The first thing I saw always was Monsieur Laurentie, who +came to the door to satisfy me that he was himself in good health, and +to tell me how Richard Foster had passed the night. After that I caught +from time to time a momentary glimpse of his white head, as he passed +the dusky window. He would not listen to my entreaties to be allowed to +join him in his task. It was a malignant case, he said, and as my +husband was unconscious, I could do him no good by running the risk of +being near him.</p> + +<p>An invisible line encircled the pestilential place, which none of us +dare break through without the permission of the curé, though any one of +the villagers would have rejoiced if he had summoned them to his aid. A +perpetual intercession was offered up day and night, before the high +altar, by the people, and there was no lack of eager candidates ready to +take up the prayer when the one who had been praying grew weary. On the +third morning I felt that they were beginning to look at me with altered +faces, and speak to me in colder accents. If I were the means of +bringing upon them the loss of their curé, they would curse the day he +found me and brought me to his home. I left the village street half +broken-hearted, and wandered hopelessly down to my chosen post.</p> + +<p>I thought I was alone, but as I sat with my head bowed down upon my +hands, I felt a child's hand laid upon my neck, and Minima's voice spoke +plaintively in my ear.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, Aunt Nelly?" she asked. "Everybody is in trouble, +and mademoiselle says it is because your husband is come, and Monsieur +Laurentie is going to die for his sake. She began to cry when she said +that, and she said, 'What shall we all do if my brother dies? My God! +what will become of all the people in Ville-en-bois?' Is it true? Is +your husband really come, and is he going to die?"</p> + +<p>"He is come," I said, in a low voice; "I do not know whether he is going +to die."</p> + +<p>"Is he so poor that he will die?" she asked again. "Why does God let +people be so poor that they must die?".</p> + +<p>"It is not because he is so poor that he is ill," I answered.</p> + +<p>"But my father died because he was so poor," she said; "the doctors told +him he could get well if he had only enough money. Perhaps your husband +would not have died if he had not been very poor."</p> + +<p>"No, no," I cried, vehemently, "he is not dying through poverty."</p> + +<p>Yet the child's words had a sting in them, for I knew he had been poor, +in consequence of my act. I thought of the close, unwholesome house in +London, where he had been living. I could not help thinking of it, and +wondering whether any loss of vital strength, born of poverty, had +caused him to fall more easily a prey to this fever. My brain was +burdened with sorrowful questions and doubts.</p> + +<p>I sent Minima back to the village before the morning-heat grew strong, +and then I was alone, watching the cottage through the fine haze of heat +which hung tremulously about it. The song of every bird was hushed; the +shouts of the harvest-men to their oxen ceased; and the only sound that +stirred the still air was the monotonous striking of the clock in the +church-tower. I had not seen Monsieur Laurentie since his first greeting +of me in the early morning. A panic fear seized upon me. Suppose he +should have been stricken suddenly by this deadly malady! I called +softly at first, then loudly, but no answer came to comfort me. If this +old man, worn out and exhausted, had actually given his life for +Richard's, what would become of me? what would become of all of us?</p> + +<p>Step by step, pausing often, yet urged on by my growing fears, I stole +down the parched and beaten track toward the house, then called once +more to the oppressive silence.</p> + +<p>Here in the open sunshine, with the hot walls of the mill casting its +rays back again, the heat was intense, though the white cap I wore +protected my head from it. My eyes were dazzled, and I felt ready to +faint. No wonder if Monsieur Laurentie should have sunk under it, and +the long strain upon his energies, which would have overtaxed a younger +and stronger man. I had passed the invisible line which his will had +drawn about the place, and had half crossed the court, when I heard +footsteps close behind me, and a large, brown, rough hand suddenly +caught mine.</p> + +<p>"Mam'zelle'" cried a voice I knew well, "is this you!"</p> + +<p>"O Tardif! Tardif!" I exclaimed. I rested my beating head against him, +and sobbed violently, while he surrounded me with his strong arm, and +laid his hand upon my head, as if to assure me of his help and +protection.</p> + +<p>"Hush; hush! mam'zelle," he said; "it is Tardif, your friend, my little +mam'zelle; your servant, you know. I am here. What shall I do for you? +Is there any person in yonder house who frightens you, my poor little +mam'zelle? Tell me what I can do?"</p> + +<p>He had drawn me back into the green shade of the trees, and set me down +upon the felled tree where I had been sitting before. I told him all +quickly, briefly—all that had happened since I had written to him. I +saw the tears start to his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Thank God I am here!" he said; "I lost no time, mam'zelle, after your +letter reached me. I will save Monsieur le Curé; I will save them both, +if I can. <i>Ma foi!</i> he is a good man, this curé, and we must not let him +perish. He has no authority over me, and I will go this moment and force +my way in, if the door is fastened. Adieu, my dear little mam'zelle."</p> + +<p>He was gone before I could speak a word, striding with quick, energetic +tread across the court. The closed door under the eaves opened readily. +In an instant the white head of Monsieur Laurentie passed the casement, +and I could hear the hum of an earnest altercation, though I could not +catch a syllable of it. But presently Tardif appeared again in the +doorway, waving his cap in token of having gained his point.</p> + +<p>I went back to the village at once to carry the good news, for it was +the loneliness of the curé that had weighed so heavily on every heart, +though none among them dare brave his displeasure by setting aside his +command. The quarantine was observed as rigidly as ever, but fresh hope +and confidence beamed upon every face, and I felt that they no longer +avoided me, as they had begun to do before Tardif's arrival. Now +Monsieur Laurentie could leave his patient, and sit under the sheltering +eaves in the cool of the morning or evening, while his people could +satisfy themselves from a distance that he was still in health.</p> + +<p>The physician whom Jean fetched from Noireau spoke vaguely of Richard's +case. It was very malignant, he said, full of danger, and apparently his +whole constitution had been weakened by some protracted and grave +malady. We must hope, he added.</p> + +<p>Whether it was in hope or fear I awaited the issue, I scarcely know. I +dared not glance beyond the passing hour; dared not conjecture what the +end would be. The past was dead; the future yet unborn. For the moment +my whole being was concentrated upon the conflict between life and +death, which was witnessed only by the curé and Tardif.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_FIRST'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.</h2> + +<p>THE LAST DEATH.</p> +<br /> + +<p>It seemed to me almost as if time had been standing still since that +first morning when Monsieur Laurentie had left my side, and passed out +of my sight to seek for my husband in the fever-smitten dwelling. Yet it +was the tenth day after that when, as I took up my weary watch soon +after daybreak, I saw him crossing the court again, and coming toward +me.</p> + +<p>"What had he to say? What could impel him to break through the strict +rule which had interdicted all dangerous contact with himself? His face +was pale, and his eyes were heavy as if with want of rest, but they +looked into mine as if they could read my inmost soul.</p> + +<p>"My daughter," he said, "I bade you leave even your duty in my keeping. +Now I summon you to fulfil it. Your duty lies yonder, by your husband's +side in his agony of death."</p> + +<p>"I will go," I whispered, my lips scarcely moving to pronounce the +words, so stiff and cold they felt.</p> + +<p>"Stay one moment," he said, pityingly. "You have been taught to judge +of your duty for yourself, not to leave it to a priest. I ought to let +you judge now. Your husband is dying, but he is conscious, and is asking +to see you. He does not believe us that death is near; he says none but +you will tell him the truth. You cannot go to him without running a +great risk. Your danger will be greater than ours, who have been with +him all the time. You see, madame, he does not understand me, and he +refuses to believe in Tardif. Yet you cannot save him; you can only +receive his last adieu. Think well, my child. Your life may be the +forfeit."</p> + +<p>"I must go," I answered, more firmly; "I will go. He is my husband."</p> + +<p>"Good!" he said, "you have chosen the better part. Come, then. The good +God will protect you."</p> + +<p>He drew my hand through his arm, and led me to the low doorway. The +inner room was very dark with the overhanging eaves, and my eyes, +dilated by the strong sunlight, could discern but little in the gloom. +Tardif was kneeling beside a low bed, bathing my husband's forehead. He +made way for me, and I felt him touch my hand with his lips as I took +his place. But no one spoke. Richard's face, sunken, haggard, dying, +with filmy eyes, dawned gradually out of the dim twilight, line after +line, until it lay sharp and distinct under my gaze. I could not turn +away from it for an instant, even to glance at Tardif or Monsieur +Laurentie. The poor, miserable face! the restless, dreary, dying eyes!</p> + +<p>"Where is Olivia?" he muttered, in a hoarse and labored voice.</p> + +<p>"I am here, Richard," I answered, falling on my knees where Tardif had +been kneeling, and putting my hand on his; "look at me. I am Olivia."</p> + +<p>"You are mine, you know," he said, his fingers closing round my wrist +with a grasp as weak as a very young child's.—"She is my wife, Monsieur +le Curé."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I sobbed, "I am your wife, Richard."</p> + +<p>"Do they hear it?" he asked, in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"We hear it," answered Tardif.</p> + +<p>A strange, spasmodic smile flitted across his ghastly face, a look of +triumph and success. His fingers tightened over my hand, and I left it +passively in their clasp.</p> + +<p>"Mine!" he murmured.</p> + +<p>"Olivia," he said, after a long pause, and in a stronger voice, "you +always spoke the truth to me. This priest and his follower have been +trying to frighten me into repentance, as if I were an old woman. They +say I am near dying. Tell me, is it true?"</p> + +<p>The last words he had spoken painfully, dragging them one after another, +as if the very utterance of them was hateful to him. He looked at me +with his cold, glittering eyes, which seemed almost mocking at me, even +then.</p> + +<p>"Richard," I said, "it is true."</p> + +<p>"Good God!" he cried.</p> + +<p>His lips closed after that cry, and seemed as if they would never open +again. He shut his eyes weariedly. Feebly and fitfully came his gasps +for breath, and he moaned at times. But still his fingers held me fast, +though the slightest effort of mine would have set me free. I left my +hand in his cold grasp, and spoke to him whenever he moaned.</p> + +<p>"Martin," he breathed between his set teeth, though so low that only my +ear could catch the words, "Martin—could—have saved—me."</p> + +<p>There was another long silence. I could hear the chirping of the +sparrows in the thatched roof, but no other sound broke the deep +stillness. Monsieur Laurentie and Tardif stood at the foot of the bed, +looking down upon us both, but I only saw their shadows falling across +us. My eyes were fastened upon the face I should soon see no more. The +little light there was seemed to be fading away from it, leaving it all +dark and blank; eyelids closed, lips almost breathless; an unutterable +emptiness and confusion creeping over every feature.</p> + +<p>"Olivia!" he cried, once again, in a tone of mingled anger and +entreaty.</p> + +<p>"I am here," I answered, laying my other hand upon his, which was at +last relaxing its hold, and falling away helplessly. But where was he? +Where was the voice which half a minute ago called Olivia? Where was +the life gone that had grasped my hand? He had not heard my answer, or +felt my touch upon his cold fingers.</p> + +<p>Tardif lifted me gently from my place beside him, and carried me away +into the open air, under the overshadowing eaves.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_SECOND'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.</h2> + +<p>FREE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>The rest of that day passed by like a dream. Jean had come down with the +daily supply of food, and I heard Monsieur Laurentie call to him to +accompany me back to the presbytery, and to warn every one to keep away +from me, until I could take every precaution against spreading +infection. He gave me minute directions what to do, and I obeyed them +automatically and mechanically. I spent the whole day in my room alone.</p> + +<p>At night, after all the village was silent, with the moon shining +brilliantly down upon the deserted streets, the sound of stealthy +footsteps came to me through my window. I pulled the casement open and +looked out. There marched four men, with measured steps, bearing a +coffin on their shoulders, while Monsieur Laurentie followed them +bareheaded. It was my husband's funeral; and I sank upon my knees, and +remained kneeling till I heard them return from the little cemetery up +the valley, where so many of the curé's flock had been buried. I prayed +with all my heart that no other life would be forfeited to this +pestilence, which had seemed to have passed away from us.</p> + +<p>But I was worn out myself with anxiety and watching. For three or four +days I was ill with a low, nervous fever—altogether unlike the terrible +typhoid, yet such as to keep me to my room. Minima and Mademoiselle +Thérèse were my only companions. Mademoiselle, after talking that one +night as much as she generally talked in twelve months, had relapsed +into deeper taciturnity than before. But her muteness tranquillized me. +Minima's simple talk brought me back to the level of common life. My own +nervous weeping, which I could not control, served to soothe me. My +casement, almost covered by broad, clustering vine-leaves, preserved a +cool, dim obscurity in my room. The village children seemed all at once +to have forgotten how to scream and shout, and no sound from the street +disturbed me. Even the morning and evening bell rang with a deep, +muffled tone, which scarcely stirred the silence. I heard afterward that +Jean had swathed the bell in a piece of sackcloth, and that the children +had been sent off early every morning into the woods.</p> + +<p>But I could not remain long in that idle seclusion. I felt all my +strength returning, both of body and mind. I began to smile at Minima, +and to answer her childish prattle, with none of the feeling of utter +weariness which had at first prostrated me.</p> + +<p>"Are we going to stay here forever and ever?" she asked me, one day, +when I felt that the solitary peace of my own chamber was growing too +monotonous for me.</p> + +<p>"Should you like to stay, Minima?" I inquired in reply. It was a +question I must face, that of what I was going to do in the future.</p> + +<p>"I don't know altogether," she said, reflectively. "The boys here are +not so nice as they used to be at home. Pierre says I'm a little pagan, +and that's not nice, Aunt Nelly. He says I must be baptized by Monsieur +Laurentie, and be prepared for my first communion, before I can be as +good as he is. The boys at home used to think me quite as good as them, +and better. I asked Monsieur Laurentie if I ought to be baptized over +again, and he only smiled, and said I must be as good a little girl as I +could be, and it did not much matter. But Pierre, and all the rest, +think I'm not as good as them, and I don't like it."</p> + +<p>I could not help laughing, like Monsieur Laurentie, at Minima's +distress. Yet it was not without foundation. Here we were heretics amid +the orthodox, and I felt it myself. Though Monsieur le Curé never +alluded to it in the most distant manner, there was a difference between +us and the simple village-folk in Ville-en-bois which would always mark +us as strangers in blood and creed.</p> + +<p>"I think," continued Minima, with a shrewd expression on her face, +which was beginning to fill up and grow round in its outlines, "I think, +when you are quite well again, we'd better be going on somewhere to try +our fortunes. It never does, you know, to stop too long in the same +place. I'm quite sure we shall never meet the prince here, and I don't +think we shall find any treasure. Besides, if we began to dig they'd all +know, and want to go shares. I shouldn't mind going shares with Monsieur +Laurentie, but I would not go shares with Pierre. Of course when we've +made our fortunes we'll come back, and we'll build Monsieur Laurentie a +palace of marble, and put Turkey carpets on all the floors, and have +fountains and statues, and all sorts of things, and give him a cook to +cook splendid dinners. But we wouldn't stay here always if we were very, +very rich; would you, Aunt Nelly?"</p> + +<p>"Has anybody told you that I am rich?" I asked, with a passing feeling +of vexation.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she said, laughing heartily, "I should know better than that. +You're very poor, my darling auntie, but I love you all the same. We +shall be rich some day, of course. It's all coming right, by-and-by."</p> + +<p>Her hand was stroking my face, and I drew it to my lips and kissed it +tenderly. I had scarcely realized before what a change had come over my +circumstances.</p> + +<p>"But I am not poor any longer, my little girl," I said; "I am rich +now.".</p> + +<p>"Very rich?" she asked, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Very rich," I repeated.</p> + +<p>"And we shall never have to go walking, walking, till our feet are sore +and tired? And we shall not be hungry, and be afraid of spending our +money? And we shall buy new clothes as soon as the old ones are worn +out? O Aunt Nelly, is it true? is it quite true?"</p> + +<p>"It is quite true, my poor Minima," I answered.</p> + +<p>She looked at me wistfully, with the color coming and going on her face. +Then she climbed up, and lay down beside me, with her arm over me and +her face close to mine.</p> + +<p>"O Aunt Nelly!" she cried, "if this had only come while my father was +alive!"</p> + +<p>"Minima," I said, after her sobs and tears were ended, "you will always +be my little girl. You shall come and live with me wherever I live."</p> + +<p>"Of course," she answered, with the simple trustfulness of a child, "we +are going to live together till we die. You won't send me to school, +will you? You know what school is like now, and you wouldn't like me to +send you to school, would you? If I were a rich, grown-up lady, and you +were a little girl like me, I know what I should do."</p> + +<p>"What would you do?" I inquired, laughing.</p> + +<p>"I should give you lots of dolls and things," she said, quite seriously, +her brows puckered with anxiety, "and I should let you have +strawberry-jam every day, and I should make every thing as nice as +possible. Of course I should make you learn lessons, whether you liked +it or not, but I should teach you myself, and then I should know nobody +was unkind to you. That's what I should do, Aunt Nelly."</p> + +<p>"And that's what I shall do, Minima," I repeated.</p> + +<p>We had many things to settle that morning, making our preliminary +arrangements for the spending of my fortune upon many dolls and much +jam. But the conviction was forced upon me that I must be setting about +more important plans. Tardif was still staying in Ville-en-bois, +delaying his departure till I was well enough to see him. I resolved to +get up that evening, as soon as the heat of the day was past, and have a +conversation with him and Monsieur Laurentie.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_THIRD'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD.</h2> + +<p>A YEAR'S NEWS.</p> +<br /> + +<p>In the cool of the evening, while the chanting of vespers in the church +close by was faintly audible, I went downstairs into the <i>salon</i>. All +the household were gone to the service; but I saw Tardif sitting outside +in my own favorite seat under the sycamore-tree. I sent Minima to call +him to me, bidding her stay out-of-doors herself; and he came in +hurriedly, with a glad light in his deep, honest eyes.</p> + +<p>"Thank God, mam'zelle, thank God!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered, "I am well again now. I have not been really ill, I +know, but I felt weary and sick at heart. My good Tardif, how much I owe +you!"</p> + +<p>"You owe me, nothing, mam'zelle," he said, dropping my hand, and +carrying the curé's high-backed chair to the open window, for me to sit +in it, and have all the freshness there was in the air. "Dear +mam'zelle," he added, "if you only think of me as your friend, that is +enough."</p> + +<p>"You are my truest friend," I replied.</p> + +<p>"No, no. You have another as true," he answered, "and you have this good +Monsieur le Curé into the bargain. If the curés were all like him I +should be thinking of becoming a good Catholic myself, and you know how +far I am from being that."</p> + +<p>"No one can say a word too much in his praise," I said.</p> + +<p>"Except," continued Tardif, "that he desires to keep our little mam'zelle +in his village. 'Why must she leave me?' he says; 'never do I say a word +contrary to her religion, or that of the <i>mignonne</i>. Let them stay in +Ville-en-bois.' But Dr. Martin, says: 'No, she must not remain here. The +air is not good for her; the village is not drained, and it is +unhealthy. There will always be fever here.' Dr. Martin was almost angry +with Monsieur le Curé."</p> + +<p>"Dr. Martin?" I said, in a tone of wonder and inquiry.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Martin, mam'zelle. I sent a message to him by telegraph. It was +altered somehow in the offices, and he did not know who was dead. He +started off at once, travelled without stopping, and reached this place +two nights ago."</p> + +<p>"Is he here now?" I asked, while a troubled feeling stirred the +tranquillity which had but just returned to me. I shrank from seeing him +just then.</p> + +<p>"No, mam'zelle. He went away this morning, as soon as he was sure you +would recover without his help. He said that to see him might do you +more harm, trouble you more, than he could do you good by his medicines. +He and Monsieur le Curé parted good friends, though they were not of the +same mind about you. 'Let her stay here,' says Monsieur le Curé. 'She +must return to England,' says Dr. Martin. 'Mam'zelle must be free to +choose for herself,' I said. They both smiled, and said yes, I was +right. You must be free."</p> + +<p>"Why did no one tell me he was here? Why did Minima keep it a secret?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>"He forbade us to tell you. He did not wish to disquiet you. He said to +me: 'If she ever wishes to see me, I would come gladly from London to +Ville-en-bois', only to hear her say, 'Good-morning, Dr. Martin.' 'But I +will not see her now, unless she is seriously ill.' I felt that he was +right, Dr. Martin is always right."</p> + +<p>I did not speak when Tardif paused, as if to hear what I had to say. I +heard him sigh as softly as a woman sighs.</p> + +<p>"If you could only come back to my poor little house!" he said; "but +that is impossible. My poor mother died in the spring, and I am living +alone. It is desolate, but I am not unhappy. I have my boat and the sea, +where I am never solitary. But why should I talk of myself? We were +speaking of what you are to do."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what to do," I said, despondently; "you see Tardif, I have +not a single friend I could go to in England. I shall have to stay here +in Ville-en-bois."</p> + +<p>"No," he answered; "Dr. Martin has some plan for you, I know, though he +did not tell me what it is. He said you would have a home offered to +you, such as you would accept gladly. I think it is in Guernsey."</p> + +<p>"With his mother, perhaps," I suggested.</p> + +<p>"His mother, mam'zelle!" he repeated; "alas! no. His mother is dead; she +died only a few weeks after you left Sark."</p> + +<p>I felt as if I had lost an old friend whom I had known for a long time, +though I had only seen her once. In my greatest difficulty I had thought +of making my way to her, and telling her all my history. I did not know +what other home could open for me, if she were dead.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Dobrée married a second wife only three months after," pursued +Tardif, "and Dr. Martin left Guernsey altogether, and went to London, +to be a partner with his friend, Dr. Senior."</p> + +<p>"Dr. John Senior?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mam'zelle," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Why! I know him," I exclaimed; "I recollect his face well. He is +handsomer than Dr. Martin. But whom did Dr. Dobrée marry?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know whether he is handsomer than Dr. Martin," said Tardif, in +a grieved tone. "Who did Dr. Dobrée marry? Oh! a foreigner. No Guernsey +lady would have married him so soon after Mrs. Dobrée's death. She was a +great friend of Miss Julia Dobrée. Her name was Daltrey."</p> + +<p>"Kate Daltrey!" I ejaculated. My brain seemed to whirl with the +recollections, the associations, the rapid mingling and odd readjustment +of ideas forced upon me by Tardif's words. What would have become of me +if I had found my way to Guernsey, seeking Mrs. Dobrée, and discovered +in her Kate Daltrey? I had not time to realize this before Tardif went +on in his narration.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Martin was heart-broken," he said; "we had lost you, and his mother +was dead. He had no one to turn to for comfort. His cousin Julia, who +was to have been his wife, was married to Captain Carey three weeks ago. +You recollect Captain Carey, mam'zelle?"</p> + +<p>Here was more news, and a fresh rearranging of the persons who peopled +my world. Kate Daltrey become Dr. Dobrée's second wife; Julia Dobrée +married to Captain Carey; and Dr. Martin living in London, the partner +of Dr. Senior! How could I put them all into their places in a moment? +Tardif, too, was dwelling alone, now, solitarily, in a very solitary +place.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry for you," I said, in a low tone.</p> + +<p>"Why, mam'zelle?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Because you have lost your mother," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mam'zelle," he said, simply; "she was a great loss to me, though +she was always fretting about my inheriting the land. That is the law of +the island, and no one can set it aside. The eldest son inherits the +land, and I was not her own son, though I did my best to be like a real +son to her. She died happier in thinking that her son, or grandson, +would follow me when I am gone, and I was glad she had that to comfort +her, poor woman."</p> + +<p>"But you may marry again some day, my good Tardif," I said; "how I wish +you would!"</p> + +<p>"No, mam'zelle, no," he answered, with a strange quivering tone in his +voice; "my mother knew why before she died, and it was a great comfort +to her. Do not think I am not happy alone. There are some memories that +are better company than most folks. Yes, there are some things I can +think of that are more and better than any wife could be to me."</p> + +<p>Why we were both silent after that I scarcely knew. Both of us had many +things to think about, no doubt, and the ideas were tumbling over one +another in my poor brain till I wished I could cease to think for a few +hours.</p> + +<p>Vespers ended, and the villagers began to disperse stealthily. Not a +wooden <i>sabot</i> clattered on the stones. Mademoiselle and Monsieur +Laurentie came in, with a tread as soft as if they were afraid of waking +a child out of a light slumber.</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle," I cried, "monsieur, behold me; I am here."</p> + +<p>My voice and my greeting seemed to transport them with delight. +Mademoiselle embraced me, and kissed me on both cheeks. Monsieur le Curé +blessed me, in a tremulously joyous accent, and insisted upon my keeping +his arm-chair. We sat down to supper together, by the light of a +brilliant little lamp, and Pierre, who was passing the uncurtained +window, saw me there, and carried the news into the village.</p> + +<p>The next day Tardif bade me farewell, and Monsieur Laurentie drove him +to Granville on his way home to Sark.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_FOURTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH.</h2> + +<p>FAREWELL TO VILLE-EN-BOIS.</p> +<br /> + +<p>The unbroken monotony of Ville-en-bois closed over me again. The tolling +of the morning bell; the hum of matins; the frugal breakfast in the +sunlit <i>salon</i>; the long, hot day; vespers again; then an hour's chat by +twilight with the drowsy curé and his sister, whose words were so rare. +Before six such days had passed, I felt as if they were to last my +lifetime. Then the fretting of my uneasy woman's heart began. There was +no sign that I had any friends in England. What ought I to do? How must +I set about the intricate business of my affairs? Must I write to my +trustees in Melbourne, giving them the information of my husband's +death, and wait till I could receive from them instructions, and +credentials to prove my identity, without which it was useless, if it +were practicable, to return to London? Was there ever any one as +friendless as I was? Monsieur Laurentie could give me no counsel, except +to keep myself tranquil; but how difficult it was to keep tranquil amid +such profound repose! I had often found it easier to be calm amid many +provocations and numerous difficulties.</p> + +<p>A week has glided by; a full week. The letter-carrier has brought me no +letter. I am seated at the window of the <i>salon</i>, gasping in these +simmering dog-days for a breath of fresh air; such a cool, balmy breeze +as blows over the summer sea to the cliffs of Sark. Monsieur Laurentie, +under the shelter of a huge red umbrella, is choosing the ripest cluster +of grapes for our supper this evening. All the street is as still as at +midnight. Suddenly there breaks upon us the harsh, metallic clang of +well-shod horse-hoofs upon the stony roadway—the cracking of a +postilion's whip—the clatter of an approaching carriage.</p> + +<p>It proves to be a carriage with a pair of horses.</p> + +<p>Pierre, who has been basking idly under the window, jumps to his feet, +shouting, "It is Monsieur the Bishop!" Minima claps her hands, and +cries, "The prince, Aunt Nelly, the prince!"</p> + +<p>Monsieur Laurentie walks slowly down to the gate, his cotton umbrella +spread over him, like a giant fungus. It is certainly not the prince; +for an elderly, white-haired man, older than Monsieur Laurentie, but +with a more imposing and stately presence, steps out of the carriage, +and they salute one another with great ceremony. If that be Monsieur the +Bishop, he has very much the air of an Englishman.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes my doubt as to the bishop's nationality was solved. The +two white-headed men, the one in a glossy and handsome suit of black, +the other in his brown and worn-out cassock, came up the path together, +under the red umbrella. They entered the house, and came directly to the +<i>salon</i>. I was making my escape by another door, not being sure how I +ought to encounter a bishop, when Monsieur Laurentie called to me.</p> + +<p>"Behold a friend for you madame," he said, "a friend from +England.—Monsieur, this is my beloved English child."</p> + +<p>I turned back, and met the eyes of both, fixed upon me with that +peculiar half-tender, half-regretful expression, with which so many old +men look upon women as young as I. A smile came across my face, and I +held out my hand involuntarily to the stranger.</p> + +<p>"You do not know who I am, my dear!" he said. The English voice and +words went straight to my heart. How many months it was since I had +heard my own language spoken thus! Tardif had been too glad to speak in +his own <i>patois</i>, now I understood it so well; and Minima's prattle had +not sounded to me like those few syllables in the deep, cultivated voice +which uttered them.</p> + +<p>"No," I answered, "but you are come to me from Dr. Martin Dobrée."</p> + +<p>"Very true," he said, "I am his friend's father—Dr. John Senior's +father. Martin has sent me to you. He wished Miss Johanna Carey to +accompany me, but we were afraid of the fever for her. I am an old +physician, and feel at home with disease and contagion. But we cannot +allow you to remain in this unhealthy village; that is out of the +question. I am come to carry you away, in spite of this old curé."</p> + +<p>Monsieur Laurentie was listening eagerly, and watching Dr. Senior's +lips, as if he could catch the meaning of his words by sight, if not by +hearing.</p> + +<p>"But where am I to go?" I asked. "I have no money, and cannot get any +until I have written to Melbourne, and have an answer. I have no means +of proving who I am."</p> + +<p>"Leave all that to us, my dear girl," answered Dr. Senior, cordially. "I +have already spoken of your affairs to an old friend of mine, who is an +excellent lawyer. I am come to offer myself to you in place of your +guardians on the other side of the world. You will do me a very great +favor by frankly accepting a home in my house for the present. I have +neither wife nor daughter; but Miss Carey is already there, preparing +rooms for you and your little charge. We have made inquiries about the +little girl, and find she has no friends living. I will take care of her +future. Do you think you could trust yourself and her to me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" I replied, but I moved a little nearer to Monsieur Laurentie, +and put my hand through his arm. He folded his own thin, brown hand over +it caressingly, and looked down at me, with something like tears +glistening in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Is it all settled?" he asked, "is monsieur come to rob me of my English +daughter? She will go away now to her own island, and forget +Ville-en-bois and her poor old French father!"</p> + +<p>"Never! never!" I answered vehemently, "I shall not forget you as long +as I live. Besides, I mean to come back very often; every year if I can. +I almost wish I could stay here altogether; but you know that is +impossible, monsieur. Is it not quite impossible?"</p> + +<p>"Quite impossible!" he repeated, somewhat sadly, "madame is too rich +now; she will have many good friends."</p> + +<p>"Not one better than you," I said, "not one more dear than you. Yes, I +am rich; and I have been planning something to do for Ville-en-bois. +Would you like the church enlarged and beautified, Monsieur le Curé?"</p> + +<p>"It is large enough and fine enough already," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Shall I put some painted windows and marble images into it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No, no, madame," he replied, "let it remain as it is during my short +lifetime."</p> + +<p>"I thought so," I said, "but I believe I have discovered what Monsieur +le Curé would approve. It is truly English. There is no sentiment, no +romance about it. Cannot you guess what it is, my wise and learned +monsieur?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, madame," he answered, smiling in spite of his sadness.</p> + +<p>"Listen, dear monsieur," I continued: "if this village is unhealthy for +me, it is unhealthy for you and your people. Dr. Martin told Tardif +there would always be fever here, as long as there are no drains and no +pure water. Very well; now I am rich I shall have it drained, precisely +like the best English town; and there shall be a fountain in the middle +of the village, where all the people can go to draw good water. I shall +come back next year to see how it has been done, <i>Voilà</i>, monsieur! +There is my secret plan for Ville-en-bois."</p> + +<p>Nothing could have been more effectual for turning away Monsieur +Laurentie's thoughts from the mournful topic of our near separation. +After vespers, and before supper, he, Dr. Senior, and I made the tour of +Ville-en-bois, investigating the close, dark cottages, and discussing +plans for rendering them more wholesome. The next day, and the day +following, the same subject continued to occupy him and Dr. Senior; and +thus the pain of our departure was counterbalanced by his pleasure in +anticipating the advantages to be obtained by a thorough drainage of his +village, and more ventilation and light in the dwellings.</p> + +<p>The evening before we were to set out on our return to England, while +the whole population, including Dr. Senior, were assisting at vespers, I +turned my feet toward the little cemetery on the hill-side, which I had +never yet visited.—The sun had sunk below the tops of the +pollard-trees, which grew along the brow of the hill in grotesque and +fantastic shapes; but a few stray beams glimmered through the branches, +and fell here and there in spots of dancing light. The small square +enclosure was crowded with little hillocks, at the head of which stood +simple crosses of wood; crosses so light and little as to seem +significant emblems of the difference between our sorrows, and those +borne for our sakes upon Calvary. Wreaths of immortelles hung upon most +of them. Below me lay the valley and the homes where the dead at my feet +had lived; the sunshine lingered yet about the spire, with its cross, +which towered above the belfry; but all else was in shadow, which was +slowly deepening into night. In the west the sky was flushing and +throbbing with transparent tints of amber and purple and green, with +flecks of cloud floating across it of a pale gold. Eastward it was still +blue, but fading into a faint gray. The dusky green of the cypresses +looked black, as I turned my splendor-dazzled eyes toward them.</p> + +<p>I strolled to and fro among the grassy mounds, not consciously seeking +one of them; though, very deep down in my inmost spirit, there must have +been an impulse which unwittingly directed me. I did not stay my feet, +or turn away from the village burial-place, until I came upon a grave, +the latest made among them. It was solitary, unmarked; with no cross to +throw its shadow along it, as the sun was setting. I knew then that I +had come to seek it, to bid farewell to it, to leave it behind me for +evermore.</p> + +<p>The next morning Monsieur Laurentie accompanied us on our journey, as +far as the cross at the entrance to the valley. He parted with us there; +and when I stood up in the carriage to look back once more at him, I saw +his black-robed figure kneeling on the white steps of the Calvary, and +the sun shining upon his silvery head.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_FIFTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH.</h2> + +<p>TOO HIGHLY CIVILIZED.</p> +<br /> + +<p>For the third time I landed in England. When I set foot upon its shores +first I was worse than friendless, with foes of my own household +surrounding me; the second time I was utterly alone, in daily terror, in +poverty, with a dreary, life-long future stretching before me. Now every +want of mine was anticipated, every step directed, as if I were a child +again, and my father himself was caring for me. How many friends, good +and tried and true, could I count! All the rough paths were made smooth +for me.</p> + +<p>It was dusk before we reached London; but before the train stopped at +the platform, a man's hand was laid upon the carriage-door, and a +handsome face was smiling over it upon us. I scarcely dared look who it +was; but the voice that reached my ears was not Martin Dobrée's.</p> + +<p>"I am here in Martin's place," said Dr. John Senior, as soon as he could +make himself heard; "he has been hindered by a wretch of a +patient.—Welcome home, Miss Martineau!"</p> + +<p>"She is not Miss Martineau, John," remarked Dr. Senior. There was a +tinge of stateliness about him, bordering upon formality, which had kept +me a little in awe of him all the journey through. His son laughed, with +a pleasant audacity.</p> + +<p>"Welcome home. Olivia, then!" he said, clasping my hand warmly. "Martin +and I never call you by any other name."</p> + +<p>A carriage was waiting for us, and Dr. John took Minima beside him, +chattering with her as the child loved to chatter. As for me, I felt a +little anxious and uneasy. Once more I was about to enter upon an +entirely new life; upon the untried ways of a wealthy, conventional, +punctilious English household. Hitherto my mode of life had been almost +as wandering and free as that of a gypsy. Even at home, during my +pleasant childhood, our customs had been those of an Australian +sheep-farm, exempt from all the usages of any thing like fashion. Dr. +John's kid gloves, which fitted his hand to perfection, made me +uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>I felt still more abashed and oppressed when we reached Dr. Senior's +house, and a footman ran down to the carriage, to open the door and to +carry in my poor little portmanteau. It looked miserably poor and out of +place in the large, brilliantly-lit hall. Minima kept close beside me, +silent, but gazing upon this new abode with wide-open eyes.</p> + +<p>Why was not Martin here? He had known me in Sark, in Tardif's cottage, +and he would understand how strange and how unlike home all this was to +me.</p> + +<p>A trim maid was summoned to show us to our rooms, and she eyed us with +silent criticism. She conducted us to a large and lofty apartment, +daintily and luxuriously fitted up, with a hundred knick-knacks about +it, of which I could not even guess the use. A smaller room communicated +with it which had been evidently furnished for Minima. The child +squeezed my hand tightly as we gazed into it. I felt as if we were +gypsies, suddenly caught, and caged in a splendid captivity.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it awful?" asked Minima, in a whisper; "it frightens me."</p> + +<p>It almost frightened me too. I was disconcerted also by my own +reflection in the long mirror before me. A rustic, homely peasant-girl, +with a brown face and rough hands, looked back at me from the shining +surface, wearing a half-Norman dress, for I had not had time to buy more +than a bonnet and shawl as we passed through Falaise. What would Miss +Carey think of me? How should I look in Dr. John's fastidious eyes? +Would not Martin be disappointed and shocked when he saw me again?</p> + +<p>I could not make any change in my costume, and the maid carried off +Minima to do what she could with her. There came a gentle knock at my +door, and Miss Carey entered. Here was the fitting personage to dwell in +a house like this. A delicate gray-silk dress, a dainty lace cap, a +perfect self-possession, a dignified presence. My heart sank low. But +she kissed me affectionately, and smiled as I looked anxiously into her +face.</p> + +<p>"My dear," she said, "I hope you will like your room. John and Martin +have ransacked London for pretty things for it. See, there is a +painting of Tardifs cottage in Sark. Julia has painted it for you. And +here is a portrait of my dear friend, Martin's mother; he hung it there +himself only this morning. I hope you will soon feel quite at home with +us, Olivia."</p> + +<p>Before I could answer, a gong sounded through the house, with a sudden +clang that startled me.</p> + +<p>We went down to the drawing-room, where Dr. Senior gave me his arm, and +led me ceremoniously to dinner. At this very hour my dear Monsieur +Laurentie and mademoiselle were taking their simple supper at the little +round table, white as wood could be made by scrubbing, but with no cloth +upon it. My chair and Minima's would be standing back against the wall. +The tears smarted under my eyelids, and I answered at random to the +remarks made to me. How I longed to be alone for a little while, until I +could realize all the change that had come into my life!</p> + +<p>We had been in the drawing-room again only a few minutes, when we heard +the hall-door opened, and a voice speaking. By common consent, as it +were, every one fell into silence to listen. I looked up for a moment, +and saw that all three of them had turned their eyes upon me; friendly +eyes they were, but their scrutiny was intolerable. Dr. Senior began to +talk busily with Miss Carey.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" cried Minima, who was standing beside Dr. John, "hush! I believe +it is—yes, I am sure it is Dr. Martin!"</p> + +<p>She sprang to the door just as it was opened, and flung her arms round +him in a transport of delight. I did not dare to lift my eyes again, to +see them all smiling at me. He could not come at once to speak to me, +while that child was clinging to him and kissing him.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad," she said, almost sobbing; "come and see my auntie, who +was so ill when you were in Ville-en-bois. You did not see her, you +know; but she is quite well now, and very, very rich. We are never going +to be poor again. Come; she is here. Auntie, this is that nice Dr. +Martin, who made me promise not to tell you he was at Ville-en-bois, +while you were so ill."</p> + +<p>She dragged him eagerly toward me, and I put my hand in his; but I did +not look at him. That I did some minutes afterward, when he was talking +to Miss Carey. It was many months since I had seen him last in Sark. +There was a great change in his face, and he looked several years older. +It was grave, and almost mournful, as if he did not smile very often, +and his voice was lower in tone than it had been then. Dr. John, who was +standing beside him, was certainly much gayer and handsomer than he was. +He caught my eye, and came back to me, sitting near enough to talk with +me in an undertone.</p> + +<p>"Are you satisfied with the arrangements we have made for you?" he +inquired.</p> + +<p>"Quite," I said, not daring either to thank him, or to tell him how +oppressed I was by my sudden change. Both of us spoke as quietly, and +with as much outward calm, as if we were in the habit of seeing each +other every day. A chill came across me.</p> + +<p>"At one time," he continued, "I asked Johanna to open her home to you; +but that was when I thought you would be safer and happier in a quiet +place like hers than anywhere else. Now you are your own mistress, and +can choose your own residence. But you could not have a better home than +this. It would not be well for you, so young and friendless, to live in +a house of your own."</p> + +<p>"No," I said, somewhat sadly.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Senior is delighted to have you here," he went on; "you will see +very good society in this house, and that is what you should do. You +ought to see more and better people than you have yet known. Does it +seem strange to you that we have assumed a sort of authority over you +and your affairs? You do not yet know how we have been involved in +them."</p> + +<p>"How?" I asked, looking up into his face with a growing curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Olivia," he said, "Foster was my patient for some months, and I knew +all his affairs intimately. He had married that person—"</p> + +<p>"Married her!" I ejaculated.</p> + +<p>"Yes. You want to know how he could do that? Well, he produced two +papers, one a medical certificate of your death, the other a letter +purporting to be from some clergyman. He had, too, a few lines in your +own handwriting, which stated you had sent him your ring, the only +valuable thing left to you, as you had sufficient for your last +necessities. Even I believed for a few hours that you were dead. But I +must tell you all about it another time."</p> + +<p>"Did he believe it?" I asked, in a trembling voice.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," he answered; "I cannot tell, even now, whether he knew +them to be forgeries or not. But I have no doubt, myself, that they were +forged by Mrs. Foster's brother and his partner, Scott and Brown."</p> + +<p>"But for what reason?" I asked again.</p> + +<p>"What reason!" he repeated; "you were too rich a prize for them to allow +Foster to risk losing any part of his claim upon you, if he found you. +You and all you had were his property on certain defined conditions. You +do not understand our marriage laws; it is as well for you not to +understand them. Mrs. Foster gave up to me to-day all his papers, and +the letters and credentials from your trustees in Melbourne to your +bankers here. There will be very little trouble for you now. Thank God! +all your life lies clear and fair before you."</p> + +<p>I had still many questions to ask, but my lips trembled so much that I +could not speak readily. He was himself silent, probably because he also +had so much to say. All the others were sitting a little apart from us +at a chess-table, where Dr. Senior and Miss Carey were playing, while +Dr. John sat by holding Minima in his arm, though she was gazing +wistfully across to Martin and me.</p> + +<p>"You are tired, Olivia," said Martin, after a time, "tired and sad. Your +eyes are full of tears. I must be your doctor again for this evening, +and send you to bed at once. It is eleven o'clock already; but these +people will sit up till after midnight. You need not say good-night to +them.—Minima, come here."</p> + +<p>She did not wait for a second word, or a louder summons; but she slipped +under Dr. John's arm, and rushed across to us, being caught by Martin +before she could throw herself upon me. He sat still, talking to her for +a few minutes, and listening to her account of our journey, and how +frightened we were at the grandeur about us. His face lit up with a +smile as his eyes fell upon me, as if for the first time he noticed how +out of keeping I was with the place. Then he led us quietly away, and +up-stairs to my bedroom-door.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Olivia," he said; "sleep soundly, both of you, for you are +at home. I will send one of the maids up to you."</p> + +<p>"No, no," I cried hastily, "they despise us already."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he said, "to-night you are the Olivia I knew first, in Sark. In a +week's time I shall find you a fine lady."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_SIXTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH.</h2> + +<p>SEEING SOCIETY.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Whether or no I was transformed into a finer lady than Martin +anticipated, I could not tell, but certainly after that first evening he +held himself aloof from me. I soon learned to laugh at the dismay which +had filled me upon my entrance into my new sphere. It would have been +difficult to resist the cordiality with which I was adopted into the +household. Dr. Senior treated me as his daughter; Dr. John was as much +at home with me as if I had been his sister. We often rode together, for +I was always fond of riding as a child, and he was a thorough horseman. +He said Martin could ride better than himself; but Martin never asked me +to go out with him.</p> + +<p>Minima, too, became perfectly reconciled to her new position; though for +a time she was anxious lest we were spending our riches too lavishly. I +heard her one day soundly rating Dr. John, who seldom came to his +father's house without bringing some trinket, or bouquet, or toy, for +one or other of us.</p> + +<p>"You are wasting all your money," she said, with that anxious little +pucker of her eyebrows, which was gradually being smoothed away +altogether, "you're just like the boys after the holidays. They would +buy lots of things every time the cake-woman came—and she came every +day—till they'd spent all their money. You can't always have cakes, you +know, and then you'll miss them."</p> + +<p>"But I shall have cakes always." answered Dr. John.</p> + +<p>"Nobody has them always," she said, in an authoritative tone, "and you +won't like being poor. We were so poor we daren't buy as much as we +could eat; and our boots wore out at the toes. You like to have nice +boots, and gloves, and things, so you must learn to take care of your +money, and not waste it like this."</p> + +<p>"I'm not wasting my money, little woman," he replied, "when I buy pretty +things for you and Olivia."</p> + +<p>"Why doesn't Dr. Martin do it then?" she asked; "he never spends his +money in that sort of way. Why doesn't he give auntie as many things as +you do?"</p> + +<p>Martin had been listening to Minima's rebukes with a smile upon his +face; but now it clouded a little, and I knew he glanced across to me. I +appeared deeply absorbed in the book I held in my hand, and he did not +see that I was listening and watching attentively.</p> + +<p>"Minima," he said, in a low tone, as if he did not care that even she +should hear, "I gave her all I had worth giving when I saw her first."</p> + +<p>"That's just how it will be with you, Dr. John," exclaimed Minima, +triumphantly, "you'll give us every thing you have, and then you'll have +nothing left for yourself."</p> + +<p>But still, unless Martin had taken back what he gave to me so long ago, +his conduct was very mysterious to me. He did not come to Fulham half +as often as Dr. John did; and when he came he spent most of the time in +long, professional discussions with Dr. Senior. They told me he was +devoted to his profession, and it really seemed as if he had not time to +think of any thing else.</p> + +<p>Neither had I very much time for brooding over any subject, for guests +began to frequent the house, which became much gayer, Dr. Senior said, +now there was a young hostess in it. The quiet evenings of autumn and +winter were gone, and instead of them our engagements accumulated on our +hands, until I very rarely met Martin except at some entertainment, +where we were surrounded by strangers. Martin was certainly at a +disadvantage among a crowd of mere acquaintances, where Dr. John was +quite at home. He was not as handsome, and he did not possess the same +ease and animation. So he was a little apt to get into corners with Dr. +Senior's scientific friends, and to be somewhat awkward and dull if he +were forced into gayer society. Dr. John called him glum.</p> + +<p>But he was not glum; I resented that, till Dr. John begged my pardon. +Martin did not smile as quickly as Dr. John, he was not forever ready +with a simper, but when he did smile it had ten times more expression. I +liked to watch for it, for the light that came into his eyes now and +then, breaking through his gravity as the sun breaks through the clouds +on a dull day.</p> + +<p>Perhaps he thought I liked to be free. Yes, free from tyranny, but not +free from love. It is a poor thing to have no one's love encircling you, +a poor freedom that. A little clew came to my hand one day, the other +end of which might lead me to the secret of Martin's reserve and gloom. +He and Dr. Senior were talking together, as they paced to and fro about +the lawn, coming up the walk from the river-side to the house, and then +back again. I was seated just within the drawing-room window, which was +open. They knew I was there, but they did not guess how keen my hearing +was for any thing that Martin said. It was only a word or two here and +there that I caught.</p> + +<p>"If you were not in the way," said Dr. Senior, "John would have a good +chance, and there is no one in the world I would sooner welcome as a +daughter."</p> + +<p>"They are like one another," answered Martin; "have you never seen it?"</p> + +<p>What more they said I did not hear, but it seemed a little clearer to me +after that why Martin kept aloof from me, and left me to ride, and talk, +and laugh with his friend Jack. Why, they did not know that I was +happier silent beside Martin, than laughing most merrily with Dr. John. +So little did they understand me!</p> + +<p>Just before Lent, which was a busy season with him, Monsieur Laurentie +paid us his promised visit, and brought us news from Ville-en-bois. The +money that had been lying in the bank, which I could not touch, whatever +my necessities were, had accumulated to more than three thousand pounds, +and out of this sum were to come the funds for making Ville-en-bois the +best-drained parish in Normandy. Nothing could exceed Monsieur +Laurentie's happiness in choosing a design for a village fountain, and +in examining plans for a village hospital. For, in case any serious +illness should break out again among them, a simple little hospital was +to be built upon the brow of the hill, where the wind sweeps across +leagues of meadow-land and heather.</p> + +<p>"I am too happy, madame," said the curé; "my people will die no more of +fever, and we will teach them many English ways. When will you come +again, and see what you have done for us?"</p> + +<p>"I will come in the autumn," I answered.</p> + +<p>"And you will come alone?" he continued.</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite alone," I answered, "or with Minima only."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_SEVENTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH.</h2> + +<p>BREAKING THE ICE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>Yet while I told Monsieur Laurentie seriously that I should go alone to +Ville-en-bois in the autumn, I did not altogether believe it. We often +speak in half-falsehoods, even to ourselves.</p> + +<p>Dr. Senior's lawn, in which he takes great pride, slopes gently down to +the river, and ends with a stone parapet, over which it is exceedingly +pleasant to lean, and watch idly the flowing of the water, which seems +to loiter almost reluctantly before passing on to Westminster, and the +wharves and docks of the city. On the opposite bank grows a cluster of +cedars, with rich, dark-green branches, showing nearly black against the +pale blue of the sky. In our own lawn there stand three fine elms, a +colony for song-birds, under which the turf is carefully kept as smooth +and soft as velvet; and seats are set beneath their shadow, where one +can linger for hours, seeing the steamers and pleasure-boats passing to +and fro, and catching now and then a burst of music or laughter, +softened a little by the distance. My childhood had trained me to be +fond of living out-of-doors; and, when the spring came, I spent most of +my days under these elm-trees, in the fitful sunshine and showers of an +English April and May, such as I had never known before.</p> + +<p>From one of these trees I could see very well any one who went in or out +through the gate. But it was not often that I cared to sit there, for +Martin came only in an evening, when his day's work was done, and even +then his coming was an uncertainty. Dr. John seldom missed visiting us, +but Martin was often absent for days. That made me watch all the more +eagerly for his coming, and feel how cruelly fast the time fled when he +was with us.</p> + +<p>But one Sunday afternoon in April I chose my seat there, behind the tree +where I could see the gate, without being too plainly seen myself. +Martin had promised Dr. Senior he would come down to Fulham with Dr. +John that afternoon, if possible. The river was quieter than on other +days, and all the world seemed calmer. It was such a day as the one in +Sark, two years ago, when I slipped from the cliffs, and Tardif was +obliged to go across to Guernsey to fetch a doctor for me. I wondered if +Martin ever thought of it on such a day as this. But men do not remember +little things like these as women do.</p> + +<p>I heard the click of the gate at last, and, looking round the great +trunk of the tree, I saw them come in together, Dr. John and Martin. He +had kept his promise then! Minima was gone out somewhere with Dr. +Senior, or she would have run to meet them, and so brought them to the +place where I was half-hidden.</p> + +<p>However, they might see my dress if they chose. They ought to see it. I +was not going to stand up and show myself. If they were anxious to find +me, and come to me, it was quite simple enough.</p> + +<p>But my heart sank when Martin marched straight on, and entered the house +alone, while Dr. John came as direct as an arrow toward me. They knew I +was there, then! Yet Martin avoided me, and left his friend to chatter +and laugh the time away. I was in no mood for laughing; I could rather +have wept bitter tears of vexation and disappointment. But Dr. John was +near enough now for me to discern a singular gravity upon his usually +gay face.</p> + +<p>"Is there any thing the matter?" I exclaimed, starting to my feet and +hastening to meet him. He led me back again silently to my seat, and sat +down beside me, still in silence. Strange conduct in Dr. John!</p> + +<p>"Tell me what is the matter," I said, not doubting now that there was +some trouble at hand. Dr. John's face flushed, and he threw his hat down +on the grass, and pushed his hair back from his forehead. Then he laid +his hand upon mine, for a moment only.</p> + +<p>"Olivia," he said, very seriously, "do you love me?"</p> + +<p>The question came upon me like a shock from a galvanic battery. He and I +had been very frank and friendly together; a pleasant friendship, which +had seemed to me as safe as that of a brother. Besides, he knew all that +Martin had done and borne for my sake. With my disappointment there was +mingled a feeling of indignation against his treachery toward his +friend. I sat watching the glistening of the water through the pillars +of the parapet till my eyes were dazzled.</p> + +<p>"I scarcely understand what you say," I answered, after a long pause; +"you know I care for you all. If you mean, do I love you as I love your +father and Monsieur Laurentie, why, yes, I do."</p> + +<p>"Very good, Olivia," he said.</p> + +<p>That was so odd of him, that I turned and looked steadily into his face. +It was not half as grave as before, and there was a twinkle in his eyes +as if another half minute would make him as gay and light-hearted as +ever.</p> + +<p>"Whatever did you come and ask me such a question for?" I inquired, +rather pettishly.</p> + +<p>"Was there any harm in it?" he rejoined.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there was harm in it," I answered; "it has made me very +uncomfortable. I thought you were going out of your mind. If you meant +nothing but to make me say I liked you, you should have expressed +yourself differently. Of course, I love you all, and all alike."</p> + +<p>"Very good," he said again.</p> + +<p>I felt so angry that I was about to get up, and go away to my own room; +but he caught my dress, and implored me to stay a little longer.</p> + +<p>"I'll make a clean breast of it," he said; "I promised that dear old +dolt Martin to come straight to you, and ask you if you loved me, in so +many words. Well, I've kept my promise; and now I'll go and tell him you +say you love us all, and all alike."</p> + +<p>"No," I answered, "you shall not go and tell him that. What could put it +into Dr. Martin's head that I was in love with you?"</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't you be in love with me?" retorted Dr. John; "Martin +assures me that I am much handsomer than he is—a more eligible <i>parti</i> +in every respect. I suppose I shall have an income, apart from our +practice, at least ten times larger than his. I am much more sought +after generally; one cannot help seeing that. Why should you not be in +love with me?"</p> + +<p>I did not deign to reply to him, and Jack leaned forward a little to +look into my face.</p> + +<p>"Olivia," he continued, "that is part of what Martin says. We have just +been speaking of you as we came down to Fulham—never before. He +maintains he is bound in honor to leave you as free as possible to make +your choice, not merely between us, but from the number of fellows who +have found their way down here, since you came. You made one fatal +mistake, he says, through your complete ignorance of the world; and it +is his duty to take care that you do not make a second mistake, through +any gratitude you might feel toward him. He would not be satisfied with +gratitude. Besides, he has discovered that he is not so great a prize as +he fancied, as long as he lived in Guernsey; and you are a richer prize +than you seemed to be then. With your fortune you ought to make a much +better match than with a young physician, who has to push his way among +a host of competitors. Lastly, Martin said, for I'm merely repeating his +own arguments to you: 'Do you think I can put her happiness and mine +into a balance, and coolly calculate which has the greater weight? If I +had to choose for her, I should not hesitate between you and me.' Now I +have told you the sum of our conversation, Olivia."</p> + +<p>Every word Dr. John had spoken had thrown clearer light upon Martin's +conduct. He had been afraid I should feel myself bound to him; and the +very fact that he had once told me he loved me, had made it more +difficult to him to say so a second time. He would not have any love +from me as a duty. If I did not love him fully, with my whole heart, +choosing him after knowing others with whom I could compare him, he +would not receive any lesser gift from me.</p> + +<p>"What will you do, my dear Olivia?" asked Dr. John.</p> + +<p>"What can I do?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Go to him," he urged; "he is alone. I saw him a moment ago, looking out +at us from the drawing-room window. The old fellow is making up his mind +to see you and me happy together, and to conceal his own sorrow. God +bless him! Olivia, my dear girl, go to him."</p> + +<p>"O Jack!" I cried, "I cannot."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you cannot," he answered, gayly. "You are trembling, +and your face goes from white to red, and then white again; but you have +not lost the use of your limbs, or your tongue. If you take my arm, it +will not be very difficult to cross the lawn. Come; he is the best +fellow living, and worth walking a dozen yards for."</p> + +<p>Jack drew my hand through his arm, and led me across the smooth lawn. We +caught a glimpse of Martin looking out at us; but he turned away in an +instant, and I could not see the expression of his face. Would he think +we were coming to tell him that he had wasted all his love upon a girl +not worthy of a tenth part of it?</p> + +<p>The glass doors, which opened upon the lawn, had been thrown back all +day, and we could see distinctly into the room. Martin was standing at +the other end of it, apparently absorbed in examining a painting, which +he must have seen a thousand times. The doors creaked a little as I +passed through them, but he did not turn round. Jack gave my hand a +parting squeeze, and left me there in the open doorway, scarcely knowing +whether to go on, and speak to Martin, or run away to my room, and leave +him to take his own time.</p> + +<p>I believe I should have run away, but I heard Minima's voice behind me, +calling shrilly to Dr. John, and I could not bear to face him again. +Taking my courage in both hands, I stepped quickly across the floor, for +if I had hesitated longer my heart would have failed me. Scarcely a +moment had passed since Jack left me, and Martin had not turned his +head, yet it seemed an age.</p> + +<p>"Martin," I whispered, as I stood close behind him, "how could you be so +foolish as to send Dr. John to me?"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_EIGHTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH.</h2> + +<p>PALMY DAYS.</p> +<br /> + +<p>We were married as soon as the season was over, when Martin's +fashionable patients were all going away from town. Ours was a very +quiet wedding, for I had no friends on my side, and Martin's cousin +Julia could not come, for she had a baby not a month old, and Captain +Carey could not leave them. Johanna Carey and Minima were my +bridesmaids, and Jack was Martin's groomsman.</p> + +<p>On our way home from Switzerland, in the early autumn, we went down from +Paris to Falaise, and through Noireau to Ville-en-bois. From Falaise +every part of the road was full of associations to me. This was the +long, weary journey which Minima and I had taken, alone, in a dark +November night; and here were the narrow and dirty streets of Noireau, +which we had so often trodden, cold, and hungry, and friendless. Martin +said little about it, but I knew by his face, and by the tender care he +lavished upon me, that his mind was as full of it as mine was.</p> + +<p>There was no reason for us to stay even a day in Noireau, and we hurried +through it on our way to Ville-en-bois. This road was still more +memorable to me, for we had traversed it on foot.</p> + +<p>"See, Martin!" I cried, "there is the trunk of the tree still, where +Minima and I sat down to rest. I am glad the tree is there yet. If we +were not in a hurry, you and I would sit there now; it is so lonely and +still, and scarcely a creature passes this way. It is delicious to be +lonely sometimes. How foot-sore and famished we were, walking along this +rough part of the road! Martin, I almost wish our little Minima were +with us. There is the common! If you will look steadily, you can just +see the top of the cross, against the black line of fir-trees, on the +far side."</p> + +<p>I was getting so excited that I could speak no longer; but Martin held +my hand in his, and I clasped it more and more tightly as we drew nearer +to the cross, where Minima and I had sat down at the foot, forlorn and +lost, in the dark shadows of the coming night. Was it possible that I +was the same Olivia?</p> + +<p>But as we came in sight of the little grove of cypresses and yews, we +could discern a crowd of women, in their snow-white caps, and of men and +boys, in blue blouses. The hollow beat of a drum reached our ears afar +off, and after it the shrill notes of a violin and fife playing a merry +tune. Monsieur Laurentie appeared in the foreground of the multitude, +bareheaded, long before we reached the spot.</p> + +<p>"O Martin!" I said, "let us get out, and send the carriage back, and +walk up with them to the village."</p> + +<p>"And my wife's luggage?" he answered, "and all the toys and presents she +has brought from Paris?"</p> + +<p>It was true that the carriage was inconveniently full of parcels, for I +do not think that I had forgotten one of Monsieur Laurentie's people. +But it would not be possible to ride among them, while they were +walking.</p> + +<p>"Every man will carry something," I said. "Martin, I must get out."</p> + +<p>It was Monsieur Laurentie who opened the carriage-door for me; but the +people did not give him time for a ceremonious salutation. They thronged +about us with <i>vivats</i> as hearty as an English hurrah.</p> + +<p>"All the world is here to meet us, monsieur," I said.</p> + +<p>"Madame, I have also the honor of presenting to you two strangers from +England," answered Monsieur Laurentie, while the people fell back to +make way for them. Jack and Minima! both wild with delight. We learned +afterward, as we marched up the valley to Ville-en-bois, that Dr. Senior +had taken Jack's place in Brook Street, and insisted upon him and Minima +giving us this surprise. Our procession, headed by the drum, the fife, +and the violin, passed through the village street, from every window of +which a little flag fluttered gayly, and stopped before the presbytery, +where Monsieur Laurentie dismissed it, after a last <i>vivat</i>.</p> + +<p>The next stage of our homeward journey was made in Monsieur Laurentie's +<i>char à bancs</i>, from Ville-en-bois to Granville—Jack and Minima had +returned direct to England, but we were to visit Guernsey on the way. +Captain Carey and Julia made it a point that we should go to see them, +and their baby, before settling down in our London home. Martin was +welcomed with almost as much enthusiasm in St. Peter-Port as I had been +in little Ville-en-bois.</p> + +<p>From our room in Captain Carey's house I could look at Sark lying along +the sea, with a belt of foam encircling it. At times, early in the +morning, or when the sunset light fell upon it, I could distinguish the +old windmill, and the church breaking the level line of the summit; and +I could even see the brow of the knoll behind Tardifs cottage. But day +after day the sea between us was rough, and the westerly breeze blew +across the Atlantic, driving the waves before it. There was no steamer +going across, and Captain Carey's yacht could not brave the winds. I +began to be afraid that Martin and I would not visit the place, which of +all others in this half of the world was dearest to me.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," said Martin one night, after scanning the sunset, the sky, +and the storm-glass, "if you can be up at five o'clock, we will cross to +Sark."</p> + +<p>I was up at four, in the first gray dawn of a September morning. We had +the yacht to ourselves, for Captain Carey declined running the risk of +being weather-bound on the island—a risk which we were willing to +chance. The Havre Gosselin was still in morning shadow when we ran into +it; but the water between us and Guernsey was sparkling and dancing in +the early light, as we slowly climbed the rough path of the cliff. My +eyes were dazzled with the sunshine, and dim with tears, when I first +caught sight of the little cottage of Tardif, who was stretching out his +nets, on the stone causeway under the windows. Martin called to him, and +he flung down his nets and ran to meet us.</p> + +<p>"We are come to spend the day with you, Tardif," I cried, when he was +within hearing of my voice.</p> + +<p>"It will be a day from heaven," he said, taking off his fisherman's cap, +and looking round at the blue sky with its scattered clouds, and the sea +with its scattered islets.</p> + +<p>It was like a day from heaven. We wandered about the cliffs, visiting +every spot which was most memorable to either of us, and Tardif rowed us +in his boat past the entrance of the Gouliot Caves. He was very quiet, +but he listened to our free talk together, for I could not think of good +old Tardif as any stranger; and he seemed to watch us both, with a +far-off, faithful, quiet look upon his face. Sometimes I fancied he did +not bear what we were saying, and again his eyes would brighten with a +sudden gleam, as if his whole soul and heart shone through them upon us. +It was the last day of our holiday, for in the morning we were about to +return to London, and to work; but it was such a perfect day as I had +never known before.</p> + +<p>"You are quite happy, Mrs. Martin Dobrée?" said Tardif to me, when we +were parting from him.</p> + +<p>"I did not know I could ever be so happy," I answered.</p> + +<p>"We saw him to the last moment standing on the cliff, and waving his hat +to us high above his head. Now and then there came a shout across the +water. Before we were quite beyond ear-shot, we heard Tardif's voice +calling amid the splashing of the waves:</p> + +<p>"God be with you, my friends. Adieu, mam'zelle!"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='3CHAPTER_THE_TWENTY_NINTH'></a><h2>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH.</h2> + +<p>A POSTSCRIPT BY MARTIN DOBRÉE.</p> +<br /> + +<p>You may describe to a second person, with the most minute and exact +fidelity in your power, the leading and critical events in your life, +and you will find that some trifle of his own experience is ten times +more vivid to his mind. You narrate to your friend, whom you have not +met for many years, the incident that has turned the whole current of +your existence; and after a minute or two of musing, he asks you, "Do +you remember the day we two went bird-nesting on Gull's Cliff?" That day +of boyish daring and of narrow escapes is more real to him than your +deepest troubles or keenest joys. The brain receives but slightly +second-hand impressions.</p> + +<p>I had told Olivia faithfully all my dilemmas with regard to Julia and +the Careys; and she had seemed to listen with intense interest. +Certainly it was during those four bewildering and enchanted months +immediately preceding our marriage, and no doubt the narrative was +interwoven with many a topic of quite a different character. However +that might be, I was surprised to find that Olivia was not half as +nervous and anxious as I felt, when we were nearing Guernsey on our +visit to Julia and Captain Carey. Julia had seen her but once, and that +for a few minutes only in Sark. On her account she had suffered the +severest mortification a woman can undergo. How would she receive my +wife?</p> + +<p>Olivia did not know, though I did, that Julia was somewhat frigid and +distant in her manner, even while thoroughly hospitable in her welcome. +Olivia felt the hospitality; I felt the frigidity. Julia called her +"Mrs. Dobrée." It was the first time she had been addressed by that +name; and her blush and smile were exquisite to me, but they did not +thaw Julia in the least. I began to fear that there would be between +them that strange, uncomfortable, east-wind coolness, which so often +exists between the two women a man most loves.</p> + +<p>It was the baby that did it. Nothing on earth could be more charming, or +more winning, than Olivia's delight over that child. It was the first +baby she had ever had in her arms, she told us; and to see her sitting +in the low rocking-chair, with her head bent over it, and to watch her +dainty way of handling it, was quite a picture. Captain Carey had an +artist's eye, and was in raptures; Julia had a mother's eye, and was so +won by Olivia's admiration of her baby, that the thin crust of ice +melted from her like the arctic snows before a Greenland summer.</p> + +<p>I was not in the least surprised when, two days or so before we left +Guernsey, Julia spoke to us with some solemnity of tone and expression.</p> + +<p>"My dear, Olivia," she said, "and you, Martin, Arnold and I would +consider it a token of your friendship for us both, if you two would +stand as sponsors for our child."</p> + +<p>"With the greatest pleasure, Julia," I replied; and Olivia crossed the +hearth to kiss her, and sat down on the sofa at her side.</p> + +<p>"We have decided upon calling her Olivia," continued Julia, stroking my +wife's hand with a caressing touch—"Olivia Carey! That sounds extremely +well, and is quite new in the island. I think it sounds even better than +Olivia Dobrée."</p> + +<p>As we all agreed that no name could sound better, or be newer in +Guernsey, that question was immediately settled. There was no time for +delay, and the next morning we carried the child to church to be +christened. As we were returning homeward, Julia, whose face had worn +its softest expression, pressed my arm with a clasp which made me look +down upon her questioningly. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her +mouth quivered. Olivia and Captain Carey were walking on in front, at a +more rapid pace than ours, so that we were in fact alone.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" I asked, hastily.</p> + +<p>"O Martin!" she exclaimed, "we are both so happy, after all! I wish my +poor, darling aunt could only have foreseen this! but, don't you think, +as we are both so happy, we might just go and see my poor uncle? Kate +Daltrey is away in Jersey, I know that for certain, and he is alone. It +would give him so much pleasure. Surely you can forgive him now."</p> + +<p>"By all means let us go," I answered. I had not heard even his name +mentioned before, by any one of my old friends in Guernsey. But, as +Julia said, I was so happy, that I was ready to forgive and forget all +ancient grievances. Olivia and Captain Carey were already out of sight; +and we turned into a street leading to Vauvert Road.</p> + +<p>"They live in lodgings now," remarked Julia, as we went slowly up the +steep street, "and nobody visits them; not one of my uncle's old +friends. They have plenty to live upon, but it is all her money. I do +not mean to let them got upon visiting terms with me—at least, not Kate +Daltrey. You know the house, Martin?"</p> + +<p>I knew nearly every house in St. Peter-Port, but this I remembered +particularly as being the one where Mrs. Foster had lodged when she was +in Guernsey. Upon inquiring for Dr. Dobrée, we were ushered at once, +without warning, into his presence.</p> + +<p>Even I should scarcely have recognized him. His figure was sunken and +bent, and his clothes, which were shabby, sat in wrinkles upon him. His +crisp white hair had grown thin and limp, and hung untidily about his +face. He had not shaved for a week. His waistcoat was sprinkled over +with snuff, in which he had indulged but sparingly in former years. +There was not a trace of his old jauntiness and display. This was a +rusty, dejected old man, with the crow's-feet very plainly marked upon +his features.</p> + +<p>"Father!" I said.</p> + +<p>"Uncle!" cried Julia, running to him, and giving him a kiss, which she +had not meant to do, I am sure, when we entered the house.</p> + +<p>He shed a few tears at the sight of us, in a maudlin manner; and he +continued languid and sluggish all through the interview. It struck me +more forcibly than any other change could have done, that he never once +appeared to pluck up any spirit, or attempted to recall a spark of his +ancient sprightliness. He spoke more to Julia than to me.</p> + +<p>"My love," he said, "I believed I knew a good deal about women, but I've +lived to find out my mistake. You and your beloved aunt were angels. +This one never lets me have a penny of my own: and she locks up my best +suit when she goes from home. That is to prevent me going among my own +friends. She is in Jersey now; but she would not hear a word of me going +with her, not one word. The Bible says: 'Jealousy is cruel as the grave; +the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.' +Kate is jealous of me. I get nothing but black looks and cold shoulders. +There never lived a cat and dog that did not lead a more comfortable +life than Kate leads me."</p> + +<p>"You shall come and see Arnold and me sometimes, uncle," said Julia.</p> + +<p>"She won't let me," he replied, with fresh tears; "she won't let me +mention your name, or go past your house. I should very much like to see +Martin's wife—a very pretty creature they say she is—but I dare not. O +Julia! how little a man knows what is before him!"</p> + +<p>We did not prolong our visit, for it was no pleasure to any one of us. +Dr. Dobrée himself seemed relieved when we spoke of going away. He and I +shook hands with one another gravely; it was the first time we had done +so since he had announced his intention of marrying Kate Daltrey.</p> + +<p>"My son," he said, "if ever you should find yourself a widower, be very +careful how you select your second wife."</p> + +<p>These were his parting words—words which chafed me sorely as a young +husband in his honeymoon. I looked round when we were out of the house, +and caught a glimpse of his withered face, and ragged white hair, as he +peeped from behind the curtain at us. Julia and I walked on in silence +till we reached her threshold.</p> + +<p>"Yet I am not sorry we went, Martin," she observed, in a tone as if she +thus summed up a discussion with herself. Nor was I sorry.</p> + +<p>A few days after our return to London, as I was going home to dinner, I +met, about half-war along Brook Street, Mrs. Foster. For the first time +since my marriage I was glad to be alone; I would not have had Olivia +with me on any account. But the woman was coming away from our house, +and a sudden fear flashed across me. Could she have been annoying my +Olivia?</p> + +<p>"Have you been to see me?" I asked her, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Why should I come to see you?" she retorted.</p> + +<p>"Nor my wife?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't I go to see Mrs. Dobrée?" she asked again.</p> + +<p>I felt that it was necessary to secure Olivia, and to gain this end I +must be firm. But the poor creature looked miserable and unhappy, and I +could not be harsh toward her.</p> + +<p>"Come, Mrs. Foster," I said, "let us talk reasonably together. You know +as as well as I do you have no claim upon my wife; and I cannot have her +disturbed and distressed by seeing you; I wish her to forget all the +past. Did I not fulfil my promise to Foster? Did I not do all I could +for him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered, sobbing, "I know you did all you could to save my +husband's life."</p> + +<p>"Without fee?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. We were too poor to pay you."</p> + +<p>"Give me my fee now, then," I replied. "Promise me to leave Olivia +alone. Keep away from this street, and do not thrust yourself upon her +at any time. If you meet by accident, that will be no fault of yours. I +can trust you to keep your promise."</p> + +<p>She stood silent and irresolute for a minute. Then she clasped my hand, +with a strong grip for a woman's fingers.</p> + +<p>"I promise," she said, "for you were very good to him."</p> + +<p>She had taken a step or two into the dusk of the evening, when I ran +after her for one more word.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Foster," I said, "are you in want?"</p> + +<p>"I can always keep myself," she answered, proudly; "I earned his living +and my own, for months together. Good-by, Martin Dobrée."</p> + +<p>"Good-by," I said. She turned quickly from me round a corner near to us; +and have not seen her again from that day to this.</p> + +<p>Dr. Senior would not consent to part with Minima, even to Olivia. She +promises fair to take the reins of the household at a very early age, +and to hold them with a tight hand. Already Jack is under her authority, +and yields to it with a very droll submission. She is so old for her +years, and he is so young for his, that—who can tell? Olivia predicts +that Jack Senior will always be a bachelor.</p> + +<p>THE END.</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Doctor's Dilemma, by Hesba Stretton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA *** + +***** This file should be named 14454-h.htm or 14454-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/4/5/14454/ + +Produced by Steven Gibbs and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/old/14454-h/images/frontispiece.jpg b/old/14454-h/images/frontispiece.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2568ae8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14454-h/images/frontispiece.jpg diff --git a/old/14454.txt b/old/14454.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0529ae3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14454.txt @@ -0,0 +1,17408 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Doctor's Dilemma, by Hesba Stretton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Doctor's Dilemma + +Author: Hesba Stretton + +Release Date: December 24, 2004 [EBook #14454] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA *** + + + + +Produced by Steven Gibbs and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + +THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA. + +_A NOVEL_. + +BY HESBA STRETTON + + + NEW YORK: + D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, + 549 & 551 BROADWAY. + 1872. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + _PART THE FIRST_. + + I.--AN OPEN DOOR + II.--TO SOUTHAMPTON + III.--A ROUGH NIGHT AT SEA + IV.--A SAFE HAVEN + V.--WILL IT DO? + VI.--TOO MUCH ALONE + VII.--A FALSE STEP + VIII.--AN ISLAND WITHOUT A DOCTOR + + + _PART THE SECOND_. + + I.--DR. MARTIN DOBREE + II.--A PATIENT IN SARK + III.--WITHOUT RESOURCES + IV.--A RIVAL PRACTITIONER + V.--LOCKS OF HAIR + VI.--WHO IS SHE? + VII.--WHO ARE HER FRIENDS? + VIII.--THE SIXTIES OF GUERNSEY + IX.--A CLEW TO THE SECRET + X.--JULIA'S WEDDING-DRESS + XI.--TRUE TO BOTH + XII.--STOLEN WATERS ARE SWEET + XIII.--ONE IN A THOUSAND. + XIV.--OVERHEAD IN LOVE + XV.--IN A FIX + XVI.--A MIDNIGHT RIDE + XVII.--A LONG HALF-HOUR + XVIII.--BROKEN OFF + XIX.--THE DOBREES' GOOD NAME + XX.--TWO LETTERS + XXI.--ALL WRONG + XXII.--DEAD TO HONOR + XXIII.--IN EXILE + XXIV.--OVERMATCHED. + XXV.--HOME AGAIN + XXVI.--A NEW PATIENT + XXVII.--SET FREE + XXVIII.--A BRIGHT BEGINNING + XXIX.--THE GOULIOT CAVES + XXX.--A GLOOMY ENDING + XXXI.--A STORY IN DETAIL + XXXII.--OLIVIA GONE + XXXIII.--THE EBB OF LIFE + XXXIV.--A DISCONSOLATE WIDOWER + XXXV.--THE WIDOWER COMFORTED + XXXVI.--FINAL ARRANGEMENTS + XXXVII.--THE TABLES TURNED + XXXVIII.--OLIVIA'S HUSBAND + XXXIX.--SAD NEWS + XL.--A TORMENTING DOUBT + XLI.--MARTIN DOBREE'S PLEDGE + XLII.--NOIREAU + XLIII.--A SECOND PURSUER + XLIV.--THE LAW OF MARRIAGE + XXV.--FULFILLING THE PLEDGE + XLVI.--A DEED OF SEPARATION + XLVII.--A FRIENDLY CABMAN + XLVIII.--JULIA'S WEDDING + XLIX.--A TELEGRAM IN PATOIS + + + _PART THE THIRD_. + + I.--OLIVIA'S JUSTIFICATION + II.--ON THE WING AGAIN + III.--IN LONDON LODGINGS + IV.--RIDLEY'S AGENCY-OFFICE + V.--BELLRINGER STREET + VI.--LEAVING ENGLAND + VII.--A LONG JOURNEY + VIII.--AT SCHOOL IN FRANCE + IX.--A FRENCH AVOCAT + X.--A MISFORTUNE WITHOUT PARALLEL + XI.--LOST AT NIGHTFALL + XII.--THE CURE OF VILLE-EN-BOIS + XIII.--A FEVER-HOSPITAL + XIV.--OUTCAST PARISHIONERS + XV.--A TACITURN FRENCHWOMAN + XVI.--SENT BY GOD + XVII.--A MOMENT OF TRIUMPH + XVIII.--PIERRE'S SECRET + XIX.--SUSPENSE + XX.--A MALIGNANT CASE + XXI.--THE LAST DEATH + XXII.--FREE + XXIII.--A YEAR'S NEWS + XXIV.--FAREWELL TO VILLE-EN-BOIS + XXV.--TOO HIGHLY CIVILIZED + XXVI.--SEEING SOCIETY + XXVII.--BREAKING THE ICE + XXVIII.--PALMY DAYS + XXIX.--A POSTSCRIPT BY MARTIN DOBREE + + + + + +PART THE FIRST. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIRST. + +AN OPEN DOOR. + + +I think I was as nearly mad as I could be; nearer madness, I believe, +than I shall ever be again, thank God! Three weeks of it had driven me +to the very verge of desperation. I cannot say here what had brought me +to this pass, for I do not know into whose hands these pages may fall; +but I had made up my mind to persist in a certain line of conduct which +I firmly believed to be right, while those who had authority over me, +and were stronger than I was, were resolutely bent upon making me submit +to their will. The conflict had been going on, more or less violently, +for months; now I had come very near the end of it. I felt that I must +either yield or go mad. There was no chance of my dying; I was too +strong for that. There was no other alternative than subjection or +insanity. + +It had been raining all the day long, in a ceaseless, driving torrent, +which had kept the streets clear of passengers. I could see nothing but +wet flag-stones, with little pools of water lodging in every hollow, in +which the rain-drops splashed heavily whenever the storm grew more in +earnest. Now and then a tradesman's cart, or a cab, with their drivers +wrapped in mackintoshes, dashed past; and I watched them till they were +out of my sight. It had been the dreariest of days. My eyes had followed +the course of solitary drops rolling down the window-panes, until my +head ached. Toward nightfall I could distinguish a low, wailing tone, +moaning through the air; a quiet prelude to a coming change in the +weather, which was foretold also by little rents in the thick mantle of +cloud, which had shrouded the sky all day. The storm of rain was about +to be succeeded by a storm of wind. Any change would be acceptable to +me. + +There was nothing within my room less dreary than without. I was in +London, but in what part of London I did not know. The house was one of +those desirable family residences, advertised in the _Times_ as to be +let furnished, and promising all the comforts and refinements of a home. +It was situated in a highly-respectable, though not altogether +fashionable quarter; as I judged by the gloomy, monotonous rows of +buildings which I could see from my windows: none of which were shops, +but all private dwellings. The people who passed up and down the streets +on line days were all of one stamp, well-to-do persons, who could afford +to wear good and handsome clothes; but who were infinitely less +interesting than the dear, picturesque beggars of Italian towns, or the +sprightly, well-dressed peasantry of French cities. The rooms on the +third floor--my rooms, which I had not been allowed to leave since we +entered the house, three weeks before--were very badly furnished, +indeed, with comfortless, high horse-hair-seated chairs, and a sofa of +the same uncomfortable material, cold and slippery, on which it was +impossible to rest. The carpet was nearly threadbare, and the curtains +of dark-red moreen were very dingy; the mirror over the chimney-piece +seemed to have been made purposely to distort my features, and produce +in me a feeling of depression. My bedroom, which communicated with this +agreeable sitting-room by folding-doors, was still smaller and gloomier; +and opened upon a dismal back-yard, where a dog in a kennel howled +dejectedly from time to time, and rattled his chain, as if to remind me +that I was a prisoner like himself. I had no books, no work, no music. +It was a dreary place to pass a dreary time in; and my only resource was +to pace to and fro--to and fro from one end to another of those wretched +rooms. + +I watched the day grow dusk, and then dark. The rifts in the driving +clouds were growing larger, and the edges were torn. I left off roaming +up and down my room, like some entrapped creature, and sank down on the +floor by the window, looking out for the pale, sad blue of the sky which +gleamed now and then through the clouds, till the night had quite set +in. I did not cry, for I am not given to overmuch weeping, and my heart +was too sore to be healed by tears; neither did I tremble, for I held +out my hand and arm to make sure they were steady; but still I felt as +if I were sinking down--down into an awful, profound despondency, from +which I should never rally; it was all over with me. I had nothing +before me but to give up, and own myself overmatched and conquered. I +have a half-remembrance that as I crouched there in the darkness I +sobbed once, and cried under my breath, "God help me!" + +A very slight sound grated on my ear, and a fresh thrill of strong, +resentful feeling quivered all through me; it was the hateful click of +the key turning in the lock. It gave me force enough to carry out my +defiance a little longer. Before the door could be opened I sprang to my +feet, and stood erect, and outwardly very calm, gazing through the +window, with my face turned away from the persons who were coming in; I +was so placed that I could see them reflected in the mirror over the +fireplace. A servant came first, carrying in a tray, upon which were a +lamp and my tea--such a meal as might be prepared for a school-girl in +disgrace. + +She came up to me, as if to draw down the blinds and close the shutters. + +"Leave them," I said; "I will do it myself by-and-by." + +"He's not coming home to-night," said a woman's voice behind me, in a +scoffing tone. + +I could see her too without turning round. A handsome woman, with bold +black eyes, and a rouged face, which showed coarsely in the ugly +looking-glass. She was extravagantly dressed, and wore a profusion of +ornaments--tawdry ones, mostly, but one or two I recognized as my own. +She was not many years older than myself. I took no notice whatever of +her, or her words, or her presence; but continued to gaze out steadily +at the lamp-lit streets and stormy sky. Her voice grew hoarse with +passion, and I knew well how her face would burn and flush under the +rouge. + +"It will be no better for you when he is at home," she said, fiercely. +"He hates you; he swears so a hundred times a day, and he is determined +to break your proud spirit for you. We shall force you to knock under +sooner or later; and I warn you it will be best for you to be sooner +rather than later. What friends have you got anywhere to take your side? +If you'd made friends with me, my fine lady, you'd have found it good +for yourself; but you've chosen to make me your enemy, and I'll make him +your enemy. You know, as well as I do, he can't hear the sight of your +long, puling face." + +Still I did not answer by word or sign. I set my teeth together, and +gave no indication that I had heard one of her taunting speeches. My +silence only served to fan her fury. + +"Upon my soul, madam," she almost shrieked, "you are enough to drive me +to murder! I could beat you, standing there so dumb, as if I was not +worthy to speak a word to. Ay! and I would, but for him. So, then, three +weeks of this hasn't broken you down yet! but you are only making it the +worse for yourself; we shall try other means to-morrow." + +She had no idea how nearly my spirit was broken, for I gave her no +reply. She came up to where I stood, and shook her clinched hand in my +face--a large, well-shaped hand, with bejewelled fingers, that could +have given me a heavy blow. Her face was dark with passion; yet she was +maintaining some control over herself, though with great difficulty. She +had never struck me yet, but I trembled and shrank from her, and was +thankful when she flung herself out of the room, pulling the door +violently after her, and locking it noisily, as if the harsh, jarring +sounds would be more terrifying than the tones of her own voice. + +Left to myself I turned round to the light, catching a fresh glimpse of +my face in the mirror--a pale and sadder and more forlorn face than +before. I almost hated myself in that glass. But I was hungry, for I was +young, and my health and appetite were very good; and I sat down to my +plain fare, and ate it heartily. I felt stronger and in better spirits +by the time I had finished the meal; I resolved to brave it out a little +longer. The house was very quiet; for at present there was no one in it +except the woman and the servant who had been up to my room. The servant +was a poor London drudge, who was left in charge by the owners of the +house, and who had been forbidden to speak to me. After a while I heard +her heavy, shambling footsteps coming slowly up the staircase, and +passing my door on her way to the attics above; they sounded louder than +usual, and I turned my head round involuntarily. A thin, fine streak of +light, no thicker than a thread, shone for an instant in the dark corner +of the wall close by the door-post, but it died away almost before I saw +it. My heart stood still for a moment, and then beat like a hammer. I +stole very softly to the door, and discovered that the bolt had slipped +beyond the hoop of the lock; probably in the sharp bang with which it +had been closed. The door was open for me! + + + + +CHAPTER THE SECOND. + +TO SOUTHAMPTON. + + +There was not a moment to be lost. When the servant came downstairs +again from her room in the attics, she would be sure to call for the +tea-tray, in order to save herself another journey; how long she would +be up-stairs was quite uncertain. If she was gone to "clean" herself, as +she called it, the process might be a very long one, and a good hour +might be at my disposal; but I could not count upon that. In the +drawing-room below sat my jailer and enemy, who might take a whim into +her head, and come up to see her prisoner at any instant. It was +necessary to be very quick, very decisive, and very silent. + +I had been on the alert for such a chance ever since my imprisonment +began. My seal-skin hat and jacket lay ready to my hand in a drawer; but +I could find no gloves; I could not wait for gloves. Already there were +ominous sounds overhead, as if the servant had dispatched her brief +business there, and was about to come down. I had not time to put on +thicker boots; and it was perhaps essential to the success of my flight +to steal down the stairs in the soft, velvet slippers I was wearing. I +stepped as lightly as I could--lightly but very swiftly, for the servant +was at the top of the upper flight, while I had two to descend. I crept +past the drawing-room door. The heavy house-door opened with a grating +of the hinges; but I stood outside it, in the shelter of the portico; +free, but with the rain and wind of a stormy night in October beating +against me, and with no light save the glimmer of the feeble +street-lamps flickering across the wet pavement. + +I knew very well that my escape was almost hopeless, for the success of +it depended very much upon which road of the three lying before me I +should happen to take. I had no idea of the direction of any one of +them, for I had never been out of the house since the night I was +brought to it. The strong, quick running of the servant, and the +passionate fury of the woman, would overtake me if we were to have a +long race; and if they overtook me they would force me back. I had no +right to seek freedom in this wild way, yet it was the only way. Even +while I hesitated in the portico of the house that ought to have been my +home, I heard the shrill scream of the girl within when she found my +door open, and my room empty. If I did not decide instantaneously, and +decide aright, it would have been better for me never to have tried this +chance of escape. + +But I did not linger another moment. I could almost believe an angel +took me by the hand, and led me. I darted straight across the muddy +road, getting my thin slippers wet through at once, ran for a few yards, +and then turned sharply round a corner into a street at the end of which +I saw the cheery light of shop-windows, all in a glow in spite of the +rain. On I fled breathlessly, unhindered by any passer-by, for the rain +was still falling, though more lightly. As I drew nearer to the +shop-windows, an omnibus-driver, seeing me run toward him, pulled up his +horses in expectation of a passenger. The conductor shouted some name +which I did not hear, but I sprang in, caring very little where it might +carry me, so that I could get quickly enough and far enough out of the +reach of my pursuers. There had been no time to lose, and none was lost. +The omnibus drove on again quickly, and no trace was left of me. + +I sat quite still in the farthest corner of the omnibus, hardly able to +recover my breath after my rapid running. I was a little frightened at +the notice the two or three other passengers appeared to take of me, and +I did my best to seem calm and collected. My ungloved hands gave me some +trouble, and I hid them as well as I could in the folds of my dress; for +there was something remarkable about the want of gloves in any one as +well dressed as I was. But nobody spoke to me, and one after another +they left the omnibus, and fresh persons took their places, who did not +know where I had got in. I did not stir, for I determined to go as far +as I could in this conveyance. But all the while I was wondering what I +should do with myself, and where I could go, when it readied its +destination. + +There was one trifling difficulty immediately ahead of me. When the +omnibus stopped I should have no small change for paying my fare. There +was an Australian sovereign fastened to my watch-chain which I could +take off, but it would be difficult to detach it while we were jolting +on. Besides, I dreaded to attract attention to myself. Yet what else +could I do? + +Before I had settled this question, which occupied me so fully that I +forgot other and more serious difficulties, the omnibus drove into a +station-yard, and every passenger, inside and out, prepared to alight. I +lingered till the last, and sat still till I had unfastened my +gold-piece. The wind drove across the open space in a strong gust as I +stepped down upon the pavement. A man had just descended from the roof, +and was paying the conductor: a tall, burly man, wearing a thick +water-proof coat, and a seaman's hat of oil-skin, with a long flap lying +over the back of his neck. His face was brown and weather-beaten, but he +had kindly-looking eyes, which glanced at me as I stood waiting to pay +my fare. + +"Going down to Southampton?" said the conductor to him. + +"Ay, and beyond Southampton," he answered. + +"You'll have a rough night of it," said the conductor.--"Sixpence, if +you please, miss." + +I offered him my Australian sovereign, which he turned over curiously, +asking me if I had no smaller change. He grumbled when I answered no, +and the stranger, who had not passed on, but was listening to what was +said, turned pleasantly to me. + +"You have no change, mam'zelle?" he asked, speaking rather slowly, as if +English was not his ordinary speech. "Very well! are you going to +Southampton?" + +"Yes, by the next train," I answered, deciding upon that course without +hesitation. + +"So am I, mam'zelle," he said, raising his hand to his oil-skin cap; "I +will pay this sixpence, and you can give it me again, when you buy your +ticket in the office." + +I smiled quickly, gladly; and he smiled back upon me, but gravely, as if +his face was not used to a smile. I passed on into the station, where a +train was standing, and people hurrying about the platform, choosing +their carriages. At the ticket-office they changed my Australian +gold-piece without a word; and I sought out my seaman friend to return +the sixpence he had paid to me. He had done me a greater kindness than +he could ever know, and I thanked him heartily. His honest, deep-set, +blue eyes glistened under their shaggy eyebrows as they looked down upon +me. + +"Can I do nothing more for you, mam'zelle?" he asked. "Shall I see after +your luggage?" + +"Oh! that will be all right, thank you," I replied, "but is this the +train for Southampton, and how soon will it start?" + +I was watching anxiously the stream of people going to and fro, lest I +should see some person who knew me. Yet who was there in London who +could know me? + +"It will be off in five minutes," answered the seaman. "Shall I look out +a carriage for you?" + +He was somewhat careful in making his selection; finally he put me into +a compartment where there were only two ladies, and he stood in front of +the door, but with his back turned toward it, until the train was about +to start. Then he touched his hat again with a gesture of farewell, and +ran away to a second-class carriage. + +I sighed with satisfaction as the train rushed swiftly through the +dimly-lighted suburbs of London, and entered upon the open country. A +wan, watery line of light lay under the brooding clouds in the west, +tinged with a lurid hue; and all the great field of sky stretching above +the level landscape was overcast with storm-wrack, fleeing swiftly +before the wind. At times the train seemed to shake with the Wast, when +it was passing oyer any embankment more than ordinarily exposed; but it +sped across the country almost as rapidly as the clouds across the sky. +No one in the carriage spoke. Then came over me that weird feeling +familiar to all travellers, that one has been doomed to travel thus +through many years, and has not half accomplished the time. I felt as if +I had been fleeing from my home, and those who should have been my +friends, for a long and weary while; yet it was scarcely an hour since I +had made my escape. + +In about two hours or more--but exactly what time I did not know, for my +watch had stopped--my fellow-passengers, who had scarcely condescended +to glance at me, alighted at a large, half-deserted station, where only +a few lamps were burning. Through the window I could see that very few +other persons were leaving the train, and I concluded we had not yet +reached the terminus. A porter came up to me as I leaned my head through +the window. + +"Going on, miss?" he asked. + +"Oh, yes!" I answered, shrinking back into my corner-seat. He remained +upon the step, with his arm over the window-frame, while the train moved +on at a slackened pace for a few minutes, and then pulled up, but at no +station. Before me lay a dim, dark, indistinct scene, with little specks +of light twinkling here and there in the night, but whether on sea or +shore I could not tell. Immediately opposite the train stood the black +hulls and masts and funnels of two steamers, with a glimmer of lanterns +on their decks, and up and down their shrouds. The porter opened the +door for me. + +"You've only to go on board, miss," he said, "your luggage will be seen +to all right." And he hurried away to open the doors of the other +carriages. + +I stood still, utterly bewildered, for a minute or two, with the wind +tossing my hair about, and the rain beating in sharp, stinging drops +like hailstones upon my face and hands. It must have been close upon +midnight, and there was no light but the dim, glow-worm glimmer of the +lanterns on deck. Every one was hurrying past me. I began almost to +repent of the desperate step I had taken; but I had learned already that +there is no possibility of retracing one's steps. At the gangways of the +two vessels there were men shouting hoarsely. "This way for the Channel +Islands!" "This way for Havre and Paris!" To which boat should I trust +myself and my fate? There was nothing to guide me. Yet once more that +night the moment had come when I was compelled to make a prompt, +decisive, urgent choice. It was almost a question of life and death to +me: a leap in the dark that must be taken. My great terror was lest my +place of refuge should be discovered, and I be forced back again. Where +was I to go? To Paris, or to the Channel Islands? + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRD. + +A ROUGH NIGHT AT SEA. + + +A mere accident decided it. Near the fore-part of the train I saw the +broad, tall figure of my new friend, the seaman, making his way across +to the boat for the Channel Islands; and almost involuntarily I made up +my mind to go on board the same steamer, for I had an instinctive +feeling that he would prove a real friend, if I had need of one. He did +not see me following; no doubt he supposed I had left the train at +Southampton, having only taken my ticket so far; though how I had missed +Southampton I could not tell. The deck was wet and slippery, and the +confusion upon it was very great. I was too much at home upon a steamer +to need any directions; and I went down immediately into the ladies' +cabin, which was almost empty, and chose a berth for myself in the +darkest corner. It was not far from the door, and presently two other +ladies came down, with a gentleman and the captain, and held an anxious +parley close to me. I listened absently and mechanically, as indifferent +to the subject as if it could be of no consequence to me. + +"Is there any danger?" asked one of the ladies. + +"Well, I cannot say positively there will be no danger," answered the +captain; "there's not danger enough to keep me and the crew in port; but +it will be a very dirty night in the Channel. If there's no actual +necessity for crossing to-night I should advise you to wait, and see how +it will be to-morrow. Of course we shall use extra caution, and all that +sort of thing. No; I cannot say I expect any great danger." + +"But it will be awfully rough?" said the gentleman. + +The captain answered only by a sound between a groan and a whistle, as +if he could not trust himself to think of words that would describe the +roughness. There could be no doubt of his meaning. The ladies hastily +determined to drive back to their hotel, and gathered up their small +packages and wrappings quickly. I fancied they were regarding me +somewhat curiously, but I kept my face away from them carefully. They +could only see my seal-skin jacket and hat, and my rough hair; and they +did not speak to me. + +"You are going to venture, miss?" said the captain, stepping into the +cabin as the ladies retreated up the steps. + +"Oh, yes," I answered. "I am obliged to go, and I am not in the least +afraid." + +"You needn't be," he replied, in a hearty voice. "We shall do our best, +for our own sakes, and you would be our first care if there was any +mishap. Women and children first always. I will send the stewardess to +you; she goes, of course." + +I sat down on one of the couches, listening for a few minutes to the +noises about me. The masts were groaning, and the planks creaking under +the heavy tramp of the sailors, as they got ready to start, with shrill +cries to one another. Then the steam-engine began to throb like a pulse +through all the vessel from stem to stern. Presently the stewardess came +down, and recommended me to lie down in my berth at once, which I did +very obediently, but silently, for I did not wish to enter into +conversation with the woman, who seemed inclined to be talkative. She +covered me up well with several blankets, and there I lay with my face +turned from the light of the swinging lamp, and scarcely moved hand or +foot throughout the dismal and stormy night. + +For it was very stormy and dismal as soon as we were out of Southampton +waters, and in the rush and swirl of the Channel. I did not fall asleep +for an instant. I do not suppose I should have slept had the Channel +been, as it is sometimes, smooth as a mill-pond, and there had been no +clamorous hissing and booming of waves against the frail planks, which I +could touch with my hand. I could see nothing of the storm, but I could +hear it: and the boat seemed tossed, like a mere cockle-shell, to and +fro upon the rough sea. It did not alarm me so much as it distracted my +thoughts, and kept them from dwelling upon possibilities far more +perilous to me than the danger of death by shipwreck. A short suffering +such a death would be. + +My escape and flight had been so unexpected, so unhoped for, that it had +bewildered me, and it was almost a pleasure to lie still and listen to +the din and uproar of the sea and the swoop of the wind rushing down +upon it. Was I myself or no? Was this nothing more than a very coherent, +very vivid dream, from which I should awake by-and-by to find myself a +prisoner still, a creature as wretched and friendless as any that the +streets of London contained? My flight had been too extraordinary a +success, so far, for my mind to be able to dwell upon it calmly. + +I watched the dawn break through a little port-hole opening upon my +berth, which had been washed and beaten by the water all the night long. +The level light shone across the troubled and leaden-colored surface of +the sea, which seemed to grow a little quieter under its touch. I had +fancied during the night that the waves were running mountains high; but +now I could see them, they only rolled to and fro in round, swelling +hillocks, dull green against the eastern sky, with deep, sullen troughs +of a livid purple between them. But the fury of the storm had spent +itself, that was evident, and the steamer was making way steadily now. + +The stewardess had gone away early in the night, being frightened to +death, she said, to seek more genial companionship than mine. So I was +alone, with the blending light of the early dawn and that of the lamp +burning feebly from the ceiling. I sat up in my berth and cautiously +unstitched the lining in the breast of my jacket. Here, months ago, when +I first began to foresee this emergency, and while I was still allowed +the use of my money, I had concealed one by one a few five-pound notes +of the Bank of England. I counted them over, eight of them; forty pounds +in all, my sole fortune, my only means of living. True, I had besides +these a diamond ring, presented to me under circumstances which made it +of no value to me, except for its worth in money, and a watch and chain +given to me years ago by my father. A jeweller had told me that the ring +was worth sixty pounds, and the watch and chain forty; but how difficult +and dangerous it would be for me to sell either of them! Practically my +means were limited to the eight bank-notes of five pounds each. I kept +out one for the payment of my passage, and then replaced the rest, and +carefully pinned them into the unstitched lining. + +Then I began to wonder what my destination was. I knew nothing whatever +of the Channel Islands, except the names which I had learned at +school--Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, and Sark. I repeated these over and +over again to myself; but which of them we were bound for, or if we were +about to call at each one of them, I did not know. I should have been +more at home had I gone to Paris. + +As the light grew I became restless, and at last I left my berth and +ventured to climb the cabin-steps. The fresh air smote upon me almost +painfully. There was no rain falling, and the wind had been lulling +since the dawn. The sea itself was growing brighter, and glittered here +and there in spots where the sunlight fell upon it. All the sailors +looked beaten and worn out with the night's toil, and the few passengers +who had braved the passage, and were now well enough to come on deck, +were weary and sallow-looking. There was still no land in sight, for the +clouds hung low on the horizon, and overhead the sky was often overcast +and gloomy. It was so cold that, in spite of my warm mantle, I shivered +from head to foot. + +But I could not bear to go back to the close, ill-smelling cabin, which +had been shut up all night. I stayed on deck in the biting wind, leaning +over the wet bulwarks and gazing across the desolate sea till my spirits +sank like lead. The reaction upon the violent strain on my nerves was +coming, and I had no power to resist its influence. I could feel the +tears rolling down my cheeks and falling on my hands without caring to +wipe them away; the more so as there was no one to see them. What did my +tears signify to any one? I was cold, and hungry, and miserable. How +lonely I was! how poor! with neither a home nor a friend in the +world!--a mere castaway upon the waves of this troublous life! + +"Mam'zelle is a brave sailor," said a voice behind me, which I +recognized as my seaman of the night before, whom I had wellnigh +forgotten; "but the storm is over now, and we shall be in port only an +hour or two behind time." + +"What port shall we reach?" I asked, not caring to turn round lest he +should see my wet eyes and cheeks. + +"St. Peter-Port," he answered. "Mam'zelle, then, does not know our +islands?" + +"No," I said. "Where is St. Peter-Port?" + +"In Guernsey," he replied. "Is mam'zelle going to Guernsey or Jersey? +Jersey is about two hours' sail from Guernsey. If you were going to land +at St. Peter-Port, I might be of some service to you." + +I turned round then, and looked at him steadily. His voice was a very +pleasant one, full of tones that went straight to my heart and filled me +with confidence. His face did not give the lie to it, or cause me any +disappointment. He was no gentleman, that was plain; his face was +bronzed and weather-beaten, as if he often encountered rough weather. +But his deep-set eyes had a steadfast, quiet power in them, and his +mouth, although it was almost hidden by hair, had a pleasant curve about +it. I could not guess how old he was; he looked a middle-aged man to me. +His great, rough hands, which had never worn gloves, were stained and +hard with labor; and he had evidently been taking a share in the toil of +the night, for his close-fitting, woven blue jacket was wet through, and +his hair was damp and rough with the wind and rain. He raised his cap as +my eyes looked straight into his, and a faint smile flitted across his +grave face. + +"I want," I said, suddenly, "to find a place where I can live very +cheaply. I have not much money, and I must make it last a long time. I +do not mind how quiet the place, or how poor; the quieter the better for +me. Can you tell me of such a place?" + +"You would want a place fit for a lady?" he said, in a half-questioning +tone, and with a glance at my silk dress. + +"No," I answered, eagerly. "I mean such a cottage as you would live in. +I would do all my own work, for I am very poor, and I do not know yet +how I can get my living. I must be very careful of my money till I find +out what I can do. What sort of a place do you and your wife live in?" + +His face was clouded a little, I thought; and he did not answer me till +after a short silence. + +"My poor little wife is dead," he answered, "and I do not live in +Guernsey or Jersey. We live in Sark, my mother and I. I am a fisherman, +but I have also a little farm, for with us the land goes from the father +to the eldest son, and I was the eldest. It is true we have one room to +spare, which might do for mam'zelle; but the island is far away, and +very _triste_. Jersey is gay, and so is Guernsey, but in the winter Sark +is too mournful." + +"It will be just the place I want," I said, eagerly; "it would suit me +exactly. Can you let me go there at once? Will you take me with you?" + +"Mam'zelle," he replied, smiling, "the room must be made ready for you, +and I must speak to my mother. Besides, Sark is six miles from Guernsey, +and to-day the passage would be too rough for you. If God sends us fair +weather I will come back to St. Peter-Port for you in three days. My +name is Tardif. You can ask the people in Peter-Port what sort of a man +Tardif of the Havre Gosselin is." + +"I do not want any one to tell me what sort of a man you are," I said, +holding out my hand, red and cold with the keen air. He took it into his +large, rough palm, looking down upon me with an air of friendly +protection. + +"What is your name, mam'zelle?" he inquired. + +"Oh! my name is Olivia," I said; then I stopped abruptly, for there +flashed across me the necessity for concealing it. Tardif did not seem +to notice my embarrassment. + +"There are some Olliviers in St. Peter-Port," he said. "Is mam'zelle of +the same family? But no, that is not probable." + +"I have no relations," I answered, "not even in England. I have very few +friends, and they are all far away in Australia. I was born there, and +lived there till I was seventeen."' + +The tears sprang to my eyes again, and my new friend saw them, but said +nothing. He moved off at once to the far end of the dock, to help one of +the crew in some heavy piece of work. He did not come hack until the +rain began to return--a fine, drizzling rain, which came in scuds across +the sea. + +"Mam'zelle," he said, "you ought to go below; and I will tell you when +we are in sight of Guernsey." + +I went below, inexpressibly more satisfied and comforted. What it was in +this man that won my complete, unquestioning confidence, I did not know; +but his very presence, and the sight of his good, trustworthy face, gave +me a sense of security such as I have never felt before or since. Surely +God had sent him to me in my great extremity. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTH. + +A SAFE HAVEN. + + +We were two hours after time at St. Peter-Port; and then all was hurry +and confusion, for goods and passengers had to be landed and embarked +for Jersey. Tardif, who was afraid of losing the cutter which would +convey him to Sark, had only time to give me the address of a person +with whom I could lodge until he came to fetch me to his island, and +then he hastened away to a distant part of the quay. I was not sorry +that he should miss finding out that I had no luggage of any kind with +me. + +I was busy enough during the next three days, for I had every thing to +buy. The widow with whom I was lodging came to the conclusion that I had +lost all my luggage, and I did not try to remove the false impression. +Through her assistance I was able to procure all I required, without +exciting more notice and curiosity. My purchases, though they were as +simple and cheap as I could make them, drew largely upon my small store +of money, and as I saw it dwindling away, while I grudged every shilling +I was obliged to part with, my spirits sank lower and lower. I had never +known the dread of being short of money, and the new experience was, +perhaps, the more terrible to me. There was no chance of disposing of +the costly dress in which I had journeyed, without arousing too much +attention and running too great a risk. I stayed in-doors as much as +possible, and, as the weather continued cold and gloomy, I did not meet +many persons when I ventured out into the narrow, foreign-looking +streets of the town. + +But on the third day, when I looked out from my window, I saw that the +sky had cleared, and the sun was shining joyously. It was one of those +lovely days which come as a lull sometimes in the midst of the +equinoctial gales, as if they were weary of the havoc they had made, and +were resting with folded wings. For the first time I saw the little +island of Sark lying against the eastern sky. The whole length of it was +visible, from north to south, with the waves beating against its +headlands, and a fringe of silvery foam girdling it. The sky was of a +pale blue, as though the rains had washed it as well as the earth, and a +few filmy clouds were still lingering about it. The sea beneath was a +deeper blue, with streaks almost like a hoar frost upon it, with here +and there tints of green, like that of the sky at sunset. A boat with +three white sails, which were reflected in the water, was tacking about +to enter the harbor, and a second, with amber sails, was a little way +behind, but following quickly in its wake. I watched them for a long +time. Was either of them Tardif's boat? + +That question was answered in about two hours' time by Tardif's +appearance at the house. He lifted my little box on to his broad +shoulders, and marched away with it, trying vainly to reduce his long +strides into steps that would suit me, as I walked beside him. I felt +overjoyed that he was come. So long as I was in Guernsey, when every +morning I could see the arrival of the packet that had brought me, I +could not shake off the fear that it was bringing some one in pursuit of +me; but in Sark that would be all different. Besides, I felt +instinctively that this man would protect me, and take my part to the +very utmost, should any circumstances arise that compelled me to appeal +to him and trust him with my secret. I knew nothing of him, but his face +was stamped with God's seal of trustworthiness, if ever a human face +was. + +A second man was in the boat when we reached it, and it looked well +laden. Tardif made a comfortable seat for me amid the packages, and then +the sails were unfurled, and we were off quickly out of the harbor and +on the open sea. + +A low, westerly wind was blowing, and fell upon the sails with a strong +and equal pressure. We rode before it rapidly, skimming over the low, +crested waves almost without a motion. Never before had I felt so +perfectly secure upon the water. Now I could breathe freely, with the +sense of assured safety growing stronger every moment as the coast of +Guernsey receded on the horizon, and the rocky little island grew +nearer. As we approached it no landing-place was to be seen, no beach or +strand. An iron-bound coast of sharp and rugged crags confronted us, +which it seemed impossible to scale. At last we cast anchor at the foot +of a great cliff, rising sheer out of the sea, where a ladder hung down +the face of the rock for a few feet. A wilder or lonelier place I had +never seen. Nobody could pursue and surprise me here. + +The boatman who was with us climbed up the ladder, and, kneeling down, +stretched out his hand to help me, while Tardif stood waiting to hold me +steadily on the damp and slippery rungs. For a moment I hesitated, and +looked round at the crags, and the tossing, restless sea. + +"I could carry you through the water, mam'zelle," said Tardif, pointing +to a hand's breadth of shingle lying between the rocks, "but you will +get wet. It will be better for you to mount up here." + +I fastened both of my hands tightly round one of the upper rungs, before +lifting my feet from the unsteady prow of the boat. But the ladder once +climbed, the rest of the ascent was easy. I walked on up a zigzag path, +cut in the face of the cliff, until I gained the summit, and sat down to +wait for Tardif and his comrade. I could not have fled to a securer +hiding-place. So long as my money held out, I might live as peacefully +and safely as any fugitive had ever lived. + +For a little while I sat looking out at the wild and beautiful scene +before me, which no words can tell and no fancy picture to those who +have never seen it. The white foam of the waves was so near, that I +could see the rainbow colors playing through the bubbles as the sun +shone on them. Below the clear water lay a girdle of sunken rocks, +pointed as needles, and with edges as sharp as swords, about which the +waves fretted ceaselessly, drawing silvery lines about their notched and +dented ridges. The cliffs ran up precipitously from the sea, carved +grotesquely over their whole surface into strange and fantastic shapes; +while the golden and gray lichens embroidered them richly, and bright +sea-flowers, and stray tufts of grass, lent them the most vivid and +gorgeous hues. Beyond the channel, against the clear western sky, lay +the island of Guernsey, rising like a purple mountain out of the opal +sea, which lay like a lake between us, sparkling and changing every +minute under the light of the afternoon sun. + +But there was scarcely time for the exquisite beauty of this scene to +sink deeply into my heart just then. Before long I heard the tramp of +Tardif and his comrade following me; their heavy tread sent down the +loose stones on the path plunging into the sea. They were both laden +with part of the boat's cargo. They stopped to rest for a minute or two +at the spot where I had sat down, and the other boatman began talking +earnestly to Tardif in his _patois_, of which I did not understand a +word. Tardif's face was very grave and sad, indescribably so; and, +before he turned to me and spoke, I knew it was some sorrowful +catastrophe he had to tell. + +"You see how smooth it is, mam'zelle," he said--"how clear and +beautiful--down below us, where the waves are at play like little white +children? I love them, but they are cruel and treacherous. While I was +away there was an accident down yonder, just beyond these rocks. Our +doctor, and two gentlemen, and a sailor went out from our little bay +below, and shortly after there came on a thick darkness, with heavy +rain, and they were all lost, every one of them! Poor Renouf! he was a +good friend of mine. And our doctor, too! If I had been here, maybe I +might have persuaded them not to brave it." + +It was a sad story to hear, yet just then I did not pay much attention +to it. I was too much engrossed in my own difficulties and trouble. So +far as my experience goes, I believe the heart is more open to other +people's sorrows when it is free from burdens of its own. I was glad +when Tardif took up his load again and turned his back upon the sea. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTH. + +WILL IT DO? + + +Tardif walked on before me to a low, thatched cottage, standing at the +back of a small farm-yard. There was no other dwelling in sight, and +even the sea was not visible from it. It was sheltered by the steep +slope of a hill rising behind it, and looked upon another slope covered +with gorse-bushes; a very deep and narrow ravine ran down from it to the +hand-breadth of shingle which I had seen from the boat. A more solitary +place I could not have imagined; no sign of human life, or its +neighborhood, betrayed itself; overhead was a vast dome of sky, with a +few white-winged sea-gulls flitting across it, and uttering their low, +wailing cry. The roof of sky and the two round outlines of the little +hills, and the deep, dark ravine, the end of which was unseen, formed +the whole of the view before me. + +I felt chilled a little as I followed Tardif down into the dell. He +glanced back, with grave, searching eyes, scanning my face carefully. I +tried to smile, with a very faint, wan smile, I suppose, for the +lightness had fled from my spirits, and my heart was heavy enough, God +knows. + +"Will it not do, mam'zelle?" he asked, anxiously, and with his slow, +solemn utterance; "it is not a place that will do for a young lady like +you, is it? I should have counselled you to go on to Jersey, where there +is more life and gayety; it is my home, but for you it will be nothing +but a dull prison." + +"No, no!" I answered, as the recollection of the prison I had fled from +flashed across me; "it is a very pretty place and very safe; by-and-by I +shall like it as much as you do, Tardif." + +The house was a low, picturesque building, with thick walls of stone and +a thatched roof, which had two little dormer-windows in it; but at the +most sheltered end, farthest from the ravine that led down to the sea, +there had been built a small, square room of brick-work. As we entered +the fold-yard, Tardif pointed this room out to me as mine. + +"I built it," he said, softly, "for my poor little wife; I brought the +bricks over from Guernsey in my own boat, and laid nearly every one of +them with my own hands; she died in it, mam'zelle. Please God, you will +be both happy and safe there!" + +We stepped directly from the stone causeway of the yard into the +farm-house kitchen--the only sitting-room in the house except my own. It +was exquisitely clean, with that spotless and scrupulous cleanliness +which appears impossible in houses where there are carpets and curtains, +and papered walls. An old woman, very little and bent, and dressed in an +odd and ugly costume, met us at the door, dropping a courtesy to me, and +looking at me with dim, watery eyes. I was about to speak to her, when +Tardif bent down his head, and put his mouth to her ear, shouting to her +with a loud voice, but in their peculiar jargon, of which I could not +make out a single word. + +"My poor mother is deaf," he said to me, "very deaf; neither can she +speak English. Most of the young people in Sark can talk in English a +little, but she is old and too deaf to learn. She has only once been +off the island." + +I looked at her, wondering for a moment what she could have to think of, +but, with an intelligible gesture of welcome, she beckoned me into my +own room. The aspect of it was somewhat dreary; the walls were of bare +plaster, but dazzlingly white, with one little black _silhouette_ of a +woman's head hanging in a common black frame over the low, open hearth, +on which a fire of seaweed was smouldering, with a quantity of gray +ashes round the small centre of smoking embers. There was a little round +table, uncovered, but as white as snow, and two chairs, one of them an +arm-chair, and furnished with cushions. A four-post bedstead, with +curtains of blue and white check, occupied the larger portion of the +floor. + +It was not a luxurious apartment; and for an instant I could hardly +realize the fact that it was to be my home for an indefinite period. +Some efforts had evidently been made to give it a look of welcome, +homely as it was. A pretty china tea cup and saucer, with a plate or two +to match, were set out on the deal table, and the cushioned arm-chair +had been drawn forward to the hearth. I sat down in it, and buried my +face in my hands, thinking, till Tardif knocked at the door, and carried +in my trunk. + +"Will it do, mam'zelle?" he asked, "will it do?" + +"It will do very nicely, Tardif," I answered; "but how ever am I to talk +to your mother if she does not know English?" + +"Mam'zelle," he said, as he uncorded my trunk, "you must order me as you +would a servant. Through the winter I shall always be at hand; and you +will soon be used to us and our ways, and we shall be used to you and +your ways. I will do my best for you, mam'zelle; trust me, I will study +to do my best, and make you very happy here. I will be ready to take you +away whenever you desire to go. Look upon me as your hired servant." + +He waited upon me all the evening, but with a quick attention to my +wants, which I had never met with in any hired servant. It was not +unfamiliar to me, for in my own country I had often been served only by +men; and especially during my girlhood, when I had lived far away in the +country, upon my father's sheep-walk. I knew it was Tardif who fried the +fish which came in with my tea; and, when the night closed in, it was he +who trimmed the oil-lamp and brought it in, and drew the check curtains +across the low casement, as if there were prying eyes to see me on the +opposite bank. Then a deep, deep stillness crept over the solitary +place--a stillness strangely deeper than that even of the daytime. The +wail of the sea-gulls died away, and the few busy cries of the farm-yard +ceased; the only sound that broke the silence was a muffled, hollow boom +which came up the ravine from the sea. + +Before nine o'clock Tardif and his mother had gone up-stairs to their +rooms in the thatch; and I lay wearied but sleepless in my bed, +listening to these dull, faint, ceaseless murmurs, as a child listens to +the sound of the sea in a shell. Was it possible that it was I, myself, +the Olivia who had been so loved and cherished in her girlhood, and so +hated and tortured in later years, who was come to live under a +fisherman's roof, in an island, the name of which I barely knew four +days ago? + +I fell asleep at last, yet I awoke early; but not so early that the +other inmates of the cottage were not up, and about their day's work. It +was my wish to wait upon myself, and so diminish the cost of living with +these secluded people; but I found it was not to be so; Tardif waited +upon me assiduously, as well as his deaf mother. The old woman would not +suffer me to do any work in my own room, but put me quietly upon one +side when I began to make my bed. Fortunately I had plenty of sewing to +employ myself in; for I had taken care not to waste my money by buying +ready-made clothes. The equinoctial gales came on again fiercely the day +after I had reached Sark; and I stitched away from morning till night, +trying to fix my thoughts upon my mechanical work. + +When the first week was over, Tardif's mother came to me at a time when +her son was away out-of-doors, with a purse in her fingers, and by very +plain signs made me understand that it was time I paid the first +instalment of my debt to her for board and lodgings. I was anxious about +my money. No agreement had been made between us as to what I was to pay. +I laid a sovereign down upon the table, and the old woman looked at it +carefully, and with a pleased expression; but she put it in her purse, +and walked away with it, giving me no change. Not that I altogether +expected any change; they provided me with every thing I needed, and +waited upon me with very careful service; yet now I could calculate +exactly how long I should be safe in this refuge, and the calculation +gave me great uneasiness. In a few months I should find myself still in +need of refuge, but without the means of paying for it. What would +become of me then? + +Very slowly the winter wore on. How shall I describe the peaceful +monotony, the dull, lonely safety of those dark days and long nights? I +had been violently tossed from a life of extreme trouble and peril into +a profound, unbroken, sleepy security. At first the sudden change +stupefied me; but after a while there came over me an uneasy +restlessness, a longing to get away from the silence and solitude, even +if it were into insecurity and danger. I began to wonder how the world +beyond the little island was going on. No news reached us from without. +Sometimes for weeks together it was impossible for an open boat to cross +over to Guernsey; even when a cutter accomplished its voyage out and in, +no letters could arrive for me. The season was so far advanced when I +went to Sark, that those visitors who had been spending a portion of the +summer there had already taken their departure, leaving the islanders to +themselves. They were sufficient for themselves; they and their own +affairs formed the world. Tardif would bring home almost daily little +scraps of news about the other families scattered about Sark; but of the +greater affairs of life in other countries he could tell me nothing. + +Yet why should I call these greater affairs? Each to himself is the +centre of the world. It was a more important thing to me that I was +safe, than that the freedom of England itself should be secure. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTH. + +TOO MUCH ALONE. + + +Yet looking back upon that time, now it is past, and has "rounded itself +into that perfect star I saw not when I dwelt therein," it would be +untrue to represent myself as in any way unhappy. At times I wished +earnestly that I had been born among these people, and could live +forever among them. + +By degrees I discovered that Tardif led a somewhat solitary life +himself, even in this solitary island, with its scanty population. There +was an ugly church standing in as central and prominent a situation as +possible, but Tardif and his mother did not frequent it. They belonged +to a little knot of dissenters, who met for worship in a small room, +when Tardif generally took the lead. For this reason a sort of coldness +existed between him and the larger portion of his fellow-islanders. But +there was a second and more important cause for a slight estrangement. +He had married an Englishwoman many years ago, much to the astonishment +and disappointment of his neighbors; and since her death he had held +himself aloof from all the good women who would have been glad enough to +undertake the task of consoling him for her loss. Tardif, therefore, was +left very much to himself in his isolated cottage, and his mother's +deafness caused her also to be no very great favorite with any of the +gossips of the island. It was so difficult to make her understand any +thing that could not be expressed by signs, that no one except her son +attempted to tell her the small topics of the day. + +All this told upon me, and my standing among them. At first I met a few +curious glances as I roamed about the island; but my dress was as poor +and plain as any of theirs, and I suppose there was nothing in my +appearance, setting aside my dress, which could attract them. I learned +afterward that Tardif had told those who asked him that my name was +Ollivier, and they jumped to the conclusion that I belonged to a family +of that name in Guernsey; this shielded me from the curiosity that might +otherwise have been troublesome and dangerous. I was nobody but a poor +young woman from Guernsey, who was lodging in the spare room of Tardif's +cottage. + +I set myself to grow used to their mode of life, and if possible to +become so useful to them that, when my money was all spent, they might +be willing to keep me with them; for I shrank from the thought of the +time when I must be thrust out of this nest, lonely and silent as it +was. As the long, dismal nights of winter set in, with the wind sweeping +across the island for several days together with a dreary, monotonous +moan which never ceased, I generally sat by their fire, for I had nobody +but Tardif to talk to; and now and then there arose an urgent need +within me to listen to some friendly voice, and to hear my own speaking +in reply. There were only two books in the house, the Bible and the +"Pilgrim's Progress," both of them in French; and I had not learned +French beyond the few phrases necessary for travelling. But Tardif began +to teach me that, and also to mend fishing-nets, which I persevered in, +though the twine cut my fingers. Could I by any means make myself useful +to them? + +As the spring came on, half my dullness vanished. Sark was more +beautiful in its cliff scenery than any thing I had ever seen, or could +have imagined. Why cannot I describe it to you? I have but to close my +eyes, and my memory paints it for me in my brain, with its innumerable +islets engirdling it, as if to ward off its busy, indefatigable enemy, +the sea. The long, sunken reefs, lying below the water at high tide, but +at the ebb stretching like fortifications about it, as if to make of it +a sure stronghold in the sea. The strange architecture and carving of +the rocks, with faces and crowned heads but half obliterated upon them; +the lofty arches, with columns of fretwork bearing them; the pinnacles, +and sharp spires; the fallen masses heaped against the base of the +cliffs, covered with seaweed, and worn out of all form, yet looking like +the fragments of some great temple, with its treasures of sculpture; and +about them all the clear, lucid water swelling and tossing, throwing +over them sparkling sheets of foam. And the brilliant tone of the golden +and saffron lichens, and the delicate tint of the gray and silvery ones, +stealing about the bosses and angles and curves of the rocks, as if the +rain and the wind and the frost had spent their whole power there to +produce artistic effects. I say my memory paints it again for me; but it +is only a memory, a shadow that my mind sees; and how can I describe to +you a shadow? When words are but phantoms themselves, how can I use them +to set forth a phantom? + +Whenever the grandeur of the cliffs had wearied me, as one grows weary +sometimes of too long and too close a study of what is great, there was +a little, enclosed, quiet graveyard that lay in the very lap of the +island, where I could go for rest. It was a small patch of ground, a +God's acre, shut in on every side by high hedge-rows, which hid every +view from sight except that of the heavens brooding over it. Nothing was +to be seen but the long mossy mounds above the dead, and the great, +warm, sunny dome rising above them. Even the church was not there, for +it was built in another spot, and had a few graves of its own scattered +about it. + +I was sitting there one evening in the early spring, after the sun had +dipped below the line of the high hedge-row, though it was still shining +in level rays through it. No sound had disturbed the deep silence for a +long time, except the twittering of birds among the branches; for up +here even the sea could not be heard when it was calm. I suppose my face +was sad, as most human faces are apt to be when the spirit is busy in +its citadel, and has left the outworks of the eyes and mouth to +themselves. So I was sitting quiet, with my hands clasped about my +knees, and my face bent down, when a grave, low voice at my side +startled me back to consciousness. Tardif was standing beside me, and +looking down upon me with a world of watchful anxiety in his deep eyes. + +"You are sad, mam'zelle," he said; "too sad for one so young as you +are." + +"Oh! everybody is sad, Tardif," I answered; "there is a great deal of +trouble for every one in this world. You are often very sad indeed." + +"Ah! but I have a cause," he said. "Mam'zelle does not know that she is +sitting on the grave of my little wife." + +He knelt down beside it as he spoke, and laid his hand gently on the +green turf. I would have risen, but he would not let me. + +"No," he said, "sit still, mam'zelle. Yes, you would have loved her, +poor little soul! She was an Englishwoman, like you, only not a lady; a +pretty little English girl, so little I could carry her like a baby. +None of my people took to her, and she was very lonely, like you again; +and she pined and faded away, just quietly, never saying one word +against them. No, no, mam'zelle, I like to see you here. This is a +favorite place with you, and it gives me pleasure. I ask myself a +hundred times a day, 'Is there any thing I can do to make my young lady +happy? Tell me what I can do more than I have done." + +"There is nothing, Tardif," I answered, "nothing whatever. If you see me +sad sometimes, take no notice of it, for you can do no more for me than +you are doing. As it is, you are almost the only friend, perhaps the +only true friend, I have in the world." + +"May God be true to me only as I am true to you!" he said, solemnly, +while his dark skin flushed and his eyes kindled. I looked at him +closely. A more honest face one could never see, and his keen blue eyes +met my gaze steadfastly. Heavy-hearted as I was just then, I could not +help but smile, and all his face brightened, as the sea at its dullest +brightens suddenly tinder a stray gleam of sunshine. Without another +word we both rose to our feet, and stood side by side for a minute, +looking down on the little grave beneath us. I would have gladly changed +places then with the lonely English girl, who had pined away in this +remote island. + +After that short, silent pause, we went slowly homeward along the quiet, +almost solitary lanes. Twice we met a fisherman, with his creel and nets +across his shoulders, who bade us good-night; but no one else crossed +our path. + +It was a profound monotony, a seclusion I should not have had courage to +face wittingly. But I had been led into it, and I dared not quit it. How +long was it to last? + + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. + +A FALSE STEP. + + +A day came after the winter storms, early, in March, with all the +strength and sweetness of spring in it; though there was sharpness +enough in the air to make my veins tingle. The sun was shining with so +much heat in it, that I might be out-of-doors all day under the shelter +of the rocks, in the warm, southern nooks where the daisies were +growing. The birds sang more blithely than they had ever done before; a +lark overhead, flinging down his triumphant notes; a thrush whistling +clearly in a hawthorn-bush hanging over the cliff; and the cry of the +gulls flitting about the rocks; I could hear them all at the same +moment, with the deep, quiet tone of the sea sounding below their gay +music. Tardif was going out to fish, and I had helped him to pack his +basket. From my niche in the rocks I could see him getting out of the +harbor, and he had caught a glimpse of me, and stood up in his boat, +bareheaded, bidding me good-by. I began to sing before he was quite out +of hearing, for he paused upon his oars listening, and had given me a +joyous shout, and waved his hat round his head, when he was sure it was +I who was singing. Nothing could be plainer than that he had gone away +more glad at heart than he had been all the winter, simply because he +believed that I was growing lighter-hearted. I could not help laughing, +yet being touched and softened at the thought of his pleasure. What a +good fellow he was! I had proved him by this time, and knew him to be +one of the truest, bravest, most unselfish men on God's earth. How good +a thing it was that I had met with him that wild night last October, +when I had fled like one fleeing from a bitter slavery! For a few +minutes my thoughts hovered about that old, miserable, evil time; but I +did not care to ponder over past troubles. It was easy to forget them +to-day, and I would forget them. I plucked the daisies, and listened +almost drowsily to the birds and the sea, and felt all through me the +delicious light and heat of the sun. Now and then I lifted up my eyes, +to watch Tardif tacking about on the water. There were several boats +out, but I kept his in sight, by the help of a queer-shaped patch upon +one of the sails. I wished lazily for a book, but I should not have read +it if I had had one. I was taking into my heart the loveliness of the +spring day. + +By twelve o'clock I knew my dinner would be ready, and I had been out in +the fresh air long enough to be quite ready for it. Old Mrs. Tardif +would be looking out for me impatiently, that she might get the meal +over, and the things cleared away, and order restored in her dwelling. +So I quitted my warm nook with a feeling of regret, though I knew I +could return to it in an hour. + +But one can never return to any thing that is once left. When we look +for it again, even though the place may remain, something has vanished +from it which can never come back. I never returned to my spring-day +upon the cliffs of Sark. + +A little crumbling path led round the rock and along the edge of the +ravine. I chose it because from it I could see all the fantastic shore, +bending in a semicircle toward the isle of Breckhou, with tiny, +untrodden bays, covered at this hour with only glittering ripples, and +with all the soft and tender shadows of the headlands falling across +them. I had but to look straight below me, and I could see long tresses +of glossy seaweed floating under the surface of the sea. Both my head +and my footing were steady, for I had grown accustomed to giddy heights +and venturesome climbing. I walked on slowly, casting many a reluctant +glance behind me at the calm waters, with the boats gliding to and fro +among the islets. I was just giving my last look to them when the loose +stones on the crumbling path gave way under my tread, and before I could +recover my foothold I found myself slipping down the almost +perpendicular face of the cliff, and vainly clutching at every bramble +and tuft of grass growing in its clefts. + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. + +AN ISLAND WITHOUT A DOCTOR. + + +I had not time to feel any fear, for, almost before I could realize the +fact that I was falling, I touched the ground. The point from which I +had slipped was above the reach of the water, but I fell upon the +shingly beach so heavily that I was hardly conscious for a few minutes. +When I came to my senses again, I lay still for a little while, trying +to make out where I was, and how I came there. I was stunned and +bewildered. Underneath me were the smooth, round pebbles, which lie +above the line of the tide on a shore covered with shingles. Above me +rose a dark, frowning rock, the chilly shadow of which lay across me. +Without lifting my head I could see the water on a level with me, but it +did not look on a level; its bright crested waves seemed swelling upward +to the sky, ready to pour over me and bury me beneath them. I was very +faint, and sick, and giddy. The ground felt as if it were about to sink +under me. My eyelids closed languidly when I did not keep them open by +an effort; and my head ached, and my brain swam with confused fancies. + +After some time, and with some difficulty, I comprehended what had +happened to me, and recollected that it was already past mid-day, and +Mrs. Tardif would be waiting for me. I attempted to stand up, but an +acute pain in my foot compelled me to desist. I tried to turn myself +upon the pebbles, and my left arm refused to help me. I could not check +a sharp cry of suffering as my left hand fell back upon the stones on +which I was lying. My fall had cost me something more than a few +minutes' insensibility and an aching head. I had no more power to move +than one who is bound hand and foot. + +After a few vain efforts I lay quite still again, trying to deliberate +as well as I could for the pain which racked me. I reckoned up, after +many attempts in which first my memory failed me, and then my faculty of +calculation, what the time of the high tide would be, and how soon +Tardif would come home. As nearly as I could make out, it would be high +water in about two hours. Tardif had set off at low water, as his boat +had been anchored at the foot of the rock, where the ladder hung; but +before starting he had said something about returning at high tide, and +running up his boat on the beach of our little bay. If he did that, he +must pass close by me. It was Saturday morning, and he was not in the +habit of staying out late on Saturdays, that he might prepare for the +services of the next day. I might count, then, upon the prospect of him +running the boat into the bay, and finding me there in about two hours' +time. + +It took me a very long time to make out all this, for every now and then +my brain seemed to lose its power for a while, and every thing whirled +about me. Especially there was that awful sensation of sinking down, +down through the pebbles into some chasm that was bottomless. I had +never either felt pain or fainted before, and all this alarmed me. + +Presently I began to listen to the rustle of the pebbles, as the rising +tide flowed over them and fell back again, leaving them all ajar and +grating against one another--strange, gurgling, jangling sound that +seemed to have some meaning. It was very cold, and a creeping moisture +was oozing up from the water. A vague wonder took hold of me as to +whether I was really above the line of the tide, for, now the March +tides were come, I did not know how high their flood was. But I thought +of it without any active feeling of terror or pain. I was numbed in body +and mind. The ceaseless chime of the waves, and the regularity of the +rustling play of the pebbles, seemed to lull and soothe me, almost in +spite of myself. Cold I was, and in sharp pain, but my mind had not +energy enough either for fear or effort. What appeared to me most +terrible was the sensation, coming back time after time, of sinking, +sinking into the fancied chasm beneath me. + +I remember also watching a spray of ivy, far above my head, swaying and +waving about in the wind; and a little bird, darting here and there with +a brisk flutter of its tiny wings, and a chirping note of satisfaction; +and the cloud drifting in soft, small cloudlets across the sky. These +things I saw, not as if they were real, but rather as if they were +memories of things that had passed before my eyes many years before. + +At last--- whether years or hours only had gone by, I could not then +have told you--I heard the regular and careful beat of oars upon the +water, and presently the grating of a boat's keel upon the shingle, with +the rattle of a chain cast out with the grapnel. I could not turn round +or raise my head, but I was sure it was Tardif, and that he did not yet +see me, for he was whistling softly to himself. I had never heard him +whistle before. + +"Tardif!" I cried, attempting to shout, but my voice sounded very weak +in my own ears, and the other sounds about me seemed very loud. He went +on with his unlading, half whistling and half humming his tune, as he +landed the nets and creel on the beach. + +"Tardif!" I called again, summoning all my strength, and raising my head +an inch or two from the hard pebbles which had been its resting-place. + +He paused then, and stood quite still, listening. I knew it, though I +could not see him. I ran the fingers of my right hand through the loose +pebbles about me, and his ear caught the slight noise. In a moment I +heard his strong feet coming across them toward me. + +"Mon Dieu! mam'zelle," he exclaimed, "what has happened to you?" + +I tried to smile as his honest, brown face bent over me, full of alarm. +It was so great a relief to see a face like his after that long, weary +agony, for it had been agony to me, who did not know what bodily pain +was like. But in trying to smile I felt my lips drawn, and my eyes +blinded with tears. + +"I've fallen down the cliff," I said, feebly, "and I am hurt." + +"Mon Dieu!" he cried again. The strong man shook, and his hand trembled +as he stooped down and laid it under my head to lift it up a little. His +agitation touched me to the heart, even then, and I did my best to speak +more calmly. + +"Tardif," I whispered, "it is not very much, and I might have been +killed. I think my foot is hurt, and I am quite sure my arm is broken." + +Speaking made me feel giddy and faint again, so I said no more. He +lifted me in his arms as easily and tenderly as a mother lifts up her +child, and carried me gently, taking slow and measured strides up the +steep slope which led homeward. I closed my eyes, glad to leave myself +wholly in his charge, and to have nothing further to dread; yet moaning +a little, involuntarily, whenever a fresh pang of pain shot through me. +Then he would cry again, "Mon Dieu!" in a beseeching tone, and pause for +an instant as if to give me rest. It seemed a long time before we +reached the farm-yard gate, and he shouted, with a tremendous voice, to +his mother to come and open it. Fortunately she was in sight, and came +toward us quickly. + +He carried me into the house, and laid me down on the _lit de +fouaille_--a wooden frame forming a sort of couch, and filled with dried +fern, which forms the principal piece of furniture in every farm-house +kitchen in the Channel Islands. Then he cut away the boot from my +swollen ankle, with a steady but careful touch, speaking now and then a +word of encouragement, as if I were a child whom he was tending. His +mother stood by, looking on helplessly and in bewilderment, for he had +not had time to explain my accident to her. + +But for my arm, which hung helplessly at my side, and gave me +excruciating pain when he touched it, it was quite evident he could do +nothing. + +"Is there nobody who could set it?" I asked, striving very hard to keep +calm. + +"We have no doctor in Sark now," he answered. "There is no one but +Mother Renouf. I will fetch her." + +But when she came she declared herself unable to set a broken limb. They +all three held a consultation over it in their own dialect; but I saw by +the solemn shaking of their heads, and Tardif's troubled expression, +that it was entirely beyond her skill to set it right. She would +undertake my sprained ankle, for she was famous for the cure of sprains +and bruises, but my arm was past her? The pain I was enduring bathed my +face with perspiration, but very little could be done to alleviate it. +Tardif's expression grew more and more distressed. + +"Mam'zelle knows," he said, stooping down to speak the more softly to +me, "there is no doctor nearer than Guernsey, and the night is not far +off. What are we to do?" + +"Never mind, Tardif," I answered, resolving to be brave; "let the women +help me into bed, and perhaps I shall be able to sleep. We must wait +till morning." + +It was more easily said than done. The two old women did their best, but +their touch was clumsy and their help slight, compared to Tardif's. I +was thoroughly worn out before I was in bed. But it was a great deal to +find myself there, safe and warm, instead of on the cold, hard pebbles +on the beach. Mother Renouf put my arm to rest upon a pillow, and bathed +and fomented my ankle till it felt much easier. + +Never, never shall I forget that night. I could not sleep; but I suppose +my mind wandered a little. Hundreds of times I felt myself down on the +shore, lying helplessly, while great green waves curled themselves over, +and fell just within reach of me, ready to swallow me up, yet always +missing me. Then I was back again in my own home in Adelaide, on my +father's sheep-farm, and he was still alive, and with no thought but how +to make every thing bright and gladsome for me; and hundreds of times I +saw the woman who was afterward to be my step-mother, stealing up to the +door and trying to get in to him and me. Sometimes I caught myself +sobbing aloud, and then Tardif's voice, whispering at the door to ask +how mam'zelle was, brought me back to consciousness. Now and then I +looked round, fancying I heard my mother's voice speaking to me, and I +saw only the wrinkled, yellow face of his mother, nodding drowsily in +her seat by the fire. Twice Tardif brought me a cup of tea, freshly +made. I could not distinctly made out who he was, or where I was, but I +tried to speak loudly enough for him to hear me thank him. + +I was very thankful when the first gleam of daylight shone into my room. +It seemed to bring clearness to my brain. + +"Mam'zelle," said Tardif, coming to my side very early in his +fisherman's dress, "I am going to fetch a doctor." + +"But it is Sunday," I answered faintly. I knew that no boatman put out +to sea willingly on a Sunday from Sark; and the last fatal accident, +being on a Sunday, had deepened their reluctance. + +"It will be right, mam'zelle," he answered, with glowing eyes. "I have +no fear." + +"Do not be long away, Tardif," I said, sobbing. + +"Not one moment longer than I can help," he replied. + + + + +PART THE SECOND. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIRST. + +DR. MARTIN DOBREE. + + +My name is Martin Dobree. Martin or Doctor Martin I was called +throughout Guernsey. It will be necessary to state a few particulars +about my family and position, before I proceed with my part of this +narrative. + +My father was Dr. Dobree. He belonged to one of the oldest families in +the island--a family of distinguished _pur sang_; but our branch of it +had been growing poorer instead of richer during the last three or four +generations. We had been gravitating steadily downward. + +My father lived ostensibly by his profession, but actually upon the +income of my cousin, Julia Dobree, who had been his ward from her +childhood. The house we dwelt in, a pleasant one in the Grange, belonged +to Julia; and fully half of the year's household expenses were defrayed +by her. Our practice, which he and I shared between us, was not a large +one, though for its extent it was lucrative enough. But there always is +an immense number of medical men in Guernsey in proportion to its +population, and the island is healthy. There was small chance for any of +us to make a fortune. + +Then how was it that I, a young man, still under thirty, was wasting my +time, and skill, and professional training, by remaining there, a sort +of half pensioner on my cousin's bounty? The thickest rope that holds a +vessel, weighing scores of tons, safely to the pier-head is made up of +strands so slight that almost a breath will break them. + +First, then--and the strength of two-thirds of the strands lay +there--was my mother. I could never remember the time when she had not +been delicate and ailing, even when I was a rough school-boy at +Elizabeth College. It was that infirmity of the body which occasionally +betrays the wounds of a soul. I did not comprehend it while I was a boy; +then it was headache only. As I grew older I discovered that it was +heartache. The gnawing of a perpetual disappointment, worse than a +sudden and violent calamity, had slowly eaten away the very foundation +of healthy life. No hand could administer any medicine for this disease +except mine, and, as soon as I was sure of that, I felt what my first +duty was. + +I knew where the blame of this lay, if any blame there were. I had found +it out years ago by my mother's silence, her white cheeks, and her +feeble tone of health. My father was never openly unkind or careless, +but there was always visible in his manner a weariness of her, an utter +disregard for her feelings. He continued to like young and pretty women, +just as he had liked her because she was young and pretty. He remained +at the very point he was at when they began their married life. There +was nothing patently criminal in it, God forbid!--nothing to create an +open and a grave scandal on our little island. But it told upon my +mother; it was the one drop of water falling day by day. "A continual +dropping in a very rainy day and a contentious woman are alike," says +the book of Proverbs. My father's small infidelities were much the same +to my mother. She was thrown altogether upon me for sympathy, and +support, and love. + +When I first fathomed this mystery, my heart rose in very undutiful +bitterness against Dr. Dobree; but by-and-by I found that it resulted +less from a want of fidelity to her than from a radical infirmity in his +temperament. It was almost as impossible for him to avoid or conceal his +preference for younger and more attractive women, as for my mother to +conquer the fretting vexation this preference caused to her. + +Next to my mother, came Julia, my cousin, five years older than I, who +had coldly looked down upon me, and snubbed me like a sister, as a boy; +watched my progress through Elizabeth College, and through Guy's +Hospital; and perceived at last that I was a young man whom it was no +disgrace to call cousin. To crown all, she fell in love with me; so at +least my mother told me, taking me into her confidence, and speaking +with a depth of pleading in her sunken eyes, which were worn with much +weeping. Poor mother! I knew very well what unspoken wish was in her +heart. Julia had grown up under her care as I had done, and she stood +second to me in her affection. + +It is not difficult to love any woman who has a moderate share of +attractions--at least I did not find it so then. I was really fond of +Julia, too--very fond. I knew her as intimately as any brother knows his +sister. She had kept up a correspondence with me all the time I was at +Guy's, and her letters had been more interesting and amusing than her +conversation generally was. Some women, most cultivated women, can write +charming letters; and Julia was a highly-cultivated woman. I came back +from Guy's with a very greatly-increased regard and admiration for my +cousin Julia. + +So, when my mother, with her pleading, wistful eyes, spoke day after day +of Julia, of her dutiful love toward her, and her growing love for me, I +drifted, almost without an effort of my own volition, into an engagement +with her. You see there was no counter-balance. I was acquainted with +every girl on the island of my own class; pretty girls were many of +them, but there was after all not one that I preferred to my cousin. My +old dreams and romances about love, common to every young fellow, had +all faded into a very commonplace, everyday vision of having a +comfortable house of my own, and a wife as good as most other men's +wives. Just in the same way, my ambitious plans of rising to the very +top of the tree in my profession had dwindled down to satisfaction with +the very limited practice of one of our island doctors. I found myself +chained to this rock in the sea; all my future life would probably be +spent there; and Fate offered me Julia as the companion fittest for me. +I was contented with my fate, and laughed off my boyish fancy that I +ought to be ready to barter the world for love. + +Added to these two strong ties keeping me in Guernsey, there were the +hundred, the thousand small associations which made that island, and my +people living upon it, dearer than any other place, or any other people, +in the world. Taking the strength of the rope which held me to the +pier-head as represented by one hundred, then my love for my mother +would stand at sixty-six and a half, my engagement to Julia at about +twenty and the remainder may go toward my old associations. That is +pretty nearly the sum of it. + +My engagement to Julia came about so easily and naturally that, as I +said, I was perfectly contented with it. We had been engaged since the +previous Christmas, and were to be married in the early summer, as soon +as a trip through Switzerland would be agreeable. We were to set up +housekeeping for ourselves; that was a point Julia was bent upon. A +suitable house had fallen vacant in one of the higher streets of St. +Peter-Port, which commanded a noble view of the sea and the surrounding +islands. We had taken it, though it was farther from the Grange and my +mother than I should have chosen my home to be. She and Julia were busy, +pleasantly busy, about the furnishing of it. Never had I seen my mother +look so happy, or so young. Even my father paid her a compliment or two, +which had the effect of bringing a pretty pink flush to her white +cheeks, and of making her sunken eyes shine. As to myself, I was quietly +happy, without a doubt. Julia was a good girl, everybody said that, and +Julia loved me devotedly. I was on the point of becoming master of a +house and owner of a considerable income; for Julia would not hear of +there being any marriage settlements which would secure to her the +property she was bringing to me. I found that making love, even to my +cousin, who was like a sister to me, was upon the whole a pleasurable +occupation. Every thing was going on smoothly. + +That was till about the middle of March. I had been to church one Sunday +morning with these two women, both devoted to me, and centring all their +love and hopes in me, when, as we entered the house on our return, I +heard my father calling "Martin! Martin!" as loudly as he could from his +consulting-room. I answered the call instantly, and whom should I see +but a very old friend of mine, Tardif of the Havre Gosselin. He was +standing near the door, as if in too great a hurry to sit down. His +handsome but weather-beaten face betrayed great anxiety, and his shaggy +mustache rose and fell, as if the mouth below it was tremulously at +work. My father looked chagrined and irresolute. + +"Here's a pretty piece of work, Martin," he said; "Tardif wants one of +us to go back with him to Sark, to see a woman who has fallen from the +cliffs and broken her arm, confound it!" + +"For the sake of the good God, Dr. Martin," cried Tardif, excitedly, and +of course speaking in the Sark dialect, "I beg of you to come this +instant even. She has been lying in anguish since mid-day +yesterday--twenty-four hours now, sir. I started at dawn this morning, +but both wind and tide were against me, and I have been waiting here +some time. Be quick, doctor. Mon Dieu! if she should be dead!" + +The poor fellow's voice faltered, and his eyes met mine imploringly. He +and I had been fast friends in my boyhood, when all my holidays were +spent in Sark, though he was some years older than I; and our friendship +was still firm and true, though it had slackened a little from absence. +I shook his hand heartily, giving it a good hard grip in token of my +unaltered friendship--a grip which he returned with his fingers of iron +till my own tingled again. + +"I knew you'd come," he gasped. + +"Ah, I'll go, Tardif," I said; "only I must get a snatch of something to +eat while Dr. Dobree puts up what I shall have need of. I'll be ready in +half an hour. Go into the kitchen, and get some dinner yourself." + +"Thank you, Dr. Martin," he answered, his voice still unsteady, and his +mustache quivering; "but I can eat nothing. I'll go down and have the +boat ready. You'll waste no time?" + +"Not a moment," I promised. + +I left my father to put up the things I should require, supposing he had +heard all the particulars of the accident from Tardif. He was inclined +to grumble a little at me for going; but I asked him what else I could +have done. As he had no answer ready to that question, I walked away to +the dining-room, where my mother and Julia were waiting; for dinner was +ready, as we dined early on Sundays on account of the servants. Julia +was suffering from the beginning of a bilious attack, to which she was +subject, and her eyes were heavy and dull. I told them hastily where I +was going, and what a hurry I was in. + +"You are never going across to Sark to-day!" Julia exclaimed. + +"Why not?" I asked, taking my seat and helping myself quickly. + +"Because I am sure bad weather is coming," she answered, looking +anxiously through a window facing the west. "I could see the coast of +France this morning as plainly as Sark, and the gulls are keeping close +to the shore, and the sunset last night was threatening. I will go and +look at the storm-glass." + +She went away, but came back again very soon, with an increase of +anxiety in her face. "Don't go, dear Martin," she said, with her hand +upon my shoulder; "the storm-glass is as troubled as it can be, and the +wind is veering round to the west. You know what that foretells at this +time of the year. There is a storm at hand; take my word for it, and do +not venture across to Sark to-day." + +"And what is to become of the poor woman?" I remonstrated. "Tardif says +she has been suffering the pain of a broken limb these twenty-four +hours. It would be my duty to go even if the storm were here, unless the +risk was exceedingly great. Come, Julia, remember you are to be a +doctor's wife, and don't be a coward." + +"Don't go!" she reiterated, "for my sake and your mother's. I am certain +some trouble will come of it. We shall be frightened to death; and this +woman is only a stranger to you. Oh, I cannot bear to let you go!" + +I did not attempt to reason with her, for I knew of old that when Julia +was bilious and nervous she was quite deaf to reason. I only stroked the +hand that lay on my shoulder, and went on with my dinner as if my life +depended upon the speed with which I dispatched it. + +"Uncle," she said, as my father came in with a small portmanteau in his +hand, "tell Martin he must not go. There is sure to be a storm +to-night." + +"Pooh! pooh!" he answered. "I should be glad enough for Martin to stay +at home, but there's no help for it, I suppose. There will be no storm +at present, and they'll run across quickly. It will be the coming back +that will be difficult. You'll scarcely get home again to-night, +Martin." + +"No," I said. "I'll stop at Gavey's, and come back in the Sark cutter if +it has begun to ply. If not, Tardif must bring me over in the morning." + +"Don't go," persisted Julia, as I thrust myself into my rough +pilot-coat, and then bent down to kiss her cheek. Julia always presented +me her cheek, and my lips had never met hers yet. My mother was standing +by and looking tearful, but she did not say a word; she knew there was +no question about what I ought to do. Julia followed me to the door and +held me fast with both hands round my arm, sobbing out hysterically, +"Don't go!" Even when I had released myself and was running down the +drive, I could hear her still calling, "O Martin, don't go!" + +I was glad to get out of hearing. I felt sorry for her, yet there was a +considerable amount of pleasure in being the object of so much tender +solicitude. I thought of her for a minute or two as I hurried along the +steep streets leading down to the quay. But the prospect before me +caught my eye. Opposite lay Sark, bathed in sunlight, and the sea +between was calm enough at present. A ride across, with a westerly +breeze filling the sails, and the boat dancing lightly over the waves, +would not be a bad exchange for a dull Sunday afternoon, with Julia at +the Sunday-school and my mother asleep. Besides, it was the path of duty +which was leading me across the quiet gray sea before me. + +Tardif was waiting, with his sails set and oars in the rowlocks, ready +for clearing the harbor. I took one of them, and bent myself willingly +to the light task. There was less wind than I had expected, but what +there was blew in our favor. We were very quickly beyond the pier-head, +where a group of idlers was always gathered, who sent after us a few +warning shouts. Nothing could be more exhilarating than our onward +progress. I felt as if I had been a prisoner, with, chains which had +pressed heavily yet insensibly upon me, and that now I was free. I drew +into my lungs the fresh, bracing, salt air of the sea, with a deep sigh +of delight. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SECOND. + +A PATIENT IN SARK. + + +It struck me after a while that my friend Tardif was unusually silent. +The shifting of the sails appeared to give him plenty to do; and to my +surprise, instead of keeping to the ordinary course, he ran recklessly +as it seemed across the _grunes_, which lie all about the bed of the +channel between Guernsey and Sark. These _grunes_ are reefs, rising a +little above low water, but, as the tide was about half-flood, they were +a few feet below it; yet at times there was scarcely enough depth to +float us over them, while the brown seaweed torn from their edges lay in +our wake, something like the swaths of grass in a meadow after the +scythe has swept through it. Now and then came a bump and a scrape of +the keel against their sharp ridges. The sweat stood in beads upon +Tardif's face, and his thick hair fell forward over his forehead, where +the great veins in the temples were purple and swollen. I spoke to him +after a heavier bump over the _grunes_ than any we had yet come to. + +"Tardif," I said, "we are shaving the weeds a little too close, aren't +we?" + +"Look behind you, Dr. Martin," he answered, shifting the sails a +little. + +I did not look behind us. We were more than half-way over the channel, +and Guernsey lay four miles or so west of us; but instead of the clear +outline of the island standing out against the sky, I could see nothing +but a bank of white fog. The afternoon sun was shining brightly over it, +but before long it would dip into its dense folds. The fogs about our +islands are peculiar. You may see them form apparently thick blocks of +blanched vapor, with a distinct line between the atmosphere where the +haze is and where it is not. To be overtaken by a fog like this, which +would almost hide Tardif at one end of the boat from me at the other, +would be no laughing matter in a sea lined with sunken reefs. The wind +had almost gone, but a little breeze still caught us from the north of +the fog-bank. Without a word I took the oars again, while Tardif devoted +himself to the sails and the helm. + +"A mile nearer home," he said, "and I could row my boat as easily in the +dark as you could ride your horse along a lane." + +My face was westward now, and I kept my eye upon the fog-bank creeping +stealthily after us. I thought of my mother and Julia, and the fright +they would be in. Moreover a fog like this was pretty often succeeded by +a squall, especially at this season; and when a westerly gale blew up +from the Atlantic in the month of March, no one could foretell when it +would cease. I had been weather-bound in Sark, when I was a boy, for +three weeks at one time, when our provisions ran short, and it was +almost impossible to buy a loaf of bread. I could not help laughing at +the recollection, but I kept an anxious lookout toward the west. Three +weeks' imprisonment in Sark now would be a bore. + +But the fog remained almost stationary in the front of Guernsey, and the +round red eyeball of the sun glared after us as we ran nearer and nearer +to Sark. The tide was with us, and carried us on it buoyantly. We +anchored at the fisherman's landing-place below the cliff of the Havre +Gosselin, and I climbed readily up the rough ladder which leads to the +path. Tardif made his boat secure, and followed me; he passed me, and +strode on up the steep track to the summit of the cliff, as if impatient +to reach his home. It was then that I gave my first serious thought to +the woman who had met with the accident. + +"Tardif, who is this person that is hurt?" I asked, "and whereabout did +she fall?" + +"She fell down yonder," he answered, with an odd quaver in his voice, as +he pointed to a rough and rather high portion of the cliff running +inland; "the stones rolled from under her feet, so," he added, crushing +down a quantity of the loose gravel with his foot, "and she slipped. She +lay on the shingle underneath for two hours before I found her; two +hours, Dr. Martin!" + +"That was bad," I said, for the good fellow's voice failed him--"very +bad. A fall like that might have killed her." + +We went on, he carrying his oars, and I my little portmanteau. I heard +Tardif muttering. "Killed her!" in a tone of terror; but his face +brightened a little when we reached the gate of the farm-yard. He laid +down the oars noiselessly upon the narrow stone causeway before the +door, and lifted the latch as cautiously as if he were afraid to disturb +some sleeping baby. + +He had given me no information with regard to my patient; and the sole +idea I had formed of her was of a strong, sturdy Sark woman, whose +constitution would be tough, and her temperament of a stolid, phlegmatic +tone. There was not ordinarily much sickness among them, and this case +was evidently one of pure accident. I expected to find a nut-brown, +sunburnt woman, with a rustic face, who would very probably be impatient +and unreasonable under the pain I should be compelled to inflict upon +her. + +It had been my theory that a medical man, being admitted to the highest +degree of intimacy with his patients, was bound to be as insensible as +an anchorite to any beauty or homeliness in those whom he was attending +professionally; he should have eyes only for the malady he came to +consider and relieve. Dr. Dobree had often sneered and made merry at my +high-flown notions of honor and duty; but in our practice at home he had +given me no opportunities of trying them. He had attended all our +younger and more attractive patients himself, and had handed over to my +care all the old people and children--on Julia's account, he had said, +laughing. + +Tardif's mother came to us as we entered the house. She was a little, +ugly woman, stone deaf, as I knew of old. Yet in some mysterious way she +could make out her son's deep voice, when he shouted into her ear. He +did not speak now, however, but made dumb signs as if to ask how all was +going on. She answered by a silent nod, and beckoned me to follow her +into an inner room, which opened out of the kitchen. + +It was a small, crowded room, with a ceiling so low, it seemed to rest +upon the four posts of the bedstead. There were of course none of the +little dainty luxuries about it with which I was familiar in my mother's +bedroom. A long, low window opposite the head of the bed threw a strong +light upon it. There were check curtains drawn round it, and a +patchwork-quilt, and rough, homespun linen. Every thing was clean, but +coarse and frugal--such as I expected to find about my Sark patient, in +the home of a fisherman. + +But when my eye fell upon the face resting on the rough pillow I paused +involuntarily, only just controlling an explanation of surprise. There +was absolutely nothing in the surroundings to mark her as a lady, yet I +felt in a moment that she was one. There lay a delicate, refined face, +white as the linen, with beautiful lips almost as white; and a mass of +light, shining, silky hair tossed about the pillow; and large dark-gray +eyes gazing at me beseechingly, with an expression that made my heart +leap as it had never leaped before. + +That was what I saw, and could not forbear seeing. I tried to recall my +theory, and to close my eyes to the pathetic beauty of the face before +me; but it was altogether in vain. If I had seen her before, or if I had +been prepared to see any one like her, I might have succeeded; but I was +completely thrown off my guard. There the charming face lay: the eyes +gleaming, the white forehead tinted, and the delicate mouth contracting +with pain: the bright, silky curls tossed about in confusion. I see it +now just as I saw it then. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRD. + +WITHOUT RESOURCES. + + +I suppose I did not stand still more than five seconds, yet during that +pause a host of questions had flashed through my brain. Who was this +beautiful creature? Where had she come from? How did it happen that she +was in Tardif's house? and so on. But I recalled myself sharply to my +senses; I was here as her physician, and common-sense and duty demanded +of me to keep my head clear. I advanced to her side, and took the small, +blue-veined hand in mine, and felt her pulse with my fingers. It beat +under them a low but fast measure; too fast by a great deal. I could see +that the general condition of her health was perfect, a great charm in +itself to me; but she had been bearing acute pain for over twenty-eight +hours, and she was becoming exhausted. A shudder ran through me at the +thought of that long spell of suffering. + +"You are in very great pain, I fear," I said, lowering my voice. + +"Yes," her white lips answered, and she tried to smile a patient though +a dreary smile, as she looked up into my face, "my arm is broken. Are +you a doctor?" + +"I am Dr. Martin Dobree," I said, passing my hand softly down her arm. +The fracture was above the elbow, and was of a kind to make the setting +of it give her considerable pain. I could see she was scarce fit to bear +any further suffering just then; but what was to be done? She was not +likely to get much rest till the bone was set. + +"Have you had much sleep since your fall?" I asked, looking at the +weariness visible in her eyes. + +"Not any," she replied; "not one moment's sleep." + +"Did you have no sleep all night?" I inquired again. + +"No." she said, "I could not fall asleep." + +There were two things I could do--give her an opiate, and strengthen her +a little with sleep beforehand, or administer chloroform to her before +the operation. I hesitated between the two. A natural sleep would have +done her a world of good, but there was a gleam in her eyes, and a +feverish throb in her pulse, which gave me no hope of that. Perhaps the +chloroform, if she had no objection to it, would be the best. + +"Did you ever take chloroform?" I asked. + +"No: I never needed it," she answered. + +"Should you object to taking it?" + +"Any thing." she replied, passively. "I will do any thing you wish." + +I went back into the kitchen and opened the portmanteau my father had +put up for me. Splints and bandages were there in abundance, enough to +set half the arms in the island, but neither chloroform nor any thing in +the shape of an opiate could I find. I might almost as well have come to +Sark altogether unprepared for my case. + +What could I do? There are no shops in Sark, and drugs of any kind were +out of the question. There was not a chance of getting what I needed to +calm and soothe a highly-nervous and finely-strung temperament like my +patient's. A few minutes ago I had hesitated about using chloroform. Now +I would have given half of every thing I possessed in the world for an +ounce of it. + +I said nothing to Tardif, who was watching me with his deep-set eyes, as +closely as if I were meddling with some precious possession of his own. +I laid the bundle of splints and rolls of linen down on the table with a +professional air, while I was inwardly execrating my father's +negligence. I emptied the portmanteau in the hope of finding some small +phial or box. Any opiate would have been welcome to me, that would have +dulled the overwrought nerves of the girl in the room within. But the +practice of using any thing of the kind was not in favor with us +generally in the Channel Islands, and my father had probably concluded +that a Sark woman would not consent to use them. At any rate, there they +were not. + +I stood for a few minutes, deep in thought. The daylight was going, and +it was useless to waste time; yet I found myself shrinking oddly from +the duty before me. Tardif could not help but see my chagrin and +hesitation. + +"Doctor," he cried, "she is not going to die?" + +"No, no," I answered, calling back my wandering thoughts and energies; +"there is not the smallest danger of that. I must go and set her arm at +once, and then she will sleep." + +I returned to the room, and raised her as gently and painlessly as I +could, motioning to the old woman to sit beside her on the bed and hold +her steadily. I thought once of calling in Tardif to support her with +his strong frame, but I did not. She moaned, though very softly, when I +moved her, and she tried to smile again as her eyes met mine looking +anxiously at her. That smile made me feel like a child. If she did it +again, I knew my hands would be unsteady, and her pain would be tenfold +greater. + +"I would rather you cried out or shouted," I said. "Don't try to control +yourself when I hurt you. You need not be afraid of seeming impatient, +and a loud scream or two would do you good." + +But I knew quite well as I spoke that she would never scream aloud. +There was the self-control of culture about her. A woman of the lower +class might shriek and cry, but this girl would try to smile at the +moment when the pain was keenest. The white, round arm under my hands +was cold, and the muscles were soft and unstrung. I felt the ends of the +broken bone grating together as I drew the fragments into their right +places, and the sensation went through and through me. I had set scores +of broken limbs before with no feeling like this, which was so near +unnerving me. But I kept my hands steady, and my attention fixed upon my +work. I felt like two persons--a surgeon who had a simple, scientific +operation to perform, and a mother who feels in her own person every +pang her child has to suffer. + +All the time the girl's white face and firmly-set lips lay under my +gaze, with the wide-open, unflinching eyes looking straight at me: a +mournful, silent, appealing face, which betrayed the pain I made her +suffer ten times more than any cries or shrieks could have done. I +thanked God in my heart when it was over, and I could lay her down +again. I smoothed the coarse pillows for her to lie more comfortably +upon them, and I spread my cambric handkerchief in a double fold between +her cheek and the rough linen--too rough for a soft cheek like hers. + +"Lie quite still," I said. "Do not stir, but go to sleep as fast as you +can." + +She was not smiling now, and she did not speak; but the gleam in her +eyes was growing wilder, and she looked at me with a wandering +expression. If sleep did not come very soon, there would be mischief. I +drew the curtains across the window to shut out the twilight, and +motioned to the old woman to sit quietly by the side of our patient. + +Then I went out to Tardif. + +He had not stirred from the place and position in which I had left him. +I am sure no sound could have reached him from the inner room, for we +had been so still that during the whole time I could hear the beat of +the sea dashing up between the high cliffs of the Havre Gosselin. Up and +down went Tardif's shaggy mustache, the surest indication of emotion +with him, and he fetched his breath almost with a sob. + +"Well, Dr. Martin?" was all he said. + +"The arm is set," I answered, "and now she must get some sleep. There is +not the least danger, Tardif; only we will keep the house as quiet as +possible." + +"I must go and bring in the boat," he replied, bestirring himself as if +some spell was at an end. "There will be a storm to-night, and I should +sleep the sounder if she was safe ashore." + +"I'll come with you," I said, glad to get away from the seaweed fire. + +It was not quite dark, and the cliffs stood out against the sky in odder +and more grotesque shapes than by daylight. A host of seamews were +fluttering about and uttering the most unearthly hootings, but the sea +was as yet quite calm, save where it broke in wavering, serpentine lines +over the submerged reefs which encircle the island. The tidal current +was pouring rapidly through the very narrow channel between Sark and the +little isle of Breckhou, and its eddies stretching to us made it rather +an arduous task to get Tardif's boat on shore safely. But the work was +pleasant just then. It kept our minds away from useless anxieties about +the girl. An hour passed quickly, and up the ravine, in the deep gloom +of the overhanging rocks, we made our way homeward. + +"You will not quit the island to-morrow," said Tardif, standing at his +door, and scanning the sky with his keen, weather-wise eyes. + +"I must," I answered; "I must indeed, old fellow. You are no +land-lubber, and you will run me over in the morning." + +"No boat will leave Sark to-morrow," said Tardif, shaking his head. + +We went in, and he threw off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, +preparatory to frying some fish for supper. I was beginning to feel +ravenously hungry, for I had eaten nothing since dinner, and as far as I +knew Tardif had had nothing since his early breakfast, but as a +fisherman he was used to long spells of fasting. While he was busy +cooking I stole quietly into the inner room to look after my patient. + +The feeble light entering by the door, which I left open, showed me the +old woman comfortably asleep in her chair, but not so the girl. I had +told her when I laid her down that she must lie quite still, and she was +obeying me implicitly. Her cheek still rested upon my handkerchief, and +the broken arm remained undisturbed upon the pillow which I had placed +under it. But her eyes were wide open and shining in the dimness, and I +fancied I could see her lips moving incessantly, though soundlessly. I +laid my hand across her eyes, and felt the long lashes brush against the +palm, but the eyelids did not remain closed. + +"You must go to sleep," I said, speaking distinctly and authoritatively; +wondering at the time how much power my will would have over her. Did I +possess any of that magnetic, tranquillizing influence about which Jack +Senior and I had so often laughed incredulously at Guy's? Her lips +moved fast; for now my eyes had grown used to the dim light I could see +her face plainly, but I could not catch a syllable of what she was +whispering so busily to herself. + +Never had I felt so helpless and disconcerted in the presence of a +patient. I could positively do nothing for her. The case was not beyond +my skill, but all medicinal resources were beyond my reach. Sleep she +must have, yet how was I to administer it to her? + +I returned, troubled and irritable, to search once more my empty +portmanteau. Empty it was, except of the current number of _Punch_, +which my father had considerately packed among the splints for my +Sunday-evening reading. I flung it and the bag across the kitchen, with +an ejaculation not at all flattering to Dr. Dobree, nor in accordance +with the fifth commandment. + +"What is the matter, doctor?" inquired Tardif. + +I told him in a few sharp words what I wanted to soothe my patient. In +an instant he left his cooking and thrust his arms into his blue jacket +again. + +"You can finish it yourself, Dr. Martin," he said, hurriedly; "I'll run +over to old Mother Renouf; she'll have some herbs or something to send +mam'zelle to sleep." + +"Bring her back with you," I shouted after him as he sped across the +yard. Mother Renouf was no stranger to me. While I was a boy she had +charmed my warts away, and healed the bruises which were the inevitable +consequences of cliff-climbing. I scarcely liked her coming in to fill +up my deficiencies, and I knew our application to her for help would be +inexpressibly gratifying. But I had no other resource than to call her +in as a fellow-practitioner, and I knew she would make a first-rate +nurse, for which Suzanne Tardif was unfitted by her deafness. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTH. + +A RIVAL PRACTITIONER. + + +Mother Renouf arrived from the other end of the island in an incredibly +short time, borne along by Tardif as if he were a whirlwind and she a +leaf caught in its current. She was a short, squat old woman, with a +skin tanned like leather, and kindly little blue eyes, twinkling with +delight and pride. Yes, there they are, photographed somewhere in my +brain, the wrinkled, yellow, withered faces of the two old women, their +watery eyes and toothless mouths, with figures as shapeless as the +bowlders on the beach, watching beside the bed where lay the white but +tenderly beautiful face of the young girl, with her curls of glossy hair +tossed about the pillow, and her long, tremulous eyelashes making a +shadow on her rounded cheek. + +Mother Renouf gave me a hearty tap on the shoulder, and chuckled as +merrily as the shortness of her breath after her rapid course would +permit. The few English phrases she knew fell far short of expressing +her triumph and exultation; but I was resolved to confer with her +affably. My patient's case was too serious for me to stand upon my +dignity. + +"Mother," I said, "have you any simples to send this poor girl to sleep? +Tardif told me you had taken her sprained ankle under your charge. I +find I have nothing with me to induce sleep, and you can help us if any +one can." + +"Leave her to me, my dear little doctor," she answered, a laugh gurgling +in her thick throat; "leave her to me. You have done your part with the +bones. I have no touch at all for broken limbs, though my father, good +man, could handle them with any doctor in all the islands. But I'll send +her to sleep for you, never fear." + +"You will stay with us all night?" I said, coaxingly. "Suzanne is deaf, +and ears are of use in a sick-room, you know. I intended to go to +Gavey's, but I shall throw myself down here on the fern bed, and you can +call me at any moment, if there is need." + +"There will be no need," she replied, in a tone of confidence. "My +little mam'zelle will be sound asleep in ten minutes after she has taken +my draught." + +I went into the room with her to have a look at our patient. She had not +stirred yet, but was precisely in the position in which I placed her +after the operation was ended. There was something peculiar about this +which distressed me. I asked Mother Renouf to move her gently and bring +her face more toward me. The burning eyes opened widely as soon as she +felt the old woman's arm under her, and she looked up, with a flash of +intelligence, into my face. I stooped down to catch the whisper with +which her lips were moving. + +"You told me not to stir," she murmured. + +"Yes," I said; "but you are not to lie still till you are cramped and +stiff. Are you in much pain now?" + +"He told me not to stir," muttered the parched lips again, "not to stir. +I must lie quite still, quite still, quite still!" + +The feeble voice died away as she whispered the last words, but her lips +went on moving, as if she was repeating them to herself still. Certainly +there was mischief here. My last order, given just before her mind began +to wander, had taken possession of her brain, and retained authority +over her will. There was a pathetic obedience in her perfect immobility, +united with the shifting, restless glance of her eyes, and the ceaseless +ripple of movement about her mouth, which made me trebly anxious and +uneasy. A dominant idea had taken hold upon her which might prove +dangerous. I was glad when Mother Renouf had finished stewing her +decoction of poppy-heads, and brought the nauseous draught for the girl +to drink. + +But whether the poppy-heads had lost their virtue, or our patient's +nervous condition had become too critical, too full of excitement and +disturbance, I cannot tell. It is certain that she was not sleeping in +ten minutes' or in an hour's time. Old Dame Tardif went off to her +bedroom, and Mother Renouf took her place by the girl's side. Tardif +could not be persuaded to leave the kitchen, though he appeared to be +falling asleep heavily, waking up at intervals, and starting with terror +at the least sound. For myself I scarcely slept at all, though I found +the fern bed a tolerably comfortable resting-place. + +The gale that Tardif had foretold came with great violence about the +middle of the night. The wind howled up the long, narrow ravine like a +pack of wolves; mighty storms of hail and rain beat in torrents against +the windows, and the sea lifted up its voice with unmistakable energy. +Now and again a stronger gust than the others appeared to threaten to +carry off the thatched roof bodily, and leave us exposed to the tempest +with only the thick stone walls about us; and the latch of the outer +door rattled as if some one outside was striving to enter. I am not +fanciful, but just then the notion came across me that if that door +opened we should see the grim skeleton, Death, on the threshold, with +his bleached, unclad bones dripping with the storm. I laughed at the +ghastly fancy, and told it to Tardif in one of his waking intervals, but +he was so terrified and troubled by it that it grew to have some little +importance in my own eyes. So the night wore slowly away, the tall clock +in the corner ticking out the seconds and striking the hours with a +fidelity to its duty, which helped to keep me awake. Twice or thrice I +crept, with quite unnecessary caution, into the room of my patient. + +No, there was no symptom of sleep there. The pulse grew more rapid, the +temples throbbed, and the fever gained ground. Mother Renouf was ready +to weep with vexation. The girl herself sobbed and shuddered at the loud +sounds of the tempest without; but yet, by a firm, supreme effort of her +will, which was exhausting her strength dangerously, she kept herself +quite still. I would have given up a year or two of my life to be able +to set her free from the bondage of my own command. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTH. + +LOCKS OF HAIR. + + +The westerly gale, rising every few hours into a squall, gave me no +chance of leaving Sark the next day, nor for some days afterward; but I +was not at all put out by my captivity. All my interest--my whole +being, in fact--was absorbed in the care of this girl, stranger as she +was. I thought and moved, lived and breathed, only to fight step by step +against delirium and death, and to fight without my accustomed weapons. +Sometimes I could do nothing but watch the onset and inroads of the +fever most helplessly. There was no possibility of aid. The stormy +waters which beat against that little rock in the sea came swelling and +rolling in from the vast plain of the Atlantic, and broke in tempestuous +surf against the island. The wind howled, and the rain and hail beat +across us almost incessantly for two days, and Tardif himself was kept a +prisoner in the house, except when he went to look after his live-stock. +No doubt it would have been practicable for me to get as far as the +hotel, but to what good? It would be quite deserted, for there were no +visitors to Sark at this season, and I did not give it a second thought. +I was entirely engrossed in my patient, and I learned for the first time +what their task is who hour after hour watch the progress of disease in +the person, of one dear to them. + +Tardif occupied himself with mending his nets, pausing frequently with +his solemn eyes fixed upon the door of the girl's room, very much as a +patient mastiff watches the spot where he knows his master is near to +him, though out of sight. His mother went about her household work +ploddingly, and Mother Renouf kept manfully to her post, in turn with +me, as sentinel over the sickbed. There the young girl lay whispering +from morning till night, and from night till morning again--always +whispering. The fever gained ground from hour to hour. I had no data by +which to calculate her chances of getting through it; but my hopes were +very low at times. + +On the Tuesday afternoon, in a temporary lull of the hail and wind, I +started off on a walk across the island. The wind was still blowing from +the southwest, and filling all the narrow sea between us and Guernsey +with boiling surge. Very angry looked the masses of foam whirling about +the sunken reefs, and very ominous the low-lying, hard blocks of clouds +all along the horizon. I strolled as far as the Coupee, that giddy +pathway between Great and Little Sark, where one can see the seething of +the waves at the feet of the cliffs on both sides, three hundred feet +below one. Something like a panic seized me. My nerves were too far +unstrung for me to venture across the long, narrow isthmus. I turned +abruptly again, and hurried as fast as my legs would carry me back to +Tardif's cottage. + +I had been away less than an hour, but an advantage had been taken of my +absence. I found Tardif seated at the table, with a tangle of silky, +shining hair lying before him. A tear or two had fallen upon it from his +eyes. I understood at a glance what it meant. Mother Renouf had cut off +my patient's pretty curls as soon as I was out of the house. I could not +be angry with her, though I did not suppose it would do much good, and I +felt a sort of resentment, such as a mother would feel, at this +sacrifice of a natural beauty. They were all disordered and ravelled. +Tardif's great hand caressed them tenderly, and I drew out one long, +glossy tress and wound it about my fingers, with a heavy heart. + +"It is like the pretty feathers of a bird that has been wounded," said +Tardif, sorrowfully. + +Just then there came a knock at the door and a sharp click of the latch, +loud enough to penetrate Dame Tardif's deaf ears, or to arouse our +patient, if she had been sleeping. Before either of us could move, the +door was thrust open, and two young ladies appeared upon the door-sill. + +They were--it flashed across me in an instant--old school-fellows and +friends of Julia's. I declare to you honestly, I had scarcely had one +thought of Julia till now. My mother I had wished for, to take her place +by this poor girl's side, but Julia had hardly crossed my mind. Why, in +Heaven's name, should the appearance of these friends of hers be so +distasteful to me just now? I had known them all my life, and liked them +as well as any girls I knew; but at this moment the very sight of them +was annoying. They stood in the doorway, as much astonished and +thunderstricken as I was, glaring at me, so it seemed to me, with that +soft, bright-brown lock of hair curling and clinging round my finger. +Never had I felt so foolish or guilty. + +"Martin Dobree!" ejaculated both in one breath. + +"Yes, mesdemoiselles," I said, uncoiling the tress of hair as if it had +been a serpent, and going forward to greet them; "are you surprised to +see me?" + +"Surprised!" echoed the elder. "No; we are amazed--petrified! However +did you get here? When did you come?" + +"Quite easily," I replied. "I came on Sunday, and Tardif fetched me in +his own boat. If the weather had permitted, I should have paid you a +call; but you know what it has been." + +"To be sure," answered Emma; "and how is dear Julia? She will be very +anxious about you." + +"She was on the verge of a bilious attack when I left her," I said; +"that will tend to increase her anxiety." + +"Poor, dear girl," she replied, sympathetically. "But, Martin, is this +young woman here so very ill? We have heard from the Renoufs she had had +a dangerous fall. To think of your being in Sark ever since Sunday, and +we never heard a word of it!" + +No, thanks to Tardif's quiet tongue, and Mother Renouf's assiduous +attendance upon mam'zelle, my sojourn in the island had been kept a +secret; now that was at an end. + +"Is that the young woman's hair?" asked Emma, as Tardif gathered +together the scattered tresses and tied them up quickly in a little +white handkerchief, out of their sight and mine. I saw them again +afterward. The handkerchief had been his wife's--white, with a border of +pink roses. + +"Yes," I replied to her question, "it was necessary to cut it off. She +is dangerously ill with fever." + +Both of them shrank a little toward the door. A sudden temptation +assailed me, and took me so much by surprise that I had yielded before I +knew I was attacked. It was their shrinking movement that did it. My +answer was almost as automatic and involuntary as their retreat. + +"You see it would not be wise for any of us to go about," I said. "A +fever breaking out in the island, especially now you have no resident +doctor, would be very serious. I think it will be best to isolate this +case till we see the nature of the fever. You will do me a favor by +warning the people away from us at present. The storm has saved us so +far, but now we must take other precautions." + +This I said with a grave tone and face, knowing all the while that there +was no fear whatever for the people of Sark. Was there a propensity in +me, not hitherto developed, to make the worst of a case? + +"Good-by, Martin, good-by," cried Emma, backing out through the open +door. "Come away, Maria. We have run no risk yet, Martin, have we? Do +not come any nearer to us. We have touched nothing, except shaking hands +with you. Are we quite safe?" + +"Is the young woman so very ill?" inquired Maria from a safe distance +outside the house. + +I shook my head in silence, and pointed to the door of the inner room, +intimating to them that she was no farther away than there. An +expression of horror came over both their faces. Scarcely waiting to +bestow upon me a gesture of farewell, they fled, and I saw them hurrying +with unusual rapidity across the fold. + +I had at least secured isolation for myself and my patient. But why had +I been eager to do so? I could not answer that question to myself, and I +did not ponder over it many minutes. I was impatient, yet strangely +reluctant, to look at the sick girl again, after the loss of her +beautiful hair. It was still daylight. The change in her appearance +struck me as singular. Her face before had a look of suffering and +trouble, making it almost old, charming as it was; now she had the +aspect of quite a young girl, scarcely touching upon womanhood. Her hair +had not been shorn off closely--the woman could not manage that--and +short, wavy tresses, like those of a young child, were curling about her +exquisitely-shaped head. The white temples, with their blue, throbbing +veins, were more visible, with the small, delicately-shaped ears. I +should have guessed her age now as barely fifteen--almost that of a +child. Thus changed, I felt more myself in her presence, more as I +should have been in attendance upon any child. I scanned her face +narrowly, and it struck me that there was a perceptible alteration; an +expression of exhaustion or repose was creeping over it. The crisis of +the fever was at hand. The repose of death or the wholesome sleep of +returning health was not far off. Mother Renouf saw it as well as +myself. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTH. + +WHO IS SHE? + + +We sat up again together that night, Tardif and I. He would not smoke, +lest the scent of the tobacco should get in through the crevices of the +door, and lessen the girl's chance of sleep; but he held his pipe +between his teeth, taking an imaginary puff now and then, that he might +keep himself wide awake. We talked to one another in whispers. + +"Tell me all you know about mam'zelle," I said. He had been chary of his +knowledge before, but his heart seemed open at this moment. Most hearts +are more open at midnight than at any other hour. + +"There's not much to tell, doctor," he answered. "Her name is Ollivier, +as I said to you; but she does not think she is any kin to the Olliviers +of Guernsey. She is poor, though she does not look as if she had been +born poor, does she?" + +"Not in the least degree," I said. "If she is not a lady of birth, she +is one of the first specimens of Nature's gentlefolks I have ever come +across." + +"Ah, there is a difference!" he said, sighing. "I feel it, doctor, in +every word I speak to her, and every step I walk with her eyes upon me. +Why cannot I be like her, or like you? You'll be on a level with her, +and I am down far below her." + +I looked at him curiously. The slouching figure--well shaped as it +was--the rough, knotted hands, the unkempt mass of hair about his head +and face, marked him for what he was--a toiler on the sea as well as on +the land. He understood my scrutiny, and colored under it like a girl. + +"You are a better fellow than I am, Tardif," I said; "but that has +nothing to do with our talk. I think we ought to communicate with the +young lady's friends, whoever they may be, as soon as there are any +means of communicating with the rest of the world. We should be in a fix +if any thing should happen to her. Have you no clew to her friends?" + +"She is not going to die!" he cried. "No, no, doctor. God must hear my +prayers for her. I have never ceased to lift up my voice to Him in my +heart since I found her on the shingle. She will not die!" + +"I am not so sure," I said; "but in any case we should write to her +friends. Has she written to any one since she came here?" + +"Not to a soul," he answered, eagerly. "She told me she has no friends +nearer than Australia. That is a great way off." + +"And has she had no letters?" I asked. + +"Not one," he replied. "She has neither written nor received a single +letter." + +"But how did you come across her?" I inquired. "She did not fall from +the skies, I suppose. How was it she came to live in this +out-of-the-world place with you?" + +Tardif smoked his imaginary pipe with great perseverance for some +minutes, his face overcast with thought. But presently it cleared, and +he turned to me with a frank smile. + +"I'll tell you all about it, Dr. Martin," he said. "You know the +Seigneur was in London last autumn, and there was a little difficulty in +the Court of Chefs Plaids here, about an ordonnance we could not agree +over, and I went across to London to see the Seigneur for myself. It was +in coming back I met with Mam'zelle Ollivier. I was paying my fare at +Waterloo station--the omnibus-fare, I mean--and I was turning away, when +I heard the man speak grumblingly. I thought it was at me, and I looked +back, and there she stood before him, looking scared and frightened at +his rough words. Doctor, I never could bear to see any soft, tender, +young thing in trouble. If it's nothing but a little bird that has +fallen out of its warm nest, or a lamb slipped down among the cliffs, I +feel as if I could risk my life to put them back again in some safe +place. Yes, and I have done it scores of times, when I dared not let my +poor mother know. Well, there stood mam'zelle, pale and trembling, with +the tears ready to fall in her eyes; just such a soft, poor, tender soul +as my little wife used to be. You remember my little wife, Dr. Martin?" + +I only nodded as he looked at me. + +"Just such another," he went on; "only this one was a lady, and less +able to take care of herself. Her trouble was nothing but the +omnibus-fare, and she had no change, nothing but an Australian +sovereign; so I paid it for her. I kept pretty near her about the +station while she was buying her ticket, for I overheard two young men, +who were roaming up and down, say as they looked at her, 'Pas de gants, +et des souliers de velours!' That was true; she had no gloves on her +hands, and her little feet had nothing on but some velvet slippers, all +wet and muddy with the dirty streets. So I walked up to her, as if I +had been her servant, you understand, and put her into a carriage, and +stood at the door of it, keeping off any young men who wished to get +in--for she was such a pretty young thing--till the train was ready to +start, and then I got into the nearest second-class carriage there was +to her." + +"Well, Tardif?" I said, impatiently, as he paused, looking absently into +the dull embers of the seaweed fire. + +"I turned it over in my own mind then," he continued, "and I've turned +it over in my own mind since, and I can make no sort of an account of +it--a young lady travelling without any friends in a dress like that, as +if she had not had a minute to spare in getting ready for her journey. +It was a bad night for a journey too. Could she be going to see some +friend who was dying? At every station I looked out to see if my young +lady left the train; but no, not even at Southampton. Was she going on +to France? 'I must look out for her at the pier-head,' I said to myself. +But when we stopped at the pier I did not want her to think I was +watching her, only I stood well in the light, that she might see me when +she looked round. I saw her stand as if she was considering, and I moved +away very slowly to our boat, to give her the chance of speaking to me, +if she wished. But she only followed me very quietly, as if she did not +want me to see her, and she went down into the ladies' cabin in a +moment, out of sight. Then I thought, 'She is running away from some +one, or from something.' She had no shawls, or umbrellas, or baskets, +such as ladies are always cumbered with, and that looked strange." + +"How was she dressed?" I asked. + +"She wore a soft, bright-brown jacket," he answered--"a seal-skin they +call it, though I never saw a seal with a skin like that--and a hat like +it, and a blue-silk gown, and her little muddy velvet slippers. It was a +strange dress for travelling, wasn't it, doctor?" + +"Very strange indeed," I repeated. An idea was buzzing about my brain +that I had heard a description exactly similar before, but I could not +for the life of me recall where. I could not wait to hunt it out then, +for Tardif was in a full flow of confidence. + +"But my heart yearned to her," he said, "more than ever it did over any +bird fallen from its nest, or any lamb that had slipped down the cliffs. +All the softness and all the helplessness of every poor little creature +I had ever seen in my life seemed about her; all the hunted creatures +and all the trapped creatures came to my mind. I can hardly tell you +about it, doctor. I could have risked my life a hundred times over for +her. It was a rough night, and I kept seeing her pale, hunted-looking +face before me, though there was not half the danger I've often been in +round our islands. I couldn't keep myself from fancying we were all +going down to the bottom of the sea, and that poor young thing, running +away from one trouble, was going to meet a worse--if it is worse to die +than to live in great trouble. Dr. Martin, they tell me all the bed of +the sea out yonder under the Atlantic is a smooth, smooth floor, with no +currents, or tides, or streams, but a great calm; and there is no life +down there of any kind. Well, that night I seemed to see the dead who +have perished by sea lying there calm and quiet with their hands folded +across their breasts. A great company it was, and a great graveyard, +strewed over with sleeping shapes, all at rest and quiet, waiting till +they hear the trumpet of the archangel sounding so that even the dead +will hear and live again. It was a solemn sight to see, doctor. Somehow +I came to think it would not be altogether a bad thing for the poor +young troubled creature to go down there among them and be at rest. +There are some people who seem too tender and delicate for this world. +Yet if there had come a chance I'd have laid down my life for hers, even +then, when I knew nothing much about her." + +"Tardif," I said, "I did not know what a good fellow you are, though I +ought to have known it by this time." + +"No," he answered, "it is not in me; it's something in her. You feel +something of it yourself, doctor, or how could you stay in a poor little +house like this, thinking of nothing but her, and not caring about the +weather keeping you away from home? But let me go on. In the morning +she came on deck, and talked to me about the islands, and where she +could live cheaply, and it ended in her coming home here to lodge in our +little spare room. There was another curious thing--she had not any +luggage with her, not a box nor a bag of any kind. She never knew that I +knew, for that would have troubled her. It is my belief that she has run +away." + +"But who can she have run away from, Tardif?" I asked. + +"God knows," he answered, "but the girl has suffered; you can see that +by her face. Whoever or whatever she has run away from, her cheeks are +white from it, and her heart sorrowful. I know nothing of her secret; +but this I do know: she is as good, and true, and sweet a little soul as +my poor little wife was. She has been here all winter, doctor, living +under my eye, and I've waited on her as her servant, though a rough +servant I am for one like her. She has tried to make herself cheerful +and contented with our poor ways. See, she mended me that bit of net; +those are her meshes, though her pretty white fingers were made sore by +the twine. She would mend it, sitting where you are now in the +chimney-corner. No; if mam'zelle should die, it will be a great grief of +heart to me. If I could offer my life to God in place of hers, I'd do it +willingly." + +"No, she will not die. Look there, Tardif!" I said, pointing to the +door-sill of the inner room. A white card had been slipped under the +door noiselessly--a signal agreed upon between Mother Renouf and me, to +inform me that my patient had at last fallen into a profound slumber, +which seemed likely to continue some hours. She had slept perhaps a few +minutes at a time before, but not a refreshing, wholesome sleep. Tardif +understood the silent signal as well as I did, and a more solemn +expression settled on his face. After a while he put away his pipe, and, +stepping barefoot across the floor without a sound, he stopped the +clock, and brought back to the table, where an oil-lamp was burning, a +large old Bible. Throughout the long night, whenever I awoke, for I +threw myself on the fern bed and slept fitfully, I saw his handsome +face, with its rough, unkempt hair falling across his forehead as it was +bent over the book, while his mouth moved silently as he read to himself +chapter after chapter, and turned softly the pages before him. + +I fell into a heavy slumber just before daybreak, and when I awoke two +or three hours after I found that the house had been put in order, just +as usual, though no sound had disturbed me. I glanced anxiously at the +closed door. That it was closed, and the white card still on the sill, +proved to me that our charge had no more been disturbed than myself. The +thought struck me that the morning light would shine full upon the weak +and weary eyelids of the sleeper; but upon going out into the fold to +look at her casement, I discovered that Tardif had been before me and +covered it with an old sail. The room within was sufficiently darkened. + +The morning was more than half gone before Mother Renouf opened the door +and came out to us, her old face looking more haggard than ever, but her +little eyes twinkling with satisfaction. She gave me a patronizing nod, +but she went up to Tardif, laid a hand on each of his broad shoulders, +and looked him keenly in the face. + +"All goes well, my friend," she said, significantly. "Your little +mam'zelle does not think of going to the good God yet." + +I did not stay to watch how Tardif received this news, for I was +impatient myself to see how she was going on. Thank Heaven, the fever +was gone, the delirium at an end. The dark-gray eyes, opening languidly +as my fingers touched her wrist, were calm and intelligent. She was as +weak as a kitten, but that did not trouble me much. I was sure her +natural health was good, and she would soon recover her lost strength. I +had to stoop down to hear what she was saying. + +"Have I kept quite still, doctor?" she asked, faintly. + +I must own that my eyes smarted, and my voice was not to be trusted. I +had never felt so overjoyed in my life as at that moment. But what a +singular wish to be obedient possessed this girl! What a wonderful +power of submissive self-control! she had cast aside authority and +broken away from it, as she had done apparently, there must have been +some great provocation before a nature like hers could venture to assert +its own independence. + +I had ample time for turning over this reflection, for Mother Renouf was +worn out and needed rest, and Suzanne Tardif was of little use in the +sick-room. I scarcely left my patient all that day, for the rumor I had +set afloat the day before was sufficient to make it a difficult task to +procure another nurse. The almost childish face grew visibly better +before my eyes, and when night came I had to acknowledge somewhat +reluctantly that as soon as a boat could leave the island it would be my +bounden duty to return to Guernsey. + +"I should like to see Tardif," murmured the girl to me that night, after +she had awakened from a second long and peaceful sleep. + +I called him, and he came in barefoot, his broad, burly frame seeming to +fill up all the little room. She could not lift up her head, but her +face was turned toward us, and she held out her small, wasted hand to +him, smiling faintly. He fell on his knees before he took it into his +great, horny palm, and looked down upon it as he held it very carefully +with, tears standing in his eyes. + +"Why, it is like an egg-shell," he said. "God bless you, mam'zelle, God +bless you for getting well again!" + +She laughed at his words--a feeble though merry laugh, like a +child's--and she seemed delighted with the sight of his hearty face, +glowing as it was with happiness. It was a strange chance that had +thrown these two together. I could not allow Tardif to remain long; but +after that she kept devising little messages to send to him through me +whenever I was about to leave her. Her intercourse with Mother Renouf +was extremely limited, as the old woman's knowledge of English was +slight; and with Suzanne she could hold no conversation at all. It +happened, in consequence, that I was the only person who could talk or +listen to her through the long and dreary hours. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. + +WHO ARE HER FRIENDS? + + +At another time I might have recognized the danger of my post; but my +patient had become so childish-looking, and her mind, enfeebled by +delirium, was in so childish a condition, that it seemed to me I little +more than tending some young girl whose age was far below my own. I did +not trouble myself, moreover, with any exact introspection. There was an +under-current of satisfaction and happiness running through the hours +which I was not inclined to fathom. The winds continued against me, and +I had nothing to do but to devote myself to mam'zelle, as I called her +in common with the people about me. She was still so far in a precarious +state that, if she had been living in Guernsey, it would have been my +duty to pay to her unflagging attention. + +But upon Friday afternoon Tardif, who had been down to the Creux Harbor, +brought back the information that one of the Sark cutters was about to +venture to make the passage across the Channel the next morning, to +attend the Saturday market, if the wind did not rise again in the night. +It was clear as day what I must do. I must bid farewell to my patient, +however reluctant I might be, with a very uncertain prospect of seeing +her again. A patient in Sark could not have many visits from a doctor in +Guernsey. + +She was recovering with the wonderful elasticity of a thoroughly sound +constitution; but I had not considered it advisable for her even to sit +up yet, with her broken arm and sprained ankle. I took my seat beside +her for the last time, her fair, sweet face lying upon the pillow as it +had done when I first saw it, only the look of suffering was gone. I had +made up my mind to learn something of the mystery that surrounded her; +and the child, as I called her to myself, was so submissive to me that +she would answer my questions readily. + +"Mam'zelle," I said, "I am going away to-night. You will be sorry to +lose me?" + +"Very, very sorry," she answered, in her low, touching voice. "Are you +obliged to go?" + +If I had not been obliged to go, I should then and there have made a +solemn vow to remain with her till she was well again. + +"I must go," I said, shaking off the ridiculous and troublesome idea. "I +have been away nearly six days. Six days is a long holiday for a +doctor." + +"It has not been a holiday for you," she whispered, her eyes fastened +upon mine, and shining like clear stars. + +"Well," I repeated, "I must go. Before I go I wish to write to your +friends for you. You will not be strong enough to write yourself for +some days, and it is quite time they knew what danger you have been in. +I have brought a pen and paper, and I will post the letter as soon as I +reach Guernsey." + +A faint flush colored her face, and she turned her eyes away from me. + +"Why do you think I ought to write?" she asked at length. + +"Because you have been very near death." I answered. "If you had died, +not one of us would have known whom to communicate with, unless you had +left some direction in that box of yours, which is not very likely." + +"No," she said, "you would find nothing there. I suppose if I had died +nobody would ever have known who I am. How curious that would have +been!" + +Was she amused, or was she saddened by the thought? I could not tell. + +"It would have been very painful to Tardif and to me," I said. "It must +be very painful to your friends, whoever they are, not to know what has +become of you. Give me permission to write to them. There can scarcely +be reasons sufficient for you to separate yourself from them like this. +Besides, you cannot go on living in a fisherman's cottage; you were not +born to it--" + +"How do you know?" she asked, quickly, with a sharp tone in her voice. + +It was somewhat difficult to answer that question. There was nothing to +indicate what position she had been used to. I had seen no token of +wealth about her room, which was as homely as any other cottage chamber. +Her conversation had been the simple, childish talk of an invalid +recovering from a serious illness, and had scarcely proved her to be an +educated person. Yet there was something in her face and tones and +manner which, as plainly to Tardif as to me, stamped this runaway girl +as a lady. + +"Let me write to your friends," I urged, waiving the question. "It is +not fit for you to remain here. I beg of you to allow me to communicate +with them." + +Her face quivered like a child's when it is partly frightened and partly +grieved. + +"I have no friends," she said; "not one real friend in the world." + +An almost irresistible inclination assailed me to fall on my knees +beside her, as I had seen Tardif do, and take a solemn oath to be her +faithful servant and friend as long as my life should last. This, of +course, I did not do; but the sound of the words so plaintively spoken, +and the sight of her quivering face, rendered her a hundredfold more +interesting to me. + +"Mam'zelle," I said, taking her hand in mine, "if ever you should need a +friend, you may count upon Martin Dobree as one as true as any you could +wish to have. Tardif is another. Never say again you have no friends." + +"Thank you," she answered, simply. "I will count you and Tardif as my +friends. But I have no others, so you need not write to anybody." + +"But what if you had died?" I persisted. + +"You would have buried me quietly up there," she answered, "in the +pleasant graveyard, where the birds sing all day long, and I should have +been forgotten soon. Am I likely to die, Dr. Martin?" + +"Certainly not," I replied, hastily; "nothing of the kind. You are going +to get well and strong again. But I must bid you good-by, now, since you +have no friends to write to. Can I do any thing for you in Guernsey? I +can send you any thing you fancy." + +"I do not want any thing," she said. + +"You want a great number of things," I said; "medicines, of course--what +is the good of a doctor who sends no medicine?--and books. You will have +to keep yourself quiet a long time. You would like some books?" + +"Oh, I have longed for books," she said, sighing; "but don't buy any; +lend me some of your own." + +"Mine would be very unsuitable for a young lady," I answered, laughing +at the thought of my private library. "May I ask why I am not to buy +any?" + +"Because I have no money to spend in books," she said. + +"Well," I replied, "I will borrow some for you from the ladies I know. +We will not waste our money, neither you nor I." + +I stood looking at her, finding it harder to go away than I had +supposed. So closely had I watched the changes upon her face, that every +line of it was deeply engraved upon my memory. Other and more familiar +faces seemed to have faded in proportion to that distinctness of +impression. Julia's features, for instance, had become blurred and +obscure, like a painting which has lost its original clearness of tone. + +"How soon will you come back again?" asked the faint, plaintive voice. + +Clearly it did not occur to her that I could not pay her a visit without +great difficulty. I knew how it was next to an impossibility to get over +to Sark, for some time at least; but I felt ready to combat even +impossibilities. + +"I will come back," I said--"yes, I promise to come back in a week's +time. Make haste and get well before then, mam'zelle. Good-by, now; +good-by." + +I was going to sleep at Vaudin's Inn, near to Creux Harbor, from which +the cutter would sail almost before the dawn. At five o'clock we started +on oar passage--a boat-load of fishermen bound for the market. The cold +was sharp, for it was still early in March, and the easterly wind +pierced the skin like a myriad of fine needles. A waning moon was +hanging in the sky over Guernsey, and the east was growing gray with the +coming morning. By the time the sun was fairly up out of its bed of +low-lying clouds, we had rounded the southern point of Sark, and were in +sight of the Havre Gosselin. But Tardif's cottage was screened by the +cliffs, and I could catch no glimpse of it, though, as we rowed onward, +I saw a fine, thin column of white smoke blown toward us. It was from +his hearth, I knew, and, at this moment, he was preparing an early +breakfast for my invalid. I watched it till all the coast became an +indistinct outline against the sky. + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. + +THE SIXTIES OF GUERNSEY. + + +I was more than half-numb with cold by the time we landed at the quay, +opposite the Sark office. The place was all alive, seeming the more busy +and animated to me for the solitary six days I had been spending since +last Sunday. The arrival of our boat, and especially my appearance in +it, created quite a stir among the loungers who are always hanging about +the pier. By this time every individual in St. Peter-Port knew that Dr. +Martin Dobree had been missing for several days, having gone out in a +fisherman's boat to Sark the Sunday before. I had seen myself in the +glass before leaving my chamber at Vaudin's, and to some extent I +presented the haggard appearance of a shipwrecked man. A score of voices +greeted me; some welcoming, some chaffing. "Glad to see you again, old +fellow!" "What news from Sark?" "Been in quod for a week?" "His hair is +not cut short!" "No; he has tarried in Sark till his beard be grown!" +There was a circling laugh at this last jest at my appearance, which had +been uttered by a good-tempered, jovial clergyman, who was passing by on +his way to the town church. I did my best to laugh and banter in return, +but it was like a bear dancing with a sore head. I felt gloomy and +uncomfortable. A change had come over me since I left home, for my +return was by no means an unmixed pleasure. + +As I was proceeding along the quay, with a train of sympathizing +attendants, a man, who was driving a large cart piled with packages in +cases, as if they had come in from England by the steamer, touched his +hat to me, and stopped the horse. It was in order to inform me that he +was conveying furniture which we--that is, Julia and I--had ordered, up +to our new house, the windows of which I could see glistening in the +morning sun. My spirits did not rise, even at this cheerful information. +I looked coldly at the cases, bade the man go on, and shook off my train +by taking an abrupt turn up a flight of steps, leading directly into the +Haute Rue. + +I had chosen instinctively the nearest by-way homeward, but, once in the +Haute Rue, I did not pursue it. I turned again upon a sudden thought +toward the Market Square, to see if I could pick up any dainties to +tempt the delicate appetite of my Sark patient. Every step I took +brought me into contact with some friend or acquaintance, whom I would +have avoided gladly. The market was sure to be full of them, for the +ladies of Guernsey, like Frenchwomen, would be there in shoals, with +their maidservants behind them to carry their purchases. Yet I turned +toward it, as I said, braving both congratulations and curiosity, to +see what I could buy for Tardif's "mam'zelle." + +The square had all the peculiar animation of an early market where +ladies do their own bargaining. As I had known beforehand, most of my +acquaintances were there; for in Guernsey the feminine element +predominates terribly, and most of my acquaintances were ladies. The +peasant-women behind the stalls also knew me. Most of them nodded to me +as I strolled slowly through the crowd, but they were much too busy to +suspend their purchases in order to catechise me just then, being sure +of me at a future time. I had not done badly in choosing the busiest +street for my way home. + +But as I left the Market Square I came suddenly upon Julia, face to +face. It had all the effect of a shock upon me. Like many other women, +she seldom looked well out-of-doors. The prevailing fashion never suited +her, however the bonnets were worn, whether hanging down the neck or +slouched over the forehead, rising spoon-shaped toward the sky, or lying +like a flat plate on the crown. Julia's bonnet always looked as if it +had been made for somebody else. She was fond of wearing a shawl, which +hung ungracefully about her, and made her figure look squarer and her +shoulders higher than they really were. Her face struck sharply upon my +brain, as if I had never seen it distinctly before; not a bad face, but +unmistakably plain, and just now with a frown upon it, and her heavy +eyebrows knitted forbiddingly. A pretty little basket was in her hand, +and her mind was full of the bargains she was bent upon. She was even +more surprised and startled by our encounter than I was, and her manner, +when taken by surprise, was apt to be abrupt. + +"Why, Martin!" she ejaculated. + +"Well, Julia!" I said. + +We stood looking at one another much in the same way as we used to do +years before, when she had detected me in some boyish prank, and assumed +the mentor while I felt a culprit. How really I felt a culprit at that +moment she could not guess. + +"I told you just how it would be," she said, in her mentor voice. "I +knew there was a storm coming, and I begged and entreated of you not to +go. Your mother has been ill all the week, and your father has been as +cross as--as--" + +"As two sticks," I suggested, precisely as I might have done when I was +thirteen. + +"It is nothing to laugh at," said Julia, severely. "I shall say nothing +about myself and my own feelings, though they have been most acute, the +wind blowing a hurricane for twenty-four hours together, and we not sure +that you had even reached Sark in safety. Your mother and I wanted to +charter the Rescue, and send her over to fetch you home as soon as the +worst of the storm was over, but my uncle pooh-poohed it." + +"I am very glad he did," I replied, involuntarily. + +"He said you would be more than ready to come back in the first cutter +that sailed," she went on. "I suppose you have just come in?" + +"Yes," I said, "and I'm half numbed with cold, and nearly famished with +hunger. You don't give me as good a welcome as the Prodigal Son got, +Julia." + +"No," she answered, softening a little; "but I'm not sorry to see you +safe again. I would turn back with you, but I like to do the marketing +myself, for the servants will buy any thing. Martin, a whole cartload of +our furniture is come in. You will find the invoice inside my davenport. +We must go down this afternoon and superintend the unpacking." + +"Very well," I said; "but I cannot stay longer now." + +I did not go on with any lighter heart than before this meeting with +Julia. I had scrutinized her face, voice, and manner, with unwonted +criticism. As a rule, a face that has been before us all our days is as +seldom an object of criticism as any family portrait which has hung +against the same place on the wall all our lifetime. The latter fills up +a space which would otherwise be blank; the former does very little +else. It never strikes you; it is almost invisible to you. There would +be a blank space left if it disappeared, and you could not fill it up +from memory. A phantom has been living, breathing, moving beside you, +with vanishing features and no very real presence. + +I had, therefore, for the first time criticised my future wife. It was a +good, honest, plain, sensible face, with some fine, insidious lines +about the corners of the eyes and lips, and across the forehead. They +could hardly be called wrinkles yet, but they were the first faint +sketch of them, and it is impossible to obliterate the slightest touch +etched by Time. She was five years older than I--thirty-three last +birthday. There was no more chance for our Guernsey girls to conceal +their age than for the unhappy daughters of peers, whose dates are +faithfully kept, and recorded in the Peerage. The upper classes of the +island, who were linked together by endless and intricate ramifications +of relationship, formed a kind of large family, with some of its +advantages and many of its drawbacks. In one sense we had many things in +common; our family histories were public property, as also our private +characters and circumstances. For instance, my own engagement to Julia, +and our approaching marriage, gave almost as much interest to the island +as though we were members of each household. + +I have looked out a passage in the standard work upon the Channel +Islands. They are the words of an Englishman who was studying us more +philosophically than we imagined. Unknown to ourselves we had been under +his microscope. "At a period not very distant, society in Guernsey +grouped itself into two divisions--one, including those families who +prided themselves on ancient descent and landed estates, and who +regarded themselves as the _pur sang_; and the other, those whose +fortunes had chiefly been made during the late war or in trade. The +former were called _Sixties_, the latter were the _Forties_." + +Now Julia and I belonged emphatically to the Sixties. We had never been +debased by trade, and a _mesalliance_ was not known in our family. To be +sure, my father had lost a fortune instead of making one in any way; but +that did not alter his position or mine. We belonged to the aristocracy +of Guernsey, and _noblesse oblige_. As for my marriage with Julia, it +was so much the more interesting as the number of marriageable men was +extremely limited; and she was considered favored indeed by Fate, which +had provided for her a cousin willing to settle down for life in the +island. + +Still more greetings, more inquiries, more jokes, as I wended my way +homeward. I had become very weary of them before I turned into our own +drive. My father was just starting off on horseback. He looked +exceedingly well on horseback, being a very handsome man, and in +excellent preservation. His hair, as white as snow, was thick and well +curled, and his face almost without a wrinkle. He had married young, and +was not more than twenty-five years older than myself. He stopped, and +extended two fingers to me. + +"So you are back, Martin?" he said. "It has been a confounded nuisance, +you being out of the way; and such weather for a man of my years! I had +to ride out three miles to lance a baby's gums, confound it! in all that +storm on Tuesday. Mrs. Durande has been very ill too; all your patients +have been troublesome. But it must have been awfully dull work for you +out yonder. What did you do with yourself, eh? Make love to some of the +pretty Sark girls behind Julia's back, eh?" + +My father kept himself young, as he was very fond of stating; his style +of conversation was eminently so. It jarred upon my ears more than ever +after Tardif's grave and solemn words, and often deep thoughts. I was on +the point of answering sharply, but I checked myself. + +"The weather has been awful," I said. "How did my mother bear it?" + +"She has been like an old hen clucking after her duckling in the water," +he replied. "She has been fretting and fuming after you all the week. If +it had been me out in Sark, she would have slept soundly and ate +heartily; as it was you, she has neither slept nor ate. You are quite an +old woman's pet, Martin. As for me, there is no love lost between old +women and me." + +"Good-morning, sir," I said, turning away, and hurrying on to the house. +I heard him laugh lightly, and hum an opera-air as he rode off, sitting +his horse with the easy seat of a thorough horseman. He would never set +up a carriage as long as he could ride like that. I watched him out of +sight, and then went in to seek my poor mother. + + + + +CHAPTER THE NINTH. + +A CLEW TO THE SECRET. + + +She was lying on the sofa in the breakfast-room, with the Venetian +blinds down to darken the morning sunshine. Her eyes wore closed, though +she held in her hands the prayer-hook, from which she had been reading +as usual the Psalms for the day. I had time to take note of the extreme +fragility of her appearance, which, doubtless I noticed the more plainly +for my short absence. Her hands were very thin, and her cheeks hollow. A +few silver threads were growing among her brown hair, and a line or two +between her eyebrows were becoming deeper. But while I was looking at +her, though I made no sort of sound or movement, she seemed to feel that +I was there; and after looking up she started from her sofa, and flung +her arms about me, pressing closer and closer to me. + +"O Martin, my boy! my darling!" she sobbed, "thank God you are come back +safe! Oh, I have been very rebellious, very unbelieving. I ought to have +known that you would be safe. Oh, I am thankful!" + +"So am I, mother," I said, kissing her, "and very hungry into the +bargain." + +I knew that would check her hysterical excitement. She looked up at me +with smiles and tears on her face; but the smiles won the day. + +"That is so like you, Martin," she said; "I believe your ghost would say +those very words. You are always hungry when you come home. Well, my +boy shall have the best breakfast in Guernsey. Sit down, then, and let +me wait upon you." + +That was just what pleased her most whenever I came in from some ride +into the country. She was a woman with fondling, caressing little ways, +such as Julia could no more perform gracefully than an elephant could +waltz. My mother enjoyed fetching my slippers, and warming them herself +by the fire, and carrying away my boots when I took them off. No servant +was permitted to do any of these little offices for me--that is, when my +father was out of the way. If he was there, my mother sat still, and +left me to wait on myself, or ring for a servant, Never in my +recollection had she done any thing of the kind for my father. Had she +watched and waited upon him thus in the early days of their married +life, until some neglect or unfaithfulness of his had cooled her love +for him? I sat down as she bade me, and had my slippers brought, and +felt her fingers passed fondly through my hair. + +"You have come back like a barbarian," she said, "rougher than Tardif +himself. How have you managed, my boy? You must tell me all about it as +soon as your hunger is satisfied." + +"As soon as I have had my breakfast, mother, I must put up a few things +in a hamper to go back by the Sark cutter," I answered. + +"What sort of things?" she asked. "Tell me, and I will be getting them +ready for you." + +"Well, there will be some physic, of course," I said; "you cannot help +me in that. But you can find things suitable for a delicate appetite; +jelly, you know, and jams, and marmalade; any thing nice that comes to +hand. And some good port-wine, and a few amusing books." + +"Books!" echoed my mother. + +I recollected at once that the books she might select, as being suited +to a Sark peasant, would hardly prove interesting to my patient. I could +not do better than go down to Barbet's circulating library, and look out +some good works there. + +"Well, no," I said; "never mind the books. If you will look out the +other things, those can wait." + +"Whom are they for?" asked my mother. + +"For my patient," I replied, devoting myself to the breakfast before me. + +"What sort of a patient, Martin?" she inquired again. + +"Her name is Ollivier," I said. "A common name. Our postmaster's name +is Ollivier." + +"Oh, yes," she answered; "I know several families of Olliviers. I dare +say I should know this person if you could tell me her Christian name. +Is it Jane, or Martha, or Rachel?" + +"I don't know," I said; "I did not ask." + +Should I tell my mother about my mysterious patient? I hesitated for a +minute or two. But to what good? It was not my habit to talk about my +patients and their ailments. I left them all behind me when I crossed +the threshold of home. My mother's brief curiosity had been satisfied +with the name of Ollivier, and she made no further inquiries about her. +But to expedite me in my purpose, she rang, and gave orders for old +Pellet, our only man-servant, to find a strong hamper, and told the cook +to look out some jars of preserve. + +The packing of that hamper interested me wonderfully; and my mother, +rather amazed at my taking the superintendence of it in person, stood by +me in her store-closet, letting me help myself liberally. There was a +good space left after I had taken sufficient to supply Miss Ollivier +with good things for some weeks to come. If my mother had not been by, I +should have filled it up with books. + +"Give me a loaf or two of white bread," I said; "the bread at Tardif's +is coarse and hard, as I know after eating it for a week. A loaf, if you +please, dear mother." + +"Whatever are you doing here, Martin?" exclaimed Julia's unwelcome voice +behind me. Her bilious attack had not quite passed away, and her tones +were somewhat sharp and raspy. + +"He has been living on Tardif's coarse fare for a week," answered my +mother; "so now he has compassion enough for his Sark patient to pack up +some dainties for her. If you could only give him one or two of your bad +headaches, he would have more sympathy for you." + +"Have you had one of your headaches, Julia?" I inquired. + +"The worst I ever had," she answered. "It was partly your going off in +that rash way, and the storm that came on after, and the fright we were +in. You must not think of going again, Martin. I shall take care you +don't go after we are married." + +Julia had been used to speak out as calmly about our marriage as if it +was no more than going to a picnic. It grated upon me just then; though +it had been much the same with myself. There was no delightful agitation +about the future that lay before us. We were going to set up +housekeeping by ourselves, and that was all. There was no mystery in it; +no problem to be solved; no discovery to be made on either side. There +would be no Blue Beard's chamber in our dwelling. We had grown up +together; now we had agreed to grow old together. That was the sum total +of marriage to Julia and me. + +I finished packing the hamper, and sent Pellet with it to the Sark +office, having addressed it to Tardif, who had engaged to be down at the +Creux Harbor to receive it when the cutter returned. Then I made a short +and hurried toilet, which by this time had become essential to my +reappearance in civilized society. But I was in haste to secure a parcel +of books before the cutter should start home again, with its courageous +little knot of market-people. I ran down to Barbet's, scarcely heeding +the greetings which were flung after mo by every passer-by. I looked +through the library-shelves with growing dissatisfaction, until I hit +upon two of Mrs. Gaskell's novels, "Pride and Prejudice," by Jane +Austin, and "David Copperfield." Besides these, I chose a book for +Sunday reading, as my observations upon my mother and Julia had taught +me that my patient could not read a novel on a Sunday with a quiet +conscience. + +Barbet brought half a sheet of an old _Times_ to form the first cover of +my parcel. The shop was crowded with market-people, and, as he was busy, +I undertook to pack them myself, the more willingly as I had no wish for +him to know what direction I wrote upon them. I was about to fold the +newspaper round them, when my eye was caught by an advertisement at the +top of one of the columns, the first line of which was printed in +capitals. I recollected in an instant that I had seen it and read it +before. This was what I had tried in vain to recall while Tardif was +describing Miss Ollivier to me. "Strayed from her home in London, on the +20th inst., a young lady with bright-brown hair, gray eyes, and delicate +features; age twenty one. She is believed to have been alone. Was +dressed in a blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat. Fifty pounds +reward is offered to any person giving such information as will lead to +her restoration to her friends. Apply to Messrs. Scott and Brown, Gray's +Inn Road, E.C." + +I stood perfectly still for some seconds, staring blankly at the very +simple, direct advertisement under my eyes. There was not the slightest +doubt in my mind that it had a direct reference to my pretty patient in +Sark. I had a reason for recollecting the date of Tardif's return from +London, the very day after the mournful disaster off the Havre Gosselin, +when four gentlemen and a boatman had been lost during a squall. But I +had no time for deliberation then, and I tore off a large corner of the +_Times_ containing that and other advertisements, and thrust it unseen +into my pocket. After that I went on with my work, and succeeded in +turning out a creditable-looking parcel, which I carried down to the +Sark cutter. + +Before I returned home I made two or three half-professional calls upon +patients whom my father had visited during my absence. Everywhere I had +to submit to numerous questions as to my adventures and pursuits during +my week's exile. At each place curiosity seemed to be quite satisfied +with the information that the young woman who had been hurt by a fall +from the cliffs was an Ollivier. With that freedom and familiarity which +exists among us, I was rallied for my evident absence and preoccupation +of mind, which were pleasantly ascribed to the well-known fact that a +large quantity of furniture for our new house had arrived from England +while I was away. These friends of mine could tell me the colors of the +curtains, and the patterns of the carpets, and the style of my chairs +and tables; so engrossingly interesting to all our circle was our +approaching marriage. + +In the mean time, I had no leisure to study and ponder over the +advertisement, which by so odd a chance had come into my hands. That +must be reserved till I was alone at night. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TENTH. + +JULIA'S WEDDING-DRESS. + + +Yet I found my attention wandering, and my wits wool-gathering, even in +the afternoon, when I had gone down with Julia and my mother to the new +house, to see after the unpacking of that load of furniture. I can +imagine circumstances in which nothing could be more delightful than the +care with which a man prepares a home for his future wife. The very tint +of the walls, and the way the light falls in through the windows, would +become matters of grave importance. In what pleasant spot shall her +favorite chair be placed? And what picture shall hang opposite it to +catch her eye the oftenest? Where is her piano to stand? What china, and +glass, and silver, is she to use? Where are the softest carpets to be +found for her feet to tread? In short, where is the very best and +daintiest of every thing to be had, for the best and daintiest little +bride the sun ever shone on? + +There was not the slightest flavor of this sentiment in our furnishing +of our new house. It was really more Julia's business than mine. We had +had dozens of furnishing lists to peruse from the principal houses in +London and Paris, as if even there it was a well-understood thing that +Julia and I were going to be married. We had toiled through these +catalogues, making pencil-marks in them, as though they were catalogues +of an art exhibition. We had prudently settled the precise sum (of +Julia's money) which we were to lay out. Julia's taste did not often +agree with mine, as she had no eye for the harmonies of color--a +singular deficiency among us, as most of the Guernsey women are born +artists. We were constantly compelled to come to a compromise, each +yielding some point; not without a secret misgiving on my part that the +new house would have many an eyesore about it for me. But then it was +Julia's money that was doing it, and after all she was more anxious to +please me than I deserved. + +That afternoon Pellet and I, like two assistants in a furnishing-house, +unrolled carpets and stretched them along the floors before the critical +gaze of my mother and Julia. We unpacked chairs and tables, scanning +anxiously for damages on the polished wood, and setting them one after +another in a row against the walls. I went about as in some dream. The +house commanded a splendid view of the whole group of the Channel +Islands, and the rocky islets innumerable strewed about the sea. The +afternoon sun was shining full upon Sark, and whenever I looked through +the window I could see the cliffs of the Havre Gosselin, purple in the +distance, with a silver thread of foam at their foot. No wonder that my +thoughts wandered, and the words my mother and Julia were speaking went +in at one ear and out at the other. Certainly I was dreaming; but which +part was the dream? + +"I don't believe he cares a straw about the carpets!" exclaimed Julia, +in a disappointed tone. + +"I do indeed, dear Julia," I said, bringing myself back to the carpets. +Here I had been obliged to give in to Julia's taste. She had set her +mind upon having flowers in her drawing-room carpet, and there they +were, large garlands of bright-colored blossoms, very gay, and, as I +ventured to remark to myself, very gaudy. + +"You like it better than you did in the pattern?" she asked, anxiously. + +I did not like it one whit better, but I should have been a brute if I +had said so. She was gazing at it and me with so troubled an expression, +that I felt it necessary to set her mind at ease. + +"It is certainly handsomer than the pattern?" I said, regarding it +attentively; "very much handsomer." + +"You like it better than the plain thing you chose at first?" pursued +Julia. + +I was about to be hunted into a corner, and forced into denying my own +taste--a process almost more painful than denying one's faith--when my +mother came to my rescue. She could read us both as an open book, and +knew the precise moment to come between us. + +"Julia, my love," she said, "remember that we wish to show Martin those +patterns while it is daylight. To-morrow is Sunday, you know." + +A little tinge of color crept over Julia's tintless face as she told +Pellet he might go. I almost wished that I might be dismissed too; but +it was only a vague, wordless wish. We then drew near to the window, +from which we could see Sark so clearly, and Julia drew out of her +pocket a very large envelope, which was bursting with its contents. + +They were small scraps of white silk and white satin. I took them +mechanically into my hand, and could not help admiring the pure, +lustrous, glossy beauty of them. I passed my fingers over them softly. +There was something in the sight of them that moved me, as if they were +fragments of the shining garments of some vision, which in times gone +by, when I was much younger, had now and then floated before my fancy. I +did not know any one lovely enough to wear raiment of glistening white +like these, unless--unless--. A passing glimpse of the pure white face, +and glossy hair, and deep gray eyes of my Sark patient flashed across +me. + +"They are patterns for Julia's wedding-dress," said my mother, in a low, +tender voice. + + + + +CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. + +TRUE TO BOTH. + + +"For Julia!" I repeated, the treacherous vision fading away +instantaneously. "Oh, yes! I understand. They are very beautiful--very +beautiful indeed." + +"Which do you like most?" asked Julia, in a whisper, as she leaned +against my shoulder. + +"I like them all," I said. "There is scarcely any difference among them +that I can see." + +"No difference!" she exclaimed. "That is so like a man! Why, they are as +different as can be. Look here, this one is only five shillings a yard, +and that is twelve. Isn't that a difference?" + +"A very great one," I replied. "But do you think you will look well in +white, my dear Julia? You never do wear white." + +"A bride cannot wear any thing but white," she said, angrily. "I +declare, Martin, you would not mind if I looked a perfect fright." + +"But I should mind very much," I urged, putting my arm around her; "for +you will be my wife then, Julia." + +She smiled almost for the first time that afternoon, for her mind had +been full of the furniture, and too burdened for happiness. But now she +looked happy. + +"You can be as nice and good as any one, when you like," she said, +gently. + +"I shall always be nice and good when we are married," I answered, with +a laugh. "You are not afraid of venturing, are you, Julia?" + +"Not the least in the world," she said. "I know you, Martin, and I can +trust you implicitly." + +My heart ached at the words, so softly and warmly spoken. But I laughed +again--at myself this time, not at her. Why should she not trust me? I +would be as true as steel to her. I loved no one better, and I would +take care not to love any one. My word, my honor, my troth, were all +plighted to her. Only a scoundrel and a fool would be unfaithful to an +engagement like ours. + +We walked home together, we three, all contented and all happy. We had a +good deal to talk of during the evening, and sat up late. Sundry small +events had happened in Guernsey during my six-days' absence, and these +were discussed with that charming minuteness with which women canvass +family matters. It was midnight before I found myself alone in my own +room. + +I had half forgotten the crumpled paper in my waistcoat-pocket, but now +I smoothed it out before me and pondered over every word. No, there +could not be a doubt that it referred to Miss Ollivier. "Bright-brown +hair, gray eyes, and delicate features." That exactly corresponded with +her appearance. "Blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat." It was +precisely the dress which Tardif had described. "Fifty pounds reward." +That was a large sum to offer, and the inference was that her friends +were persons of good means, and anxious for her recovery. + +Why should she have strayed from home? That was the question. What +possible reason could there have been, strong enough to impel a young +and delicately-nurtured girl to run all the risks and dangers of a +flight alone and unprotected? Her friends evidently believed that she +had not been run away with; there was not the ordinary element of an +elopement in this case. + +But Miss Ollivier had assured me she had no friends. What did she mean +by the word? Here were persons evidently anxious to discover her place +of concealment. Were they friends? or could they by any chance be +enemies? This is not an age when enmity is very rampant. For my own +part, I had not an enemy in the world. Why should this pretty, +habitually-obedient, self-controlled girl have any? Most probably it was +one of those instances of bitter misunderstanding which sometimes arise +in families, and which had driven her to the desperate step of seeking +peace and quietness by flight. + +Then what ought I to do with this advertisement, thrust, as it would +seem, purposely under my notice? If I had not wrapped up the parcel +myself at Barbet's, I should have missed seeing it; or if Barbet had +picked up any other piece of paper, it would not have come under my eye. +A curious concatenation of very trivial circumstances had ended in +putting into my hands a clew by which I could unravel all the mystery +about my Sark patient. What was I to do with the clew? + +I might communicate at once with Messrs. Scott and Brown, giving them +the information they had advertised for six months before, and receive a +reply, stating that it was no longer valuable to them, or containing an +acknowledgment of my claim to the fifty pounds reward. I might sell my +knowledge of Miss Ollivier for fifty pounds. In doing so I might render +her a great service, by restoring her to her proper sphere in society. +But the recollection of Tardif's description of her as looking terrified +and hunted recurred vividly to me. The advertisement put her age as +twenty-one. I should not have judged her so old myself, especially since +her hair had been cut short. But if she was twenty-one, she was old +enough to form plans and purposes for herself, and to choose, as far as +she could, her own mode of living. I was not prepared to deliver her up, +until I knew something more of both sides of the question. + +Settled--that if I could see Messrs. Scot and Brown, and learn something +about Miss Ollivier's friends, I might be then able to decide whether I +would betray her to them but I would not write. Also, that I must see +her again first, and once more urge her to have confidence in me. If she +would trust me with her secret, I would be as true to her as a friend as +I meant to be true to Julia. + +Having come to these conclusions, I cut the advertisement carefully out +of the crumpled paper, and placed it in my pocket-book with portraits of +my mother and Julia, Here were mementos of the three women I cared most +for in the world: my mother first, Julia second, and my mysterious +patient third. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. + +STOLEN WATERS ARE SWEET. + + +I was neither in good spirits nor in good temper during the next few +days. My mother and Julia appeared astonished at this, for I was not +ordinarily as touchy and fractious as I showed myself immediately after +my sojourn in Sark. + +I was ashamed of it myself. The new house, which occupied their time and +thoughts so agreeably, worried me as it had not done before. I made +every possible excuse not to be sent to it, or taken to it, several +times a day. + +The discussions over Julia's wedding-dress also, which had by no means +been decided upon on Saturday afternoon, began to bore me beyond words. +Whenever I could, I made my patients a pretext for getting away from +them. + +One of them, a cousin of my mother--as I have said, we were all cousins +of one degree or another--Captain Carey, met me on the quay, a day or +two after my return. He had been a commander in the Royal Navy, and, +after cruising about in all manner of unhealthy latitudes, had returned +to his native island for the recovery of his health. He and his sister +lived together in a very pleasant house of their own, in the Vale, about +two miles from St. Peter-Port. + +He looked yellow enough to be on the verge of an attack of jaundice when +he came across me. + +"Hallo, Martin!" he cried, "I am delighted to see you, my boy. I've been +a little out of sorts lately; but I would not let Johanna send for your +father. He does very well to go dawdling after women, and playing with +their pulses, but I don't want him dawdling after me. Tell me what you +have to say about me, my lad." + +He went on to tell me his symptoms, while a sudden idea struck me almost +like a flash of genius. + +I am nothing of a genius; but at that time new thoughts came into my +mind with wonderful rapidity. It was positively necessary that I should +run over to Sark this week--I had given my word to Miss Ollivier that I +would do so--but I dared not mention such a project at home. My mother +and Julia would be up in arms at the first syllable I uttered. + +What if I could do two patients good at one stroke, kill two birds with +one stone? Captain Carey had a pretty little yacht lying idle in St. +Sampson's Harbor, and a day's cruising would do him all the good in the +world. Why should he not carry me over to Sark, when I could visit my +other patient, and nobody be made miserable by the trip? + +"I will make you up some of your old medicine," I said, "but I strongly +recommend you to have a day out on the water; seven or eight hours at +any rate. If the weather keeps as fine as it is now, it will do you a +world of good." + +"It is so dreary alone," he objected, "and Johanna would not care to go +out at this season, I know." + +"If I could manage it," I said, deliberating, "I should be glad to have +a day with you." + +"Ah! if you could do that!" he replied, eagerly. + +"I'll see about it," I said. "Should you mind where you sailed to?" + +"Not at all, not at all, my boy," he answered, "so that I get your +company. You shall be skipper, or helmsman, or both, if you like." + +"Well, then," I replied, "you might take me over to the Havre Gosselin, +to see how my patient's broken arm is going on. It's a bore there being +no resident medical man there at this moment. The accident last autumn +was a great loss to the island." + +"Ah! poor fellow!" said Captain Carey, "he was a sad loss to them. But +I'll take you over with pleasure, Martin; any day you fix upon." + +"Get the yacht ship-shape, then," I said; "I think I can manage it on +Thursday." + +I did not say at home whither I was bound on Thursday. I informed them +merely that Captain Carey and I were going out in his yacht for a few +hours. This was simply to prevent them from worrying themselves. + +It was as delicious a spring morning as ever I remember. As I rode along +the flat shore between St. Peter-Port and St. Sampson's, the fresh air +from the sea played about my face, as if to drive dull care away, and +make me as buoyant and debonair as itself. The little waves were +glittering and dancing in the sunshine, and chiming with the merry +carols of the larks, outsinging one another in the blue sky overhead. +The numerous wind-mills, like children's toys, which were pumping water +out of the stone-quarries, whirled and spun busily in the brisk breeze. +Every person I met saluted me with a blithe and cheery greeting. My dull +spirits had been blown far away before I set foot on the deck of Captain +Carey's little yacht. + +The run over was all that we could wish. The cockle-shell of a boat, +belonging to the yacht, bore me to the foot of the ladder hanging down +the rock at Havre Gosselin. A very few minutes took me to the top of the +cliff, and there lay the little thatched, nest-like home of my patient. +I hastened forward eagerly. + +The place seemed very solitary and deserted; and a sudden fear came +across me. Was it possible that she should be dead? It was possible. I +had left her six days ago only just over a terrible crisis. There might +have been a relapse, a failure of vital force. I might be come to find +those shining eyes hid beneath their lids forever, and the pale, +suffering face motionless in death. + +Certainly the rhythmic motion of my heart was disturbed. I felt it +contract painfully, and its beating suspended for a moment or two. The +farmstead was intensely quiet, with the ominous stillness of death. All +the windows were shrouded with their check curtains. There was no +clatter of Suzanne's wooden clogs about the fold or the kitchen. If it +had been Sunday, this supernatural silence would have been easily +accounted for; but it was Thursday. I scarcely dared go on and learn the +cause of it. + +All silent still as I crossed the stony causeway of the yard. Not a face +looked out from door or window. Mam'zelle's casement stood a little way +open, and the breeze played with the curtains, fluttering them like +banners in a procession. I dared not try to look in. The house-door was +ajar, and I approached it cautiously. "Thank God!" I cried within myself +as I gazed eagerly into the cottage. + +She was lying there upon the fern-bed, half asleep, her head fallen back +upon the pillow, and the book she had been reading dropped from her +hand. Her dress was of some coarse, dark-green stuff, which made a +charming contrast to her delicate face and bright hair. The whole +interior of the cottage formed a picture. The old furniture of oak, +almost black with age, the neutral tints of the wall and ceiling, and +the deep tone of her green dress, threw out into strong relief the +graceful, shining head, and pale face. + +I suppose she became subtly conscious, as women always are, that +somebody's eyes were fixed upon her, for she awoke fully, and looked up +as I lingered on the door-sill. + +"O Dr. Martin!" she cried, "I am so glad!" + +She looked pleased enough to be upon the point of trying to raise +herself up in order to welcome me, but I interposed quickly. It was more +difficult than I had expected to assume a grave, professional tone, but +by an effort I did so. I bade her lie still, and took a chair at some +little distance. + +"Tardif is gone out fishing," she said, "and his mother is gone away +too, to a christening-feast somewhere; but Mrs. Renouf is to be here in +an hour or two. I told them I could manage very well as long as that." + +"They ought not to have left you alone," I replied. + +"And I shall not be left alone," she said, smiling, "for you are come, +you see. I am rather glad they are away; for I wanted to tell you how +much I felt your goodness to me all through that dreadful week. You are +the first doctor I ever had about me, the very first. Perhaps you +thought I did not know what care you were taking of me; but, somehow or +other, I knew every thing. My mind did not quite go. You were very, very +good to me." + +"Never mind that," I said; "I am come to see how my work is going on. +How is the arm, first of all?" + +I almost wished that Mother Renouf or Suzanne Tardif had been at hand. +But Miss Ollivier seemed perfectly composed, as much so as a child. She +looked like one with her cropped head of hair, and frank, open face. My +own momentary embarrassment passed away. The arm was going on all right, +and so was Mother Renouf's charge, the sprained ankle. + +"We must take care you are not lame," I said, while I was feeling +carefully the complicated joint of her ankle. + +"Lame!" she repeated, in an alarmed voice, "is there any fear of that?" + +"Not much," I answered, "but we must be careful, mam'zelle. You must +promise me not to set your foot on the ground, or in any way rest your +weight upon it, till I give you leave." + +"That means that you will have to come to see me again," she said; "is +it not very difficult to come over from Guernsey?" + +"Not at all," I answered, "it is quite a treat to me." + +Her face grew very grave, as if she was thinking of some unpleasant +topic. She looked at me earnestly and questioningly. + +"May I speak to you with great plainness, Dr. Martin?" she asked. + +"Speak precisely what is in your mind at this moment," I replied. + +"You are very, very good to me," she said, holding out her hand to me, +"but I do not want you to come more often than is quite necessary, +because I am very poor. If I were rich," she went on hurriedly, "I +should like you to come every day--it is so pleasant--but I can never +pay you sufficiently for that long week you were here. So please do not +visit me oftener than is quite necessary." + +My face felt hot, but I scarcely knew what to say. I bungled out an +answer: + +"I would not take any money from you, and I shall come to see you as +often as I can." + +I bound up her little foot again without another word, and then sat +down, pushing my chair farther from her. + +"You are not offended with me, Dr. Martin?" she asked, in a pleading +tone. + +"No," I answered; "but you are mistaken in supposing that a medical man +has no love for his profession apart from its profits. To see that your +arm gets properly well is part of my duty, and I shall fulfil it without +any thought of whether I shall get paid for it or no." + +"Now," she said, "I must let you know how poor I am. Will you please to +fetch me my box out of my room?" + +I was only too glad to obey her. This seemed to be an opening to a +complete confidence between us. Now I came to think of it, Fortune had +favored me in thus throwing us together alone. + +I lifted the small, light box very easily--there could not be many +treasures in it--and carried it back to her. She took a key out of her +pocket and unlocked it with some difficulty, but she could not raise the +lid without my help. I took care not to offer any assistance until she +asked it. + +Yes, there were very few possessions in that light trunk, but the first +glance showed me a blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat. I +lifted them out for her, and after them a pair of velvet slippers, +soiled, as if they had been through muddy roads. I did not utter a +remark. Beneath these lay a handsome watch and chain, a fine diamond +ring, and five sovereigns lying loose in the box. + +"That is all the money I have in the world," she said, sadly. + +I laid the five sovereigns in her small, white hand, and she turned them +over, one after another, with a pitiful look on her face. I felt foolish +enough to cry over them myself. + +"Dr. Martin," was her unexpected question after a long pause, "do you +know what became of my hair?" + +"Why?" I asked, looking at her fingers running through the short curls +we had left her. + +"Because that ought to be sold for something," she said. "I am almost +glad you had it cut off. My hair-dresser told me once he would give five +guineas for a head of hair like mine, it was so long and the color was +uncommon. Five guineas would not be half enough to pay you though, I +know." + +She spoke so simply and quietly, that I did not attempt to remonstrate +with her about her anxiety to pay me. + +"Tardif has it," I said; "but of course he will give it you back again. +Shall I sell it for you, mam'zelle?" + +"Oh, that is just what I could not ask you!" she exclaimed. "You see +there is no one to buy it here, and I hope it may be a long time before +I go away. I don't know, though; that depends upon whether I can dispose +of my things. There is my seal-skin, it cost twenty-five guineas last +year, and it ought to be worth something. And my watch--see what a nice +one it is. I should like to sell them all, every one. Then I could stay +here as long as the money lasted." + +"How much do you pay here?" I inquired, for she had taken me so far into +counsel that I felt justified in asking that question. + +"A pound a week," she answered. + +"A pound a week!" I repeated, in amazement. "Does Tardif know that?" + +"I don't think he does," she said. "When I had been here a week I gave +Mrs. Tardif a sovereign, thinking perhaps she would give me a little out +of it. I am not used to being poor, and I did not know how much I ought +to pay. But she kept it all, and came to me every week for more. Was it +too much to pay?" + +"Too much!" I said. "You should have spoken to Tardif about it, my poor +child." + +"I could not talk to Tardif about his mother," she answered. "Besides, +it would not have been too much if I had only had plenty. But it has +made me so anxious. I did not know whatever I should do when it was all +gone. I do not know now." + +Here was a capital opening for a question about her friends. + +"You will be compelled to communicate with your family," I said. "You +have told me how poor you are; cannot you trust me about your friends?" + +"I have no friends," she answered, sorrowfully. "If I had any, do you +suppose I should be here?" + +"I am one," I said, "and Tardif is another." + +"Ah, new friends," she replied; "but I mean real old friends who have +known you all your life, like your mother, Dr. Martin, or your cousin +Julia. I want somebody to go to who knows all about me, and say to them, +after telling them every thing, keeping nothing back at all, 'Have I +done right? What else ought I to have done?' No new friend could answer +questions like those." + +Was there any reason I could bring forward to increase her confidence in +me? I thought there was, and her friendlessness and helplessness touched +me to the core of my heart. Yet it was with an indefinable reluctance +that I brought forward my argument. + +"Miss Ollivier," I said, "I have no claim of old acquaintance or +friendship, yet it is possible I might answer those questions, if you +could prevail upon yourself to tell me the circumstances of your former +life. In a few weeks I shall be in a position to show you more +friendship than I can do now. I shall have a home of my own, and a wife +who will be your friend more fittingly, perhaps, than myself." + +"I knew it," she answered, half shyly. "Tardif told me you were going to +marry your cousin Julia." + +Just then we heard the fold-yard gate swing to behind some one who was +coming to the house. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. + +ONE IN A THOUSAND. + + +I had altogether forgotten that Captain Carey's yacht was waiting for me +off the little bay below; and I sprang quickly to the door in the dread +that he had followed me. + +It was an immense relief to see only Tardif's tall figure bending under +his creel and nets, and crossing the yard slowly. I hailed him and he +quickened his pace, his honest features lighting up at the sight of me. + +"How do you find mam'zelle, doctor?" were his first eager words. + +"All right," I said; "going on famously. Sark is enough to cure any one +and any thing of itself, Tardif. There is no air like it. I should not +mind being a little ill here myself." + +"Captain Carey is impatient to be gone," he continued. "He sent word by +me that you might be visiting every house in the island, you had been +away so long." + +"Not so very long," I said, testily; "but I will just run in and say +good-by, and then I want you to walk with me to the cliff." + +I turned back for a last look and a last word. No chance of learning +her secret now. The picture was as perfect as when I had had the first +glimpse of it, only her face had grown, if possible, more charming after +my renewed scrutiny of it. + +There are faces that grow upon you the longer and the oftener you look +upon them; faces that seem to have a veil over them, which melts away +like the thin, fine mist of the morning upon the cliffs, until they +flash out in their full color and beauty. The last glance was eminently +satisfactory, and so was the last word. + +"Shall I send you the hair?" asked Miss Ollivier, returning practically +to a matter of business. + +"To be sure," I answered. "I shall dispose of it to advantage, but I +have not time to wait for it now." + +"And may I write a letter to you?" + +"Yes," was my reply: I was too pleased to express myself more +eloquently. + +"Good-by," she said; "you are a very good doctor to me." + +"And friend?" I added. + +"And friend," she repeated. + +That was the last word, for I was compelled to hurry away. Tardif +accompanied me to the cliff, and I took the opportunity to tell him as +pleasantly as I could the extravagant charge his mother had made upon +her lodger, and the girl's anxiety about the future. A more grieved look +never came across a man's face. + +"Dr. Martin," he said, "I would have cut off my hand rather than it had +been so. Poor little mam'zelle! Poor old mother! She is growing old, +sir, and old people are greedy. The fall of the year is dark and cold, +and gives nothing, but takes away all it can, and hoards it for the +young new spring that is to follow. It seems almost the nature of old +age. Poor old mother! I am very grieved for her. And I am troubled, +troubled about mam'zelle. To think she has been fretting all the winter +about this, when I was trying to find out how to cheer her! Only five +pounds left, poor little soul! Why! all I have is at her service. It is +enough to have her only in the house, with her pretty ways and sweet +voice. I'll put it all right with mam'zelle, sir, and with my poor old +mother too. I am very sorry for _her_." + +"Miss Ollivier has been asking me to sell her hair," I said. + +"No, no," he answered hastily, "not a single hair! I cannot say yes to +that. The pretty bright curls! If anybody is to buy them, I will. Yes, +doctor! that is famous. She wishes you to sell her hair? Very good; I +will buy it; it must be mine. I have more money than you think, perhaps. +I will buy mam'zelle's pretty curls; and she shall have the money, and +then there will be more than five pounds in her little purse. Tell me +how much they will be. Ten pounds? Fifteen? Twenty?" + +"Nonsense, Tardif!" I answered; "keep one of them, if you like; but I +must have the rest. We will settle it between us." + +"No, doctor," he said; "your cousin will not like that. You are going to +be married soon; it would not do for you to keep mam'zelle's curls." + +It was said with so much simplicity and good-heartedness that I felt +ashamed of a rising feeling of resentment, and parted with him +cordially. In a few minutes afterward I was on board the yacht, and +laughing at Captain Carey's reproaches. Tardif was still visible on the +edge of the cliff, watching our departure. + +"That is as good a fellow as ever breathed," said Captain Carey, waving +his cap to him. + +"I know it better than you do," I replied. + +"And how is the young woman?" he asked. + +"Going on as well as a broken arm and a sprained ankle can do," I +answered. + +"You will want to come again, Martin," he said; "when are we to have +another day?" + +"Well, I shall hear how she is every now and then," I answered; "it +takes too long a time to come more often than is necessary. But you will +bring me if it is necessary?" + +"With all my heart," said Captain Carey. + +For the next few days I waited with some impatience for Miss Ollivier's +promised letter. It came at last, and I put it into my pocket to read +when I was alone--why, I could scarcely have explained to myself. + + + "Dear Dr. Martin," it began, "I have no little commission to + trouble you with. Tardif tells me it was quite a mistake, his + mother taking a sovereign from me each week. She does not + understand English money; and he says I have paid quite + sufficient to stay with them a whole year longer without + paying any more. I am quite content about that now. Tardif + says, too, that he has a friend in Southampton who will buy my + hair, and give more than anybody in Guernsey. So I need not + trouble you about it, though I am sure you would have done it + for me. + + "I have not put my foot to the ground yet; but yesterday + Tardif carried me all the way down to his boat, and took me + out for a little sail under the beautiful cliffs, where we + could look up and see all those strange carvings upon the + rocks. I thought that perhaps there were real things written + there that we should like to read. Sometimes in the sky there + are fine faint lines across the blue which look like written + sentences, if one could only make them out. Here they are on + the rocks, but every tide washes them away, leaving fresh + ones. Perhaps they are messages to me, answers to those + questions that I cannot answer myself. + + "Good-by, my good doctor. I am trying to do every thing you + told me exactly; and I am getting well again fast. I do not + believe I shall be lame; you are too clever for that. Your + patient, + + "OLIVIA." + +Olivia! I looked at the word again to make sure of it. Then it was not +her surname that was Ollivier, and I was still ignorant of that. I saw +in a moment how the mistake had arisen, and how innocent she was of any +deception in the matter. She would tell Tardif that her name was Olivia, +and he thought only of the Olliviers he knew. It was a mistake that had +been of use in checking curiosity, and I did not feel bound to put it +right. My mother and Julia appeared to have forgotten my patient in Sark +altogether. + +Olivia! I thought it a very pretty name, and repeated it to myself with +its abbreviations, Olive, Livy. It was difficult to abbreviate Julia; Ju +I had called her in my rudest school-boy days. I wondered how high +Olivia would stand beside me; for I had never seen her on her feet. +Julia was not two inches shorter than myself; a tall, stiff figure, +neither slender enough to be lissome, nor well-proportioned enough to be +majestic. But she was very good, and her price was far above rubies. + +According to the wise man, it was a difficult task to find a virtuous +woman. + +It was a quiet time in the afternoon, and in order to verify my +recollection of the wise man's saying, which was a little cloudy in my +memory, I searched through Julia's Bible for it. I came across a passage +which made me pause and consider. "Behold, this have I found, saith the +preacher, counting one by one, to find out the account: which yet my +soul seeketh, but I find not; one man among a thousand have I found; but +a woman among all those have I not found." + +"Tardif is the man," I said to myself, "but is Julia the woman? Have I +had better luck than Solomon?" + +"What are you reading, Martin?" asked my father, who had just come in, +and was painfully fitting on a pair of new and very tight kid gloves. I +read the passage aloud, without comment. + +"Very good," he remarked, chuckling, "upon my word! I did not know there +was any thing as rich as that in the old book! Who says it, Martin? A +very wise preacher he was, and knew what he was talking about. Had seen +life, eh? It's as true as--as--as the gospel." + +I could not help laughing at the comparison he was forced to; yet I felt +angry with him and myself. + +"What do you say about my mother and Julia, sir?" I asked. + +He chuckled again cynically, examining with care a spot on the palm of +one of his gloves. "Ha! ha! my son"--I hated to hear him say "my +son"--"I will answer you in the words of another wise man: 'Most +virtuous women, like hidden treasures, are secure because nobody seeks +after them.'" + +So saying, he turned out of the room, swinging his gold-headed cane +jauntily between his fingers. + +I visited Sark again in about ten days, to set Olivia free from my +embargo upon her walking. I allowed her to walk a little way along a +smooth meadow-path, leaning on my arm; and I found that she was a head +lower than myself--a beautiful height for a woman. That time Captain +Carey had set me down at the Havre Gosselin, appointing me to meet him +at the Creux Harbor, which was exactly on the opposite side of the +island. In crossing over to it--a distance of rather more than a mile--I +encountered Julia's friends, Emma and Maria Brouard. + +"You here again, Martin!" exclaimed Emma. + +"Yes," I answered; "Captain Carey set me down at the Havre Gosselin, and +is gone round to meet me at the Creux." + +"You have been to see that young person?" asked Maria. + +"Yes," I replied. + +"She is a very singular young woman," she continued; "we think her +stupid. We cannot make anything of her. But there is no doubt poor +Tardif means to marry her." + +"Nonsense!" I ejaculated, hotly; "I beg your pardon, Maria, but I give +Tardif credit for sense enough to know his own position." + +"So did we," said Emma, "but it looks odd. He married an Englishwoman +before. It's old Mere Renouf who says he worships the ground she treads +upon. You know he holds a very good position in the island, and he is a +great favorite with the seigneur. There are dozens of girls of his own +class in Guernsey and Alderney, to say nothing of Sark, who would be +only too glad to have him. He is a very handsome man, Martin." + +"Tardif is a fine fellow," I admitted. + +"I shall be very sorry for him to be taken in again," continued Emma; +"nobody knows who that young person may be; it looks odd on the face of +it. Are you in a hurry? Well, good-by. Give our best love to dear Julia. +We are busy at work on a wedding-present for her; but you must not tell +her that, you know." + +I went on in a hot rage, shapeless and wordless, but smouldering like a +fire within me. The cool, green lane, deep between hedge-rows, the banks +of which were gemmed with primroses, had no effect upon me just then. +Tardif marry Olivia! That was an absurd, preposterous notion indeed. It +required all my knowledge of the influence of dress on the average human +mind, to convince myself that Olivia, in her coarse green serge dress, +had impressed the people of Sark with the notion that she would be no +unsuitable mate for their rough, though good and handsome fisherman. + +Was it possible that they thought her stupid? Reserved and silent she +might be, as she wished to remain unmolested and concealed; but not +stupid! That any one should dream so wildly as to think of Olivia +marrying Tardif, was the utmost folly I could imagine. + +I had half an hour to wait in the little harbor, its great cliffs rising +all about me, with only a tunnel bored through them to form an entrance +to the green island within. My rage had partly fumed itself away before +the yacht came in sight. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. + +OVERHEAD IN LOVE. + + +Awfully fast the time sped away. It was the second week in March I +passed in Sark; the second week in May came upon me as if borne by a +whirlwind. It was only a month to the day so long fixed upon for our +marriage. My mother began to fidget about my going over to London to pay +my farewell bachelor visit to Jack Senior, and to fit myself out with +wedding toggery. Julia's was going on fast to completion. Our trip to +Switzerland was distinctly planned out, almost from day to day. Go I +must to London; order my wedding-suit I must. + +But first there could be no harm in running over to Sark to see Olivia +once more. As soon as I was married I would tell Julia all about her. +But if either arm or ankle went wrong for want of attention, I should +never forgive myself. + +"When shall we have another run together, Captain Carey?" I asked. + +"Any day you like, my boy," he answered; "your days of liberty are +growing few and short now, eh? I've never had a chance of trying it +myself, Martin, but they are nervous times, I should think. Cruising in +doubtful channels, eh? with uncertain breezes? How does Julia keep up?" + +"I can spare to-morrow," I replied, ignoring his remarks; "on Saturday I +shall cross over to England to see Jack Senior." + +"And bid him adieu?" he said, laughing, "or give him an invitation to +your own house? I shall be glad to see you in a house of your own. Your +father is too young a man for you." + +"Can you take me to Sark to-morrow?" I asked. + +"To be sure I can," he answered. + +It was the last time I could see Olivia before my marriage. Afterward I +should see much of her; for Julia would invite her to our house, and be +a friend to her. I spent a wretchedly sleepless night; and whenever I +dozed by fits and starts, I saw Olivia before me, weeping bitterly, and +refusing to be comforted. + +From St. Sampson's we set sail straight for the Havre Gosselin, without +a word upon my part; and the wind being in our favor, we were not long +in crossing the channel. To my extreme surprise and chagrin, Captain +Carey announced his intention of landing with me, and leaving the yacht +in charge of his men to await our return. + +"The ladder is excessively awkward," I objected, "and some of the rungs +are loose. You don't mind running the risk of a plunge into the water?" + +"Not in the least," he answered, cheerily; "for the matter of that, I +plunge into it every morning at L'Ancresse. I want to see Tardif. He is +one in a thousand, as you say; and one cannot see such a man every day +of one's life." + +There was no help for it, and I gave in, hoping some good luck awaited +me. I led the way up the zigzag path, and just as we reached the top I +saw the slight, erect figure of Olivia seated upon the brow of a little +grassy knoll at a short distance from us. Her back was toward us, so she +was not aware of our vicinity; and I pointed toward her with an assumed +air of indifference. + +"I believe that is my patient yonder," I said; "I will just run across +and speak to her, and then follow you to the farm." + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, "there is a lovely view from that spot. I recollect +it well. I will go with you, Martin. There will be time enough to see +Tardif." + +Did Captain Carey suspect any thing? Or what reason could he have for +wishing to see Olivia? Could it be merely that he wanted to see the view +from that particular spot? I could not forbid him accompanying me, but I +wished him at Jericho. + +What is more stupid than to have an elderly man dogging one's footsteps? + +I trusted devoutly that we should see or hear Tardif before reaching the +knoll; but no such good fortune befell me. Olivia did not hear our +footsteps upon the soft turf, though we approached her very nearly. The +sun shone upon her glossy hair, every thread of which seemed to shine +back again. She was reading aloud, apparently to herself, and the sounds +of her sweet voice were wafted by the air toward us. Captain Carey's +face became very thoughtful. + +A few steps nearer brought us in view of Tardif, who had spread his nets +on the grass, and was examining them narrowly for rents. Just at this +moment he was down on his knees, not far from Olivia, gathering some +broken meshes together, but listening to her, with an expression of huge +contentment upon his handsome face. A bitter pang shot through me. Could +it be true by any possibility--that lie I had heard the last time I was +in Sark? + +"Good-day, Tardif," shouted Captain Carey; and both Tardif and Olivia +started. But both of their faces grew brighter at seeing us, and both +sprang up to give us welcome. Olivia's color had come back to her +cheeks, and a sweeter face no man ever looked upon. + +"I am very glad you are come once more," she said, putting her hand in +mine; "you told me in your last letter you were going to England, and +might not come over to Sark before next autumn. How glad I am to see you +again!" + +I glanced from the corner of my eye at Captain Carey. He looked very +grave, but his eyes could not rest upon Olivia without admiring her, as +she stood before us, bright-faced, slender, erect, with the heavy folds +of her coarse dress falling about her as gracefully as if they were of +the richest material. + +"This is my friend, Captain Carey, Miss Olivia," I said, "in whose yacht +I have come over to visit you." + +"I am very glad to see any friend of Dr. Martin's," she answered, as she +hold out her hand to him with a smile; "my doctor and I are great +friends, Captain Carey." + +"So I suppose," he said, significantly--or at least his tone and look +seemed fraught with significance to me. + +"We were talking of you only a few minutes ago, Dr. Martin," she +continued; "I was telling Tardif how you sang the 'Three Fishers' to me +the last time you were here, and how it rings in my ears still, +especially when he is away fishing. I repeated the three last lines to +him: + + 'For men must work, and women must weep; + And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep. + So good-by to the bar, with its moaning.'" + +"I do not like it, doctor," said Tardif: "there's no hope in it. Yet to +sleep out yonder at last, on the great plain under the sea, would be no +bad thing." + +"You must sing it for Tardif," added Olivia, with a pretty +imperiousness, "and then he will like it." + +My throat felt dry, and my tongue parched. I could not utter a word in +reply. + +"This would be the very place for such a song," said Captain Carey. +"Come, Martin, let us have it." + +"No; I can sing nothing to-day," I answered, harshly. + +The very sight of her made me feel miserable beyond words; the sound of +her voice maddened me. I felt as if I was angry with her almost to +hatred for her grace and sweetness; yet I could have knelt down at her +feet, and been happy only to lay my hand on a fold of her dress. No +feeling had ever stirred me so before, and it made me irritable. +Olivia's clear gray eyes looked at me wonderingly. + +"Is there anything the matter with you, Dr. Martin?" she inquired. + +"No," I replied, turning away from her abruptly. Every one of them felt +my rudeness; and there was a dead silence among us for half a minute, +which seemed an age to me. Then I heard Captain Carey speaking in his +suavest tones. + +"Are you quite well again, Miss Ollivier?" he asked. + +"Yes, quite well, I think," she said, in a very subdued voice. "I cannot +walk far yet, and my arm is still weak: but I think I am quite well. I +have given Dr. Martin a great deal of trouble and anxiety." + +She spoke in the low, quiet tones of a child who has been chidden +unreasonably. I was asking myself what Captain Carey meant by not +leaving me alone with my patient. When a medical man makes a call, the +intrusion of any unprofessional, indifferent person is unpardonable. If +it had been Suzanne, Tardif, or Mother Renouf, who was keeping so close +beside us, I could have made no reasonable objection. But Captain Carey! + +"Tardif," I said, "Captain Carey came ashore on purpose to visit you and +your farm." + +I knew he was excessively proud of his farm, which consisted of about +four or five acres. He caught at the words with alacrity, and led the +way toward his house with tremendous strides. There was no means of +evading a tour of inspection, though Captain Carey appeared to follow +him reluctantly. Olivia and I were left alone, but she was moving after +them slowly, when I ran to her, and offered her my arm on the plea that +her ankle was still too weak to bear her weight unsupported. + +"Olivia!" I exclaimed, after we had gone a few yards, bringing her and +myself to a sudden halt. Then I was struck dumb. I had nothing special +to say to her. How was it I had called her so familiarly Olivia? + +"Well, Dr. Martin?" she said, looking into my face again with eager, +inquiring eyes, as if she was wishful to understand my varying moods if +she could. + +"What a lovely place this is!" I ejaculated. + +More lovely than any words I ever heard could describe. It was a perfect +day, and a perfect view. The sea was like an opal, changing every minute +with the passing shadows of snow-white clouds which floated lazily +across the bright blue of the sky. The cliffs, Sark Cliffs, which have +not their equal in the world, stretched below us, with every hue of gold +and bronze, and hoary white, and soft gray; and here and there a black +rock, with livid shades of purple, and a bloom upon it like a raven's +wing. Rocky islets, never trodden by human foot, over which the foam +poured ceaselessly, were dotted all about the changeful surface of the +water. And just beneath the level of my eyes was Olivia's face--the +loveliest thing there, though there was so much beauty lying around us. + +"Yes, it is a lovely place," she assented, a mischievous smile playing +about her lips. + +"Olivia," I said, taking my courage by both hands, "it is only a month +now till my wedding-day." + +Was I deceiving myself, or did she really grow paler? It was but for a +moment if it were so. But how cold the air felt all in an instant! The +shock was like that of a first plunge into chilly waters, and I was +shivering through every fibre. + +"I hope you will be happy," said Olivia, "very happy. It is a great risk +to run. Marriage will make you either very happy or very wretched." + +"Not at all," I answered, trying to speak gayly; "I do not look forward +to any vast amount of rapture. Julia and I will get along very well +together, I have no doubt, for we have known one another all our lives. +I do not expect to be any happier than other men; and the married people +I have known have not exactly dwelt in paradise. Perhaps your experience +has been different?" + +"Oh, no!" she said, her hand trembling on my arm, and her face very +downcast; "but I should have liked you to be very, very happy." + +So softly spoken, with such a low, faltering voice! I could not trust +myself to speak again. A stern sense of duty toward Julia kept me +silent; and we moved on, though very slowly and lingeringly. + +"You love her very much?" said the quiet voice at my side, not much +louder than the voice of conscience, which was speaking imperiously just +then. + +"I esteem her more highly than any other woman, except my mother," I +said. "I believe she would die sooner than do any thing she considered +wrong. I do not deserve her, and she loves me, I am sure, very truly and +faithfully." + +"Do you think she will like me?" asked Olivia, anxiously. + +"No; she must love you," I said, with warmth; "and I, too, can be a more +useful friend to you after my marriage than I am now. Perhaps then you +will feel free to place perfect confidence in us." + +She smiled faintly, without speaking--a smile which said plainly she +could keep her own secret closely. It provoked me to do a thing I had +had no intention of doing, and which I regretted very much afterward. I +opened my pocket-book, and drew out the little slip of paper containing +the advertisement. + +"Read that," I said. + +But I do not think she saw more than the first line, for her face went +deadly white, and her eyes turned upon me with a wild, beseeching +look--as Tardif described it, the look of a creature hunted and +terrified. I thought she would have fallen, and I put my arm round her. +She fastened both her hands about mine, and her lips moved, though I +could not catch a word she was saying. + +"Olivia!" I cried, "Olivia! do you suppose I could do any thing to hurt +you? Do not be so frightened! Why, I am your friend truly. I wish to +Heaven I had not shown you the thing. Have more faith in me, and more +courage." + +"But they will find me, and force me away from here," she muttered. + +"No," I said; "that advertisement was printed in the _Times_ directly +after your flight last October. They have not found you out yet; and the +longer you are hidden, the less likely they are to find you. Good +Heavens! what a fool I was to show it to you!" + +"Never mind," she answered, recovering herself a little, but still +clinging to my arm; "I was only frightened for the time. You would not +give me up to them if you knew all." + +"Give you up to them!" I repeated, bitterly. "Am I a Judas?" + +But she could not talk to me any more. She was trembling like an +aspen-leaf, and her breath came sobbingly. All I could do was to take +her home, blaming myself for my cursed folly. + +Captain Carey and Tardif met us at the farm-yard gate, but Olivia could +not speak to them; and we passed them in silence, challenged by their +inquisitive looks. She could only bid me good-by in a tremulous voice; +and I watched her go on into her own little room, and close the door +between us. That was the last I should see of her before my marriage. + +Tardif walked with us to the top of the cliff, and made me a formal, +congratulatory speech before quitting us. When he was gone, Captain +Carey stood still until he was quite out of hearing, and then stretched +out his hand toward the thatched roof, yellow with stone-crop and +lichens. + +"This is a serious business, Martin," he said, looking sternly at me; +"you are in love with that girl." + +"I love her with all my heart and soul!" I cried. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. + +IN A FIX. + + +Yes, I loved Olivia with all my heart and soul. + +I had not known it myself till that moment; and now I acknowledged it +boldly, almost defiantly, with a strange mingling of delight and pain in +the confession. + +Yet the words startled me as I uttered them. They had involved in them +so many unpleasant consequences, so much chagrin and bitterness as their +practical result, that I stood aghast--even while my pulses throbbed, +and my heart beat high, with the novel rapture of loving any woman as I +loved Olivia. If I followed out my avowal to its just issue, I should be +a traitor to Julia; and all my life up to the present moment would be +lost to me. I had scarcely spoken it before I dropped my head on my +hands with a groan. + +"Come, come, my poor fellow!" said Captain Carey, who could never see a +dog with his tail between his legs without whistling to him and patting +him, "we must see what can be done." + +It was neither a time nor a place for the indulgence of emotion of any +kind. It was impossible for me to remain on the cliffs, bemoaning my +unhappy fate. I strode on doggedly down the path, kicking the loose +stones into the water as they came in my way. Captain Carey followed, +whistling softly to himself, and, of all the tunes in the world, he +chose the one to the "Three Fishers," which I had sung to Olivia. He +continued doing so after we were aboard the yacht, and I saw the boatmen +exchange apprehensive glances. + +"We shall have wind enough, without whistling for it, before we reach +Guernsey," said one of them, after a while; and Captain Carey relapsed +into silence. We scarcely spoke again, except about the shifting of the +sails, in our passage across. A pretty stiff breeze was blowing, and we +found plenty of occupation. + +"I cannot leave you like this, Martin, my boy," said Captain Carey, when +we went ashore at St. Sampson's; and he put his arm through mine +affectionately. + +"You will keep my secret?" I said--my voice a key or two lower than +usual. + +"Martin," answered the good-hearted, clear-sighted old bachelor, "you +must not do Julia the wrong of keeping this secret from her." + +"I must," I urged. "Olivia knows nothing of it; nobody guesses it but +you. I must conquer it. Things have gone too far with poor Julia, for me +to back out of our marriage now. You know that as well as I do. Think of +it, Captain Carey!" + +"But shall you conquer it?" asked Captain Carey, seriously. + +I could not answer yes frankly and freely. It seemed a sheer +impossibility for me to root out this new love, which I found in my +heart below all the old loves and friendships of my whole life. Mad as I +was with myself at the thought of my folly, the folly was so sweet to +me, that I would as soon have parted with life itself. Nothing in the +least resembling this feeling had been a matter of experience with me +before. I had read of it in poetry and novels, and laughed a little at +it; but now it had come upon me like a strong man armed. I quailed and +flinched before the painful conflict necessary to cast out the precious +guest. + +"Martin," urged Captain Carey, "come up to Johanna, and tell her all +about it." + +Johanna Carey was one of the powers in the island. Everybody knew her; +and everybody went to her for comfort and counsel. She was, of course, +related to us all; and knew the exact degree of relationship among us, +having the genealogy of each family at her fingers' ends. But, besides +these family histories, which were common property, she was also +intrusted with the inmost secrets of every household--those secrets +which were the most carefully and jealously guarded. I had always been a +favorite with her, and nothing could be more natural than this proposal +of her brother's, that I should go and tell her all my dilemma. + +The house stood on the border of L'Ancresse Common, with no view of the +sea, but with the soft, undulating brows and hollows of the common lying +before it, and a broken battlement of rocks rising beyond them. + +There was always a low, solemn murmur of the invisible sea, singing like +a lullaby about the peaceful dwelling, and hushing it into a more +profound quiet than even utter silence; for utter silence is irksome and +fretting to the ear, which needs some slight reverberation to keep the +brain behind it still. A perfume of violets, and the more dainty scent +of primroses, pervaded the garden. It seemed incredible that any man +should be allowed to live in such a spot; but then Captain Carey was +almost as gentle and fastidious as a woman. + +Johanna was not unlike her home. There was a repose about her similar to +the calm of a judge, which gave additional weight to her counsels. The +moment we entered through the gates, a certainty of comfort and help +appeared to be wafted upon the pure breeze, floating across the common +from the sea. + +Johanna was standing at one of the windows in a Quakerish dress of some +gray stuff, and with a plain white cap over her white hair. She came +down to the door as soon as she saw me, and received me with a motherly +kiss, which I returned with more than usual warmth, as one does in any +new kind of trouble. I think she was instantly aware that something was +amiss with me. + +"Is dinner ready, Johanna?" asked her brother; "we are as hungry as +hunters." + +That was not true as far as I was concerned. For the first time within +my recollection my appetite quite failed me, and I merely played with my +knife and fork. + +Captain Carey regarded me pitifully, and said, "Come, come, Martin, my +boy!" several times. + +Johanna made no remark; but her quiet, searching eyes looked me through +and through, till I almost longed for the time when she would begin to +question and cross-question me. After she was gone, Captain Carey gave +me two or three glasses of his choicest wine, to cheer me up, as he +said; but we were not long before we followed his sister. + +"Johanna," said Captain Carey, "we have something to tell you." + +"Come and sit here by me," she said, making room for me beside her on +her sofa; for long experience had taught her how much more difficult it +is to make a confession face to face with one's confessor, under the +fire of his eyes, as it were, than when one is partially concealed from +him. + +"Well," she said, in her calm, inviting voice. + +"Johanna," I replied, "I am in a terrible fix!" + +"Awful!" cried Captain Carey, sympathetically; but a glance from his +sister put him to silence. + +"What is it, my dear Martin?" asked her inviting voice again. + +"I will tell you frankly," I said, feeling I must have it out at once, +like an aching tooth. "I love, with all my heart and soul, that girl in +Sark; the one who has been my patient there." + +"Martin!" she cried, in a tone full of surprise and agitation--"Martin!" + +"Yes; I know all you would urge--my honor; my affection for Julia; the +claims she has upon me, the strongest claims possible; how good and +worthy she is; what an impossibility it is even to look back now. I know +it all, and feel how miserably binding it is upon me. Yet I love Olivia; +and I shall never love Julia." + +"Martin!" she cried again. + +"Listen to me, Johanna," I said, for now the ice was broken, my frozen +words were flowing as rapidly as a runnel of water; "I used to dream of +a feeling something like this years ago, but no girl I saw could kindle +it into reality. I have always esteemed Julia, and when my youth was +over, and I had never felt any devouring passion, I began to think love +was more of a word than a fact, or to believe that it had become only a +word in these cold late times. At any rate, I concluded I was past the +age for falling in love. There was my cousin Julia certainly dearer to +me than any other woman, except my mother. I knew all her little ways; +and they were not annoying to me, or were so in a very small degree. +Besides, my father had had a grand passion for my mother, and what had +that come to? There would be no such white ashes of a spent fire for +Julia to shiver over. That was how I argued the matter out with myself. +At eight-and-twenty I had never lost a quarter of an hour's sleep, or +missed a meal, for the sake of any girl. Surely I was safe. It was quite +fair for me to propose to Julia, and she would be satisfied with the +affection I could offer her. Then there was my mother; it was the +greatest happiness I could give her, and her life has not been a happy +one, God knows. So I proposed to Julia, and she accepted me last +Christmas." + +"And you are to be married next month?" said Johanna, in an exceedingly +troubled tone. + +"Yes," I answered, "and now every word Julia speaks, and every thing she +does, grates upon me. I love her as much as ever as my cousin, but as my +wife! Good Heavens! Johanna, I cannot tell you how I dread it." + +"What can be done?" she exclaimed, looking from me to Captain Carey, +whose face was as full of dismay as her own. But he only shook his head +despondingly. + +"Done!" I repeated, "nothing, absolutely nothing. It is utterly +impossible to draw back. Our house is nearly ready for us, and even +Julia's wedding-dress and veil are bought." + +"There is not a house you enter," said Johanna, solemnly, "where they +are not preparing a wedding-present for Julia and you. There has not +been a marriage in your district, among ourselves, for nine years. It is +as public as a royal marriage." + +"It must go on," I answered, with the calmness of despair. "I am the +most good-for-nothing scoundrel in Guernsey to fall in love with my +patient. You need not tell me so, Johanna. And yet, if I could think +that Olivia loved me, I would not change with the happiest man alive." + +"What is her name?" asked Johanna. + +"One of the Olliviers," answered Captain Carey; "but what Olliviers she +belongs to, I don't know. She is one of the prettiest creatures I ever +saw." + +"An Ollivier!" exclaimed Johanna, in her severest accents. "Martin, what +_are_ you thinking of?" + +"Her Christian name is Olivia," I said, hastily; "she does not belong to +the Olliviers at all. It was Tardif's mistake, and very natural. She was +born in Australia, I believe." + +"Of a good family, I hope?" asked Johanna. "There are some persons it +would be a disgrace to you to love. What is her other name?" + +"I don't know," I answered, reluctantly but distinctly. + +Johanna turned her face full upon me now--a face more agitated than I +had ever seen it. There was no use in trying to keep back any part of my +serious delinquency, so I resolved to make a clean breast of it. + +"I know very little about her," I said--"that is, about her history; as +for herself, she is the sweetest, dearest, loveliest girl in the whole +world to me. If I were free, and she loved me, I should not know what +else to wish for. All I know is, that she has run away from her people; +why, I have no more idea than you have, or who they are, or where they +live; and she has been living in Tardif's cottage since last October. It +is an infatuation, do you say? So it is, I dare say. It is an +infatuation; and I don't know that I shall ever shake it off." + +"What is she like?" asked Johanna. "Is she very merry and bright?" + +"I never saw her laugh," I said. + +"Very melancholy and sad, then?" + +"I never saw her weep," I said. + +"What is it then, Martin?" she asked, earnestly. + +"I cannot tell what it is," I answered. "Everything she does and says +has a charm for me that I could never describe. With her for my wife I +should be more happy than I ever was; with any one else I shall be +wretched. That is all I know." + +I had left my seat by Johanna, and was pacing to and fro in the room, +too restless and miserable to keep still. The low moan of the sea sighed +all about the house. I could have cast myself on the floor had I been +alone, and wept and sobbed like a woman. I could see no loop-hole of +escape from the mesh of circumstances which caught me in their net. + +A long, dreary, colorless, wretched life stretched before me, with Julia +my inseparable companion, and Olivia altogether lost to me. Captain +Carey and Johanna, neither of whom had tasted the sweets and bitters of +marriage, looked sorrowfully at me and shook their heads. + +"You must tell Julia," said Johanna, after a long pause. + +"Tell Julia!" I echoed. "I would not tell her for worlds!" + +"You must tell her," she repeated; "it is your clear duty. I know it +will be most painful to you both, but you have no right to marry her +with this secret on your mind." + +"I should be true to her," I interrupted, somewhat angrily. + +"What do you call being true, Martin Dobree?" she asked, more calmly +than she had spoken before. "Is it being true to a woman to let her +believe you choose and love her above all other women when that is +absolutely false? No; you are too honorable for that. I tell you it is +your plain duty to let Julia know this, and know it at once." + +"It will break her heart," I said, with a sharp twinge of conscience and +a cowardly shrinking from the unpleasant duty urged upon me. + +"It will not break Julia's heart," said Johanna, very sadly; "it may +break your mother's." + +I reeled as if a sharp blow had struck me. I had been thinking far less +of my mother than of Julia; but I saw, as with a flash of lightning, +what a complete uprooting of all her old habits and long-cherished hopes +this would prove to my mother, whose heart was so set upon this +marriage. Would Julia marry me if she once heard of my unfortunate love +for Olivia? And, if not, what would become of our home? My mother would +have to give up one of us, for it was not to be supposed she would +consent to live under the same roof with me, now the happy tie of +cousinship was broken, and none dearer to be formed. + +Which could my mother part with best? Julia was almost as much her +daughter as I was her son; yet me she pined after if ever I was absent +long. No; I could not resolve to run the risk of breaking that gentle, +faithful heart, which loved me so fully. I went back to Johanna, and +took her hand in both of mine. + +"Keep my secret," I said, earnestly, "you two. I will make Julia and my +mother happy. Do not mistrust me. This infatuation overpowered me +unawares. I will conquer it; at the worst I can conceal it. I promise +you Julia shall never regret being my wife." + +"Martin," answered Johanna, determinedly, "if you do not tell Julia I +must tell her myself. You say you love this other girl with all your +heart and soul." + +"Yes, and that is true," I said. + +"Then Julia must know before she marries you." + +Nothing could move Johanna from that position, and in my heart I +recognized its righteousness. She argued with me that it was Julia's due +to hear it from myself. I knew afterward that she believed the sight of +her distress and firm love for myself would dissipate the infatuation of +my love for Olivia. But she did not read Julia's character as well as my +mother did. + +Before she let me leave her I had promised to have my confession and +subsequent explanation with Julia all over the following day; and to +make this the more inevitable, she told me she should drive into St. +Peter-Port the next afternoon about five o'clock, when she should expect +to find this troublesome matter settled, either by a renewal of my +affection for my betrothed, or the suspension of the betrothal. In the +latter case she promised to carry Julia home with her until the first +bitterness was over. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH. + +A MIDNIGHT RIDE. + + +I took care not to reach home before the hour when Julia usually went to +bed. She had been out in the country all day, visiting the south cliffs +of our island, with some acquaintances from England who were staying for +a few days in St. Peter-Port. In all probability she would be too tired +to sit up till my return if I were late. + +I had calculated aright. It was after eleven o'clock when I entered, and +my mother only was waiting for me. I wished to avoid any confidential +chat that evening, and, after answering briefly her fond inquiries as to +what could have kept me out so late, I took myself off to my own room. + +But it was quite vain to think of sleep that night. I had soon worked +myself up into that state of nervous, restless agitation; when one +cannot remain quietly in one; room. I attempted to conquer it, but I +could not. + +The moon, which was at the full, was shining out of a cloudless field of +sky upon my window. I longed for fresh air, and freedom, and motion; for +a distance between myself and my dear old home--that home which I was +about to plunge into troubled waters. The peacefulness oppressed me. + +About one o'clock I opened my door as softly as possible, and stole +silently downstairs--but not so silently that my mother's quick ear did +not catch the slight jarring of my door. + +The night-bell hung in my room, and occasionally I was summoned away at +hours like this to visit a patient. She called to me as I crept down the +stairs. + +"Martin, what is the matter?" she whispered, over the banisters. + +"Nothing, mother; nothing much," I answered. "I shall be home again in +an hour or two. Go to bed, and go to sleep. Whatever makes you so +thin-eared?" + +"Are you going to take Madam?" she asked, seeing my whip in my hand. +"Shall I ring up Pellet?" + +"No, no!" I said; "I can manage well enough. Good-night again, my +darling old mother." + +Her pale, worn face smiled down upon me very tenderly as she kissed her +hand to me. I stood, as if spellbound, watching her, and she watching +me, until we both laughed, though somewhat falteringly. + +"How romantic you are, my boy!" she said, in a tremulous voice. + +"I shall not stir till you go back to bed," I answered, peremptorily; +and as just then we heard my father calling out fretfully to ask why the +door was open, and what was going on in the house, she disappeared, and +I went on my way to the stables. + +Madam was my favorite mare, first-rate at a gallop when she was in good +temper, but apt to turn vicious now and then. She was in good temper +to-night, and pricked up her ears and whinnied when I unlocked the +stable-door. In a few minutes we were going up the Grange Road at a +moderate pace till we reached the open country, and the long, white, +dusty roads stretched before us, glimmering in the moonlight. I turned +for St. Martin's, and Madam, at the first touch of my whip on her +flanks, started off at a long and steady gallop. + +It was a cool, quiet night in May. A few of the larger fixed stars +twinkled palely in the sky, but the smaller ones were drowned in the +full moonlight. The largest of them shone solemnly and brightly in +afield of golden green just above the spot where the sun had set hours +before. The trees, standing out with a blackness and distinctness never +seen by day, appeared to watch for me and look after me as I rode along, +forming an avenue of silent but very stately spectators; and to my +fancy, for my fancy was highly excited that night, the rustling of the +young leaves upon them whispered the name of Olivia. The hoof-beats of +my mare's feet upon the hard roads echoed the name Olivia, Olivia! + +By-and-by I turned off the road to got nearer the sea, and rode along +sandy lanes with banks of turf instead of hedge-rows, which were covered +thickly with pale primroses, shining with the same hue as the moon above +them. As I passed the scattered cottages, here and there a dog yapped a +shrill, snarling hark, and woke the birds, till they gave a sleepy +twitter in their new nests. + +Now and then I came in full sight of the sea, glittering in the silvery +light. I crossed the head of a gorge, and stopped for a while to gaze +down it, till my flesh crept. It was not more than a few yards in +breadth, but it was of unknown depth, and the rocks stood above it with +a thick, heavy blackness. The tide was rushing into its narrow channel +with a thunder which throbbed like a pulse; yet in the intervals of its +pulsation I could catch the thin, prattling tinkle of a brook running +merrily down the gorge to plunge headlong into the sea. Round every spar +of the crags, and over every islet of rock, the foam played ceaselessly, +breaking over them like drifts of snow, forever melting, and forever +forming again. + +I kept on my way, as near the sea as I I could, past the sleeping +cottages and hamlets, round through St. Pierre du Bois and Torteval, +with the gleaming light-houses out on the Hanways, and by Rocquaine Bay, +and Vazon Bay, and through the vale to Captain Carey's peaceful house, +where, perhaps, to-morrow night--nay, this day's night--Julia might be +weeping and wailing broken-hearted. + +I had made the circuit of our island--a place so dear to me that it +seemed scarcely possible to live elsewhere; yet I should be forced to +live elsewhere. I knew that with a clear distinctness. There could be no +home for me in Guernsey when my conduct toward Julia should become +known. + +But now Sark, which had been behind me all my ride, lay full in sight, +and the eastern sky behind it began to quicken with new light. The gulls +were rousing themselves, and flying out to sea, with their plaintive +cries; and the larks were singing their first sleepy notes to the coming +day. + +As the sun rose, Sark looked very near, and the sea, a plain of silvery +blue, seemed solid and firm enough to afford me a road across to it. A +white mist lay like a huge snow-drift in hazy, broad curves over the +Havre Gosselin, with sharp peaks of cliffs piercing through. + +Olivia was sleeping yonder behind that veil of shining mist; and, dear +as Guernsey was to me, she was a hundredfold dearer. + +But my night's ride bad not made my day's task any easier for me. No new +light had dawned upon my difficulty. There was no loop-hole for me to +escape from the most painful and perplexing strait I had ever been in. +How was I to break it to Julia? and when? It was quite plain to me that +the sooner it was over the better it would be for myself, and perhaps +the better for her. How was I to go through my morning's calls, in the +state of nervous anxiety I found myself in? + +I resolved to have it over as soon as breakfast was finished, and my +father had gone to make his professional toilet, a lengthy and important +duty with him. Yet when breakfast came I was listening intently for some +summons, which would give me an hour's grace from fulfilling my own +determination. I prolonged my meal, keeping my mother in her place at +the table; for she had never given up her office of pouring out my tea +and coffee. + +I finished at List, and still no urgent message had come for me. My +mother left us together alone, as her custom was, for what time I had to +spare--a variable quantity always with me. + +Now was the dreaded moment. But how was I to begin? Julia was so calm +and unsuspecting. In what words could I convey my fatal meaning most +gently to her? My head throbbed, and I could not raise my eyes to her +face. Yet it must be done. + +"Dear Julia," I said, in as firm a voice as I could command. + +"Yes, Martin." + +But just then Grace, the housemaid, knocked emphatically at the door, +and after a due pause entered with a smiling, significant face, yet with +an apologetic courtesy. + +"If you please, Dr. Martin," she said, "I'm very sorry, but Mrs. Lihou's +baby is taken with convulsion-fits; and they want you to go as fast as +ever you can, please, sir." + +"Was I sorry or glad? I could not tell. It was a reprieve; but then I +knew positively it was nothing more than a reprieve. The sentence must +be executed. Julia came to me, bent her cheek toward me, and I kissed +it. That was our usual salutation when our morning's interview was +ended. + +"I am going down to the new house," she said. "I lost a good deal of +time yesterday, and I must make up for it to-day. Shall you be passing +by at any time, Martin?" + +"Yes--no--I cannot tell exactly," I stammered. + +"If you are passing, come in for a few minutes," she answered; "I have a +thousand things to speak to you about." + +"Shall you come in to lunch?" I asked. + +"No, I shall take something with me," she replied; "it hinders so; +coming back here." + +I was not overworked that morning. The convulsions of Mrs. Lihou's baby +were not at all serious; and, as I have before stated, the practice +which my father and I shared between us was a very limited one. My part +of it naturally fell among our poorer patients, who did not expect me to +waste their time and my own, by making numerous or prolonged visits. So +I had plenty of time to call upon Julia at the new house; but I could +not summon sufficient courage. The morning slipped away while I was +loitering about Fort George, and chatting carelessly with the officers +quartered there. + +I went to lunch, pretty sure of finding no one but my mother at home. +There was no fear of losing her love, if every other friend turned me +the cold shoulder, as I was morally certain they would, with no blame to +themselves. But the very depth and constancy of her affection made it +the more difficult and the more terrible for me to wound her. She had +endured so much, poor mother! and was looking so wan and pale. If it had +not been for Johanna's threat, I should have resolved to say nothing +about Olivia, and to run my chance of matrimonial happiness. + +What a cruel turn Fate had done me when it sent me across the sea to +Sark ten weeks ago! + +My mother was full of melancholy merriment that morning, making pathetic +little jokes about Julia and me, and laughing at them heartily +herself--short bursts of laughter which left her paler than she had been +before. + +I tried to laugh myself, in order to encourage her brief playfulness, +though the effort almost choked me. Before I went out again, I sat +beside her for a few minutes, with my head, which ached awfully by this +time, resting on her dear shoulder. + +"Mother," I said, "you are very fond of Julia?" + +"I love her just the same as if she were my daughter, Martin--as she +will be soon," she answered. + +"Do you love her as much as me?" I asked. + +"Jealous boy!" she said, laying her hand on my hot forehead, "no, not +half as much; not a quarter, not a tenth part as much! Does that content +you?" + +"Suppose something should prevent our marriage?" I suggested. + +"But nothing can," she interrupted; "and, O Martin! I am sure you will +be very happy with Julia." + +I said no more, for I did not dare to tell her yet; but I wished I had +spoken to her about Olivia, instead of hiding her name, and all +belonging to her, in my inmost heart. My mother would know all quite +soon enough, unless Julia and I agreed to keep it secret, and let things +go on as they were. + +If Julia said she would marry me, knowing that I was heart and soul in +love with another woman, why, then I would go through with it, and my +mother need never hear a word about my dilemma. + +Julia must decide my lot. My honor was pledged to her; and if she +insisted upon the fulfilment of my engagement to her, well, of course, I +would fulfil it. + +I went down reluctantly at length to the new house; but it was at almost +the last hour. The church-clocks had already struck four; and I knew +Johanna would be true to her time, and drive up the Grange at five. I +left a message with my mother for her, telling her where she would find +Julia and me. Then doggedly, but sick at heart with myself and all the +world, I went down to meet my doom. + +It was getting into nice order, this new house of ours. We had had six +months to prepare it in, and to fit it up exactly to our minds; and it +was as near my ideal of a pleasant home as our conflicting tastes +permitted. Perhaps this was the last time I should cross its threshold. +There was a pang in the thought. + +This was my position. If Julia listened to my avowal angrily, and +renounced me indignantly, passionately, I lost fortune, position, +profession; my home and friends, with the sole exception of my mother. I +should be regarded alternately as a dupe and a scoundrel. Guernsey would +become too hot to hold me, and I should be forced to follow my luck in +some foreign land. If, on the other hand, Julia clung to me, and would +not give me up, trusting to time to change my feelings, then I lost +Olivia; and to lose her seemed the worse fate of the two. + +Julia was sitting alone in the drawing-room, which overlooked the harbor +and the group of islands across the channel. There was no fear of +interruption; no callers to ring the bell and break in upon our +_tete-a-tete_. It was an understood thing that at present only Julia's +most intimate friends had been admitted into our new house, and then by +special invitation alone. + +There was a very happy, very placid expression on her face. Every harsh +line seemed softened, and a pleased smile played about her lips. Her +dress was one of those simple, fresh, clean muslin gowns, with knots of +ribbon about it, which make a plain woman almost pretty, and a pretty +woman bewitching. Her dark hair looked less prim and neat than usual. +She pretended not to hear me open the door; but as I stood still at the +threshold gazing at her, she lifted up her head, with a very pleasant +smile. + +"I am very glad you are come, my dear Martin," she said, softly. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. + +A LONG HALF-HOUR. + + +I dared not dally another moment. I must take my plunge at once into the +icy-cold waters. + +"I have something of importance to say to you, dear cousin," I began. + +"So have I," she said, gayly; "a thousand things, as I told you this +morning, sir, though you are so late in coming to hear them. See, I have +been making a list of a few commissions for you to do in London. They +are such as I can trust to you; but for plate, and glass, and china, I +think we had better wait till we return from Switzerland. We are sure to +come home through London." + +Her eyes ran over a paper she was holding in her hand; while I stood +opposite to her, not knowing what to do with myself, and feeling the +guiltiest wretch alive. + +"Cannot you find a seat?" she asked, after a short silence. + +I sat down on the broad window-sill instead of on the chair close to +hers. She looked up at that, and fixed her eyes upon me keenly. I had +often quailed before Julia's gaze as a boy, but never as I did now. + +"Well! what is it?" she asked, curtly. The incisiveness of her tone +brought life into me, as a probe sometimes brings a patient out of +stupor. + +"Julia," I said, "are you quite sure you love me enough to be happy with +me as my wife?" + +She opened her eyes very widely, and arched her eyebrows at the +question, laughed a little, and then drooped her head over the work in +her hands. + +"Think of it well, Julia," I urged. + +"I know you well enough to be as happy as the day is long with you," she +replied, the color rushing to her face. "I have no vocation for a single +life, such as so many of the girls here have to make up their minds to. +I should hate to have nothing to do and nobody to care for. Every night +and morning I thank God that he has ordained another life for me. He +knows how I love you, Martin." + +"What was I to say to this? How was I to set my foot down to crush this +blooming happiness of hers? + +"You do not often look as if you loved me," I said at last. + +"That is only my way," she answered. "I can't be soft and purring like +many women. I don't care to be always kissing and hanging about anybody. +But if you are afraid I don't love you enough--well! I will ask you what +you think in ten years' time." + +"What would you say if I told you I had once loved a girl better than I +do you?" I asked. + +"That's not true," she said, sharply. "I've known you all your life, and +you could not hide such a thing from your mother and me. You are only +laughing at me, Martin." + +"Heaven knows I'm not laughing," I answered, solemnly; "it's no laughing +matter. Julia, there is a girl I love better than you, even now." + +The color and the smile faded out of her face, leaving it ashy pale. Her +lips parted once or twice, but her voice failed her. Then she broke out +into a short, hysterical laugh. + +"You are talking nonsense, dear Martin!" she gasped; "you ought not! I +am not very strong. Get me a glass of water." + +I fetched a glass of water from the kitchen; for the servant, who had +been at work, had gone home, and we were quite alone in the house. When +I returned, her face was still working with nervous twitchings. + +"Martin, you ought not!" she repeated, after she had swallowed some +water. "Tell me it is a joke directly." + +"I cannot," I replied, painfully and sorrowfully; "it is the truth, +though I would almost rather face death than own it. I love you dearly, +Julia; but I love another woman better. God help us both!" + +There was dead silence in the room after those words. I could not hear +Julia breathe or move, and I could not look at her. My eyes were turned +toward the window and the islands across the sea, purple and hazy in the +distance. + +"Leave me!" she said, after a very long stillness; "go away, Martin." + +"I cannot leave you alone," I exclaimed; "no, I will not, Julia. Let me +tell you more; let me explain it all. You ought to know every thing +now." + +"Go away!" she repeated, in a slow, mechanical tone. + +I hesitated still, seeing her white and trembling, with her eyes glassy +and fixed. But she motioned me from her toward the door, and her pale +lips parted again to reiterate her command. + +How I crossed that room I do not know; but the moment after I had closed +the door I heard the key turn in the lock. I dared not quit the house +and leave her alone in such a state; and I longed ardently to hear the +clocks chime five, and the sound of Johanna's wheels on the +roughly-paved street. She could not be here yet for a full half-hour, +for she had to go up to our house in the Grange Road and come back +again. What if Julia should have fainted, or be dead! + +That was one of the longest half-hours in my life. I stood at the +street-door watching and waiting, and nodding to people who passed by, +and who simpered at me in the most inane fashion. + +"The fools!" I called them to myself. At length Johanna turned the +corner, and her pony-carriage came rattling cheerfully over the large +round stones. I ran to meet her. + +"For Heaven's sake, go to Julia!" I cried. "I have told her." + +"And what does she say?" asked Johanna. + +"Not a word, not a syllable," I replied, "except to bid me go away. She +has locked herself into the drawing-room." + +"Then you had better go away altogether," she said, "and leave me to +deal with her. Don't come in, and then I can say you are not here." + +A friend of mine lived in the opposite house, and, though I knew he was +not at home, I knocked at his door and asked permission to sit for a +while in his parlor. + +The windows looked into the street, and there I sat watching the doors +of our new house, for Johanna and Julia to come out. No man likes to be +ordered out of sight, as if he were a vagabond or a criminal, and I felt +myself aggrieved and miserable. + +At length the door opposite opened, and Julia appeared, her face +completely hidden behind a veil. Johanna helped her into the low +carriage, as if she had been an invalid, and paid her those minute +trivial attentions which one woman showers upon another when she is in +great grief. Then they drove off, and were soon out of my sight. + +By this time our dinner-hour was near, and I knew my mother would be +looking out for us both. I was thankful to find at the table a visitor, +who had dropped in unexpectedly: one of my father's patients--a widow, +with a high color, a loud voice, and boisterous spirits, who kept up a +rattle of conversation with Dr. Dobree. My mother glanced anxiously at +me very often, but she could say little. + +"Where is Julia?" she had inquired, as we sat down to dinner without +her. + +"Julia?" I said, quite absently; "oh! she is gone to the Vale, with +Johanna Carey." + +"Will she come back to-night?" asked my mother. + +"Not to-night," I said, aloud; but to myself I added, "nor for many +nights to come; never, most probably, while I am under this roof. We +have been building our house upon the sand, and the floods have come, +and the winds have blown, and the house has fallen; but my mother knows +nothing of the catastrophe yet." + +If it were possible to keep her ignorant of it! But that could not be. +She read trouble in my face, as clearly as one sees a thunder-cloud in +the sky, and she could not rest till she had fathomed it. After she and +our guest had left us, my father lingered only a few minutes. He was not +a man that cared for drinking much wine, with no companion but me, and +he soon pushed the decanters from him. + +"You are as dull as a beetle to-night, Martin," he said. "I think I will +go and see how your mother and Mrs. Murray get along together." + +He went his way, and I went mine--up into my own room, where I should be +alone to think over things. It was a pleasant room, and had been mine +from my boyhood. There were some ugly old pictures still hanging against +the walls, which I could not find in my heart to take down. The model of +a ship I had carved with my penknife, the sails of which had been made +by Julia, occupied the top shelf over my books. The first pistol I had +ever possessed lay on the same shelf. It was my own den, my nest, my +sanctuary, my home within the home. I could not think of myself being +quite at home anywhere else. + +Of late I had been awakened in the night two or three times, and found +my mother standing at my bedside, with her thin, transparent fingers +shading the light from my eyes. When I remonstrated with her she had +kissed me, smoothed the clothes about me, and promised meekly to go back +to bed. Did she visit me every night? and would there come a time when +she could not visit me? + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. + +BROKEN OFF. + + +As I asked myself this question, with an unerring premonition that the +time would soon come when my mother and I would be separated, I heard +her tapping lightly at the door. She was not in the habit of leaving her +guests, and I was surprised and perplexed at seeing her. + +"Your father and Mrs. Murray are having a game of chess," she said, +answering my look of astonishment. "We can be alone together half an +hour. And now tell me what is the matter? There is something going wrong +with you." + +She sank down weariedly into a chair, and I knelt down beside her. It +was almost harder to tell her than to tell Julia; but it was worse than +useless to put off the evil moment. Better for her to hear all from me +before a whisper reached her from any one else. + +"Johanna came here," she continued, "with a face as grave as a judge, +and asked for Julia in a melancholy voice. Has there been any quarrel +between you two?" + +She was accustomed to our small quarrels, and to setting them right +again; for we were prone to quarrel in a cousinly fashion, without much +real bitterness on either side, but with such an intimate and irritating +knowledge of each other's weak points, that we needed a peace-maker at +hand. + +"Mother, I am not going to marry my cousin Julia," I said. + +"So I have heard before," she answered, with a faint smile. "Come, come, +Martin! it is too late to talk boyish nonsense like this." + +"But I love somebody else," I said, warmly, for my heart throbbed at the +thought of Olivia; "and I told Julia so this afternoon. It is broken off +for good now, mother." + +She gave me no answer, and I looked up into her dear face in alarm. It +had grown rigid, and a peculiar blue tinge of pallor was spreading over +it. Her head had fallen back against the chair. I had never seen her +look so death-like in any of her illnesses, and I sprang to my feet in +terror. She stopped me by a slight convulsive pressure of her hand, as I +was about to unfasten her brooch and open her dress to give her air. + +"No, Martin," she whispered, "I shall be better in a moment." + +But it was several minutes before she breathed freely and naturally, or +could lift up her head. Then she did not look at me, but lifted up her +eyes to the pale evening sky, and her lips quivered with agitation. + +"Martin, it will be the death of me," she said; and a few tears stole +down her cheeks, which I wiped away. + +"It shall not be the death of you," I exclaimed. "If Julia is willing to +marry me, knowing the whole truth, I am ready to marry her for your +sake, mother. I would do any thing for your sake. But Johanna said she +ought to be told, and I think it was right myself." + +"Who is it, who can it be that you love?" she asked. + +"Mother," I said, "I wish I had told you before, but I did not know that +I loved the girl as I do, till I saw her yesterday in Sark, and Captain +Carey charged me with it." + +"That girl!" she cried. "One of the Olliviers! O Martin, you must marry +in your own class." + +"That was a mistake," I answered. "Her Christian name is Olivia; I do +not know what her surname is." + +"Not know even her name!" she exclaimed. + +"Listen, mother," I said; and then I told her all I knew about Olivia, +and drew such a picture of her as I had seen her, as made my mother +smile and sigh deeply in turns. + +"But she may be an adventuress; you know nothing about her," she +objected. "Surely, you cannot love a woman you do not esteem?" + +"Esteem!" I repeated. "I never thought whether I esteemed Olivia, but I +am satisfied I love her. You may be quite sure she is no adventuress. An +adventuress would not hide herself in Tardif's out-of-the-world +cottage." + +"A girl without friends and without a name!" she sighed; "a runaway from +her family and home! It does not look well, Martin." + +I could answer nothing, and it would be of little use to try. I saw when +my mother's prejudices could blind her. To love any one not of our own +caste was a fatal error in her eyes. + +"Does Julia know all this?" she asked. + +"She has not heard a word about Olivia," I answered. "As soon as I told +her I loved some one else better than her, she bade me begone out of her +sight. She has not an amiable temper." + +"But she is an upright, conscientious, religious woman," she said, +somewhat angrily. "She would never have run away from her friends; and +we know all about her. I cannot think what your father will say, Martin. +It has given him more pleasure and satisfaction than any thing that has +happened for years. If this marriage is broken off, it upsets every +thing." + +Of course it would upset every thing; there was the mischief of it. The +convulsion would be so great, that I felt ready to marry Julia in order +to avoid it, supposing she would marry me. That was the question, and it +rested solely with her. I would almost rather face the long, slow +weariness of an unsuitable marriage than encounter the immediate results +of the breaking off of our engagement just on the eve of its +consummation. I was a coward, no doubt, but events had hurried me on too +rapidly for me to stand still and consider the cost. + +"O Martin, Martin!" wailed my poor mother, breaking down again suddenly. +"I had so set my heart upon this! I did so long to see you in a home of +your own! And Julia was so generous, never looking as if all the money +was hers, and you without a penny! What is to become of you now, my boy? +I wish I had been dead and in my grave before this had happened!" + +"Hush, mother!" I said, kneeling down again beside her and kissing her +tenderly; "it is still in Julia's hands. If she will marry me, I shall +marry her." + +"But then you will not be happy?" she said, with fresh sobs. + +It was impossible for me to contradict that. I felt that no misery would +be equal to that of losing Olivia. But I did my best to comfort my +mother, by promising to see Julia the next day and renew my engagement, +if possible. + +"Pray, may I be informed as to what is the matter now?" broke in a +satirical, cutting voice--the voice of my father. It roused us both--my +mother to her usual mood of gentle submission, and me to the chronic +state of irritation which his presence always provoked in me. + +"Not much, sir," I answered, coldly; "only my marriage with my cousin +Julia is broken off." + +"Broken off!" he ejaculated--"broken off!" + + + + +CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH. + +THE DOBREES' GOOD NAME. + + +My father's florid face looked almost as rigid and white as my mother's +had done. He stood in the doorway, with a lamp in his hand (for it had +grown quite dark while my mother and I were talking), and the light +shone full upon his changed face. His hand shook violently, so I took +the lamp from him and set it down on the table. + +"Go down to Mrs. Murray," he said, turning savagely upon my mother. "How +could you be so rude as to leave her? She talks of going away. Let her +go as soon as she likes. I shall stay here with Martin." + +"I did not know I had been away so long," she answered, meekly, and +looking deprecatingly from the one to the other of us.--"You will not +quarrel with your father, Martin, if I leave you, will you?" This she +whispered in my ear, in a beseeching tone. + +"Not if I can help it, mother," I replied, also in a whisper. + +"Now, confound it!" cried Dr. Dobree, after she had gone, slowly and +reluctantly, and looking back at the door to me--"now just tell me +shortly all about this nonsense of yours. I thought some quarrel was up, +when Julia did not come home to dinner. Out with it, Martin." + +"As I said before, there is not much to tell," I answered. "I was +compelled in honor to tell Julia I loved another woman more than +herself; and I presume, though I am not sure, she will decline to become +my wife." + +"In love with another woman!" repeated my father, with a long whistle, +partly of sympathy, and partly of perplexity. "Who is it, my son?" + +"That is of little moment," I said, having no desire whatever to confide +the story to him. "The main point is that it's true, and I told Julia +so, this afternoon." + +"Good gracious, Martin!" he cried, "what accursed folly! What need was +there to tell her of any little peccadillo, if you could conceal it? Why +did you not come to me for advice? Julia is a prude, like your mother. +It will not be easy for her to overlook this." + +"There is nothing to overlook," I said. "As soon as I knew my own mind, +I told her honestly about it." + +At that moment it did not occur to me that my honesty was due to +Johanna's insistent advice. I believed just then that I had acted from +the impulse of my own sense of honor, and the belief gave my words and +tone more spirit than they would have had otherwise. My father's face +grew paler and graver as he listened; he looked older, by ten years, +than he had done an hour ago in the dining-room. + +"I don't understand it," he muttered; "do you mean that this is a +serious thing? Are you in love with some girl of our own class? Not a +mere passing fancy, that no one would think seriously of for an instant? +Just a trifling _faux pas_, that it is no use telling women about, eh? I +could make allowance for that, Martin, and get Julia to do the same. +Come, it cannot be any thing more." + +I did not reply to him. Here we had come, he and I, to the very barrier +that had been growing up between us ever since I had first discovered my +mother's secret and wasting grief. He was on one side of it and I on the +other--a wall of separation which neither of us could leap over. + +"Why don't you speak, Martin?" he asked, testily. + +"Because I hate the subject," I answered. "When I told Julia I loved +another woman, I meant that some one else occupied that place in my +affection which belonged rightfully to my wife; and so Julia understood +it." + +"Then," he cried with a gesture of despair, "I am a ruined man!" + +His consternation and dismay were so real that they startled me; yet, +knowing what a consummate actor he was, I restrained both my fear and +my sympathy, and waited for him to enlighten me further. He sat with his +head bowed, and his hands hanging down, in an attitude of profound +despondency, so different from his usual jaunty air, that every moment +increased my anxiety. + +"What can it have to do with you?" I asked, after a long pause. + +"I am a ruined and disgraced man." he reiterated, without looking up; +"if you have broken off your marriage with Julia, I shall never raise my +head again." + +"But why?" I asked, uneasily. + +"Come down into my consulting-room," he said, after another pause of +deliberation. I went on before him, carrying the lamp, and, turning +round once or twice, saw his face look gray, and the expression of it +vacant and troubled. His consulting-room was a luxurious room, elegantly +furnished; and with several pictures on the walls, including a painted +photograph of himself, taken recently by the first photographer in +Guernsey. There were book-cases containing a number of the best medical +works; behind which lay, out of sight, a numerous selection of French +novels, more thumbed than the ponderous volumes in front. He sank down +into an easy-chair, shivering as if we were in the depth of winter. + +"Martin, I am a ruined man!" he said, for the third time. + +"But how?" I asked again, impatiently; for my fears were growing strong. +Certainly he was not acting a part this time. + +"I dare not tell you," he cried, leaning his head upon his desk, and +sobbing. How white his hair was! and how aged he looked! I recollected +how he used to play with me when I was a boy, and carry me before him on +horseback, as long back as I could remember. My heart softened and +warmed to him as it had not done for years. + +"Father!" I said, "if you can trust any one, you can trust me. If you +are ruined and disgraced I shall be the same, as your son." + +"That's true," he answered, "that's true! It will bring disgrace on you +and your mother. We shall be forced to leave Guernsey, where she has +lived all her life; and it will be the death of her. Martin, you must +save us all by making it up with Julia." + +"But why?" I demanded, once more. "I must know what you mean." + +"Mean?" he said, turning upon me angrily, "you blockhead! I mean that +unless you marry Julia I shall have to give an account of her property; +and I could not make all square, not if I sold every stick and stone I +possess." + +I sat silent for a time, trying to take in this piece of information. He +had been Julia's guardian ever since she was left an orphan, ten years +old; but I had never known that there had not been a formal and legal +settlement of her affairs when she was of age. Our family name had no +blot upon it; it was one of the most honored names in the island. But if +this came to light, then the disgrace would be dark indeed. + +"Can you tell me all about it?" I asked. + +My father, after making his confession, settled himself in his chair +comfortably; appearing to feel that he had begun to make reparation for +the wrong. His temperament was more buoyant than mine. Selfish natures +are often buoyant. + +"It would take a long time," he said, "and it would be a deuse of a +nuisance. You make it up with Julia, and marry her, as you're bound to +do. Of course, you will manage all her money when you are her husband, +as you will be. Now you know all." + +"But I don't know all," I replied; "and I insist upon doing so, before I +make up my mind what to do." + +I believe he expected this opposition from me, for otherwise all he had +said could have been said in my room. But after feebly giving battle on +various points, and staving off sundry inquiries, he opened a drawer in +one of his cabinets, and produced a number of deeds, scrip, etc., +belonging to Julia. + +For two hours I was busy with his accounts. Once or twice he tried to +slink out of the room; but that I would not suffer. At length the +ornamental clock on his chimney-piece struck eleven, and he made +another effort to beat a retreat. + +"Do not go away till every thing is clear," I said; "is this all?" + +"All?" he repeated; "isn't it enough?" + +"Between three and four thousand pounds deficient!" I answered; "it is +quite enough." + +"Enough to make me a felon," he said, "if Julia chooses to prosecute +me." + +"I think it is highly probable," I replied; "though I know nothing of +the law." + +"Then you see clearly, Martin, there is no alternative, but for you to +marry her, and keep our secret. I have reckoned upon this for years, and +your mother and I have been of one mind in bringing it about. If you +marry Julia, her affairs go direct from my hands to yours, and we are +all safe. If you break with her she will leave us, and demand an account +of my guardianship; and your name and mine will be branded in our own +island." + +"That is very clear," I said, sullenly. + +"Your mother would not survive it!" he continued, with a solemn accent. + +"Oh! I have been threatened with that already," I exclaimed, very +bitterly. "Pray does my mother know of this disgraceful business?" + +"Heaven forbid!" he cried. "Your mother is a good woman, Martin; as +simple as a dove. You ought to think of her before you consign us all to +shame. I can quit Guernsey. I am an old man, and it signifies very +little where I lie down to die. I have not been as good a husband as I +might have been; but I could not face her after she knows this. Poor +Mary! My poor, poor love! I believe she cares enough for me still to +break her heart over it." + +"Then I am to be your scape-goat," I said. + +"You are my son," he answered; "and religion itself teaches us that the +sins of the fathers are visited on the children. I leave the matter in +your hands. But only answer one question: Could you show your face among +your own friends if this were known?" + +I knew very well I could not. My father a fraudulent steward of Julia's +property! Then farewell forever to all that had made my life happy! We +were a proud family--proud of our rank, and of our pure blood; above +all, of our honor, which had never been tarnished by a breath. I could +not yet bear to believe that my father was a rogue. He himself was not +so lost to shame that he could meet my eye. I saw there was no escape +from it--I must marry Julia. + +"Well," I said, at last, "as you say, the matter is in my hands now; and +I must make the best of it. Good-night, sir." + +Without a light I went up to my own room, where the moon that had shone +upon me in my last night's ride, was gleaming brightly through the +window. I intended to reflect and deliberate, but I was worn out. I +flung myself down on the bed, but could not have remained awake for a +single moment. I fell into a deep sleep which lasted till morning. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. + +TWO LETTERS. + + +When I awoke, my poor mother was sitting beside me, looking very ill and +sorrowful. She had slipped a pillow under my head, and thrown a shawl +across me. I got up with a bewildered brain, and a general sense of +calamity, which I could not clearly define. + +"Martin," she said, "your father has gone by this morning's boat to +Jersey. He says you know why; but he has left this note for you. Why +have you not been in bed last night?" + +"Never mind, mother," I answered, as I tore open the note, which was +carefully sealed with my father's private seal. He had written it +immediately after I left him. + + + "11.30 P.M. + + "MY SON: To-morrow morning, I shall run over to Jersey for a + few days until this sad business of yours is settled. I cannot + bear to meet your changed face. You make no allowances for + your father. Half my expenses have been incurred in educating + you; you ought to consider this, and that you owe more to me, + as your father, than to any one else. But in these days + parents receive little honor from their children. When all is + settled, write to me at Prince's Hotel. It rests upon you + whether I ever see Guernsey again. Your wretched father, + + "RICHARD DOBREE." + +"Can I see it?" asked my mother, holding out her hand. + +"No, never mind seeing it," I answered, "it is about Julia, you know. It +would only trouble you." + +"Captain Carey's man brought a letter from Julia just now," she said, +taking it from her pocket; "he said there was no answer." + +Her eyelids were still red from weeping, and her voice faltered as if +she might break out into sobs any moment. I took the letter from her, +but I did not open it. + +"You want to be alone to read it?" she said. "O Martin! if you can +change your mind, and save us all from this trouble, do it, for my +sake?" + +"If I can I will," I answered; "but every thing is very hard upon me, +mother." + +She could not guess how hard, and, if I could help it, she should never +know. Now I was fully awake, the enormity of my father's dishonesty and +his extreme egotism weighed heavily upon me. I could not view his +conduct in a fairer light than I had done in my amazement the night +before. It grew blacker as I dwelt upon it. And now he was off to +Jersey, shirking the disagreeable consequences of his own delinquency. I +knew how he would spend his time there. Jersey is no retreat for the +penitent. + +As soon as my mother was gone I opened Julia's letter. It began: + + + "MY DEAR MARTIN: I know all now. Johanna has told me. When you + spoke to me so hurriedly and unexpectedly, this afternoon, I + could not bear to hear another word. But now I am calm, and I + can think it all over quite quietly. + + "It is an infatuation, Martin. Johanna says so as well as I, + and she is never wrong. It is a sheer impossibility that you, + in your sober senses, should love a strange person, whose very + name you do not know, better than you do me, your cousin, your + sister, your _fiancee_, whom you have known all your life, and + loved. I am quite sure of that, with a very true affection. + + "It vexes me to write about that person in any connection with + yourself. Emma spoke of her in her last letter from Sark; not + at all in reference to you, however. She is so completely of a + lower class, that it would never enter Emma's head that you + could see any thing in her. She said there was a rumor afloat + that Tardif was about to marry the girl you had been + attending, and that everybody in the island regretted it. She + said it would be a _mesalliance_ for him, Tardif! What then + would it be for you, a Dobree? No; it is a delusion, an + infatuation, which will quickly pass away. I cannot believe + you are so weak as to be taken in by mere prettiness without + character; and this person--I do not say so harshly, + Martin--has no character, no name. Were you free you could not + marry her. There is a mystery about her, and mystery usually + means shame. A Dobree could not make an adventuress his wife. + Then you have seen so little of her. Three times, since the + week you were there in March! What is that compared to the + years we have spent together? It is impossible that in your + heart of hearts you should love her more than me. + + "I have been trying to think what you would do if all is + broken off between us. We could not keep this a secret in + Guernsey, and everybody would blame you. I will not ask you to + think of my mortification at being jilted, for people would + call it that. I could outlive that. But what are you to do? We + cannot go on again as we used to do. I must speak plainly + about it. Your practice is not sufficient to maintain the + family in a proper position for the Dobrees; and if I go to + live alone at the new house, as I must do, what is to become + of my uncle and aunt? I have often considered this, and have + been glad the difficulty was settled by our marriage. Now + every thing will be unsettled again. + + "I did not intend to say any thing about myself; but, O + Martin! you do not know the blank that it will be to me. I + have been so happy since you asked me to be your wife. It was + so pleasant to think that I should live all my life in + Guernsey, and yet not be doomed to the empty, vacant lot of an + unmarried woman. You think that perhaps Johanna is happy + single? She is content--good women ought to be content; but, I + tell you, I would gladly exchange her contentment for Aunt + Dobree's troubles, with her pride and happiness in you. I have + seen her troubles clearly; and I say, Martin, I would give all + Johanna's calm, colorless peace for her delight in her son. + + "Then I cannot give up the thought of our home, just finished + and so pretty. It was so pleasant this afternoon before you + came in with your dreadful thunder-bolt. I was thinking what a + good wife I would be to you; and how, in my own house, I + should never be tempted into those tiresome tempers you have + seen in me sometimes. It was your father often who made me + angry, and I visited it upon you, because you are so + good-tempered. That was foolish of me. You could not know how + much I love you, how my life is bound up in you, or you would + have been proof against that person in Sark. + + "I think it right to tell you all this now, though it is not + in my nature to make professions and demonstrations of my + love. Think of me, of yourself, of your poor mother. You were + never selfish, and you can do noble things. I do not say it + would be noble to marry me; but it would be a noble thing to + conquer an ignoble passion. How could Martin Dobree fall in + love with an unknown adventuress? + + "I shall remain in the house all day to-morrow, and if you can + come to see me, feeling that this has been a dream of folly + from which you have awakened, I will not ask you to own it. + That you come at all will be a sign to me that you wish it + forgotten and blotted out between us, as if it had never been. + + "With true, deep love for you, Martin, believe me still + + "Your affectionate JULIA." + +I pondered over Julia's letter as I dressed. There was not a word of +resentment in it. It was full of affectionate thought for us all. But +what reasoning! I had not known Olivia so long as I had known her, +therefore I could not love her as truly! + +A strange therefore! + +I had scarcely had leisure to think of Olivia in the hurry and anxiety +of the last twenty-four hours. But now "that person in Sark," the +"unknown adventuress," presented itself very vividly to my mind. Know +her! I felt as if I knew every tone of her voice and every expression of +her face; yet I longed to know them more intimately. The note she had +written to me a few weeks ago I could repeat word for word, and the +handwriting seemed far more familiar to me even than Julia's. There was +no doubt my love for her was very different from my affection for Julia; +and if it was an infatuation, it was the sweetest, most exquisite +infatuation that could ever possess me. + +Yet there was no longer any hesitation in my mind as to what I must do. +Julia knew all now. I had told her distinctly of my love for Olivia, and +she would not believe it. She appeared wishful to hold me to my +engagement in spite of it; at any rate, so I interpreted her letter. I +did not suppose that I should not live it down, this infatuation, as +they chose to call it. I might hunger and thirst, and be on the point of +perishing; then my nature would turn to other nutriment, and assimilate +it to its contracted and stultified capacities. + +After all there was some reason in the objections urged against Olivia. +The dislike of all insulated people against foreigners is natural +enough; and in her case there was a mystery which I must solve before I +could think of asking her to become my wife. Ask her to become my wife! +That was impossible now. I had chosen my wife months before I saw her. + +I went mechanically through the routine of my morning's work, and it was +late in the afternoon before I could get away to ride to the Vale. My +mother knew where I was going, and gazed wistfully into my face, but +without otherwise asking me any questions. At the last moment, as I +touched Madam's bridle, I looked down at her standing on the door-step. +"Cheer up, mother!" I said, almost gayly, "it will all come right." + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. + +ALL WRONG. + + +By this time you know that I could not ride along the flat, open shore +between St. Peter-Port and the Vale without having a good sight of Sark, +though it lay just a little behind me. It was not in human nature to +turn my back doggedly upon it. I had never seen it look nearer; the +channel between us scarcely seemed a mile across. The old windmill above +the Havre Gosselin stood out plainly. I almost fancied that but for +Breckhou I could have seen Tardif's house, where my darling was living. +My heart leaped at the mere thought of it. Then I shook Madam's bridle +about her neck, and she carried me on at a sharp canter toward Captain +Carey's residence. + +I saw Julia standing at a window up-stairs, gazing down the long white +road, which runs as straight as an arrow through the Braye du Valle to +L'Ancresse Common. + +She must have seen Madam and me half a mile away; but she kept her post +motionless as a sentinel, until I jumped down to open the gate. Then she +vanished. + +The servant-man was at the door by the time I reached it, and Johanna +herself was on the threshold, with her hands outstretched and her face +radiant. I was as welcome as the prodigal son, and she was ready to fall +on my neck and kiss me. + +"I felt sure of you," she said, in a low voice. "I trusted to your good +sense and honor, and they have not failed you. Thank God you are come! +Julia has neither ate nor slept since I brought her here." + +She led me to her own private sitting-room, where I found Julia standing +by the fireplace, and leaning against it, as if she could not stand +alone. When I went up to her and took her hand, she flung her arms round +my neck, and clung to me, in a passion of tears. It was some minutes +before she could recover her self-command. I had never seen her abandon +herself to such a paroxysm before. + +"Julia, my poor girl!" I said, "I did not think you would take it so +much to heart as this." + +"I shall come all right directly," she sobbed, sitting down, and +trembling from head to foot. "Johanna said you would come, but I was not +sure." + +"Yes, I am here," I answered, with a very dreary feeling about me. + +"That is enough," said Julia; "you need not say a word more. Let us +forget it, both of us. You will only give me your promise never to see +her, or speak to her again." + +It might be a fair thing for her to ask, but it was not a fair thing for +me to promise. Olivia had told me she had no friends at all except +Tardif and me; and if the gossip of the Sark people drove her from the +shelter of his roof, I should be her only resource; and I believed she +would come frankly to me for help. + +"Olivia quite understands about my engagement to you," I said. "I told +her at once that we were going to be married, and that I hoped she would +find a friend in you."' + +"A friend in me, Martin!" she exclaimed, in a tone of indignant +surprise; "you could not ask me to be that!" + +"Not now, I suppose," I replied; "the girl is as innocent and blameless +as any girl living; but I dare say you would sooner befriend the most +good-for-nothing Jezebel in the Channel Islands." + +"Yes, I would," she said. "An innocent girl indeed! I only wish she had +been killed when she fell from the cliff." + +"Hush!" I cried, shuddering at the bare mention of Olivia's death; "you +do not know what you say. It is worse than useless to talk about her. I +came to ask you to think no more of what passed between us yesterday." + +"But you are going to persist in your infatuation," said Julia; "you can +never deceive me. I know you too well. Oh, I see that you still think +the same of her'" + +"You know nothing about her," I replied. + +"And I shall take care I never do," she interrupted, spitefully. + +"So it is of no use to go on quarrelling about her," I continued, taking +no notice of the interruption. "I made up my mind before I came here +that I must see as little as possible of her for the future. You must +understand, Julia, she has never given me a particle of reason to +suppose she loves me." + +"But you are still in love with her?" she asked. + +I stood biting my nails to the quick, a trick I had while a boy, but one +that had been broken off by my mother's and Julia's combined vigilance. +Now the habit came back upon me in full force, as my only resource from +speaking. + +"Martin," she said, with flashing eyes, and a rising tone in her voice, +which, like the first shrill moan of the wind, presaged a storm, "I will +never marry you until you can say, on your word of honor, that you love +that person no longer, and are ready to promise to hold no further +communication with her. Oh! I know what my poor aunt has had to endure, +and I will not put up with it." + +"Very well, Julia," I answered, controlling myself as well as I could, +"I have only one more word to say on this subject. I love Olivia, and, +as far as I know myself, I shall love her as long as I live. I did not +come here to give you any reason for supposing my mind is changed as to +her. If you consent to be my wife, I will do my best, God helping me, to +be most true, most faithful to you; and God forbid I should injure +Olivia in thought by supposing she could care for me other than as a +friend. But my motive for coming now is to tell you some particulars +about your property, which my father made known to me only last night." + +It was a miserable task for me; but I told her simply the painful +discovery I had made. She sat listening with a dark and sullen face, but +betraying not a spark of resentment, so far as her loss of fortune was +concerned. + +"Yes," she said, bitterly, when I had finished, "robbed by the father +and jilted by the son." + +"I would give my life to cancel the wrong," I said. + +"It is so easy to talk," she replied, with a deadly coldness of tone and +manner. + +"I am ready to do whatever you choose," I urged. "It is true my father +has robbed you; but it is not true that I have jilted you. I did not +know my own heart till a word from Captain Carey revealed it to me; and +I told you frankly, partly because Johanna insisted upon it, and partly +because I believed it right to do so. If you demand it, I will even +promise not to see Olivia again, or to hold direct communication with +her. Surely that is all you ought to require from me." + +"No," she replied, vehemently; "do you suppose I could become your wife +while you maintain that you love another woman better than me? You must +have a very low opinion of me." + +"Would you have me tell you a falsehood?" I rejoined, with vehemence +equal to hers. + +"You had better leave me," she said, "before we hate one another. I tell +you I have been robbed by the father and jilted by the son. Good-by, +Martin." + +"Good-by, Julia," I replied; but I still lingered, hoping she would +speak to me again. I was anxious to hear what she would do against my +father. She looked at me fully and angrily, and, as I did not move, she +swept out of the room, with a dignity which I had never seen in her +before. I retreated toward the house-door, but could not make good my +escape without encountering Johanna. + +"Well, Martin?" she said. + +"It is all wrong," I answered. "Julia persists in it that I am jilting +her." + +"All the world will think you have behaved very badly," she said. + +"I suppose so," I replied; "but don't you think so, Johanna." + +She shook her head in silence, and closed the hall-door after me. Many a +door in Guernsey would be shut against me as soon as this was known. + +I had to go round to the stables to find Madam. The man had evidently +expected me to stay a long while, for her saddle-girths were loosened, +and the bit out of her mouth, that she might enjoy a liberal feed of +oats. Captain Carey came up tome as I was buckling the girths. + +"Well, Martin?" he asked, exactly as Johanna had done before him. + +"All wrong," I repeated. + +"Dear! dear!" he said, in his mildest tones, and with his hand resting +affectionately on my shoulder; "I wish I had lost the use of my eyes or +tongue the other day, I am vexed to death that I found out your secret." + +"Perhaps I should not have found it out myself," I said, "and it is +better now than after." + +"So it is, my boy; so it is," he rejoined. "Between ourselves, Julia is +a little too old for you. Cheer up! she is a good girl, and will get +over it, and be friends again with you by-and-by. I will do all I can to +bring that about. If Olivia is only as good as she is handsome, you'll +be happier with her than with poor Julia." + +He patted my back with a friendliness that cheered me, while his last +words sent the blood bounding through my veins. I rode home again, Sark +lying in full view before me; and, in spite of the darkness of my +prospects, I felt intensely glad to be free to win my Olivia. + +Four days passed without any sign from either Julia or my father. I +wrote to him detailing my interview with her, but no reply came. My +mother and I had the house to ourselves; and, in spite of her frettings, +we enjoyed considerable pleasure during the temporary lull. There were, +however, sundry warnings out-of-doors which foretold tempest. I met cold +glances and sharp inquiries from old friends, among whom some rumors of +our separation were floating. There was sufficient to justify suspicion: +my father's absence, Julia's prolonged sojourn with the Careys at the +Vale, and the postponement of my voyage to England. I began to fancy +that even the women-servants flouted at me. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. + +DEAD TO HONOR. + + +The mail from Jersey on Monday morning brought us no letter from my +father. But during the afternoon, as I was passing along the Canichers, +I came suddenly upon Captain Carey and Julia, who wore a thick veil over +her face. The Canichers is a very narrow, winding street, where no +conveyances are allowed to run, and all of us had chosen it in +preference to the broad road along the quay, where we were liable to +meet many acquaintances. There was no escape for any of us. An +enormously high, strong wall, such as abound in St. Peter-Port, was on +one side of us, and some locked-up stables on the other. Julia turned +away her head, and appeared absorbed in the contemplation of a very +small placard, which did not cover one stone of the wall, though it was +the only one there. I shook hands with Captain Carey, who regarded us +with a comical expression of distress, and waited to see if she would +recognize me; but she did not. + +"Julia has had a letter from your father," he said. + +"Yes?" I replied, in a tone of inquiry. + +"Or rather from Dr. Collas," he pursued. "Prepare yourself for bad news, +Martin. Your father is very ill; dangerously so, he thinks." + +The news did not startle me. I had been long aware that my father was +one of those medical men who are excessively nervous about their own +health, and are astonished that so delicate and complicated an +organization as the human frame should ever survive for sixty years the +ills it is exposed to. But at this time it was possible that distress of +mind and anxiety for the future might have made him really ill. There +was no chance of crossing to Jersey before the next morning. + +"He wished Dr. Collas to write to Julia, so as not to alarm your +mother," continued Captain Carey, as I stood silent. + +"I will go to-morrow," I said; "but we must not frighten my mother if we +can help it." + +"Dr. Dobree begs that you will go," he answered--"you and Julia." + +"Julia!" I exclaimed. "Oh, impossible!" + +"I don't see that it is impossible," said Julia, speaking for the first +time. "He is my own uncle, and has acted as my father. I intend to go to +see him; but Captain Carey has promised to go with me." + +"Thank you a thousand times, dear Julia," I answered, gratefully. A +heavy load was lifted off my spirits, for I came to this +conclusion--that she had said nothing, and would say nothing, to the +Careys about his defalcations. She would not make her uncle's shame +public. + +I told my mother that Julia and I were going over to Jersey the next +morning, and she was more than satisfied. We went on board together as +arranged--Julia, Captain Carey, and I. But Julia did not stay on deck, +and I saw nothing of her during our two-hours' sail. + +Captain Carey told me feelingly how terribly she was fretting, +notwithstanding all their efforts to console her. He was full of this +topic, and could think and speak of nothing else, worrying me with the +most minute particulars of her deep dejection, until I felt myself one +of the most worthless scoundrels in existence. I was in this humiliated +state of mind when we landed in Jersey, and drove in separate cars to +the hotel where my father was lying ill. + +The landlady received us with a portentous face. Dr. Collas had spoken +very seriously indeed of his patient, and, as for herself, she had not +the smallest hope. I heard Julia sob, and saw her lift her handkerchief +to her eyes behind her veil. + +Captain Carey looked very much frightened. He was a man of quick +sympathies, and nervous about his own life into the bargain, so that any +serious illness alarmed him. As for myself, I was in the miserable +condition of mind I have described above. + +We were not admitted into my father's room for half an hour, as he sent +word he must get up his strength for the interview. Julia and myself +alone were allowed to see him. He was propped up in bed with a number of +pillows; with the room darkened by Venetian blinds, and a dim green +twilight prevailing, which cast a sickly hue over his really pallid +face. His abundant white hair fell lankly about his head, instead of +being in crisp curls as usual. I was about to feel his pulse for him, +but he waved me off. + +"No, my son," he said, "my recovery is not to be desired. I feel that I +have nothing now to do but to die. It is the only reparation in my +power. I would far rather die than recover." + +I had nothing to say to that; indeed, I had really no answer ready, so +amazed was I at the tone he had taken. But Julia began to sob again, and +pressed past me, sinking down on the chair by his side, and laying her +hand upon one of his pillows. + +"Julia, my love," he continued, feebly, "you know how I have wronged +you; but you are a true Christian. You will forgive your uncle when he +is dead and gone. I should like to be buried in Guernsey with the other +Dobrees." + +Neither did Julia answer, save by sobs. I stepped toward the window to +draw up the blinds, but he stopped me, speaking in a much stronger voice +than before. + +"Leave them alone," he said. "I have no wish to see the light of day. A +dishonored man does not care to show his face. I have seen no one since +I left Guernsey, except Collas." + +"I think you are alarming yourself needlessly," I answered. "You know +you are fidgety about your own health. Let me prescribe for you. Surely +I know as much as Collas." + +"No, no, let me die," he said, plaintively; "then you can all be happy. +I have robbed my only brother's only child, who was dear to me as my own +daughter. I cannot hold up my head after that. I should die gladly if +you two were but reconciled to one another." + +By this time Julia's hand had reached his, and was resting in it fondly. +I never knew a man gifted with such power over women and their +susceptibilities as he had. My mother herself would appear to forget all +her unhappiness, if he only smiled upon her. + +"My poor dear Julia!" he murmured; "my poor child!" + +"Uncle," she said, checking her sobs by a great effort, "if you imagine +I should tell any one--Johanna Carey even--what you have done, you wrong +me. The name of Dobree is as dear to me as to Martin, and he was willing +to marry a woman he detested in order to shield it. No, you are quite +safe from disgrace as far as I am concerned." + +"God in heaven bless you, my own Julia!" he ejaculated, fervently. "I +knew your noble nature; but it grieves me the more deeply that I have so +thoughtlessly wronged you. If I should live to get over this illness, I +will explain it all to you. It is not so bad as it seems. But will you +not be equally generous to Martin? Cannot you forgive him as you do me?" + +"Uncle," she cried, "I could never, never marry a man who says he loves +some one else more than me." + +Her face was hidden in the pillows, and my father stroked her head, +glancing at me contemptuously at the same time. + +"I should think not, my girl!" he said, in a soothing tone; "but Martin +will very soon repent. He is a fool just now, but he will be wise again +presently. He has known you too long not to know your worth." + +"Julia," I said, "I do know how good you are. You have always been +generous, and you are so now. I owe you as much gratitude as my father +does, and any thing I can do to prove it I am ready to do this day." + +"Will you marry her before we leave Jersey?" asked my father. + +"Yes," I answered. + +The word slipped from me almost unawares, yet I did not wish to retract +it. She was behaving so nobly and generously toward us both, that I was +willing to do any thing to make her happy. + +"Then, my love," he said, "you hear what Martin promises. All's well +that ends well. Only make up your mind to put your proper pride away, +and we shall all be as happy as we were before." + +"Never!" she cried, indignantly. "I would not marry Martin here, +hurriedly and furtively; no, not if you were dying, uncle!" + +"But, Julia, if I were dying, and wished to see you united before my +death!" he insinuated. A sudden light broke upon me. It was an ingenious +plot--one at which I could not help laughing, mad as I was. Julia's +pride was to be saved, and an immediate marriage between us effected, +under cover of my father's dangerous illness. I did smile, in spite of +my anger, and he caught it, and smiled back again. I think Julia became +suspicious too. + +"Martin," she said, sharpening her voice to address me, "do _you_ think +your father is in any danger?" + +"No, I do not," I answered, notwithstanding his gestures and frowns. + +"Then that is at an end," she said. "I was almost foolish enough to +think that I would yield. You don't know what this disappointment is to +me. Everybody will be talking of it, and some of them will pity me, and +the rest laugh at me. I am ashamed of going out-of-doors anywhere. Oh, +it is too bad! I cannot bear it." + +She was positively writhing with agitation; and tears, real tears I am +sure, started into my father's eyes. + +"My poor little Julia!" he said; "my darling! But what can be done if +you will not marry Martin?" + +"He ought to go away from Guernsey," she sobbed. "I should feel better +if I was quite sure I should never see him, or hear of other people +seeing him." + +"I will go," I said. "Guernsey will be too hot for me when all this is +known." + +"And, uncle," she pursued, speaking to him, not me, "he ought to promise +me to give up that girl. I cannot set him free to go and marry her--a +stranger and adventuress. She will be his ruin. I think, for my sake, he +ought to give her up." + +"So he ought, and so he will, my love," answered my father. "When he +thinks of all we owe to you, he will promise you that." + +I pondered over what our family owed to Julia for some minutes. It was +truly a very great debt. Though I had brought her into perhaps the most +painful position a woman could be placed in, she was generously +sacrificing her just resentment and revenge against my father's +dishonesty, in order to secure our name from blot. + +On the other hand, I had no reason to suppose Olivia loved me, and I +should do her no wrong. I felt that, whatever it might cost me, I must +consent to Julia's stipulation. + +"It is the hardest thing you could ask me," I said, "but I will give her +up. On one condition, however; for I must not leave her without friends. +I shall tell Tardif, if he ever needs help for Olivia, he must apply to +me through my mother." + +"There could be no harm in that," observed my father. + +"How soon shall I leave Guernsey?" I asked. + +"He cannot go until you are well again, uncle," she answered. "I will +stay here to nurse you, and Martin must take care of your patients. We +will send him word a day or two before we return, and I should like him +to be gone before we reach home." + +That was my sentence of banishment. She had only addressed me once +during the conversation. It was curious to see how there was no +resentment in her manner toward my father, who had systematically robbed +her, while she treated me with profound wrath and bitterness. + +She allowed him to hold her hand and stroke her hair; she would not have +suffered me to approach her. No doubt it was harder for her to give up a +lover than to lose the whole of her property. + +She left us, to make the necessary arrangements for staying with my +father, whose illness appeared to have lost suddenly its worst symptoms. +As soon as she was gone he regarded me with a look half angry, half +contemptuous. + +"What a fool you are!" he said. "You have no tact whatever in the +management of women. Julia would fly back to you, if you only held up +your finger." + +"I have no wish to hold up my finger to her," I answered. "I don't think +life with her would be so highly desirable." + +"You thought so a few weeks ago," he said, "and you'll be a pauper +without her." + +"I was not going to marry her for her money," I replied. "A few weeks +ago I cared more for her than for any other woman, except my mother, and +she knew it. All that is changed now." + +"Well well!" he said, peevishly, "do as you like. I wash my hands of the +whole business. Julia will not forsake me if she renounces you, and I +shall have need of her and her money. I shall cling to Julia." + +"She will be a kind nurse to you," I remarked. + +"Excellent!" he answered, settling himself languidly down among his +pillows. "She may come in now and watch beside me; it will be the sort +of occupation to suit her in her present state of feeling. You had +better go out and amuse yourself in your own way. Of course you will go +home to-morrow morning." + +I would have gone back to Guernsey at once, but I found neither cutter +nor yacht sailing that afternoon, so I was obliged to wait for the +steamer next morning. I did not see Julia again, but Captain Carey told +me she had consented that he should remain at hand for a day or two, to +see if he could be of any use to her. + +The report of my father's illness had spread before I reached home, and +sufficiently accounted for our visit to Jersey, and the temporary +postponement of my last trip to England before our marriage. My mother, +Johanna, and I, kept our own counsel, and answered the many questions +asked us as vaguely as the Delphic oracle. + +Still an uneasy suspicion and suspense hung about our circle. The +atmosphere was heavily charged with electricity, which foreboded storms. +It would be well for me to quit Guernsey before all the truth came out. +I wrote to Tardif, telling him I was going for an indefinite period to +London, and that if any difficulty or danger threatened Olivia, I begged +of him to communicate with my mother, who had promised me to befriend +her as far as it lay in her power. My poor mother thought of her without +bitterness, though with deep regret. To Olivia herself I wrote a line or +two, finding myself too weak to resist the temptation. I said: + +"MY DEAR OLIVIA: I told you I was about to be married to my cousin Julia +Dobree; that engagement is at an end. I am obliged to leave Guernsey, +and seek my fortune elsewhere. It will be a long time before I can see +you again, if I ever have that great happiness. Whenever you feel the +want of a true and tender friend, my mother is prepared to love you as +if you were her own daughter. Think of me also as your friend. MARTIN +DOBREE." + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD. + +IN EXILE. + + +I left Guernsey the day before my father and Julia returned from Jersey. + +My immediate future was not as black as it might have been. I was going +direct to the house of my friend Jack Senior, who had been my chum both +at Elizabeth College and at Guy's. He, like myself, had been hitherto a +sort of partner to his father, the well-known physician, Dr. Senior of +Brook Street. They lived together in a highly-respectable but gloomy +residence, kept bachelor fashion, for they had no woman-kind at all +belonging to them. The father and son lived a good deal apart, though +they were deeply attached to one another. Jack had his own apartments, +and his own guests, in the spacious house, and Dr. Senior had his. + +The first night, as Jack and I sat up together in the long summer +twilight, till the dim, not really dark, midnight came over us, I told +him every thing; as one tells a friend a hundred things one cannot put +into words to any person who dwells under the same roof, and is witness +of every circumstance of one's career. + +As I was talking to him, every emotion and perception of my brain, which +had been in a wild state of confusion and conflict, appeared to fall +into its proper rank. I was no longer doubtful as to whether I had been +the fool my father called me. My love for Olivia acquired force and +decision. My judgment that it would have been a folly and a crime to +marry Julia became confirmed. + +"Old fellow," said Jack, when I had finished, "you are in no end of a +mess." + +"Well, I am," I admitted; "but what am I to do?" + +"First of all, how much money have you?" he asked. + +"I'd rather not say," I answered. + +"Come, old friend," he said, in his most persuasive tones, "have you +fifty pounds in hand?" + +"No," I replied. + +"Thirty?" + +I shook my head, but I would not answer him further. + +"That's bad!" he said; "but it might be worse. I've lots of tin, and we +always went shares." + +"I must look out for something to do to-morrow," I remarked. + +"Ay, yes!" he answered, dryly; "you might go as assistant to a parish +doctor, or get a berth on board an emigrant-ship. There are lots of +chances for a young fellow." + +He sat smoking his cigar--a dusky outline of a human figure, with a +bright speck of red about the centre of the face. For a few minutes he +was lost in thought. + +"I tell you what," he said, "I've a good mind to marry Julia myself. +I've always liked her, and we want a woman in the house. That would put +things straighter, wouldn't it?" + +"She would never consent to leave Guernsey," I answered, laughing. "That +was one reason why she was so glad to marry me." + +"Well, then," he said, "would you mind me having Olivia?" + +"Don't jest about such a thing," I replied; "it is too serious a +question with me." + +"You are really in love!" he answered. "I will not jest at it. But I am +ready to do any thing to help you, old boy." + +So it proved, for he and Dr. Senior did their best during the next few +weeks to find a suitable opening for me. I made their house my home, and +was treated as a most welcome guest in it. Still the time was +irksome--more irksome than I ever could have imagined. They were busy +while I was unoccupied. + +Occasionally I went out to obey some urgent summons, when either of them +was absent; but that was a rare circumstance. The hours hung heavily +upon me; and the close, sultry air of London, so different from the +fresh sea-breezes of my native place, made me feel languid and +irritable. + +My mother's letters did not tend to raise my spirits. The tone of them +was uniformly sad. She told me the flood of sympathy for Julia had risen +very high indeed: from which I concluded that the public indignation +against myself must have risen to the same tide-mark, though my poor +mother said nothing about it. Julia had resumed her old occupations, but +her spirit was quite broken. Johanna Carey had offered to go abroad with +her, but she had declined it, because it would too painfully remind her +of our projected trip to Switzerland. + +A friend of Julia's, said my mother in another letter, had come to stay +with her, and to try to rouse her. + +It was evident she did not like this Kate Daltrey, herself, for the +dislike crept out unawares through all the gentleness of her phrases. +"She says she is the same age as Julia," she wrote, "but she is probably +some years older; for, as she does not belong to Guernsey, we have no +opportunity of knowing." I laughed when I read that. "Your father +admires her very much," she added. + +No, my mother felt no affection for her new guest. + +There was not a word about Olivia. Sark itself was never mentioned, and +it might have sunk into the sea. My eye ran over every letter first, +with the hope of catching that name, but I could not find it. This +persistent silence on my mother's part was very trying. + +I had been away from Guernsey two months, and Jack was making +arrangements for a long absence from London as soon as the season was +over, leaving me in charge, when I received the following letter from +Johanna Carey: + + + "DEAR MARTIN: Your father and Julia have been here this + afternoon, and have confided to me a very sad and very painful + secret, which they ask me to break gently to you. I am afraid + no shadow of a suspicion of it has ever fallen upon your mind, + and, I warn you, you will need all your courage and strength + as a man to bear it. I was myself so overwhelmed that I could + not write to you until now, in the dead of the night, having + prayed with all my heart to our merciful God to sustain and + comfort you, who will feel this sorrow more than any of us. My + dearest Martin, my poor boy, how can I tell it to you? You + must come home again for a season. Even Julia wishes it, + though she cannot stay in the same house with you, and will go + to her own with her friend Kate Daltrey. Your father cried + like a child. He takes it more to heart than I should have + expected. Yet there is no immediate danger; she may live for + some months yet. My poor Martin, you will have a mother only a + few months longer. Three weeks ago she and I went to Sark, at + her own urgent wish, to see your Olivia. I did not then know + why. She had a great longing to see the unfortunate girl who + had been the cause of so much sorrow to us all, but especially + to her, for she has pined sorely after you. We did not find + her in Tardif's house, but Suzanne directed us to the little + graveyard half a mile away. We followed her there, and + recognized her, of course, at the first glance. She is a + charming creature, that I allow, though I wish none of us had + ever seen her. Your mother told her who she was, and the + sweetest flush and smile came across her face! They sat down + side by side on one of the graves, and I strolled away, so I + do not know what they said to one another. Olivia walked down + with us to the Havre Gosselin, and your mother held her in her + arms and kissed her tenderly. Even I could not help kissing + her. + + "Now I understand why your mother longed to see Olivia. She + knew then--she has known for months--that her days are + numbered. When she was in London last November, she saw the + most skilful physicians, and they all agreed that her disease + was incurable and fatal. Why did she conceal it from you? Ah, + Martin, you must know a woman's heart, a mother's heart, + before you can comprehend that. Your father knew, but no one + else. What a martyrdom of silent agony she has passed through! + She has a clear calculation, based upon the opinion of the + medical men, as to how long she might have lived had her mind + been kept calm and happy. How far that has not been the case + we all know too well. + + "If your marriage with Julia had taken place, you would now + have been on your way home, not to be parted from her again + till the final separation. We all ask you to return to + Guernsey, and devote a few more weeks to one who has loved you + so passionately and fondly. Even Julia asks it. Her resentment + gives way before this terrible sorrow. We have not told your + mother what we are about to do, lest any thing should prevent + your return. She is as patient and gentle as a lamb, and is + ready with a quiet smile for every one. O Martin, what a loss + she will be to us all! My heart is bleeding for you. + + "Do not come before you have answered this letter, that we + may prepare her for your return. Write by the next boat, and + come by the one after. Julia will have to move down to the new + house, and that will be excitement enough for one day. + + "Good-by, my dearest Martin. I have forgiven every thing; so + will all our friends as soon as they know this dreadful + secret. + + "Your faithful, loving cousin, JOHANNA CAREY." + +I read this letter twice, with a singing in my ears and a whirling of my +brain, before I could realize the meaning. Then I refused to believe it. +No one knows better than a doctor how the most skilful head among us may +be at fault. + +My mother dying of an incurable disease! Impossible! I would go over at +once and save her. She ought to have told me first. Who could have +attended her so skilfully and devotedly as her only son? + +Yet the numbing, deadly chill of dread rested upon my heart. I felt +keenly how slight my power was, as I had done once before when I thought +Olivia would die. But then I had no resources, no appliances. Now I +would take home with me every remedy the experience and researches of +man had discovered. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH. + +OVERMATCHED. + + +My mother had consulted Dr. Senior himself when she had been in London. +He did not positively cut off all hope from me, though I knew well he +was giving me encouragement in spite of his own carefully-formed +opinion. He asserted emphatically that it was possible to alleviate her +sufferings and prolong her life, especially if her mind was kept at +rest. There was not a question as to the necessity for my immediate +return to her. But there was still a day for me to tarry in London. + +"Martin," said Jack, "why have you never followed up the clew about your +Olivia--the advertisement, you know? Shall we go to those folks in +Gray's-Inn Road this afternoon?" + +It had been in my mind all along to do so, but the listless +procrastination of idleness had caused me to put it off from time to +time. Besides, while I was absent from the Channel Islands my curiosity +appeared to sleep. It was enough to picture Olivia in her lowly home in +Sark. Now that I was returning to Guernsey, and the opportunity was +about to slip by, I felt more anxious to seize it. I would learn all I +could about Olivia's family and friends, without betraying any part of +her secret. + +At the nearest cab-stand we found a cabman patronized by Jack--a +red-faced, good-tempered, and good-humored man, who was as fond and +proud of Jack's notice as if he had been one of the royal princes. + +Of course there was not the smallest difficulty in finding the office of +Messrs. Scott and Brown. It was on the second floor of an ordinary +building, and, bidding the cabman wait for us, we proceeded at once up +the staircase. + +There did not seem much business going on, and our appearance was hailed +with undisguised satisfaction. The solicitors, if they were solicitors, +were two inferior, common-looking men, but sharp enough to be a match +for either of us. We both felt it, as if we had detected a snake in the +grass by its rattle. I grew wary by instinct, though I had not come with +any intention to tell them what I knew of Olivia. My sole idea had been +to learn something myself, not to impart any information. But, when I +was face to face with these men, my business, and the management of it, +did not seem quite so simple as it had done until then. + +"Do you wish to consult my partner or me?" asked the keenest-looking +man. "I am Mr. Scott." + +"Either will do," I answered. "My business will be soon dispatched. Some +months ago you inserted an advertisement in the _Times_." + +"To what purport?" inquired Mr. Scott. + +"You offered fifty pounds reward," I replied, "for information +concerning a young lady." + +A gleam of intelligence and gratification flickered upon both their +faces, but quickly faded away into a sober and blank gravity. Mr. Scott +waited for me to speak again, and bowed silently, as if to intimate he +was all attention. + +"I came," I added, "to ask you for the name and address of that young +lady's friends, as I should prefer communicating directly with them, +with a view to cooperation in the discovery of her hiding-place. I need +scarcely say I have no wish to receive any reward. I entirely waive any +claim to that, if you will oblige me by putting me into connection with +the family." + +"Have you no information you can impart to us?" asked Mr. Scott. + +"None," I answered, decisively. "It is some months since I saw the +advertisement, and it must be nine months since you put it into the +_Times_. I believe it is nine months since the young lady was missing." + +"About that time," he said. + +"Her friends must have suffered great anxiety," I remarked. + +"Very great indeed," he admitted. + +"If I could render them any service, it would be a great pleasure to +me," I continued; "cannot you tell me where to find them?" + +"We are authorized to receive any information," he replied. "You must +allow me to ask if you know any thing about the young lady in question?" + +"My object is to combine with her friends in seeking her," I said, +evasively. "I really cannot give you any information; but if you will +put me into communication with them, I may be useful to them." + +"Well," he said, with an air of candor, "of course the young lady's +friends are anxious to keep in the background. It is not a pleasant +circumstance to occur in a family; and if possible they would wish her +to be restored without any _eclat_. Of course, if you could give us any +definite information it would be quite another thing. The young lady's +family is highly connected. Have you seen any one answering to the +description?" + +"It is a very common one," I answered. "I have seen scores of young +ladies who might answer to it. I am surprised that in London you could +not trace her. Did you apply to the police?" + +"The police are blockheads," replied Mr. Scott.--"Will you be so good as +to see if there is any one in the outer office, Mr. Brown, or on the +stairs? I believe I heard a noise outside." + +Mr. Brown disappeared for a few minutes; but his absence did not +interrupt our conversation. There was not much to be made out of it on +either side, for we were only fencing with one another. I learned +nothing about Olivia's friends, and I was satisfied he had learned +nothing about her. + +At last we parted with mutual dissatisfaction; and I went moodily +downstairs, followed by Jack. We drove back to Brook Street, to spend +the few hours that remained before the train started for Southampton. + +"Doctor," said Simmons, as Jack paid him his fare, with a small coin +added to it, "I'm half afeard I've done some mischief. I've been turning +it over and over in my head, and can't exactly see the rights of it. A +gent, with a pen behind his ear, comes down, at that orfice in Gray's +Inn Road, and takes my number. But after that he says a civil thing or +two. 'Fine young gents,' he says, pointing up the staircase. 'Very much +so,' says I. 'Young doctors?' he says. 'You're right,' I says. 'I +guessed so,' he says; 'and pretty well up the tree, eh?' 'Ay,' I says; +'the light-haired gent is son to Dr. Senior, the great pheeseecian; and +the other he comes from Guernsey, which is an island in the sea.' 'Just +so,' he says; 'I've heard as much.' I hope I've done no mischief, +doctor?" + +"I hope not, Simmons," answered Jack; "but your tongue hangs too loose, +my man.--Look out for a squall on the Olivia coast, Martin," he added. + +My anxiety would have been very great if I had not been returning +immediately to Guernsey. But once there, and in communication with +Tardif, I could not believe any danger would threaten Olivia from which +I could not protect or rescue her. She was of age, and had a right to +act for herself. With two such friends as Tardif and me, no one could +force her away from her chosen home. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH. + +HOME AGAIN. + + +My mother was looking out for me when I reached home the next morning. I +had taken a car from the pier-head to avoid meeting any acquaintances; +and hers was almost the first familiar face I saw. It was pallid with +the sickly hue of a confirmed disease, and her eyes were much sunken; +but she ran across the room to meet me. I was afraid to touch her, +knowing how a careless movement might cause her excruciating pain; but +she was oblivious of every thing save my return, and pressed me closer +and closer in her arms, with all her failing strength, while I leaned my +face down upon her dear head, unable to utter a word. + +"God is very good to me," sobbed my mother. + +"Is He?" I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears, so forced and +altered it was. + +"Very, very good," she repeated. "He has brought you back to me." + +"Never to leave you again, mother," I said--"never again!" + +"No; you will never leave me alone again here," she whispered. "Oh, how +I have missed you, my boy!" + +I made her sit down on the sofa, and sat beside her, while she caressed +my hand with her thin and wasted fingers. + +I must put an end to this, if I was to maintain my self-control. + +"Mother," I said, "you forget that I have been on the sea all night, and +have not had my breakfast yet." + +"The old cry, Martin," she answered, smiling. "Well, you shall have your +breakfast here, and I will wait upon you once more." + +I watched her furtively as she moved about, not with her usual quick and +light movements, but with a slow and cautious tread. It was part of my +anguish to know, as only a medical man can know, how every step was a +fresh pang to her. She sat down with me at the table, though I would not +suffer her to pour out my coffee, as she wished to do. There was a +divine smile upon her face; yet beneath it there was an indication of +constant and terrible pain, in the sunken eyes and drawn lips. It was +useless to attempt to eat with that smiling face opposite me. I drank +thirstily, but I could not swallow a crumb. She knew what it meant, and +her eyes were fastened upon me with a heart-breaking expression. + +That mockery of a meal over, she permitted me to lay her down on the +sofa, almost as submissively as a tired child, and to cover her with an +eider-down quilt; for her malady made her shiver with its deadly +coldness, while she could not bear any weight upon her. My father was +gone out, and would not be back before evening. The whole day lay before +us; I should have my mother entirely to myself. + +We had very much to say to one another; but it could only be said at +intervals, when her strength allowed of it. We talked together, more +calmly than I could have believed possible, of her approaching death; +and, in a stupor of despair, I owned to myself and her that there was +not a hope of her being spared to me much longer. + +"I have longed so," she murmured, "to see my boy in a home of his own +before I died. Perhaps I was wrong, but that was why I urged on your +marriage with Julia. You will have no real home after I am gone, Martin; +and I feel as if I could die so much more quietly if I had some +knowledge of your future life. Now I shall know nothing. I think that is +the sting of death to me." + +"I wish it had been as you wanted it to be," I said, never feeling so +bitterly the disappointment I had caused her, and almost grieved that I +had ever seen Olivia. + +"I suppose it is all for the best," she answered, feebly. "O Martin! I +have seen your Olivia." + +"Well?" I said. + +"I did so want to see her," she continued--"though she has brought us +all into such trouble. I loved her because you love her. Johanna went +with me, because she is such a good judge, you know, and I did not like +to rely upon my own feelings. Appearances are very much against her; but +she is very engaging, and I believe she is a good girl. I am sure she is +good." + +"I know she is," I said. + +"We talked of you," she went on--"how good you were to her that week in +the spring. She had never been quite unconscious, she thought; but she +had seen and heard you all the time, and knew you were doing your utmost +to save her. I believe we talked more of you than of any thing else." + +That was very likely, I knew, as far as my mother was concerned. But I +was anxious to hear whether Olivia had not confided to her more of her +secret than I had yet been able to learn from other sources. To a woman +like my mother she might have intrusted all her history. + +"Did you find any thing out about her friends and family?" I asked. + +"Not much," she answered. "She told me her own mother had died when she +was quite a child; and she had a step-mother living, who has been the +ruin of her life. That was her expression. 'She has been the ruin of my +life!' she said; and she cried a little, Martin, with her head upon my +lap. If I could only have offered her a home here, and promised to be a +mother to her!" + +"God bless you, my darling mother!" I said. + +"She intends to stay where she is as long as it is possible," she +continued; "but she told me she wanted work to do--any kind of work by +which she could earn a little money. She has a diamond ring, and a watch +and chain, worth a hundred pounds; so she must have been used to +affluence. Yet she spoke as if she might have to live in Sark for years. +It is a very strange position for a young girl." + +"Mother," I said, "you do not know how all this weighs upon me. I +promised Julia to give her up, and never to see her again; but it is +almost more than I can bear, especially now. I shall be as friendless +and homeless as Olivia by-and-by." + +I had knelt down beside her, and she pressed my face to hers, murmuring +those soft, fondling words, which a man only hears from his mother's +lips. I knew that the anguish of her soul was even greater than my own. +The agitation was growing too much for her, and would end in an access +of her disease. I must put an end to it at once. + +"I suppose Julia is gone to the new house now," I said, in a calm voice. + +"Yes," she answered, but she could say no more. + +"And Miss Daltrey with her?" I pursued. + +The mention of that name certainly roused my mother more effectually +than any thing else I could have said. She released me from her clinging +hands, and looked up with a decided expression of dislike on her face. + +"Yes," she replied. "Julia is just wrapped up in her, though why I +cannot imagine. So is your father. But I don't think you will like her, +Martin. I don't want you to be taken with her." + +"I won't, mother," I said. "I am ready to hate her, if that is any +satisfaction to you." + +"Oh, you must not say that," she answered, in a tone of alarm. "I do not +wish to set you against her, not in the least, my boy. Only she has so +much influence over Julia and your father; and I do not want you to go +over to her side. I know I am very silly; but she always makes my flesh +creep when she is in the room." + +"Then she shall not come into the room," I said. + +"Martin," she went on, "why does it rouse one up more to speak evil of +people than to speak good of them? Speaking of Kate Daltrey makes me +feel stronger than talking of Olivia." + +I laughed a little. It had been an observation of mine, made some years +ago, that the surest method of consolation in cases of excessive grief, +was the introduction of some family or neighborly gossip, seasoned +slightly with scandal. The most vehement mourning had been turned into +another current of thought by the lifting of this sluice. + +"It restores the balance of the emotions," I answered. "Anything soft, +and tender, and touching, makes you more sensitive. A person like Miss +Daltrey acts as a tonic; bitter, perhaps, but invigorating." + +The morning passed without any interruption; but in the afternoon Grace +came in, with a face full of grave importance, to announce that Miss +Dobree had called, and desired to see Mrs. Dobree alone. "Quite alone," +repeated Grace, emphatically. + +"I'll go up-stairs to my own room," I said to my mother. + +"I am afraid you cannot, Martin," she answered, hesitatingly. "Miss +Daltrey has taken possession of it, and she has not removed all her +things yet. She and Julia did not leave till late last night. You must +go to the spare room." + +"I thought you would have kept my room for me, mother," I said, +reproachfully. + +"So I would," she replied, her lips quivering, "but Miss Daltrey took a +fancy to it, and your father and Julia made a point of indulging her. I +really think Julia would have had every thing belonging to you swept +into the streets. It was very hard for me, Martin. I was ten times more +vexed than you are to give up your room to Miss Daltrey. It was my only +comfort to go and sit there, and think of my dear boy." "Never mind, +never mind," I answered. "I am at home now, and you will never be left +alone with them again--nevermore, mother." + +I retreated to the spare room, fully satisfied that I should dislike +Miss Daltrey quite as much as my mother could wish. Finding that Julia +prolonged her visit downstairs, I went out after a while for a stroll in +the old garden, where the trees and shrubs had grown with my growth, and +were as familiar as human friends to me. I visited Madam in her stall, +and had a talk with old Pellet; and generally established my footing +once more as the only son of the house; not at all either as if I were a +prodigal son, come home repentant. I was resolved not to play that +_role_, for had I not been more sinned against than sinning? + +My father came in to dinner; but, like a true man of the world, he +received me back on civil and equal terms, not alluding beyond a word or +two to my long absence. We began again as friends; and our mutual +knowledge of my mother's fatal malady softened our hearts and manners +toward one another. Whenever he was in-doors he waited upon her with +sedulous attention. But, for the certainty that death was lurking very +near to us, I should have been happier in my home than I had ever been +since that momentous week in Sark. But I was also nearer to Olivia, and +every throb of my pulse was quickened by the mere thought of that. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH. + +A NEW PATIENT. + + +In one sense, time seemed to be standing still with me, so like were the +days that followed the one to the other. But in another sense those days +fled with awful swiftness, for they were hurrying us both, my mother and +me, to a great gulf which would soon, far too soon, lie between us. + +Every afternoon Julia came to spend an hour or two with my mother; but +her arrival was always formally announced, and it was an understood +thing that I should immediately quit the room, to avoid meeting her. +There was an etiquette in her resentment which I was bound to observe. + +What our circle of friends thought, had become a matter of very +secondary consideration to me; but there seemed a general disposition to +condone my offences, in view of the calamity that was hanging by a mere +thread above me. I discovered from their significant remarks that it had +been quite the fashion to visit Sark during the summer, by the Queen of +the Isles, which made the passage every Monday; and that Tardif's +cottage had been an object of attraction to many of my relatives of +every degree. Few of them had caught even a glimpse of Olivia; and I +suspected that she had kept herself well out of sight on those days when +the weekly steamer flooded the island with visitors. + +I had not taken up any of my old patients again, for I was determined +that everybody should feel that my residence at home was only temporary. +But, about ten days after my return, the following note was brought to +me, directed in full to Dr. Martin Dobree: + +"A lady from England, who is only a visitor in Guernsey, will be much +obliged by Dr. Martin Dobree calling upon her, at Rose Villa, Vauvert +Road. She is suffering from a slight indisposition; and, knowing Dr. +Senior by name and reputation, she would feel great confidence in the +skill of Dr. Senior's friend." + +I wondered for an instant who the stranger could be, and how she knew +the Seniors; but, as there could be no answer to these queries without +visiting the lady, I resolved to go. Rose Villa was a house where the +rooms were let to visitors during the season, and the Vauvert Road was +scarcely five minutes' walk from our house. Julia was paying her daily +visit to my mother, and I was at a loss for something to do, so I went +at once. + +I found a very handsome, fine-looking woman; dark, with hair and eyes as +black as a gypsy's, and a clear olive complexion to match. Her forehead +was low, but smooth and well-shaped; and the lower part of her face, +handsome as it was, was far more developed than the upper. There was not +a trace of refinement about her features; yet the coarseness of them was +but slightly apparent as yet. She did not strike me as having more than +a very slight ailment indeed, though she dilated fluently about her +symptoms, and affected to be afraid of fever. It is not always possible +to deny that a woman has a violent headache; but, where the pulse is all +right, and the tongue clean, it is clear enough that there is not any +thing very serious threatening her. My new patient did not inspire me +with much sympathy; but she attracted my curiosity, and interested me by +the bold style of her beauty. + +"You Guernsey people are very stiff with strangers," she remarked, as I +sat opposite to her, regarding her with that close observation which is +permitted to a doctor. + +"So the world says," I answered. "Of course I am no good judge, for we +Guernsey people believe ourselves as perfect as any class of the human +family. Certainly, we pride ourselves on being a little more difficult +of approach than the Jersey people. Strangers are more freely welcome +there than here, unless they bring introductions with them. If you have +any introductions, you will find Guernsey as hospitable a spot as any in +the world." + +"I have been here a week," she replied, pouting her full crimson lips, +"and have not had a chance of speaking a word, except to strangers like +myself who don't know a soul." + +That, then, was the cause of the little indisposition which had obtained +me the honor of attending her. I indulged myself in a mild sarcasm to +that effect, but it was lost upon her. She gazed at me solemnly with her +large black eyes, which shone like beads. + +"I am really ill," she said, "but it has nothing to do with not seeing +anybody, though that's dull. There's nothing for me to do but take a +bath in the morning, and a drive in the afternoon, and go to bed very +early. Good gracious! it's enough to drive me mad!" + +"Try Jersey," I suggested. + +"No, I'll not try Jersey," she said. "I mean to make my way here. Don't +you know anybody, doctor, that would take pity on a poor stranger?" + +"I am sorry to say no," I answered. + +She frowned at that, and looked disappointed. I was about to ask her how +she knew the Seniors, when she spoke again. + +"Do you have many visitors come to Guernsey late in the autumn, as late +as October?" she inquired. + +"Not many," I answered; "a few may arrive who intend to winter here." + +"A dear young friend of mine came here last autumn," she said, "alone, +as I am, and I've been wondering, ever since I've been here, however she +would get along among such a set of stiff, formal, stand-offish folks. +She had not money enough for a dash, or that would make a difference, I +suppose." + +"Not the least," I replied, "if your friend came without any +introductions." + +"What a dreary winter she'd have!" pursued my patient, with a tone of +exultation. "She was quite young, and as pretty as a picture. All the +young men would know her, I'll be bound, and you among them, Dr. Martin. +Any woman who isn't a fright gets stared at enough to be known again." + +Could this woman know any thing of Olivia? I looked at her more +earnestly and critically. She was not a person I should like Olivia to +have any thing to do with. A coarse, ill-bred, bold woman, whose eyes +met mine unabashed, and did not blink under my scrutiny. Could she be +Olivia's step-mother, who had been the ruin of her life? + +"I'd bet a hundred to one you know her," she said, laughing and showing +all her white teeth. "A girl like her couldn't go about a little poky +place like this without all the young men knowing her. Perhaps she left +the island in the spring. I have asked at all the drapers' shops, but +nobody recollects her. I've very good news for her if I could find +her--a slim, middle-sized girl, with a clear, fair skin, and gray eyes, +and hair of a bright brown. Stay, I can show you her photograph." + +She put into my hands an exquisite portrait of Olivia, taken in +Florence. There was an expression of quiet mournfulness in the face, +which touched me to the core of my heart. I could not put it down and +speak indifferently about it. My heart beat wildly, and I felt tempted +to run off with the treasure and return no more to this woman. + +"Ah! you recognize her!" she exclaimed triumphantly. + +"I never saw such a person in Guernsey," I answered, looking steadily +into her face. A sullen and gloomy expression came across it, and she +snatched the portrait out of my hand. + +"You want to keep it a secret," she said, "but I defy you to do it. I am +come here to find her, and find her I will. She hasn't drowned herself, +and the earth hasn't swallowed her up. I've traced her as far as here, +and that I tell you. She crossed in the Southampton boat one dreadfully +stormy night last October--the only lady passenger--and the stewardess +recollects her well. She landed here. You must know something about +her." + +"I assure you I never saw that girl here," I replied, evasively. "What +inquiries have you made after her?" + +"I've inquired here, and there, and everywhere," she said. "I've done +nothing else ever since I came. It is of great importance to her, as +well as to me, that I should find her. It's a very anxious thing when a +girl like that disappears and is never heard of again, all because she +has a little difference with her friends. If you could help me to find +her you would do her family a very great service." + +"Why do you fix upon me?" I inquired. "Why did you not send for one of +the resident doctors? I left Guernsey some time ago." + +"You were here last winter," she said; "and you're a young man, and +would notice her more." + +"There are other young doctors in Guernsey," I remarked. + +"Ah! but you've been in London," she answered, "and I know something of +Dr. Senior. When you are in a strange place you catch at any chance of +an acquaintance." + +"Come, be candid with me," I said. "Did not Messrs. Scott and Brown send +you here?" + +The suddenness of my question took her off her guard and startled her. +She hesitated, stammered, and finally denied it with more than natural +emphasis. + +"I could take my oath I don't know any such persons," she answered. "I +don't know whom you mean, or what you mean. All I want is quite honest. +There is a fortune waiting for that poor girl, and I want to take her +back to those who love her, and are ready to forgive and forget every +thing. I feel sure you know something of her. But no body except me and +her other friends have any thing to do with it." + +"Well," I said, rising to take my leave, "all the information I can give +you is, that I never saw such a person here, either last winter or +since. It is quite possible she went on to Jersey, or to Granville, when +the storm was over. That she did not stay in Guernsey, I am quite sure." + +I went away in a fever of anxiety. The woman, who was certainly not a +lady, had inspired me with a repugnance that I could not describe. There +was an ingrain coarseness about her--a vulgarity excessively distasteful +to me as in any way connected with Olivia. The mystery which surrounded +her was made the deeper by it. Surely, this person could not be related +to Olivia! I tried to guess in what relationship to her she could +possibly stand. There was the indefinable delicacy and refinement of a +lady, altogether independent of her surroundings, so apparent in Olivia, +that I could not imagine her as connected by blood with this woman. Yet +why and how should such a person have any right to pursue her? I felt +more chafed than I had ever done about Olivia's secret. + +I tried to satisfy myself with the reflection that I had put Tardif on +his guard, and that he would protect her. But that did not set my mind +at ease. I never knew a mother yet who believed that any other woman +could nurse her sick child as well as herself; and I could not be +persuaded that even Tardif would shield Olivia from danger and trouble +as I could, if I were only allowed the privilege. Yet my promise to +Julia bound me to hold no communication with her. Besides, this was +surely no time to occupy myself with any other woman in the world than +my mother. She herself, good, and amiable, and self-forgetting, as she +was, might feel a pang of jealousy, and I ought not to be the one to add +a single drop of bitterness to the cup she was drinking. + +On the other hand, I was distracted at the thought that this stranger +might discover the place of Olivia's retreat, from which there was no +chance of escape if it were once discovered. A hiding-place like Sark +becomes a trap as soon as it is traced out. Should this woman catch the +echo of those rumors which had circulated so widely through Guernsey +less than three months ago--and any chance conversation with one of our +own people might bring them to her ears--then farewell to Olivia's +safety and concealment. Here was the squall which had been foretold by +Jack. I cursed the idle curiosity of mine which had exposed her to this +danger. + +I had strolled down some of the quieter streets of the town while I was +turning this affair over in my mind, and now, as I crossed the end of +Rue Haute, I caught sight of Kate Daltrey turning into a milliner's +shop. There was every reasonable probability that she would not come out +again soon, for I saw a bonnet reached out of the window. If she were +gone to buy a bonnet, she was safe for half an hour, and Julia would be +alone. I had felt a strong desire to see Julia ever since I returned +home. My mind was made up on the spot. I knew her so well as to be +certain that, if I found her in a gentle mood, she would, at any rate, +release me from the promise she had extorted from me when she was in the +first heat of her anger and disappointment. It was a chance worth +trying. If I were free to declare to Olivia my love for her, I should +establish a claim upon her full confidence, and we could laugh at +further difficulties. She was of age, and, therefore, mistress of +herself. Her friends, represented by this odious woman, could have no +legal authority over her. + +I turned shortly up a side-street, and walked as fast as I could toward +the house which was to have been our home. By a bold stroke I might +reach Julia's presence. I rang, and the maid who answered the bell +opened wide eyes of astonishment at seeing me there. I passed by +quickly. + +"I wish to speak to Miss Dobree," I said. "Is she in the drawing-room?" + +"Yes, sir," she answered, in a hesitating tone. + +I waited for nothing more, but knocked at the drawing-room door for +myself, and heard Julia call, "Come in." + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH. + +SET FREE. + + +Julia looked very much the same as she had done that evening when I came +reluctantly to tell her that my heart was not in her keeping, but +belonged to another. She wore the same kind of fresh, light muslin +dress, with ribbons and lace about it, and she sat near the window, with +a piece of needle-work in her hands; yet she was not sewing, and her +hands lay listlessly on her lap. But, for this attitude of dejection, I +could have imagined that it was the same day and the same hour, and that +she was still ignorant of the change in my feelings toward her. If it +had not been for our perverse fate, we should now be returning from our +wedding-trip, and receiving the congratulations of our friends. A +mingled feeling of sorrow, pity, and shame, prevented me from advancing +into the room. She looked up to see who was standing in the doorway, and +my appearance there evidently alarmed and distressed her. + +"Martin!" she cried. + +"May I come in and speak to you, Julia?" I asked. + +"Is my aunt worse?" she inquired, hurriedly. "Are you come to fetch me +to her?" + +"No, no, Julia," I said; "my mother is as well as usual, I hope. But +surely you will let me speak to you after all this time?" + +"It is not a long time," she answered. + +"Has it not been long to you?" I asked. "It seems years to me. All life +has changed for me. I had no idea then of my mother's illness." + +"Nor I," she said, sighing deeply. + +"If I had known it," I continued, "all this might not have happened. +Surely, the troubles I shall have to bear must plead with you for me!" + +"Yes, Martin," she answered; "yes, I am very sorry for you." + +She came forward and offered me her hand, but without looking into my +face. I saw that she had been crying, for her eyes were red. In a tone +of formal politeness she asked me if I would not sit down. I considered +it best to remain standing, as an intimation that I should not trouble +her with my presence for long. + +"My mother loves you very dearly, Julia," I ventured to say, after a +long pause, which she did not seem inclined to break. I had no time to +lose, lest Kate Daltrey should come in, and it was a very difficult +subject to approach. + +"Not more than I love her," she said, warmly. "Aunt Dobree has been as +good to me as any mother could have been. I love her as dearly as my +mother. Have you seen her since I was with her this afternoon?" + +"No. I have just come from visiting a very curious patient, and have not +been home yet." + +I hoped Julia would catch at the word curious, and make some inquiries +which would open a way for me; but she seemed not to hear it, and +another silence fell upon us both. For the life of me I could not utter +a syllable of what I had come to say. + +"We were talking of you," she said at length, in a harried and thick +voice. "Aunt is in great sorrow about you. It preys upon her day and +night that you will be dreadfully alone when she is gone, +and--and--Martin, she wishes to know before she dies that the girl in +Sark will become your wife." + +The word struck like a shot upon my ear and brain. What! had Julia and +my mother been arranging between them my happiness and Olivia's safety +that very afternoon? Such generosity was incredible. I could not believe +I had heard aright. + +"She has seen the girl," continued Julia, in the same husky tone, which +she could not compel to be clear and calm; "and she is convinced she is +no adventuress. Johanna says the same. They tell me it is unreasonable +and selfish in me to doom you to the dreadful loneliness I feel. If Aunt +Dobree asked me to pluck out my right eye just now, I could not refuse. +It is something like that, but I have promised to do it. I release you +from every promise you ever made to me, Martin." + +"Julia!" I cried, crossing to her and bending over her with more love +and admiration than I had ever felt before; "this is very noble, very +generous." + +"No," she said, bursting into tears; "I am neither noble nor generous. I +do it because I cannot help myself, with aunt's white face looking so +imploringly at me. I do not give you up willingly to that girl in Sark. +I hope I shall never see her or you for many, many years. Aunt says you +will have no chance of marrying her till you are settled in a practice +somewhere; but you are free to ask her to be your wife. Aunt wants you +to have somebody to love you and care for you after she is gone, as I +should have done." + +"But you are generous to consent to it," I said again. + +"So," she answered, wiping her eyes, and lifting up her head; "I thought +I was generous; I thought I was a Christian, but it is not easy to be a +Christian when one is mortified, and humbled, and wounded. I am a great +disappointment to myself; quite as great as you are to me. I fancied +myself very superior to what I am. I hope you may not be disappointed in +that girl in Sark." + +The latter words were not spoken in an amiable tone, but this was no +time for criticising Julia. She had made a tremendous sacrifice, that +was evident; and a whole sacrifice without any blemish is very rarely +offered up nowadays, however it may have been in olden times. I could +not look at her dejected face and gloomy expression without a keen sense +of self-reproach. + +"Julia," I said, "I shall never be quite happy--no, not with Olivia as +my wife--unless you and I are friends. We have grown up together too +much as brother and sister, for me to have you taken right out of my +life without a feeling of great loss. It is I who would lose a right +hand or a right eye in losing you. Some day we must be friends again as +we used to be." + +"It is not very likely," she answered; "but you had better go now, +Martin. It is very painful to me for you to be here." + +I could not stay any longer after that dismissal. Her hand was lying on +her lap, and I stooped down and kissed it, seeing on it still the ring I +had given her when we were first engaged. She did not look at me or bid +me good-by; and I went out of the house, my veins tingling with shame +and gladness. I met Captain Carey coming up the street, with a basket of +fine grapes in his hand. He appeared very much amazed. + +"Why, Martin!" he exclaimed; "can you have been to see Julia?" + +"Yes," I answered. + +"Reconciled?" he said, arching his eyebrows, which were still dark and +bushy though his hair was grizzled. + +"Not exactly," I replied, with a stiff smile, exceedingly difficult to +force; "nothing of the sort indeed. Captain, when will you take me +across to Sark?" + +"Come, come! none of that, Martin," he said; "you're on honor, you know. +You are pledged to poor Julia not to visit Sark again." + +"She has just set me free," I answered; and out of the fulness of my +heart I told him all that had just passed between us. His eyes +glistened, though a film came across them which he had to wipe away. + +"She is a noble girl," he ejaculated; "a fine, generous, noble girl. I +really thought she'd break her heart over you at first, but she will +come round again now. We will have a run over to Sark to-morrow." + +I felt myself lifted into a third heaven of delight all that evening. My +mother and I talked of no one but Olivia. The present rapture so +completely eclipsed the coming sorrow, that I forgot how soon it would +be upon me. I remember now that my mother neither by word nor sign +suffered me to be reminded of her illness. She listened to my +rhapsodies, smiling with her divine, pathetic smile. There is no love, +no love at all, like that of a mother! + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH. + +A BRIGHT BEGINNING. + + +Not the next day, which was wet and windy, but the day following, did +Captain Carey take me over to Sark. I had had time to talk over all my +plans for the future with my mother, and I bore with me many messages +from her to the girl I was about to ask to become my wife. + +Coxcomb as I was, there was no doubt in my mind that I could win Olivia. + +To explain my coxcombry is not a very easy task. I do not suppose I had +a much higher sense of my own merits than such as is common to man. I +admit I was neither shy nor nervous on the one hand, but on the other I +was not blatantly self-conceited. It is possible that my course through +life hitherto--first as an only son adored by his mother, and secondly +as an exceedingly eligible _parti_ in a circle where there were very few +young men of my rank and family, and where there were twenty or more +marriageable women to one unmarried man--had a great deal to do with my +feeling of security with regard to this unknown, poor, and friendless +stranger. But, added to this, there was Olivia's own frank, unconcealed +pleasure in seeing me, whenever I had had a chance of visiting her, and +the freedom with which she had always conversed with me upon any topic +except that of her own mysterious position. I was sure I had made a +favorable impression upon her. In fact, when I had been talking with +her, I had given utterance to brighter and clearer thoughts than I had +ever been conscious of before. A word from her, a simple question, +seemed to touch the spring of some hidden treasure of my brain, and I +had surprised myself by what I had been enabled to say to her. It was +this, probably more than her beauty, which had drawn me to her and made +me happy in her companionship. No, I had never shown myself +contemptible, but quite the reverse, in her presence. No doubt or +misgiving assailed me as the yacht carried us out of St. Sampson's +Harbor. + +Swiftly we ran across, with a soft wind drifting over the sea and +playing upon our faces, and a long furrow lying in the wake of our boat. +It was almost low tide when we reached the island--the best time for +seeing the cliffs. They were standing well out of the water, scarred and +chiselled with strange devices, and glowing in the August sunlight with +tints of the most gorgeous coloring, while their feet, swathed with +brown seaweed, were glistening with the dashing of the waves. I had seen +nothing like them since I had been there last, and the view of these +wild, rugged crags, with their regal robes of amber and gold and silver, +almost oppressed me with delight. If I could but see Olivia on this +summit! + +The currents and the wind had been in favor of our running through the +channel between Sark and Jethou, and so landing at the Creux Harbor, on +the opposite coast of the island to the Havre Gosselin. I crossed in +headlong haste, for I was afraid of meeting with Julia's friends, or +some of my own acquaintances who were spending the summer months there. +I found Tardif's house completely deserted. The only sign of life was a +family of hens clucking about the fold. + +The door was not fastened, and I entered, but there was nobody there. I +stood in the middle of the kitchen and called, but there was no answer. +Olivia's door was ajar, and I pushed it a little more open. There lay +books I had lent her on the table, and her velvet slippers were on the +floor, as if they had only just been taken off. Very worn and brown were +the little slippers, but they reassured me she had been wearing them a +short time ago. + +I returned through the fold and mounted the bank that sheltered the +house, to see if I could discover any trace of her, or Tardif, or his +mother. All the place seemed left to itself. Tardif's sheep were +browsing along the cliffs, and his cows were tethered here and there, +but nobody appeared to be tending them. At last I caught sight of a head +rising from behind a crag, the rough shock head of a boy, and I shouted +to him, making a trumpet with my hands. + +"Where is neighbor Tardif?" I called. + +"Down below there," he shouted back again, pointing downward to the +Havre Gosselin. I did not wait for any further information, but darted +off down the long, steep gulley to the little strand, where the pebbles +were being lapped lazily by the ripple of the lowering tide. Tardif's +boat was within a stone's throw, and I saw Olivia sitting in the stern +of it. I shouted again with a vehemence which made them both start. + +"Come back, Tardif," I cried, "and take me with you." + +The boat was too far off for me to see how my sudden appearance affected +Olivia. Did she turn white or red at the sound of my voice? By the time +it neared the shore, and I plunged in knee-deep to meet it, her face was +bright with smiles, and her hands were stretched out to help me over the +boat's side. + +If Tardif had not been there, I should have kissed them both. As it was, +I tucked up my wet legs out of reach of her dress, and took an oar, +unable to utter a word of the gladness I felt. + +I recovered myself in a few seconds, and touched her hand, and grasped +Tardif's with almost as much force as he gripped mine. + +"Where are you going to?" I asked, addressing neither of them in +particular. + +"Tardif was going to row me past the entrance to the Gouliot Caves," +answered Olivia, "but we will put it off now. We will return to the +shore, and hear all your adventures, Dr. Martin. You come upon us like a +phantom, and take an oar in ghostly silence. Are you really, truly +there?" + +"I am no phantom," I said, touching her hand again. "No, we will not go +back to the shore. Tardif shall row us to the caves, and I will take you +into them, and then we two will return along the cliffs. Would you like +that, mam'zelle?" + +"Very much," she answered, the smile still playing about her face. It +was brown and freckled with exposure to the sun, but so full of health +and life as to be doubly beautiful to me, who saw so many wan and sickly +faces. There was a bloom and freshness about her, telling of pure air, +and peaceful hours and days spent in the sunshine. I was seated on the +bench before Tardif, with my back to him, and Olivia was in front of +me--she, and the gorgeous cliffs, and the glistening sea, and the +cloudless sky overhead. No, there is no language on earth that could +paint the rapture of that moment. + +"Doctor," said Tardif's deep, grave voice behind me, "your mother, is +she better?" + +It was like the sharp prick of a poniard, which presently you knew must +pierce your heart. + +The one moment of rapture had fled. The paradise, that had been about me +for an instant, with no hint of pain, faded out of my sight. But Olivia +remained, and her face grew sad, and her voice low and sorrowful, as she +leaned forward to speak to me. + +"I have been so grieved for you," she said. "Your mother came to see me +once, and promised to be my friend. Is it true? Is she so very ill?" +"Quite true," I answered, in a choking voice. + +We said no more for some minutes, and the splash of the oars in the +water was the only sound. Olivia's air continued sad, and her eyes were +downcast, as if she shrank from looking me in the face. + +"Pardon me, doctor," said Tardif in our own dialect, which Olivia could +not understand, "I have made you sorry when you were having a little +gladness. Is your mother very ill?" + +"There is no hope, Tardif," I answered, looking round at his honest and +handsome face, full of concern for me. + +"May I speak to you as an old friend?" he asked. "You love mam'zelle, +and you are come to tell her so?" + +"What makes you think that?" I said. + +"I see it in your face," he answered, lowering his voice, though he knew +Olivia could not tell what we were saying. "Your marriage with +mademoiselle your cousin was broken off--why? Do you suppose I did not +guess? I knew it from the first-week you stayed with us. Nobody could +see mam'zelle as we see her, without loving her." + +"The Sark folks say you are in love with her yourself, Tardif," I said, +almost against my will, and certainly without any intention beforehand +of giving expression to such a rumor. + +His lips contracted and his face saddened, but he met my eyes frankly. + +"It is true," he answered; "but what then? If it had only pleased God to +make me like you, or that she should be of my class, I would have done +my utmost to win her. But that is impossible! See, I am nothing else +than a servant in her eyes. I do not know how to be any thing else, and +I am content. She is as far above my reach as one of the white clouds up +yonder. To think of myself as any thing but her servant would be +irreligious." + +"You are a good fellow, Tardif," I exclaimed. + +"God is the judge, of that," he said, with a sigh. "Mam'zelle thinks of +me only as her servant. 'My good Tardif, do this, or do that.' I like +it. I do not know any happier moment than when I hold her little boots +in my hand and brush them. You see she is as helpless and tender as my +little wife was; but she is very much higher than my poor little wife. +Yes, I love her as I love the blue sky, and the white clouds and the +stars shining in the night. But it will be quite different between her +and you." + +"I hope so," I thought to myself. + +"You do not feel like a servant," he continued, his oars dipping a +little too deeply and setting the boat a-rocking. "By-and-by, when you +are married, she will look up to you and obey you. I do not understand +altogether why the good God has made this difference between us two; but +I see it and feel it. It would be fitting for you to be her husband; it +would be a shame to her to become my wife." + +"Are you grieved about it, Tardif?" I asked. + +"No, no," he answered; "we have always been good friends, you and I, +doctor. No, you shall marry her, and I will be happy. I will come to +visit you sometimes, and she will call me her good Tardif. That is +enough for me." + +"What are you talking about?" asked Olivia. It was impossible to tell +her, or to continue the conversation. Moreover, the narrow channel +between Breckhou and Sark is so strong in its current, that it required +both caution and skill to steer the boat amid the needle-like points of +the rocks. At last we gained one of the entrances to the caves, but we +could not pull the boat quite up to the strand. A few paces of shallow +water, clear as glass, with pebbles sparkling like gems beneath it, lay +between us and the caves. + +"Tardif," I said, "you need not wait for us. We will return by the +cliffs." + +"You know the Gouliot Caves as well as I do?" he replied, though in a +doubtful tone. + +"All right!" I said, as I swung over the side of the boat into the +water, when I found myself knee-deep. Olivia looked from me to Tardif +with a flushed face--an augury that made my pulses leap. Why should her +face never change when he carried her in his arms? Why should she +shrink from me? + +"Are you as strong as Tardif?" she asked, lingering and hesitating +before she would trust herself to me. + +"Almost, if not altogether," I answered gayly. "I'm strong enough to +undertake to carry you without wetting the soles of your feet. Come, it +is not more than half a dozen yards." + +She was standing on the bench I had just left, looking down at me with +the same vivid flush upon her cheeks and forehead, and with an uneasy +expression in her eyes. Before she could speak again I put my arms round +her, and lifted her down. + +"You are quite as light as a feather," I said, laughing, as I carried +her to the strip of moist and humid strand under the archway in the +rocks. As I put her down I looked back to Tardif, and saw him regarding +us with grave and sorrowful eyes. + +"Adieu!" he cried; "I am going to look after my lobster-pots. God bless +you both!" + +He spoke the last words heartily; and we stood watching him as long as +he was in sight. Then we went on into the caves. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH. + +THE GOULIOT CAVES. + + +Olivia was very silent. + +The coast of Sark shows some of the most fantastic workmanship of the +sea, but the Gouliot Caves are its wildest and maddest freak. A strong, +swift current sets in from the southwest, and being lashed into a giddy +fury by the lightest southwest wind, it has hewn out of the rock a +series of cells, and grottos, and alcoves, some of them running far +inland, in long, vaulted passages and corridors, with now and then a +shaft or funnel in the rocky roof, through which the light streams down +into recesses far from the low porches, which open from the sea. Here +and there a crooked, twisted tunnel forms a skylight overhead, and the +blue heavens look down through it like a far-off eye. You cannot number +the caverns and niches. Everywhere the sea has bored alleys and +galleries, or hewn out solemn aisles, with arches intersecting each +other, and running off into capricious furrows and mouldings. There are +innumerable refts, and channels, and crescents, and cupolas, +half-finished or only hinted at. There are chambers of every height and +shape, leading into one another by irregular portals, but all rough and +rude, as though there might have been an original plan, from which, +while the general arrangement is kept, every separate stroke perversely +diverged. + +But another, and not a secondary, curiosity of this ocean-labyrinth is, +that it is the habitat of a multitude of marine creatures, not to be +seen at home in many other places. Except twice a month, at the +neaptides, the lower chambers are filled with the sea; and here live and +flourish thousands, upon thousands of those mollusks and zoophytes which +can exist only in its salt waters. The sides of the caves, as far as the +highest tides swept, were studded with crimson and purple and amber +mollusca, glistening like jewels in the light pouring down upon them +from the eyelet-openings overhead. Not the space of a finger-tip was +clear. Above them in the clefts of the rock hung fringes of delicate +ferns of the most vivid green, while here and there were nooks and +crevices of profound darkness, black with perpetual, unbroken shadow. + +I had known the caves well when I was a boy, but it was many years since +I had been there. Now I was alone in them with Olivia, no other human +being in sight or sound of us. I had scarcely eyes for any sight but +that of her face, which had grown shy and downcast, and was generally +turned away from me. She would be frightened, I thought, if I spoke to +her in that lonesome place, I would wait till we were on the cliffs, in +the open eye of day. + +She left my side for one moment while I was poking under a stone for a +young pieuvre, which had darkened the little pool of water round it with +its inky fluid. I heard her utter an exclamation of delight, and I gave +up my pursuit instantly to learn what was giving her pleasure. She was +stooping down to look beneath a low arch, not more than two feet high, +and I knelt down beside her. Beyond lay a straight narrow channel of +transparent water, blue from a faint reflected light, with smooth, +sculptured walls of rock, clear from mollusca, rising on each side of +it. Level lines of mimic waves rippled monotonously upon it, as if it +was stirred by some soft wind which we could not feel. You could have +peopled it with tiny boats flitting across it, or skimming lightly down +it. Tears shone in Olivia's eyes. + +"It reminds me so of a canal in Venice," she said, in a tremulous voice. + +"Do you know Venice?" I asked; and the recollection of her portrait +taken in Florence came to my mind. Well, by-and-by I should have a right +to hear about all her wanderings. + +"Oh, yes!" she answered; "I spent three months there once, and this +place is like it." + +"Was it a happy time?" I inquired, jealous of those tears. + +"It was a hateful time," she said, vehemently. "Don't let us talk of it. +I hate to remember it. Why cannot we forget things, Dr. Martin? You, who +are so clever, can tell me that." + +"That is simple enough," I said, smiling. "Every circumstance of our +life makes a change in the substance of the brain, and, while that +remains sound and in vigor, we cannot forget. To-day is being written on +our brain now. You will have to remember this, Olivia." + +"I know I shall remember it," she answered, in a low tone. + +"You have travelled a great deal, then?" I pursued, wishing her to talk +about herself, for I could scarcely trust my resolution to wait till we +were out of the caves. "I love you with all my heart and soul" was on my +tongue's end. + +"We travelled nearly all over Europe," she replied. + +I wondered whom she meant by "we." She had never used the plural pronoun +before, and I thought of that odious woman in Guernsey--an unpleasant +recollection. + +We had wandered back to the opening where Tardif had left us. The rapid +current between us and Breckhou was running in swift eddies, which +showed the more plainly because the day was calm, and the open sea +smooth. Olivia stood near me; but a sort of chilly diffidence had crept +over me, and I could not have ventured to press too closely to her, or +to touch her with my hand. + +"How have you been content to live here?" I asked. + +"This year in Sark has saved me," she answered, softly. + +"What has it saved you from?" I inquired, with intense eagerness. She +turned her face full upon me, with a world of reproach in her gray eyes. + +"Dr. Martin," she said, "why will you persist in asking me about my +former life? Tardif never does. He never implies by a word or look that +he wishes to know more than I choose to tell. I cannot tell you any +thing about it." + +I felt uncomfortably that she was drawing a comparison unfavorable to me +between Tardif and myself--the gentleman, who could not conquer or +conceal his desire to fathom a mystery, and the fisherman, who acted as +if there were no mystery at all. Yet Olivia appeared more grieved than +offended; and when she knew how I loved her she would admit that my +curiosity was natural. She should know, too, that I was willing to take +her as she was, with all the secrets of her former life kept from me. +Some day I would make her own I was as generous as Tardif. + +Just then my ear caught for the first time a low boom-boom, which had +probably been sounding through the caves for some minutes. + +"Good Heavens!" I ejaculated. + +Yet a moment's thought convinced me that, though there might be a little +risk, there was no paralyzing danger. I had forgotten the narrowness of +the gully through which alone we could gain the cliffs. From the open +span of beach where we were now standing, there was no chance of leaving +the caves except as we had come to them, by a boat; for on each side a +crag ran like a spur into the water. The comparatively open space +permitted the tide to lap in quietly, and steal imperceptibly higher +upon its pebbles. But the low boom I heard was the sea rushing in +through the throat of the narrow outlet through which lay our only means +of escape. There was not a moment to lose. Without a word, I snatched up +Olivia in my arms, and ran back into the caves, making as rapidly as I +could for the long, straight passage. + +Neither did Olivia speak a word or utter a cry. We found ourselves in a +low tunnel, where the water was beginning to flow in pretty strongly. I +set her down for an instant, and tore off my coat and waistcoat. Then I +caught her up again, and strode along over the slippery, slimy masses of +rock which lay under my feet, covered with seaweed. + +"Olivia," I said, "I must have my right hand free to steady myself with. +Put both your arms round my neck, and cling to me so. Don't touch my +arms or shoulders." + +Yet the clinging of her arms about my neck, and her cheek close to mine, +almost unnerved me. I held her fast with my left arm, and steadied +myself with my right. We gained in a minute or two the mouth of the +tunnel. The drift was pouring into it with a force almost too great for +me, burdened as I was. But there was the pause of the tide, when the +waves rushed out again in white floods, leaving the water comparatively +shallow. There were still six or eight yards to traverse before we could +reach an archway in the cliffs, which would land us in safety in the +outer caves. Across this small space the tide came in strongly, beating +against the foot of the rocks, and rebounding with great force. There +was some peril; but we had no alternative. I lifted Olivia a little +higher against my shoulder, for her long serge dress wrapped dangerously +around us both; and then, waiting for the pause in the throbbing of the +tide, I dashed hastily across. + +One swirl of the water coiled about us, washing up nearly to my throat, +and giving me almost a choking sensation of dread; but before a second +could swoop down upon us I had staggered half-blinded to the arch, and +put down Olivia in the small, secure cave within it. She had not spoken +once. She did not seem able to speak now. Her large, terrified eyes +looked up at me dumbly, and her face was white to the lips. I clasped +her in my arms once more, and kissed her forehead and lips again and +again in a paroxysm of passionate love and gladness. + +"Thank God!" I cried. "How I love you, Olivia!" + +I had told her only a few minutes before that the brain is ineffaceably +stamped with the impress of every event in our lives. But how much more +deeply do some events burn themselves there than others' I see it all +now--more clearly, it seems to me, than my eyes saw it then. There is +the huge, high entrance to the outer caves where we are standing, with a +massive lintel of rocks overhead, all black but for a few purple and +gray tints scattered across the blackness. Behind us the sea is +glistening, and prismatic colors play upon the cliffs. Shadows fall from +rocks we cannot see. Olivia stands before me, pale and terrified, the +water running from her heavy dress, which clings about her slender +figure. She shrinks away from me a pace or two. + +"Hush!" she cries, in a tone of mingled pain and dread--"hush!" + +There was something so positive, so prohibitory in her voice and +gesture, that my heart contracted, and a sudden chill of despondency ran +through me. But I could not be silent now. It was impossible for me to +hold my peace, even at her bidding. + +"Why do you say hush?" I asked, peremptorily. "I love you, Olivia. Is +there any reason why I should not love you?" + +"Yes," she said, very slowly and with quivering lips. "I was married +four years ago, and my husband is living still!" + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH. + +A GLOOMY ENDING. + + +Olivia's answer struck me like an electric shock. For some moments I was +simply stunned, and knew neither what she had said, nor where we were. + +I suppose half a minute had elapsed before I fairly received the meaning +of her words into my bewildered brain. It seemed as if they were +thundering in my ears, though she had uttered them in a low, frightened +voice. I scarcely understood them when I looked up and saw her leaning +against the rock, with her hands covering her face. + +"Olivia!" I cried, stretching out my arms toward her, as though she +would flutter back to them and lay her head again where it had been +resting upon my shoulder, with her face against my neck. + +But she did not see my gesture, and the next moment I knew that she +could never let me hold her in my arms again. I dared not even take one +step nearer to her. + +"Olivia," I said again, after another minute or two of troubled silence, +with no sound but the thunders of the sea reverberating through the +perilous strait where we had almost confronted death together--"Olivia, +is it true?" + +She bowed her head still lower upon her hands, in speechless +confirmation. A stricken, helpless, cowering child she seemed to me, +standing there in her drenched clothing. An unutterable tenderness, +altogether different from the feverish passion of a few minutes ago, +filled my heart as I looked at her. + +"Come," I said, as calmly as I could speak, "I am at any rate your +doctor, and I am bound to take care of you. You must not stay here wet +and cold. Let us make haste back to Tardif's, Olivia." + +I drew her hand down from her face and through my arm, for we had still +to re-enter the outer cave, and to return through a higher gallery, +before we could reach the cliffs above. I did not glance at her. The +road was very rough, strewed with huge bowlders, and she was compelled +to receive my help. But we did not speak again till we were on the +cliffs, in the eye of day, with our faces and our steps turned toward +Tardif's farm. + +"Oh!" she cried, suddenly, in a tone that made my heart ache the keener, +"how sorry I am!" + +"Sorry that I love you?" I asked, feeling that my love was growing every +moment in spite of myself. The sun shone on her face, which was just +below my eyes. There was an expression of sad perplexity and questioning +upon it, which kept away every other sign of emotion. She lifted her +eyes to me frankly, and no flush of color came over her pale cheeks. + +"Yes," she answered; "it is such a miserable, unfortunate thing for you. +But how could I have helped it?" + +"You could not help it," I said. + +"I did not mean to deceive you," she continued--"neither you nor any +one. When I fled away from him I had no plan of any kind. I was just +like a leaf driven about by the wind, and it tossed me here. I did not +think I ought to tell any one I was married. I wish I could have +foreseen this. Why did God let me have that accident in the spring? Why +did he let you come over to see me?" + +"Are you surprised that I love you?" I asked. + +Now I saw a subtle flush steal across her face, and her eyes fell to the +ground. + +"I never thought of it till this afternoon," she murmured. "I knew you +were going to marry your cousin Julia, and I knew I was married, and +that there could be no release from that. All my life is ruined, but you +and Tardif made it more bearable. I did not think you loved me till I +saw your face this afternoon." + +"I shall always love you," I cried, passionately, looking down on the +shining, drooping head beside me, and the sad face and listless arms +hanging down in an attitude of dejection. She seemed so forlorn a +creature that I wished I could take her to my heart again; but that was +impossible now. + +"No," she answered in her calm, sorrowful voice. "When you see clearly +that it is an evil thing, you will conquer it. There will be no hope +whatever in your love for me, and it will pass away. Not soon, perhaps; +I can scarcely wish you to forget me soon. Yet it would be wrong for you +to love me now. Why was I driven to marry him so long ago?" + +A sharp, bitter tone rang through her quiet voice, and for a moment she +hid her face in her hands. + +"Olivia," I said, "it is harder upon me than you can think, or I can +tell." + +She had not the faintest notion of how hard this trial was. I had +sacrificed every plan and purpose of my life in the hope of winning her. +I had cast away, almost as a worthless thing, the substantial prosperity +which had been within my grasp, and now that I stretched out my hand for +the prize, I found it nothing but an empty shadow. Deeper even than this +lay the thought of my mother's bitter disappointment. + +"Your husband must have treated you very badly, before you would take +such a desperate step as this," I said again, after a long silence, +scarcely knowing what I said. + +"He treated me so ill," said Olivia, with the same hard tone in her +voice, "that when I had a chance of escape it seemed as if God Himself +opened the door for me. He treated me so ill that, if I thought there +was any fear of him finding me out here, I would rather a thousand times +you had left me to die in the caves." + +That brought to my mind what I had almost forgotten--the woman whom my +imprudent curiosity had brought into pursuit; of her. I felt ready to +curse my folly aloud, as I did in my heart, for having gone to Messrs. +Scott and Brown. + +"Olivia," I said, "there is a woman in Guernsey who has some clew to +you--" + +But I could say no more, for I thought she would have fallen to the +ground in her terror. I drew her hand through my arm, and hastened to +reassure her. + +"No harm can come to you," I continued, "while Tardif and I are here to +protect you. Do not frighten yourself; we will defend you from every +danger." + +"Martin," she whispered--and the pleasant familiarity of my name spoken +by her gave me a sharp pang, almost of gladness--"no one can help me or +defend me. The law would compel me to go back to him. A woman's heart +may be broken without the law being broken. I could prove nothing that +would give me a right to be free--nothing. So I took it into my own +hands. I tell you I would rather have been drowned this afternoon. Why +did you save me?" + +I did not answer, except by pressing her hand against my side. I hurried +her on silently toward the cottage. She was shivering in her cold, wet +dress, and trembling with fear. It was plain to me that even her fine +health should not be trifled with, and I loved her too tenderly, her +poor, shivering, trembling frame, to let her suffer if I could help it. +When we reached the fold-yard gate, I stopped her for a moment to speak +only a few words. + +"Go in." I said, "and change, every one of your wet clothes. I will see +you again, once again, when we can talk with one another calmly. God +bless and take care of you, my darling!" + +She smiled faintly, and laid her hand in mine. + +"You forgive me?" she said. + +"Forgive you!" I repeated, kissing the small brown hand lingeringly; "I +have nothing to forgive." + +She went on across the little fold and into the house, without looking +back toward me. I could see her pass through the kitchen into her own +room, where I had watched her through the struggle between life and +death, which had first made her dear to me. Then I made my way, blind +and deaf, to the edge of the cliff, seeing nothing, hearing-nothing. I +flung myself down on the turf with my face to the ground, to hide my +eyes from the staring light of the summer sun. + +Already it seemed a long time since I had known that Olivia was married. +The knowledge had lost its freshness and novelty, and the sting of it +had become a rooted sorrow. There was no mystery about her now. I almost +laughed, with a resentful bitterness, at the poor guesses I had made. +This was the solution, and it placed her forever out of my reach. As +with Tardif, so she could be nothing for me now, but as the blue sky, +and the white clouds, and the stars shining in the night. My poor +Olivia! whom I loved a hundredfold more than I had done even this +morning. This morning I had been full of my own triumph and gladness. +Now I had nothing in my heart but a vast pity and reverential tenderness +for her. + +Married? That was what she had said. It shut out all hope for the +future. She must have been a mere child four years ago; she looked very +young and girlish still. And her husband treated her ill--my Olivia, for +whom I had given up all I had to give. She said the law would compel her +to return to him, and I could do nothing. I could not interfere even to +save her from a life which was worse to her than death. + +My heart was caught in a vice, and there was no escape from the torture +of its relentless grip. Whichever way I looked there was sorrow and +despair. I wished, with a faint-heartedness I had never felt before, +that Olivia and I had indeed perished together down in the caves where +the tide was now sweeping below me. + +"Martin!" said a clear, low, tender tone in my ear, which could never be +deaf to that voice. I looked up at Olivia without moving. My head was at +her feet, and I laid my hand upon the hem of her dress. + +"Martin," she said again, "see, I have brought you Tardifs coat in place +of your own. You must not lie here in this way. Captain Carey's yacht is +waiting for you below." + +I staggered giddily when I stood on my feet, and only Olivia's look of +pain steadied me. She had been weeping bitterly. I could not trust +myself to look in her face again. At any rate my next duty was to go +away without adding to her distress, if that were possible. Tardif was +standing behind her, regarding us both with great concern. + +"Doctor," he said, "when I came in from my lobster-pots, the captain +sent a message by me to say the sun would be gone down before you reach +Guernsey. He has come round to the Havre Gosselin. I'll walk down the +cliff with you." + +I should have said no, but Olivia caught at his words eagerly. + +"Yes, go, my good Tardif," she cried, "and bring me word that Dr. Martin +is safe on board.--Good-by!" + +Her hand in mine again for a moment, with its slight pressure. Then she +was gone, Tardif was tramping down the stony path before me, speaking to +me over his shoulder. + +"It has not gone well, then, doctor?" he said. + +"She will tell you," I answered, briefly, not knowing how much Olivia +might wish him to know. + +"Take care of mam'zelle," I said, when we had reached the top of the +ladder, and the little boat from the yacht was dancing at the foot of +it. "There is some danger ahead, and you can protect her better than I." + +"Yes, yes," he replied; "you may trust her with me. But God knows I +should have been glad if it had gone well with you." + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST. + +A STORY IN DETAIL. + + +"Well?" said Captain Carey, as I set my foot on the deck. His face was +all excitement; and he put his arm affectionately through mine. + +"It is all wrong," I answered, gloomily. + +"You don't mean that she will not have you?" he exclaimed. + +I nodded, for I had no spirit to explain the matter just then. + +"By George!" he cried; "and you've thrown over Julia, and offended all +our Guernsey folks, and half broken your poor mother's heart, all for +nothing!" + +The last consideration was the one that stung me to the quick. It _had_ +half broken my mother's heart. No one knew better than I that it had +without doubt tended to shorten her fleeting term of life. At this +moment she was waiting for me to bring her good news--perhaps the +promise that Olivia had consented to become my wife before her own last +hour arrived; for my mother and I had even talked of that. I had thought +it a romantic scheme when my mother spoke of it, but my passion had +fastened eagerly upon it, in spite of my better judgment. These were the +tidings she was waiting to hear from my lips. + +When I reached home I found her full of dangerous excitement. It was +impossible to allay it without telling her either an untruth or the +whole story. I could not deceive her, and with a desperate calmness I +related the history of the day. I tried to make light of my +disappointment, but she broke down into tears and wailings. + +"Oh, my boy!" she lamented; "and I did so want to see you happy before I +died: I wanted to leave some one who could comfort you; and Olivia would +have comforted you and loved you when I am gone! You had set your heart +upon her. Are you sure it is true? My poor, poor Martin, you must forget +her now. It becomes a sin for you to love her." + +"I cannot forget her," I said; "I cannot cease to love her. There can be +no sin in it as long as I think of her as I do now." + +"And there is poor Julia!" moaned my mother. + +Yes, there was Julia; and she would have to be told all, though she +would rejoice over it. Of course, she would rejoice; it was not in human +nature, at least in Julia's human nature, to do otherwise. She had +warned me against Olivia; had only set me free reluctantly. But how was +I to tell her? I must not leave to my mother the agitation of imparting +such tidings. I couldn't think of deputing the task to my father. There +was no one to do it but myself. + +My mother passed a restless and agitated night, and I, who sat up with +her, was compelled to listen to all her lamentation. But toward the +morning she fell into a heavy sleep, likely to last for some hours. I +could leave her in perfect security; and at an early hour I went down to +Julia's house, strung up to bear the worst, and intending to have it all +out with her, and put her on her guard before she paid her daily visit +to our house. She must have some hours for her excitement and rejoicing +to bubble over, before she came to talk about it to my mother. + +"I wish to see Miss Dobree," I said to the girl who quickly answered my +noisy peal of the house-bell. + +"Please, sir,'" was her reply, "she and Miss Daltrey are gone to Sark +with Captain Carey." + +"Gone to Sark!" I repeated, in utter amazement. + +"Yes, Dr. Martin. They started quite early because of the tide, and +Captain Carey's man brought the carriage to take them to St. Sampson's. +I don't look for them back before evening. Miss Dobree said I was to +come, with her love, and ask how Mrs. Dobree is to-day, and if she's +home in time she'll come this evening; but if she's late she'll come +to-morrow morning." + +"When did they make up their minds to go to Sark?" I inquired, +anxiously. + +"Only late last night, sir," she answered. "Cook had settled with Miss +Dobree to dine early to-day; but then Captain Carey came in, and after +he was gone she said breakfast must be ready at seven this morning in +their own rooms while they were dressing; so they must have settled it +with Captain Carey last night." + +I turned away very much surprised and bewildered, and in an irritable +state which made the least thing jar upon me. Curiosity, which had slept +yesterday, or was numbed by the shock of my disappointment, was +feverishly awake to-day. How little I knew, after all, of the mystery +which surrounded Olivia! The bitter core of it I knew, but nothing of +the many sheaths and envelops which wrapped it about. There might be +some hope, some consolation to be found wrapped up with it. I must go +again to Sark in the steamer on Monday, and hear Olivia tell me all she +could tell of her history. + +Then, why were Julia and Kate Daltrey gone to Sark? What could they have +to do with Olivia? It made me almost wild with anger to think of them +finding Olivia, and talking to her perhaps of me and my +love--questioning her, arguing with her, tormenting her! The bare +thought of those two badgering my Olivia was enough to drive me frantic. + +In the cool twilight, Julia and Kate Daltrey were announced. I was about +to withdraw from my mother's room, in conformity with the etiquette +established among us, when Julia recalled me in a gentler voice than she +had used toward me since the day of my fatal confession. + +"Stay, Martin," she said; "what we have to tell concerns you more than +any one." + +I sat down again by my mother's sofa, and she took my hand between both +her own, fondling it in the dusk. + +"It is about Olivia," I said, in as cool a tone as I could command. + +"Yes," answered Julia; "we have seen her, and we have found out why she +has refused you. She is married already." + +"She told me so yesterday," I replied. + +"Told you so yesterday!" repeated Julia, in an accent of chagrin. "If we +had only known that, we might have saved ourselves the passage across to +Sark." + +"My dear Julia," exclaimed my mother, feverishly, "do tell us all about +it, and begin at the beginning." + +There was nothing Julia liked so much, or could do so well, as to give a +circumstantial account of any thing she had done. She could relate +minute details with so much accuracy, without being exactly tedious, +that when one was lazy or unoccupied it was pleasant to listen. My +mother enjoyed, with all the delight of a woman, the small touches by +which Julia embellished her sketches. I resigned myself to hearing a +long history, when I was burning to ask one or two questions and have +done with the topic. + +"To begin at the beginning, then," said Julia, "dear Captain Carey came +into town very late last night to talk to us about Martin, and how the +girl in Sark had refused him. I was very much astonished, very much +indeed! Captain Carey said that he and dear Johanna had come to the +conclusion that the girl felt some delicacy, perhaps, because of +Martin's engagement to me. We talked it over as friends, and thought of +you, dear aunt, and your grief and disappointment, till all at once I +made up my mind in a moment. 'I will go over to Sark and see the girl +myself,' I said. 'Will you?' said Captain Carey. 'Oh, no, Julia, it will +be too much for you.' 'It would have been a few weeks ago,' I said; 'but +now I could do any thing to give Aunt Dobree a moment's happiness.'" + +"God bless you, Julia!" I interrupted, going across to her and kissing +her cheek impetuously. + +"There, don't stop me, Martin," she said, earnestly. "So it was arranged +off-hand that Captain Carey should send for us at St. Sampson's this +morning, and take us over to Sark. You know Kate has never been yet. We +had a splendid passage, and landed at the Creux, where the yacht was to +wait till we returned. Kate was in raptures with the landing-place, and +the lovely lane leading up into the island. We went on past Vaudin's Inn +and the mill, and turned down the nearest way to Tardifs. Kate said she +never felt any air like the air of Sark. Well, you know that brown pool, +a very brown pool, in the lane leading to the Havre Gosselin? Just +there, where there are some low, weather-beaten trees meeting overhead +and making a long green isle, with the sun shining down through the +knotted branches, we saw all in a moment a slim, erect, very +young-looking girl coming toward us. She was carrying her bonnet in her +hand, and her hair curled in short, bright curls all over her head. I +knew in an instant that it was Miss Ollivier." + +She paused for a minute. How plainly I could see the picture! The +arching trees, and the sunbeams playing fondly with her shining golden +hair! I held my breath to listen. + +"What completely startled me," said Julia, "was that Kate suddenly +darted forward and ran to meet her, crying 'Olivia!'" + +"How does she know her?" I exclaimed. + +"Hush. Martin! Don't interrupt me. The girl went so deadly pale, I +thought she was going to faint, but she did not. She stood for a minute +looking at us, and then she burst into the most dreadful fit of crying! + +"I ran to her, and made her sit down on a little bank of turf close by, +and gave her my smelling-bottle, and did all I could to comfort her. +By-and-by, as soon as she could speak, she said to Kate, 'How did you +find me out?' and Kate told her she had not the slightest idea of +finding her there. 'Dr. Martin Dobree, of Guernsey, told me you were +looking for me, only yesterday,' she said. + +"That took us by surprise, for Kate had not the faintest idea of seeing +her. I have always thought her name was Ollivier, and so did Kate. 'For +pity's sake,' said the girl, 'if you have any pity, leave me here in +peace. For God's sake do not betray me!' + +"I could hardly believe it was not a dream. There was Kate standing over +us, looking very stern and severe, and the girl was clinging to me--to +_me_, as if I were her dearest friend. Then all of a sudden up came old +Mother Renouf, looking half crazed, and began to harangue us for +frightening mam'zelle. Tardif, she said, would be at hand in a minute or +two, and he would take care of her from us and everybody else. 'Take me +away!' cried the girl, running to her; and the old woman tucked her hand +under her arm, and walked off with her in triumph, leaving us by +ourselves in the lane." + +"But what does it all mean?" asked my mother, while I paced to and fro +in the dim room, scarcely able to control my impatience, yet afraid to +question Julia too eagerly. + +"I can tell you," said Kate Daltrey, in her cold, deliberate tones; "she +is the wife of my half-brother, Richard Foster, who married her more +than four years ago in Melbourne; and she ran away from him last +October, and has not been heard of since." + +"Then you know her whole history," I said, approaching her and pausing +before her. "Are you at liberty to tell it to us?" + +"Certainly," she answered; "it is no secret. Her father was a wealthy +colonist, and he died when she was fifteen, leaving her in the charge of +her step-mother, Richard Foster's aunt. The match was one of the +stepmother's making, for Olivia was little better than a child. Richard +was glad enough to get her fortune, or rather the income from it, for of +course she did not come into full possession of it till she was of age. +One-third of it was settled upon her absolutely; the other two-thirds +came to her for her to do what she pleased with it. Richard was looking +forward eagerly to her being one-and-twenty, for he had made ducks and +drakes of his own property, and tried to do the same with mine. He would +have done so with his wife's; but a few weeks before Olivia's +twenty-first birthday, she disappeared mysteriously. There her fortune +lies, and Richard has no more power than I have to touch it. He cannot +even claim the money lying in the Bank of Australia, which has been +remitted by her trustees; nor can Olivia claim it without making +herself known to him. It is accumulating there, while both of them are +on the verge of poverty." + +"But he must have been very cruel to her before she would run away!" +said my mother in a very pitiful voice. Poor mother! she had borne her +own sorrows dumbly, and to leave her husband had probably never occurred +to her. + +"Cruel!" repeated Kate Daltrey. "Well, there are many kinds of cruelty. +I do not suppose Richard would ever transgress the limits of the law. +But Olivia was one of those girls who can suffer great torture--mental +torture I mean. Even I could not live in the same house with him, and +she was a dreamy, sensitive, romantic child, with as much knowledge of +the world as a baby. I was astonished to hear she had had daring enough +to leave him." + +"But there must be some protection for her from the law," I said, +thinking of the bold, coarse woman, no doubt his associate, who was in +pursuit of Olivia. "She might sue for a judicial separation, at the +least, if not a divorce." + +"I am quite sure nothing could be brought against him in a court of +law," she answered. "He is very wary and cunning, and knows very well +what he may do and what he may not do. A few months before Olivia's +flight, he introduced a woman as her companion--a disreputable woman +probably; but he calls her his cousin, and I do not know how Olivia +could prove her an unfit person to be with her. Our suspicions may be +very strong, but suspicion is not enough for an English judge and jury. +Since I saw her this morning I have been thinking of her position in +every light, and I really do not see any thing she could have done, +except running away as she did, or making up her mind to be deaf and +blind and dumb. There was no other alternative." + +"But could he not be induced to leave her in peace if she gave up a +portion of her property?" I asked. + +"Why should he?" she retorted. "If she was in his hands the whole of the +property would be his. He will never release her--never. No, her only +chance is to hide herself from him. The law cannot deal with wrongs like +hers, because they are as light as air apparently, though they are as +all-pervading as air is, and as poisonous as air can be. They are like +choke-damp, only not quite fatal. He is as crafty and cunning as a +serpent. He could prove himself the kindest, most considerate of +husbands, and Olivia next thing to an idiot. Oh, it is ridiculous to +think of pitting a girl like her against him!" + +"If she had been older, or if she had had a child, she would never have +left him," said my mother's gentle and sorrowful voice. + +"But what can be done for her?" I asked, vehemently and passionately. +"My poor Olivia! what can I do to protect her?" + +"Nothing!" answered Kate Daltrey, coldly. "Her only chance is +concealment, and what a poor chance that is! I went over to Sark, never +thinking that your Miss Ollivier whom I had heard so much of was Olivia +Foster. It is an out-of-the-world place; but so much the more readily +they will find her, if they once get a clew. A fox is soon caught when +it cannot double; and how could Olivia escape if they only traced her to +Sark?" + +My dread of the woman into whose hands my imbecile curiosity had put the +clew was growing greater every minute. It seemed as if Olivia could not +be safe now, day or night; yet what protection could I or Tardif give to +her? + +"You will not betray her?" I said to Kate Daltrey, though feeling all +the time that I could not trust her in the smallest degree. + +"I have promised dear Julia that," she answered. + +I should fail to give you any clear idea of my state of mind should I +attempt to analyze it. The most bitter thought in it was that my own +imprudence had betrayed Olivia. But for me she might have remained for +years, in peace and perfect seclusion, in the home to which she had +drifted. Richard Foster and his accomplice must have lost all hope of +finding her during the many months that had elapsed between her +disappearance and my visit to their solicitors. That had put them on the +track again. If the law forced her back to her husband, it was I who had +helped him to find her. That was a maddening thought. My love for her +was hopeless; but what then? I discovered to my own amazement that I had +loved her for her sake, not my own. I had loved the woman in herself, +not the woman as my wife. She could never become that, but she was +dearer to me than ever. She was as far removed from me as from Tardif. +Could I not serve her with as deep a devotion and as true a chivalry as +his? She belonged to both of us by as unselfish and noble a bond as ever +knights of old were pledged to. + +It became my duty to keep a strict watch over the woman who had come to +Guernsey to find Olivia. If possible I must decoy her away from the +lowly nest where my helpless bird was sheltered. She had not sent for me +again, but I called upon her the next morning professionally, and stayed +some time talking with her. But nothing resulted from the visit beyond +the assurance that she had not yet made any progress toward the +discovery of my secret. I almost marvelled at this, so universal had +been the gossip about my visits to Sark in connection with the +breaking-off of my engagement to Julia. But that had occurred in the +spring, and the nine-days' wonder had ceased before my patient came to +the island. Still, any accidental conversation might give her the +information, and open up a favorable chance for her. I must not let her +go across to Sark unknown to myself. + +Neither did I feel quite safe about Kate Daltrey. She gave me the +impression of being as crafty and cunning as she described her +half-brother. Did she know this woman by sight? That was a question I +could not answer. There was another question hanging upon it. If she saw +her, would she not in some way contrive to give her a sufficient hint, +without positively breaking her promise to Julia? Kate Daltrey's name +did not appear in the newspapers among the list of visitors, as she was +staying in a private house; but she and this woman might meet any day in +the streets or on the pier. + +Then the whole story had been confided by Julia at once to Captain Carey +and Johanna. That was quite natural; but it was equally natural for them +to confide it again to some one or two of their intimate friends. The +secret was already an open one among six persons. Could it be considered +a secret any longer? The tendency of such a singular story, whispered +from one to another, is to become in the long-run more widely circulated +than if it were openly proclaimed. I had a strong affection for my +circle of cousins, which widened as the circle round a stone cast into +water; but I knew I might as well try to arrest the eddying of such +waters as stop the spread of a story like Olivia's. + +I had resolved, in the first access of my curiosity, to cross over to +Sark the next week, alone and independent of Captain Carey. Every Monday +the Queen of the Isles made her accustomed trip to the island, to convey +visitors there for the day. + +I had not been on deck two minutes the following Monday when I saw my +patient step on after me. The last clew was in her fingers now, that was +evident. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND. + +OLIVIA GONE. + + +She did not see me at first; but her air was exultant and satisfied. +There was no face on board so elated and flushed. I kept out of her way +as long as I could without consigning myself to the black hole of the +cabin; but at last she caught sight of me, and came down to the +forecastle to claim me as an acquaintance. + +"Ha! ha! Dr. Dobree!" she exclaimed; "so you are going to visit Sark +too?" + +"Yes," I answered, more curtly than courteously. + +"You are looking rather low," she said, triumphantly--"rather blue, I +might say. Is there any thing the matter with you? Your face is as long +as a fiddle. Perhaps it is the sea that makes you melancholy." + +"Not at all," I answered, trying to speak briskly; "I am an old sailor. +Perhaps you will feel melancholy by-and-by." + +Luckily for me, my prophecy was fulfilled shortly after, for the day was +rough enough to produce uncomfortable sensations in those who were not +old sailors like myself. My tormentor was prostrate to the last moment. + +When we anchored at the entrance of the Creux, and the small boats came +out to carry us ashore, I managed easily to secure a place in the first, +and to lose sight of her in the bustle of landing. As soon as my feet +touched the shore I started off at my swiftest pace for the Havre +Gosselin. + +But I had not far to go, for at Vaudin's Inn, which stands at the top of +the steep lane running from the Creux Harbor, I saw Tardif at the door. +Now and then he acted as guide when young Vaudin could not fill that +office, or had more parties than he could manage; and Tardif was now +waiting the arrival of the weekly stream of tourists. He came to me +instantly, and we sat down on a low stone wall on the roadside, but +well out of hearing of any ears but each other's. + +"Tardif," I said, "has mam'zelle told you her secret?" + +"Yes, yes," he answered; "poor little soul! and she is a hundredfold +dearer to me now than before." + +He looked as if he meant it, for his eyes moistened and his face +quivered. + +"She is in great danger at this moment," I continued. "A woman sent by +her husband has been lurking about in Guernsey to get news of her, and +she has come across in the steamer to-day. She will be in sight of us in +a few minutes. There is no chance of her not learning where she is +living. But could we not hide Olivia somewhere? There are caves +strangers know nothing of. We might take her over to Breckhou. Be quick, +Tardif! we must decide at once what to do." + +"But mam'zelle is not here. She is gone!" he answered. + +"Gone!" I ejaculated. I could not utter another word; but I stared at +him as if my eyes could tear further information from him. + +"Yes," he said; "that lady came last week with Miss Dobree, your cousin. +Then mam'zelle told me all, and we took counsel together. It was not +safe for her to stay any longer, though I would have died for her +gladly. But what could be done? We knew she must go elsewhere, and the +next morning I rowed her over to Peter-Port in time for the steamer to +England. Poor little thing! poor little hunted soul!" + +His voice faltered as he spoke, and he drew his fisherman's cap close +down over his eyes. I did not speak again for a minute or two. + +"Tardif," I said at last, as the foremost among the tourists came in +sight, "did she leave no message for me?" + +"She wrote a letter for you," he said, "the very last thing. She did not +go to bed that night, neither did I. I was going to lose her, doctor, +and she had been like the light of the sun to me. But what could I do? +She was terrified to death at the thought of her husband claiming her. I +promised to give the letter into your own hands; but we settled I must +not show myself in Peter-Port the day she left. Here it is." + +It had been lying in his breast-pocket, and the edges were worn already. +He gave it to me lingeringly, as if loath to part with it. The tourists +were coming up in greater numbers, and I made a retreat hastily toward a +quiet and remote part of the cliffs seldom visited in Little Sark. + +There, with the sea, which had carried her away from me, playing +buoyantly among the rocks, I read her farewell letter. It ran thus: + +"My dear Friend: I am glad I can call you my friend, though nothing can +ever come of our friendship--nothing, for we may not see one another as +other friends do. My life was ruined four years ago, and every now and +then I see afresh how complete and terrible the ruin is. Yet if I had +known beforehand how your life would be linked with mine, I would have +done any thing in my power to save you from sharing in my ruin. Ought I +to have told you at once that I was married? But just that was my +secret, and it seemed so much safer while no one knew it but myself. I +did not see, as I do now, that I was acting a falsehood. I do not see +how I can help doing that. It is as shocking to me as to you. Do not +judge me harshly. + +"I do not like to speak to you about my marriage. I was very young and +very miserable; any change seemed better than living with my +step-mother. I did not know what I was doing. The Saviour said, 'Father, +forgive them, for they know not what they do.' I hope I shall be +forgiven by you, and your mother, and God, for indeed I did not know +what I was doing. + +"Last October when I escaped from them, it was partly because I felt I +should soon be as wicked as they. I do not think any one ought to remain +where there is no chance of being good. If I am wrong, remember I am not +old yet. I may learn what my duty is, and then I will do it. I am only +waiting to find out exactly what I ought to do, and then I will do it, +whatever it may be. + +"Now I am compelled to flee away again from this quiet, peaceful home +where you and Tardif have been so good to me. I began to feel perfectly +safe here, and all at once the refuge fails me. It breaks my heart, but +I must go, and my only gladness is that it will be good for you. +By-and-by you will forget me, and return to your cousin Julia, and be +happy just as you once thought you should be--as you would have been but +for me. You must think of me as one dead. I am quite dead--lost to you. + +"Yet I know you will sometimes wish to hear what has become of me. +Tardif will. And I owe you both more than I can ever repay. But it would +not be well for me to write often. I have promised Tardif that I will +write to him once a year, that you and he may know that I am still +alive. When there comes no letter, say, 'Olivia is dead!' Do not be +grieved for that; it will be the greatest, best release God can give me. +Say, 'Thank God, Olivia is dead!' + +"Good-by, my dear friend; good-by, good-by! + +"OLIVIA." + +The last line was written in a shaken, irregular hand, and her name was +half blotted out, as if a tear had fallen upon it. I remained there +alone on the wild and solitary cliffs until it was time to return to the +steamer. + +Tardif was waiting for me at the entrance of the little tunnel through +which the road passes down to the harbor. He did not speak at first, but +he drew out of his pocket an old leather pouch filled with yellow +papers. Among them lay a long curling tress of shining hair. He touched +it gently with his finger, as if it had feeling and consciousness. + +"You would like to have it, doctor?" he said. + +"Ay," I answered, and that only. I could not venture upon another word. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD. + +THE EBB OF LIFE. + + +There was nothing now for me to do but to devote myself wholly to my +mother. + +I made the malady under which she was slowly sinking my special study. +There remained a spark of hope yet in my heart that I might by diligent, +intense, unflagging search, discover some remedy yet untried, or perhaps +unthought of. I succeeded only in alleviating her sufferings. I pored +over every work which treated of the same class of diseases. At last in +an old, almost-forgotten book, I came upon a simple medicament, which, +united with appliances made available by modern science, gave her +sensible relief, and without doubt tended to prolong her shortening +days. The agonizing thought haunted me that, had I come upon this +discovery at an earlier stage of her illness, her life might have been +spared for many years. + +But it was too late now. She suffered less, and her spirits grew calm +and even. We even ventured, at her own wish, to spend a week together in +Sark, she and I--a week never to be forgotten, full of exquisite pain +and exquisite enjoyment to us both. We revisited almost every place +where we had been many years before, while I was but a child and she was +still young and strong. Tardif rowed us out in his boat under the +cliffs. Then we came home again, and she sank rapidly, as if the flame +of life had been burning too quickly in the breath of those innocent +pleasures. + +Now she began to be troubled again with the dread of leaving me alone +and comfortless. There is no passage in Christ's farewell to His +disciples which, touches me so much as those words, "I will not leave +you comfortless; I will come unto you." My mother could not promise to +come back to me, and her dying vision looked sorrowfully into the future +for me. Sometimes she put her fear into words--faltering and foreboding +words; but it was always in her eyes, as they followed me wherever I +went with a mute, pathetic anxiety. No assurances of mine, no assumed +cheerfulness and fortitude could remove it. I even tried to laugh at +it, but my laugh only brought the tears into her eyes. Neither reason +nor ridicule could root it out--a root of bitterness indeed. + +"Martin," she said, in her failing, plaintive voice, one evening when +Julia and I were both sitting with her, for we met now without any +regard to etiquette--"Martin, Julia and I have been talking about your +future life while you were away." + +Julia's face flushed a little. She was seated on a footstool by my +mother's sofa, and looked softer and gentler than I had ever seen her +look. She had been nursing my mother with a single-hearted, +self-forgetful devotion that had often touched me, and had knit us to +one another by the common bond of an absorbing interest. Certainly I had +never leaned upon or loved Julia as I was doing now. + +"There is no chance of your ever marrying Olivia now," continued my +mother, faintly, "and it is a sin for you to cherish your love for her. +That is a very plain duty, Martin." + +"Such love as I cherish for Olivia will hurt neither her nor myself," I +answered. "I would not wrong her by a thought." + +"But she can never be your wife," she said. + +"I never think of her as my wife," I replied; "but I can no more cease +to love her than I can cease to breathe. She has become part of my life, +mother." + +"Still, time and change must make a difference," she said. "You will +realize your loneliness when I am gone, though you cannot before. I want +to have some idea of what you will be doing in the years to come, before +we meet again. If I think at all, I shall be thinking of you, and I do +long to have some little notion. You will not mind me forming one poor +little plan for you once more, my boy?" + +"No," I answered, smiling to keep back the tears that were ready to +start to my eyes. + +"I scarcely know how to tell you," she said. "You must not be angry or +offended with us. But my dear Julia has promised me, out of pure love +and pity for me, you know, that if ever--how can I express it?--if you +ever wish you could return to the old plans--it may be a long time +first, but if you conquered your love for Olivia, and could go back, and +wished to go back to the time before you knew her--Julia will forget all +that has come between. Julia would consent to marry you if you asked her +to be your wife. O Martin, I should die so much happier if I thought you +would ever marry Julia, and go to live in the house I helped to get +ready for you!" + +Julia's head had dropped upon my mother's shoulder, and her face was +hidden, while my mother's eyes sought mine beseechingly. I was +irresistibly overcome by this new proof of her love for both of us, for +I knew well what a struggle it must have been to her to gain the mastery +over her proper pride and just resentment. I knelt down beside her, +clasping her hand and my mother's in my own. + +"Mother, Julia," I said, "I promise that if ever I can be true in heart +and soul to a wife, I will ask Julia to become mine. But it may be many +years hence; I dare not say how long. God alone knows how dear Olivia is +to me. And Julia is too good to waste herself upon so foolish a fellow. +She may change, and see some one she can love better." + +"That is nonsense, Martin," answered Julia, with a ring of the old +sharpness in her tone; "at my age I am not likely to fall in love +again.--Don't be afraid, aunt; I shall not change, and I will take care +of Martin. His home is ready, and he will come back to me some day, and +it will all be as you wish." + +I know that promise of ours comforted her, for she never lamented over +my coming solitude again. + +I have very little more I can say about her. When I look back and try to +write more fully of those last, lingering days, my heart fails me. The +darkened room, the muffled sounds, the loitering, creeping, yet too +rapid hours! I had no time to think of Julia, of Olivia, or of myself; I +was wrapped up in her. + +One evening--we were quite alone--she called me to come closer to her, +in that faint, far-off voice of hers, which seemed already to be +speaking from another world. I was sitting so near to her that I could +touch her with my hand, but she wanted me nearer--with my arm across +her, and my cheek against hers. + +"My boy," she whispered, "I am going." + +"Not yet, mother," I cried; "not yet! I have so much to say. Stay with +me a day or two longer." + +"If I could," she murmured, every word broken with her panting breath, +"I would stay with you forever! Be patient with your father, Martin. Say +good-by for me to him and Julia. Don't stir. Let me die so!" + +"You shall not die, mother," I said, passionately. + +"There is no pain," she whispered--"no pain at all; it is taken away. I +am only sorry for my boy. What will he do when I am gone? Where are you, +Martin?" + +"I am here, mother!" I answered--"close to you. O God! I would go with +you if I could." + +Then she lay still for a time, pressing my arm about her with her feeble +fingers. Would she speak to me no more? Had the dearest voice in the +world gone away altogether into that far-off, and, to us, silent country +whither the dying go? Dumb, blind, deaf to _me_? She was breathing yet, +and her heart fluttered faintly against my arm. Would not my mother know +me again? + +"O Martin!" she murmured, "there is great love in store for us all! I +did not know how great the love was till now!" + +There had been a quicker, more irregular throbbing of her heart as she +spoke. Then--I waited, but there came no other pulsation. Suddenly I +felt as if I also must be dying, for I passed into a state of utter +darkness and unconsciousness. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH. + +A DISCONSOLATE WIDOWER. + + +My senses returned painfully, with a dull and blunted perception that +some great calamity had overtaken me. I was in my mother's +dressing-room, and Julia was holding to my nostrils some sharp essence, +which had penetrated to the brain and brought back consciousness. My +father was sitting by the empty grate, sobbing and weeping vehemently. +The door into my mother's bedroom was closed. I knew instantly what was +going on there. + +I suppose no man ever fainted without being ashamed of it. Even in the +agony of my awakening consciousness I felt the inevitable sting of shame +at my weakness and womanishness. I pushed away Julia's hand, and raised +myself. I got up on my feet and walked unsteadily and blindly toward the +shut door. + +"Martin," said Julia, "you must not go back there. It is all over." + +I heard my father calling me in a broken voice, and I turned to him. His +frame was shaken by the violence of his sobs, and he could not lift up +his head from his hands. There was no effort at self-control about him. +At times his cries grew loud enough to be heard all over the house. + +"Oh, my son!" he said, "we shall never see any one like your poor mother +again! She was the best wife any man ever had! Oh, what a loss she is to +me!" + +I could not speak of her just then, nor could I say a word to comfort +him. She had bidden me be patient with him, but already I found the task +almost beyond me. I told Julia I was going up to my own room for the +rest of the night, if there were nothing for me to do. She put her arms +round my neck and kissed me as if she had been my sister, telling me I +could leave every thing to her. Then I went away into the solitude that +had indeed begun to close around me. + +When the heart of a man is solitary, there is no society for him even +among a crowd of friends. All deep love and close companionship seemed +stricken out of my life. + +We laid her in the cemetery, in a grave where the wide-spreading +branches of some beech-trees threw a pleasant shadow over it during the +day. At times the moan of the sea could be heard there, when the surf +rolled in strongly upon the shore of Cobo Bay. The white crest of the +waves could be seen from it, tossing over the sunken reefs at sea; yet +it lay in the heart of our island. She had chosen the spot for herself, +not very long ago, when we had been there together. Now I went there +alone. + +I counted my father and his loud grief as nothing. There was neither +sympathy nor companionship between us. He was very vehement in his +lamentations, repeating to every one who came to condole with us that +there never had lived such a wife, and his loss was the greatest that +man could bear. His loss was nothing to mine. + +Yet I did draw a little nearer to him in the first few weeks of our +bereavement. Almost insensibly I fell into our old plan of sharing the +practice, for he was often unfit to go out and see our patients. The +house was very desolate now, and soon lost those little delicate traces +of feminine occupancy which constitute the charm of a home, and to which +we had been all our lives accustomed. Julia could not leave her own +household, even if it had been possible for her to return to her place +in our deserted dwelling. The flowers faded and died unchanged in the +vases, and there was no dainty woman's work lying about--that litter of +white and colored shreds of silk and muslin, which give to a room an +inhabited appearance. These were so familiar to me, that the total +absence of them was like the barrenness of a garden without flowers in +bloom. + +My father did not feel this as I did, for he was not often at home after +the first violence of his grief had spent itself. Julia's house was open +to him in a manner it could not be open to me. I was made welcome there, +it is true; but Julia was not unembarrassed and at home with me. The +half-engagement renewed between us rendered it difficult to us both to +meet on the simple ground of friendship and relationship. Moreover, I +shrank from setting gossips' tongues going again on the subject of my +chances of marrying my cousin; so I remained at home, alone, evening +after evening, unless I was called out professionally, declining all +invitations, and brooding unwholesomely over my grief. There is no more +cowardly a way of meeting a sorrow. But I was out of heart, and no words +could better express the morbid melancholy I was sinking into. + +There was some tedious legal business to go through, for my mother's +small property, bringing in a hundred a year, came to me on her death. I +could not alienate it, but I wished Julia to receive the income as part +payment of my father's defalcations. She would not listen to such a +proposal, and she showed me that she had a shrewd notion of the true +state of our finances. They were in such a state that if I left Guernsey +with my little income my father would positively find some difficulty in +making both ends meet; the more so as I was becoming decidedly the +favorite with our patients, who began to call him slightingly the "old +doctor." No path opened up for me in any other direction. It appeared as +if I were to be bound to the place which was no longer a home to me. + +I wrote to this effect to Jack Senior, who was urging my return to +England. I could not bring myself to believe that this dreary, +monotonous routine of professional duties, of very little interest or +importance, was all that life should offer to me. Yet for the present my +duty was plain. There was no help for it. + +I made some inquiries at the lodging-house in Vauvert Road, and learned +that the person who had been in search of Olivia had left Guernsey about +the time when I was so fully engrossed with my mother as to have but +little thought for any one else. Of Olivia there was neither trace nor +tidings. Tardif came up to see me whenever he crossed over from Sark, +but he had no information to give to me. The chances were that she was +in London; but she was as much lost to me as if she had been lying +beside my mother under the green turf of Foulon Cemetery. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH. + +THE WIDOWER COMFORTED. + + +In this manner three months passed slowly away after my mother's death. +Dr. Dobree, who was utterly inconsolable the first few weeks, fell into +all his old maundering, philandering ways again, spending hours upon his +toilet, and paying devoted attentions to every passable woman who came +across his path. My temper grew like touch-wood; the least spark would +set it in a blaze. I could not take such things in good part. + +We had been at daggers-drawn for a day or two, he and I, when one +morning I was astonished by the appearance of Julia in our +consulting-room, soon after my father, having dressed himself +elaborately, had quitted the house. Julia's face was ominous, the upper +lip very straight, and a frown upon her brow. I wondered what could be +the matter, but I held my tongue. My knowledge of Julia was intimate +enough for me to hit upon the right moment for speech or silence--a rare +advantage. It was the time to refrain from speaking. Julia was no +termagant--simply a woman who had had her own way all her life, and was +so sure it was the best way that she could not understand why other +people should wish to have theirs. + +"Martin," she began in a low key, but one that might run up to +shrillness if advisable, "I am come to tell you something that fills me +with shame and anger. I do not know how to contain myself. I could never +have believed that I could have been so blind and foolish. But it seems +as if I were doomed to be deceived and disappointed on every hand--I who +would not deceive or disappoint anybody in the world. I declare it makes +me quite ill to think of it. Just look at my hands, how they tremble." + +"Your nervous system is out of order," I remarked. + +"It is the world that is out of order," she said, petulantly; "I am well +enough. Oh, I do not know how ever I am to tell you. There are some +things it is a shame to speak of." + +"Must you speak of them?" I asked. + +"Yes; you must know, you will have to know all, sooner or later. If +there was any hope of it coming to nothing, I should try to spare you +this; but they are both so bent upon disgracing themselves, so deaf to +reason! If my poor, dear aunt knew of it, she could not rest in her +grave. Martin, cannot you guess? Are men born so dull that they cannot +see what is going on under their own eyes?" + +"I have not the least idea of what you are driving at," I answered. "Sit +down, my dear Julia, and calm yourself. Shall I give you a glass of +wine?" + +"No, no," she said, with a gesture of impatience. "How long is it since +my poor, dear aunt died?" + +"You know as well as I do," I replied, wondering that she should touch +the wound so roughly. "Three months next Sunday." + +"And Dr. Dobree," she said, in a bitter accent--then stopped, looking me +full in the face. I had never heard her call my father Dr. Dobree in my +life. She was very fond of him, and attracted by him, as most women +were, and as few women are attracted by me. Even now, with all the +difference in our age, the advantage being on my side, it was seldom I +succeeded in pleasing as much as he did. I gazed back in amazement at +Julia's dark and moody face. + +"What now?" I asked. "What has my unlucky father been doing now?" + +"Why," she exclaimed, stamping her foot, while the blood mantled to her +forehead, "Dr. Dobree is in haste to take a second wife! He is indeed, +my poor Martin. He wishes to be married immediately to that viper, Kate +Daltrey." + +"Impossible!" I cried, stung to the quick by these words. I remembered +my mother's mild, instinctive dislike to Kate Daltrey, and her harmless +hope that I would not go over to her side. Go over to her side! No. If +she set her foot into this house as my mother's successor, I would never +dwell under the same roof. As soon as my father made her his wife I +would cut myself adrift from them both. But he knew that; he would never +venture to outrage my mother's memory or my feelings in such a flagrant +manner. + +"It is possible, for it is true," said Julia. She had not let her voice +rise above its low, angry key, and now it sank nearly to a whisper, as +she glanced round at the door. "They have understood each other these +four weeks. You may call it an engagement, for it is one; and I never +suspected them, not for a moment! He came down to my house to be +comforted, he said: his house was so dreary now. And I was as blind as a +mole. I shall never forgive myself, dear Martin. I knew he was given to +all that kind of thing, but then he seemed to mourn for my poor aunt so +deeply, and was so heart-broken. He made ten times more show of it than +you did. I have heard people say you bore it very well, and were quite +unmoved, but I knew better. Everybody said _he_ could never get over it. +Couldn't you take out a commission of lunacy against him? He must be mad +to think of such a thing." + +"How did you find it out?" I inquired. + +"Oh, I was so ashamed!" she said. "You see I had not the faintest shadow +of a suspicion. I had left them in the drawing-room to go up-stairs, and +I thought of something I wanted, and went back suddenly, and there they +were--his arm around her waist, and her head on his shoulder--he with +his gray hairs too! She says she is the same age as me, but she is forty +if she is a day. The simpletons! I did not know what to say, or how to +look. I could not get out of the room again as if I had not seen, for I +cried 'Oh!' at the first sight of them. Then I stood staring at them; +but I think they felt as uncomfortable as I did." + +"What did they say?" I asked, sternly. + +"Oh, he came up to me quite in his dramatic way, you know, trying to +carry it off by looking grand and majestic; and he was going to take my +hand and lead me to her, but I would not stir a step. 'My love,' he +said, 'I am about to steal your friend from you.' 'She is no friend of +mine,' I said, 'if she is going to be what all this intimates, I +suppose. I will never speak to her or you again, Dr. Dobree.' Upon that +he began to weep, and protest, and declaim, while she sat still and +glared at me. I never thought her eyes could look like that. 'When do +you mean to be married?' I asked, for he made no secret of his intention +to make her his wife. 'What is the good of waiting?' he said, 'My home +is miserable with no woman in it.' 'Uncle,' I said, 'if you will promise +me to give up the idea of a second marriage, which is ridiculous at your +age, I will come back to you, in spite of all the awkwardness of my +position with regard to Martin. For my aunt's sake I will come back.' +Even an arrangement like this would be better than his marriage with +that woman--don't you think so?" + +"A hundred times better," I said, warmly. "It was very good of you, +Julia. But he would not agree to that, would he?" + +"He wouldn't hear of it. He swore that Kate was as dear to him as ever +my poor aunt was. He vowed he could not live without her and her +companionship. He maintained that his age did not make it ridiculous. +Kate hid her brazen face in her hands, and sobbed aloud. + +"That made him ten times worse an idiot. He knelt down before her, and +implored her to look at him. I reminded him how all the island would +rise against him--worse than it did against you, Martin--and he declared +he did not care a fig for the island! I asked him how he would face the +Careys, and the Brocks, and the De Saumarez, and all the rest of them, +and he snapped his fingers at them all. Oh, he must be going out of his +mind." + +I shook my head. Knowing him as thoroughly as a long and close study +could help me to know any man, I was less surprised than Julia, who had +only seen him from a woman's point of view, and had always been lenient +to his faults. Unfortunately, I knew my father too well. + +"Then I talked to him about the duty he owed to our family name," she +resumed, "and I went so far as to remind him of what I had done to +shield him and it from disgrace, and he mocked at it--positively mocked +at it! He said there was no sort of parallel. It would be no dishonor to +our house to receive Kate into it, even if they were married at once. +What did it signify to the world that only three months had elapsed? +Besides, he did not mean to marry her for a month to come, as the house +would need beautifying for her--beautifying for her! Neither had he +spoken of it to you; but he had no doubt you would be willing to go on +as you have done." + +"Never!" I said. + +"I was sure not," continued Julia. "I told him I was convinced you would +leave Guernsey again, but he pooh-poohed that. I asked him how he was +to live without any practice, and he said his old patients might turn +him off for a while, but they would be glad to send for him again. I +never saw a man so obstinately bent upon his own ruin." + +"Julia," I said, "I shall leave Guernsey before this marriage can come +off. I would rather break stones on the highway than stay to see that +woman in my mother's place. My mother disliked her from the first." + +"I know it," she replied, with tears in her eyes, "and I thought it was +nothing but prejudice. It was my fault, bringing her to Guernsey. But I +could not bear the idea of her coming as mistress here. I said so +distinctly. 'Dr. Dobree,' I said, 'you must let me remind you that the +house is mine, though you have paid me no rent for years. If you ever +take Kate Daltrey into it, I will put my affairs into a notary's hands. +I will, upon my word, and Julia Dobree never broke her word yet.' That +brought him to his senses better than any thing. He turned very pale, +and sat down beside Kate, hardly knowing what to say. Then she began. +She said if I was cruel, she would be cruel too. Whatever grieved you, +Martin, would grieve me, and she would let her brother Richard Foster +know where Olivia was." + +"Does she know where she is?" I asked, eagerly, in a tumult of surprise +and hope. + +"Why, in Sark, of course," she replied. + +"What! Did you never know that Olivia left Sark before my mother's +death?" I said, with a chill of disappointment. "Did I never tell you +she was gone, nobody knows where?" + +"You have never spoken of her in my hearing, except once--you recollect +when, Martin? We have supposed she was still living in Tardif's house. +Then there is nothing to prevent me from carrying out my threat. Kate +Daltrey shall never enter this house as mistress." + +"Would you have given it up for Olivia's sake?" I asked, marvelling at +her generosity. + +"I should have done it for your sake," she answered, frankly. + +"But," I said, reverting to our original topic, "if my father has set +his mind upon marrying Kate Daltrey, he will brave any thing." + +"He is a dotard," replied Julia. "He positively makes me dread growing +old. Who knows what follies one may be guilty of in old age! I never +felt afraid of it before. Kate says she has two hundred a year of her +own, and they will go and live on that in Jersey, if Guernsey becomes +unpleasant to them. Martin, she is a viper--she is indeed. And I have +made such a friend of her! Now I shall have no one but you and the +Careys. Why wasn't I satisfied with Johanna as my friend?" + +She stayed an hour longer, turning over this unwelcome subject till we +had thoroughly discussed every point of it. In the evening, after +dinner, I spoke to my father briefly but decisively upon the same topic. +After a very short and very sharp conversation, there remained no +alternative for me but to make up my mind to try my fortune once more +out of Guernsey. I wrote by the next mail to Jack Senior, telling him my +purpose, and the cause of it, and by return of post I received his +reply: + + + "Dear old boy: Why shouldn't you come, and go halves with me? + Dad says so. He is giving up shop, and going to live in the + country at Fulham. House and practice are miles too big for + me. 'Senior and Dobree,' or 'Dobree and Senior,' whichever you + please. If you come I can pay dutiful attention to Dad without + losing my customers. That is his chief reason. Mine is that I + only feel half myself without you at hand. Don't think of + saying no. + + "JACK." + +It was a splendid opening, without question. Dr. Senior had been in good +practice for more than thirty years, and he had quietly introduced Jack +to the position he was about to resign. Yet I pondered over the proposal +for a whole week before agreeing to it. I knew Jack well enough to be +sure he would never regret his generosity; but if I went I would go as +junior partner, and with a much smaller proportion of the profits than +that proffered by Jack. Finally I resolved to accept the offer, and +wrote to him as to the terms upon which alone I would join him. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SIXTH. + +FINAL ARRANGEMENTS. + + +I did not wait for my father to commit the irreparable folly of his +second marriage. Guernsey had become hateful to me. In spite of my +exceeding love for my native island, more beautiful in the eyes of its +people than any other spot on earth, I could no longer be happy or at +peace there. A few persons urged me to stay and live down my chagrin and +grief, but most of my friends congratulated me on the change in my +prospects, and bade me God-speed. Julia could not conceal her regret, +but I left her in the charge of Captain Carey and Johanna. She promised +to be my faithful correspondent, and I engaged to write to her +regularly. There existed between us the half-betrothal to which we had +pledged ourselves at my mother's urgent request. She would wait for the +time when Olivia was no longer the first in my heart; then she would be +willing to become my wife. But if ever that day came, she would require +me to give up my position in England, and settle down for life in +Guernsey. + +Fairly, then, I was launched upon the career of a physician in the great +city. The completeness of the change suited me. Nothing here, in +scenery, atmosphere, or society, could remind me of the fretted past. +The troubled waters subsided into a dull calm, as far as emotional life +went. Intellectual life, on the contrary, was quickened in its current, +and day after day drifted me farther away from painful memories. To be +sure, the idea crossed me often that Olivia might be in London--even in +the same street with me. I never caught sight of a faded green dress but +my steps were hurried, and I followed till I was sure that the wearer +was not Olivia. But I was aware that the chances of our meeting were so +small that I could not count upon them. Even if I found her, what then? +She was as far away from me as though the Atlantic rolled between us. If +I only knew that she was safe, and as happy as her sad destiny could let +her be, I would be content. For this assurance I looked forward through +the long months that must intervene before her promised communication +would come to Tardif. + +Thus I was thrown entirely upon my profession for interest and +occupation. I gave myself up to it with an energy that amazed Jack, and +sometimes surprised myself. Dr. Senior, who was an old veteran, loved it +with ardor for its own sake, was delighted with my enthusiasm. He +prophesied great things for me. + +So passed my first winter in London. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SEVENTH. + +THE TABLES TURNED. + + +A dreary season was that first winter in London. + +It happened quite naturally that here, as in Guernsey, my share of the +practice fell among the lower and least important class of patients. +Jack Senior had been on the field some years sooner, and he was +London-born and London-bred. All the surroundings of his life fitted him +without a wrinkle. He was at home everywhere, and would have counted the +pulse of a duchess with as little emotion as that of a dairy-maid. On +the other hand, I could not accommodate myself altogether to haughty and +aristocratic strangers--though I am somewhat ante-dating later +experiences, for during the winter our fashionable clients were all out +of town, and our time comparatively unoccupied. To be at ease anywhere, +it was, at that time, essential to me to know something of the people +with whom I was associating--an insular trait, common to all those who +are brought up in a contracted and isolated circle. + +Besides this rustic embarrassment which hung like a clog about me +out-of-doors, within-doors I missed wofully the dainty feminine ways I +had been used to. There was a trusty female servant, half cook, half +house-keeper, who lived in the front-kitchen and superintended our +household; but she was not at all the angel in the house whom I needed. +It was a well-appointed, handsome dwelling, but it was terribly gloomy. +The heavy, substantial leather chairs always remained undisturbed in +level rows against the wall, and the crimson cloth upon the table was as +bare as a billiard-table. A thimble lying upon it, or fallen on the +carpet and almost crushed by my careless tread, would have been as +welcome a sight to me as a blade of grass or a spring of water in some +sandy desert. The sound of a light foot and rustling dress, and low, +soft voice, would have been the sweetest music in my ears. If a young +fellow of eight-and-twenty, with an excellent appetite and in good +health, could be said to pine, I was pining for the pretty, fondling +woman's ways which had quite vanished out of my life. + +At times my thoughts dwelt upon my semi-engagement to Julia. As soon as +I could dethrone the image of Olivia from its pre-eminence in my heart, +she was willing to welcome me back again--a prodigal suitor, who had +spent all his living in a far country. We corresponded regularly and +frequently, and Julia's letters were always good, sensible, and +affectionate. If our marriage, and all the sequel to it, could have been +conducted by epistles, nothing could have been more satisfactory. But I +felt a little doubtful about the termination of this Platonic +friendship, with its half-betrothal. It did not appear to me that +Olivia's image was fading in the slightest degree; no, though I knew her +to be married, though I was ignorant where she was, though there was not +the faintest hope within me that she would ever become mine. + +During the quiet, solitary evenings, while Jack was away at some ball or +concert, to which I had no heart to go, my thoughts were pretty equally +divided between my lost mother and my lost Olivia--lost in such +different ways! It would have grieved Julia in her very soul if she +could have known how rarely, in comparison, I thought of her. + +Yet, on the whole, there was a certain sweetness in feeling myself not +altogether cut off from womanly love and sympathy. There was a home +always open to me--a home, and a wife devotedly attached to me, whenever +I chose to claim them. That was not unpleasant as a prospect. As soon as +this low fever of the spirit was over, there was a convalescent hospital +to go to, where it might recover its original tone and vigor. At present +the fever had too firm and strong a hold for me to pronounce myself +convalescent; but if I were to believe all that sages had said, there +would come a time when I should rejoice over my own recovery. + +Early in the spring I received a letter from Julia, desiring me to look +out for apartments, somewhere in my neighborhood, for herself, and +Johanna and Captain Carey. They were coming to London to spend two or +three months of the season. I had not had any task so agreeable since I +left Guernsey. Jack was hospitably anxious for them to come to our own +house, but I knew they would not listen to such a proposal. I found some +suitable rooms for them, however, in Hanover Street, where I could be +with them at any time in five minutes. + +On the appointed day I met them at Waterloo Station, and installed them +in their new apartments. + +It struck me that, notwithstanding the fatigue of the journey, Julia was +looking better and happier than I had seen her look for a long time. Her +black dress suited her, and gave her a style which she never had in +colors. Her complexion looked dark, but not sallow; and her brown hair +was certainly more becomingly arranged. Her appearance was that of a +well-bred, cultivated, almost elegant woman, of whom no man need be +ashamed. Johanna was simply herself, without the least perceptible +change. But Captain Carey again looked ten years younger, and was +evidently taking pains with his appearance. That suit of his had never +been made in Guernsey; it must have come out of a London establishment. +His hair was not so gray, and his face was less hypochondriac. He +assured me that his health had been wonderfully good all the winter. I +was more than satisfied, I was proud of all my friends. + +"We want you to come and have a long talk with us to-morrow," said +Johanna; "it is too late to-night. We shall be busy shopping in the +morning, but can you come in the evening?" + +"Oh, yes," I answered; "I am at leisure most evenings, and I count upon +spending them with you. I can escort you to as many places of amusement +as you wish to visit." + +"To-morrow, then," she said, "we shall take tea at eight o'clock." + +I bade them good-night with a lighter heart than I had felt for a long +while. I held Julia's hand the longest, looking into her face earnestly, +till it flushed and glowed a little under my scrutiny. + +"True heart!" I said to myself, "true and constant! and I have nothing, +and shall have nothing, to offer it but the ashes of a dead passion. +Would to Heaven," I thought as I paced along Brook Street, "I had never +been fated to see Olivia!" + +I was punctual to my time the next day. The dull, stiff drawing-room was +already invested with those tokens of feminine occupancy which I missed +so greatly in our much handsomer house. There were flowers blooming in +the centre of the tea-table, and little knick-knacks lay strewed about. +Julia's work-basket stood on a little stand near the window. There was +the rustle and movement of their dresses, the noiseless footsteps, the +subdued voices caressing my ear. I sat among them quiet and silent, but +revelling in this partial return of olden times. When Julia poured out +my tea, and passed it to me with her white hand, I felt inclined to kiss +her jewelled fingers. If Captain Carey had not been present I think I +should have done so. + +We lingered over the pleasant meal as if time were made expressly for +that purpose, instead of hurrying over it, as Jack and I were wont to +do. At the close Captain Carey announced that he was about to leave us +alone together for an hour or two. I went down to the door with him, for +he had made me a mysterious signal to follow him. In the hall he laid +his hand upon my shoulder, and whispered a few incomprehensible +sentences into my ear. + +"Don't think any thing of me, my boy. Don't sacrifice yourself for me. +I'm an old fellow compared to you, though I'm not fifty yet; everybody +in Guernsey knows that. So put me out of the question, Martin. 'There's +many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.' That I know quite well, my dear +fellow." + +He was gone before I could ask for an explanation, and I saw him tearing +off toward Regent Street. I returned to the drawing-room, pondering over +his words. Johanna and Julia were sitting side by side on a sofa, in the +darkest corner of the room--though the light was by no means brilliant +anywhere, for the three gas-jets were set in such a manner as not to +turn on much gas. + +"Come here, Martin," said Johanna; "we wish to consult you on a subject +of great importance to us all." + +I drew up a chair opposite to them, and sat down, much as if it was +about to be a medical consultation. I felt almost as if I must feel +somebody's pulse, and look at somebody's tongue. + +"It is nearly eight months since your poor dear mother died," remarked +Johanna. + +Eight months! Yes; and no one knew what those eight months had been to +me--how desolate! how empty! + +"You recollect," continued Johanna, "how her heart was set on your +marriage with Julia, and the promise you both made to her on her +death-bed?" + +"Yes," I answered, bending forward and pressing Julia's hand, "I +remember every word." + +There was a minute's silence after this; and I waited in some wonder as +to what this prelude was leading to. + +"Martin," asked Johanna, in a solemn tone, "are you forgetting Olivia?" + +"No," I said, dropping Julia's hand as the image of Olivia flashed +across me reproachfully, "not at all. What would you have me say? She is +as dear to me at this moment as she ever was." + +"I thought you would say so," she replied; "I did not think yours was a +love that would quickly pass away, if it ever does. There are men who +can love with the constancy of a woman. Do you know any thing of her?" + +"Nothing!" I said, despondently; "I have no clew as to where she may be +now." + +"Nor has Tardif," she continued; "my brother and I went across to Sark +last week to ask him." + +"That was very good of you," I interrupted. + +"It was partly for our own sakes," she said, blushing faintly. "Martin, +Tardif says that if you have once loved Olivia, it is once for all. You +would never conquer it. Do you think that this is true? Be candid with +us." + +"Yes," I answered, "it is true. I could never love again as I love +Olivia." + +"Then, my dear Martin," said Johanna, very softly, "do you wish to keep +Julia to her promise?" + +I started violently. What! Did Julia wish to be released from that +semi-engagement, and be free? Was it possible that any one else coveted +my place in her affections, and in the new house which we had fitted up +for ourselves? I felt like the dog in the manger. It seemed an +unheard-of encroachment for any person to come between my cousin Julia +and me. + +"Do you ask me to set you free from your promise, Julia?" I asked, +somewhat sternly. + +"Why, Martin," she said, averting her face from me, "you know I should +never consent to marry you, with the idea of your caring most for that +girl. No, I could never do that. If I believed you would ever think of +me as you used to do before you saw her, well, I would keep true to you. +But is there any hope of that?" + +"Let us be frank with one another," I answered; "tell me, is there any +one else whom you would marry if I release you from this promise, which +was only given, perhaps, to soothe my mothers last hours?" + +Julia hung her head, and did not speak. Her lips trembled. I saw her +take Johanna's hand and squeeze it, as if to urge her to answer the +question. + +"Martin," said Johanna, "your happiness is dear to every one of us. If +we had believed there was any hope of your learning to love Julia as she +deserves, and as a man ought to love his wife, not a word of this would +have been spoken. But we all feel there is no such hope. Only say there +is, and we will not utter another word." + +"No," I said, "you must tell me all now. I cannot let the question rest +here. Is there any one else whom Julia would marry if she felt quite +free?" + +"Yes," answered Johanna, while Julia hid her face in her hands, "she +would marry my brother." + +Captain Carey! I fairly gasped for breath. Such an idea had never once +occurred to me; though I knew she had been spending most of her time +with the Careys at the Vale. Captain Carey to marry! and to marry Julia! +To go and live in our house! I was struck dumb, and fancied that I had +heard wrongly. All the pleasant, distant vision of a possible marriage +with Julia, when my passion had died out, and I could be content in my +affection and esteem for her--all this vanished away, and left my whole +future a blank. If Julia wished for revenge--and when is not revenge +sweet to a jilted woman?--she had it now. I was as crestfallen, as +amazed, almost as miserable, as she had been. Yet I had no one to blame, +as she had. How could I blame her for preferring Captain Carey's love to +my _rechauffe_ affections? + +"Julia," I said, after a long silence, and speaking as calmly as I +could, "do you love Captain Carey?" + +"That is not a fair question to ask," answered Johanna. "We have not +been treacherous to you. I scarcely know how it has all come about. But +my brother has never asked Julia if she loves him; for we wished to see +you first, and hear how you felt about Olivia. You say you shall never +love again as you love her. Set Julia free then, quite free, to accept +my brother or reject him. Be generous, be yourself, Martin." + +"I will," I said.--"My dear Julia, you are as free as air from all +obligation to me. You have been very good and very true to me. If +Captain Carey is as good and true to you, as I believe he will be, you +will be a very happy woman--happier than you would ever be with me." + +"And you will not make yourself unhappy about it?" asked Julia, looking +up. + +"No," I answered, cheerfully, "I shall be a merry old bachelor, and +visit you and Captain Carey, when we are all old folks. Never mind me, +Julia; I never was good enough for you. I shall be very glad to know +that you are happy." + +Yet when I found myself in the street--for I made my escape as soon as I +could get away from them--I felt as if every thing worth living for were +slipping away from me. My mother and Olivia were gone, and here was +Julia forsaking me. I did not grudge her her new happiness. There was +neither jealousy nor envy in my feelings toward my supplanter. But in +some way I felt that I had lost a great deal since I entered their +drawing-room two hours ago. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH. + +OLIVIA'S HUSBAND. + + +I did not go straight home to our dull, gloomy, bachelor dwelling-place; +for I was not in the mood for an hour's soliloquy. Jack and I had +undertaken between us the charge of the patients belonging to a friend +of ours, who had been called out of town for a few days. I was passing +by the house, chewing the bitter cud of my reflections, and, recalling +this, I turned in to see if any messages were waiting there for us. +Lowry's footman told me a person had been with an urgent request that he +would go as soon as possible to No. 19 Bellringer Street. I did not know +the street, or what sort of a locality it was in. + +"What kind of a person called?" I asked. + +"A woman, sir; not a lady. On foot--poorly dressed. She's been here +before, and Dr. Lowry has visited the case twice. No. 19 Bellringer +Street. Perhaps you will find him in the case-book, sir." + +I went in to consult the case-book. Half a dozen words contained the +diagnosis. It was the same disease, in an incipient form, of which my +poor mother died. I resolved to go and see this sufferer at once, late +as the hour was. + +"Did the person expect some one to go to-night?" I asked, as I passed +through the hall. + +"I couldn't promise her that, sir," was the answer. "I did say I'd send +on the message to you, and I was just coming with it, sir. She said +she'd sit up till twelve o'clock." + +"Very good," I said. + +Upon inquiry I found that the place was two miles away; and, as our old +friend Simmons was still on the cab-stand, I jumped into his cab, and +bade him drive me as fast as he could to No. 19 Bellringer Street. I +wanted a sense of motion, and a chance of scene. If I had been in +Guernsey, I should have mounted Madam, and had another midnight ride +round the island. This was a poor substitute for that; but the visit +would serve to turn my thoughts from Julia. If any one in London could +do the man good. I believed it was I; for I had studied that one malady +with my soul thrown into it. + +"We turned at last into a shabby street, recognizable even in the +twilight of the scattered lamps as being a place for cheap +lodging-houses. There was a light burning in the second-floor windows of +No. 19; but all the rest of the front was in darkness. I paid Simmons +and dismissed him, saying I would walk home. By the time I turned to +knock at the door, it was opened quietly from within. A woman stood in +the doorway; I could not see her face, for the candle she had brought +with her was on the table behind her; neither was there light enough for +her to distinguish mine. + +"Are you come from Dr. Lowry's?" she asked. + +The voice sounded a familiar one, but I could not for the life of me +recall whose it was. + +"Yes," I answered, "but I do not know the name of my patient here." + +"Dr. Martin Dobree!" she exclaimed, in an accent almost of terror. + +I recollected her then as the person who had been in search of Olivia. +She had fallen back a few paces, and I could now see her face. It was +startled and doubtful, as if she hesitated to admit me. Was it possible +I had come to attend Olivia's husband? + +"I don't know whatever to do!" she ejaculated; "he is very ill to-night, +but I don't think he ought to see _you_--I don't think he would." + +"Listen to me," I said; "I do not think there is another man in London +as well qualified to do him good." + +"Why?" she asked, eagerly. + +"Because I have made this disease my special study," I answered. "Mind, +I am not anxious to attend him. I came here simply because my friend is +out of town. If he wishes to see me, I will see him, and do my best for +him. It rests entirely with himself." + +"Will you wait here a few minutes?" she asked, "while I see what he +will do?" + +She left me in the dimly-lighted hall, pervaded by a musty smell of +unventilated rooms, and a damp, dirty underground floor. The place was +altogether sordid, and dingy, and miserable. At last I heard her step +coming down the two flights of stairs, and I went to meet her. + +"He will see you," she said, eying me herself with a steady gaze of +curiosity. + +Her curiosity was not greater than mine. I was anxious to see Olivia's +husband, partly from the intense aversion I felt instinctively toward +him. He was lying back in an old, worn-out easy-chair, with a woman's +shawl thrown across his shoulders, for the night was chilly. His face +had the first sickly hue and emaciation of the disease, and was probably +refined by it. It was a handsome, regular, well-cut face, narrow across +the brows, with thin, firm lips, and eyes perfect in shape, but cold and +glittering as steel. I knew afterward that he was fifteen years older +than Olivia. Across his knees lay a shaggy, starved-looking cat, which +he held fast by the fore-paws, and from time to time entertained himself +by teasing and tormenting it. He scrutinized me as keenly as I did him. + +"I believe we are in some sort connected. Dr. Martin Dobree," he said, +smiling coldly; "my half-sister, Kate Daltrey, is married to your +father, Dr. Dobree." + +"Yes," I answered, shortly. The subject was eminently disagreeable to +me, and I had no wish to pursue it with him. + +"Ay! she will make him a happy man," he continued, mockingly; "you are +not yourself married, I believe, Dr. Martin Dobree?" + +I took no notice whatever of his question, or the preceding remark, but +passed on to formal inquiries concerning his health. My close study of +his malady helped me here. I could assist him to describe and localize +his symptoms, and I soon discovered that the disease was as yet in a +very early stage. + +"You have a better grip of it than Lowry," he said, sighing with +satisfaction. "I feel as if I were made of glass, and you could look +through me. Can you cure me?" + +"I will do my best," I answered. + +"So you all say," he muttered, "and the best is generally good for +nothing. You see I care less about getting over it than my wife does. +She is very anxious for my recovery." + +"Your wife!" I repeated, in utter surprise; "you are Richard Foster, I +believe?" + +"Certainly," he replied. + +"Does your wife know of your present illness?" I inquired. + +"To be sure," he answered; "let me introduce you to Mrs. Richard +Foster." + +The woman looked at me with flashing eyes and a mocking smile, while Mr. +Foster indulged himself with extorting a long and plaintive mew from the +poor cat on his knees. + +"I cannot understand," I said. I did not know how to continue my speech. +Though they might choose to pass as husband and wife among strangers, +they could hardly expect to impose upon me. + +"Ah! I see you do not," said Mr. Foster, with a visible sneer. "Olivia +is dead." + +"Olivia dead!" I exclaimed. + +I repeated the words mechanically, as if I could not make any meaning +out of them. Yet they had been spoken with such perfect deliberation and +certainty that there seemed to be no question about the fact. Mr. +Foster's glittering eyes dwelt delightedly upon my face. + +"You were not aware of it?" he said, "I am afraid I have been too +sudden. Kate tells us you were in love with my first wife, and +sacrificed a most eligible match for her. Would it be too late to open +fresh negotiations with your cousin? You see I know all your family +history." + +"When did Olivia die?" I inquired, though my tongue felt dry and +parched, and the room, with his fiendish face, was swimming giddily +before my eyes. + +"When was it, Carry?" he asked, turning to his wife. + +"We heard she was dead on the first of October," she answered. "You +married me the next day." + +"Ah, yes!" he said; "Olivia had been dead to me for more than twelve +months and the moment I was free I married her, Dr. Martin. We could not +be married before, and there was no reason to wait longer. It was quite +legal." + +"But what proof have you?" I asked, still incredulous, yet with a heart +so heavy that it could hardly rouse itself to hope. + +"Carry, have you those letters?" said Richard Foster. + +She was away for a few minutes, while he leaned back again in his chair, +regarding nic with his half-closed, cruel eyes. I said nothing, and +resolved to betray no emotion. Olivia dead! my Olivia! I could not +believe it. + +"Here are the proofs," said Mrs. Foster, reentering the room. She put +into my hand an ordinary certificate of death, signed by J. Jones, M.D. +It stated that the deceased, Olivia Foster, had died on September the +27th, of acute inflammation of the lungs. Accompanying this was a letter +written in a good handwriting, purporting to be from a clergyman or +minister, of what denomination it was not stated, who had attended +Olivia in her fatal illness. He said that she had desired him to keep +the place of her death and burial a secret, and to forward no more than +the official certificate of the former event. This letter was signed E. +Jones. No clew was given by either document as to the place where they +were written. + +"Are you not satisfied?" asked Foster. + +"No," I replied; "how is it, if Olivia is dead, that you have not taken +possession of her property?" + +"A shrewd question," he said, jeeringly. "Why am I in these cursed poor +lodgings? Why am I as poor as Job, when there are twenty thousand pounds +of my wife's estate lying unclaimed? My sweet, angelic Olivia left no +will, or none in my favor, you may be sure; and by her father's will, if +she dies intestate or without children, his property goes to build +almshouses, or some confounded nonsense, in Melbourne. All she bequeaths +to me is this ring, which I gave to her on our wedding-day, curse her!" + +He held out his hand, on the little finger of which shone a diamond, +which might, as far as I knew, be the one I had once seen in Olivia's +possession. + +"Perhaps you do not know," he continued, "that it was on this very +point, the making of her will, or securing her property to me in some +way, that my wife took offence and ran away from me. Carry was just a +little too hard upon her, and I was away in Paris. But consider, I +expected to be left penniless, just as you see me left, and Carry was +determined to prevent it." + +"Then you are sure of her death?" I said. + +"So sure," he replied, calmly, "that we were married the next day. +Olivia's letter to me, as well as those papers, was conclusive of her +identity. Will you like to see it?" + +Mrs. Foster gave me a slip of paper, on which were written a few lines. +The words looked faint, and grew paler as I read them. They were without +doubt Olivia's writing: + +"I know that, you are poor, and I send you all I can spare--the ring you +once gave to me. I am even poorer than yourself, but I have just enough +for my last necessities. I forgive you, as I trust that God forgives +me." + + * * * * * + +There was no more to be said or done. Conviction had been brought home +to me. I rose to take my leave, and Foster held out his hand to me, +perhaps with a kindly intention. Olivia's ring was glittering on it, and +I could not take it into mine. + +"Well, well," he said, "I understand; I am sorry for you. Come again, +Dr. Martin Dobree. If you know of any remedy for my ease, you are no +true man if you do not try it." + +I went down the narrow staircase, closely followed by Mrs. Foster. Her +face had lost its gayety and boldness, and looked womanly and careworn, +as she laid her hand upon my arm before opening the house-door. + +"For God's sake, come again," she said, "if you can do any thing for +him! We have money left yet, and I am earning more every day. We can pay +you well. Promise me you will come again." + +"I can promise nothing to-night," I answered. + +"You shall not go till you promise," she said, emphatically. + +"Well, then, I promise," I answered, and she unfastened the chain almost +noiselessly, and opened the door into the street. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTY-NINTH. + +SAD SEWS. + + +A fine, drizzling rain was falling; I was just conscious of it as an +element of discomfort, but it did not make me quicken my steps. I +wanted no rapidity of motion now. There was nothing to be done, nothing +to look forward to, nothing to flee away from. Olivia was dead! + +I had said the same thing again and again to myself, that Olivia was +dead to me; but at this moment I learned how great a difference there +was between the words as a figure of speech and as a terrible reality. I +could no longer think of her as treading the same earth--the same +streets, perhaps; speaking the same language; seeing the same daylight +as myself. I recalled her image, as I had seen her last in Sark; and +then I tried to picture her white face, with lips and eyes closed +forever, and the awful chill of death resting upon her. It seemed +impossible; yet the cuckoo-cry went on in my brain, "Olivia is dead--is +dead!" + +I reached home just as Jack was coming in from his evening amusement. He +let me in with his latch-key, giving me a cheery greeting; but as soon +as we had entered the dining-room, and he saw my face, he exclaimed. +"Good Heavens! Martin, what has happened to you?" + +"Olivia is dead," I answered. + +His arm was about my neck in a moment, for we were like boys together +still, when we were alone. He knew all about Olivia, and he waited +patiently till I could put my tidings into words. + +"It must be true," he said, though in a doubtful tone; "the scoundrel +would not have married again if he had not sufficient proof." + +"She must have died very soon after my mother," I answered, "and I never +knew it!" + +"It's strange!" he said. "I wonder she never got anybody to write to you +or Tardif." + +There was no way of accounting for that strange silence toward us. We +sat talking in short, broken sentences, while Jack smoked a cigar; but +we could come to no conclusion about it. It was late when we parted, and +I went to bed, but not to sleep. + +For as soon as the room was quite dark, visions of Olivia haunted me. +Phantasms of her followed one another rapidly through my brain. She had +died, so said the certificate, of inflammation of the lungs, after an +illness of ten days. I felt myself bound to go through every stage of +her illness, dwelling upon all her sufferings, and thinking of her as +under careless or unskilled attendance, with no friend at hand to take +care of her. She ought not to have died, with her perfect constitution. +If I had been there she should not have died. + +About four o'clock Jack tapped softly upon the wall between our +bedrooms--it was a signal we had used when we were boys--as though to +inquire if I was all right; but it was quiet enough not to wake me if I +were asleep. It seemed like the friendly "Ahoy!" from a boat floating on +the same dark sea. Jack was lying awake, thinking of me as I was +thinking of Olivia. There was something so consolatory in this sympathy +that I fell asleep while dwelling upon it. + +Upon going downstairs in the morning I found that Jack was already off, +having left a short note for me, saving he would visit my patients that +day. I had scarcely begun breakfast when the servant announced "a lady," +and as the lady followed close upon his heels, I saw behind his shoulder +the familiar face of Johanna, looking extremely grave. She was soon +seated beside me, watching me with something of the tender, wistful gaze +of my mother. Her eyes were of the same shape and color, and I could +hardly command myself to speak calmly. + +"Your friend Dr. John Senior called upon us a short time since," she +said; "and told us this sad, sad news." + +I nodded silently. + +"If we had only known it yesterday," she continued, "you would never +have heard what we then said. This makes so vast a difference. Julia +could not have become your wife while there was another woman living +whom you loved more. You understand her feeling?" + +"Yes," I said; "Julia is right." + +"My brother and I have been talking about the change this will make," +she resumed. "He would not rob you of any consolation or of any future +happiness; not for worlds. He relinquishes all claim to or hope of +Julia's affection--" + +"That would be unjust to Julia," I interrupted. "She must not be +sacrificed to me any longer. I do not suppose I shall ever marry--" + +"You must marry, Martin," she interrupted in her turn, and speaking +emphatically; "you are altogether unfitted for a bachelor's life. It is +all very well for Dr. John Senior, who has never known a woman's +companionship, and who can do without it. But it is misery to you--this +cold, colorless life. No. Of all the men I ever knew, you are the least +fitted for a single life." + +"Perhaps I am," I admitted, as I recalled my longing for some sign of +womanhood about our bachelor dwelling. + +"I am certain of it," she said. "Now, but for our precipitation last +night, you would have gone naturally to Julia for comfort. So my brother +sends word that he is going back to Guernsey to-night, leaving us in +Hanover Street, where we are close to you. We have said nothing to Julia +yet. She is crying over this sad news--mourning for your sorrow. You +know that my brother has not spoken directly to Julia of his love; and +now all that is in the past, and is to be as if it had never been, and +we go on exactly as if we had not had that conversation yesterday." + +"But that cannot be," I remonstrated. "I cannot consent to Julia wasting +her love and time upon me. I assure you most solemnly I shall never +marry my cousin now." + +"You love her?" said Johanna. + +"Certainly," I answered, "as my sister." + +"Better than any woman now living?" she pursued. + +"Yes," I replied. + +"That is all Julia requires," she continued; "so let us say no more at +present, Martin. Only understand that all idea of marriage between her +and my brother is quite put away. Don't argue with me, don't contradict +me. Come to see us as you would have done but for that unfortunate +conversation last night. All will come right by-and-by." + +"But Captain Carey--" I began. + +"There! not a word!" she interrupted imperatively. "Tell me all about +that wretch, Richard Foster. How did you come across him? Is he likely +to die? Is he any thing like Kate Daltrey?--I will never call her Kate +Dobree as long as the world lasts. Come, Martin, tell me every thing +about him." + +She sat with me most of the morning, talking with animated perseverance, +and at last prevailed upon me to take her a walk in Hyde Park. Her +pertinacity did me good in spite of the irritation it caused me. When +her dinner-hour was at hand I felt bound to attend her to her house in +Hanover Street; and I could not get away from her without first speaking +to Julia. Her face was very sorrowful, and her manner sympathetic. We +said only a few words to one another, but I went away with the +impression that her heart was still with me. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTIETH. + +A TORMENTING DOUBT. + + +At dinner Jack announced his intention of paying a visit to Richard +Foster. + +"You are not fit to deal with the fellow," he said; "you may be sharp +enough upon your own black sheep in Guernsey, but you know nothing of +the breed here. Now, if I see him, I will squeeze out of him every +mortal thing he knows about Olivia. Where did those papers come from?" + +"There was no place given," I answered. + +"But there would be a post-mark on the envelop," he replied; "I will +make him show me the envelop they were in." + +"Jack," I said, "you do not suppose he has any doubt of her death?" + +"I can't say," he answered. "You see he has married again, and if she +were not dead that would be bigamy--an ugly sort of crime. But are you +sure they are married?" + +"How can I be sure?" I asked fretfully, for grief as often makes men +fretful as illness. "I did not ask for their marriage-certificate." + +"Well, well! I will go," he answered. + +I awaited his return with impatience. With this doubt insinuated by +Jack, it began to seem almost incredible that Olivia's exquisitely +healthy frame should have succumbed suddenly under a malady to which she +had no predisposition whatever. Moreover, her original soundness of +constitution had been strengthened by ten months' residence in the pure, +bracing air of Sark. Yet what was I to think in face of those undated +documents, and of her own short letter to her husband? The one I knew +was genuine; why should I suppose the others to be forged? And if +forgeries, who had been guilty of such a cruel and crafty artifice, and +for what purpose? + +I had not found any satisfactory answer to these queries before Jack +returned, his face kindled with excitement. He caught my hand, and +grasped it heartily. + +"I no more believe she is dead than I am," were his first words. "You +recollect me telling you of a drunken brawl in a street off the Strand, +where a fellow, as drunk as a lord, was for claiming a pretty girl as +his wife; only I had followed her out of Ridley's agency-office, and was +just in time to protect her from him--a girl I could have fallen in love +with myself. You recollect?" + +"Yes, yes," I said, almost breathless. + +"He was the man, and Olivia was the girl!" exclaimed Jack. + +"No!" I cried. + +"Yes!" continued Jack, with an affectionate lunge at me; "at any rate I +can swear he is the man; and I would bet a thousand to one that the girl +was Olivia." + +"But when was it?" I asked. + +"Since he married again," he answered; "they were married on the 2d of +October, and this was early in November. I had gone to Ridley's after a +place for a poor fellow as an assistant to a druggist; and I saw the +girl distinctly. She gave the name of Ellen Martineau. Those letters +about her death are all forgeries." + +"Olivia's is not," I said; "I know her handwriting too well." + +"Well, then," observed Jack, "there is only one explanation. She has +sent them herself to throw Foster off the scent; she thinks she will be +safe if he believes her dead." + +"No," I answered, hotly, "she would never have done such a thing as +that." + +"Who else is benefited by it?" he asked, gravely. "It does not put +Foster into possession of any of her property; or that would have been a +motive for him to do it. But he gains nothing by it; and he is so +convinced of her death that he has married a second wife." + +It was difficult to hit upon any other explanation; yet I could not +credit this one. I felt firmly convinced that Olivia could not be guilty +of an artifice so cunning. I was deceived in her indeed if she would +descend to any fraud so cruel. But I could not discuss the question even +with Jack Senior. Tardif was the only person who knew Olivia well enough +to make his opinion of any value. Besides, my mind was not as clear as +Jack's that she was the girl he had seen in November. Yet the doubt of +her death was full of hope; it made the earth more habitable, and life +more endurable. + +"What can I do now?" I said, speaking aloud, though I was thinking to +myself. + +"Martin," he replied, gravely, "isn't it wisest to leave the matter as +it stands? If you find Olivia, what then? she is as much separated from +you as she can be by death. So long as Foster lives, it is worse than +useless to be thinking of her. There is no misery like that of hanging +about a woman you have no right to love." + +"I only wish to satisfy myself that she is alive," I answered. "Just +think of it, Jack, not to know whether she is living or dead! You must +help me to satisfy myself. Foster has got the only valuable thing she +had in her possession, and if she is living she may be in absolute want. +I cannot be contented with that dread on my mind. There can be no harm +in my taking some care of her at a distance. This mystery would be +intolerable to me." + +"You're right, old fellow," he said, cordially; "we will go to Ridley's +together to-morrow morning." + +We were there soon after the doors were open. There were not many +clients present, and the clerks were enjoying a slack time. Jack had +recalled to his mind the exact date of his former visit; and thus the +sole difficulty was overcome. The clerk found the name of Ellen +Martineau entered under that date in his book. + +"Yes," he said, "Miss Ellen Martineau, English teacher in a French +school; premium to be paid, about 10 Pounds; no salary; reference, Mrs. +Wilkinson, No. 19 Bellringer Street." + +"No. 19 Bellringer Street!" we repeated in one breath. + +"Yes, gentlemen, that is the address," said the clerk, closing the book. +"Shall I write it down for you? Mrs. Wilkinson was the party who should +have paid our commission; as you perceive, a premium was required +instead of a salary given. We feel pretty sure the young lady went to +the school, but Mrs. Wilkinson denies it, and it is not worth our while +to pursue our claim in law." + +"Can you describe the young lady?" I inquired. + +"Well, no. We have such hosts of young ladies here. But she was pretty, +decidedly pretty; she made that impression upon me, at least. We are too +busy to take particular notice; but I should know her again if she came +in. I think she would have been here again, before this, if she had not +got that engagement." + +"Do you know where the school is?" I asked. + +"No. Mrs. Wilkinson was the party," he said. "We had nothing to do with +it, except send any ladies to her who thought it worth their while. That +was all." + +As we could obtain no further information, we went away, and paced up +and down the tolerably quiet street, deep in consultation. That we +should have need for great caution, and as much craftiness as we both +possessed, in pursuing our inquiries at No. 19 Bellringer Street, was +quite evident. Who could be this unknown Mrs. Wilkinson? Was it possible +that she might prove to be Mrs. Foster herself? At any rate, it would +not do for either of us to present ourselves there in quest of Miss +Ellen Martineau. It was finally settled between us that Johanna should +be intrusted with the diplomatic enterprise. There was not much chance +that Mrs. Foster would know her by sight, though she had been in +Guernsey; and it would excite less notice for a lady to be inquiring +after Olivia. We immediately turned our steps toward Hanover Street, +where we found her and Julia seated at some fancy-work in their sombre +drawing-room. + +Julia received me with a little embarrassment, but conquered it +sufficiently to give me a warm pressure of the hand, and to whisper in +my ear that Johanna had told her every thing. Unluckily, Johanna herself +knew nothing of our discovery the night before. I kept Julia's hand in +mine, and looked steadily into her eyes. + +"My dear Julia," I said, "we bring strange news. We have reason to +believe that Olivia is not dead, but that something underhand is going +on, which we cannot yet make out." + +Julia's face grew crimson, but I would not let her draw her hand away +from my clasp. I held it the more firmly; and, as Jack was busy talking +to Johanna, I continued speaking to her in a lowered tone. + +"My dear," I said, "you have been as true, and faithful, and generous a +friend as any man ever had. But this must not go on, for your own sake. +You fancied you loved me, because every one about us wished it to be so; +but I cannot let you waste your life on me. Speak to me exactly as your +brother. Do you believe you could be really happy with Captain Carey?" + +"Arthur is so good," she murmured, "and he is so fond of me." + +I had never heard her call him Arthur before. The elder members of our +Guernsey circle called him by his Christian name, but to us younger ones +he had always been Captain Carey. Julia's use of it was more eloquent +than many phrases. She had grown into the habit of calling him +familiarly by it. + +"Then, Julia," I said, "what folly it would be for you to sacrifice +yourself to a false notion of faithfulness! I could not accept such a +sacrifice. Think no more of me or my happiness." + +"But my poor aunt was so anxious for you to have a home of your own," +she said, sobbing, "and I do love you dearly. Now you will never marry. +I know you will not, if you can have neither Olivia nor me for your +wife." + +"Very likely," I answered, trying to laugh away her agitation; "I shall +be in love with two married women instead. How shocking that will sound +in Guernsey! But I'm not afraid that Captain Carey will forbid me his +house." + +"How little we thought!" exclaimed Julia. I knew very well what her mind +had gone back to--the days when she and I and my mother were furnishing +and settling the house that would now become Captain Carey's home. + +"Then it is all settled," I said, "and I shall write to him by +to-night's post, inviting him back again--that is, if he really left you +last night." + +"Yes," she replied; "he would not stay a day longer." + +Her face had grown calm as we talked together. A scarcely perceptible +smile was lurking about her lips, as if she rejoiced that her suspense +was over. There was something very like a pang in the idea of some one +else filling the place I had once fully occupied in her heart; but the +pain was unworthy of me. I drove it away by throwing myself heart and +soul into the mystery which hung over the fate of Olivia. + +"We have hit upon a splendid plan," said Jack: "Miss Carey will take +Simmons's cab to Bellringer Street, and reach the house about the same +time as I visit Foster. That is for me to be at hand if she should need +any protection, you know. I shall stay up-stairs with Foster till I +hear the cab drive off again, and it will wait for me at the corner of +Dawson Street. Then we will come direct here, and tell you every thing +at once. Of course, Miss Dobree will wish to hear it all." + +"Cannot I go with Johanna?" she asked. + +"No," I said, hastily; "it is very probable Mrs. Foster knows you by +sight, though she is less likely to know Johanna. I fancy Mrs. Wilkinson +will turn out to be Mrs. Foster herself. Yet why they should spirit +Olivia away into a French school, and pretend that she is dead, I cannot +see." + +Nor could any one of the others see the reason. But as the morning was +fast waning away, and both Jack and I were busy, we were compelled to +close the discussion, and, with our minds preoccupied to a frightful +extent, make those calls upon our patients which were supposed to be in +each case full of anxious and particular thought for the ailments we +were attempting to alleviate. + +Upon meeting again for a few minutes at luncheon, we made a slight +change in our plan; for we found a note from Foster awaiting me, in +which he requested me to visit him in the future, instead of Dr. John +Senior, as he felt more confidence in my knowledge of his malady. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIRST. + +MARTIN DOBREE'S PLEDGE. + + +I followed Simmons's cab up Bellringer Street, and watched Johanna +alight and enter the house. The door was scarcely closed upon her when I +rang, and asked the slatternly drudge of a servant if I could see Mr. +Foster. She asked me to go up to the parlor on the second floor, and I +went alone, with little expectation of finding Mrs. Foster there, unless +Johanna was there also, in which case I was to appear as a stranger to +her. + +The parlor looked poorer and shabbier by daylight than at night. There +was not a single element of comfort in it. The curtains hung in rags +about a window begrimed with soot and smoke. The only easy-chair was the +one occupied by Foster, who himself looked as shabby and worn as the +room. The cuffs and collar of his shirt were yellow and tattered; his +hair hung long and lank; and his skin had a sallow, unwholesome tint. +The diamond ring upon his finger was altogether out of keeping with his +threadbare coat, buttoned up to the chin, as if there were no waistcoat +beneath it. From head to foot he looked a broken-down, seedy fellow, yet +still preserving some lingering traces of the gentleman. This was +Olivia's husband! + +A good deal to my surprise, I saw Mrs. Foster seated quietly at a table +drawn close to the window, very busily writing--engrossing, as I could +see, for some miserable pittance a page. She must have had some +considerable practice in the work, for it was done well, and her pen ran +quickly over the paper. A second chair left empty opposite to her showed +that Foster had been engaged at the same task, before he heard my step +on the stairs. He looked weary, and I could not help feeling something +akin to pity for him. I did not know that they had come down as low as +that. + +"I did not expect you to come before night," he said, testily; "I like +to have some idea when my medical attendant is coming." + +"I was obliged to come now," I answered, offering no other apology. The +man irritated me more than any other person that had ever come across +me. There was something perverse and splenetic in every word he uttered, +and every expression upon his face. + +"I do not like your partner," he said; "don't send him again. He knows +nothing about his business." + +He spoke with all the haughtiness of a millionnaire to a country +practitioner. I could hardly refrain from smiling as I thought of Jack's +disgust and indignation. + +"As for that," I replied, "most probably neither of us will visit you +again. Dr. Lowry will return to-morrow, and you will be in his hands +once more." + +"No!" he cried, with a passionate urgency in his tone--"no, Martin +Dobree; you said if any man in London could cure me, it was yourself. I +cannot leave myself in any other hands. I demand from you the fulfilment +of your words. If what you said is true, you can no more leave me to the +care of another physician, than you could leave a fellow-creature to +drown without doing your utmost to save him. I refuse to be given up to +Dr. Lowry." + +"But it is by no means a parallel ease," I argued; "you were under his +treatment before, and I have no reason whatever to doubt his skill. Why +should you feel safer in my hands than in his?" + +"Well!" he said, with a sneer, "if Olivia were alive, I dare scarcely +have trusted you, could I? But you have nothing to gain by my death, you +know; and I have so much faith in you, in your skill, and your honor, +and your conscientiousness--if there be any such qualities in the +world--that I place myself unfalteringly under your professional care. +Shake hands upon it, Martin Dobree." + +In spite of my repugnance, I could not resist taking his offered hand. +His eyes were fastened upon me with something of the fabled fascination +of a serpent's. I knew instinctively that he would have the power, and +use it, of probing every wound he might suspect in me to the quick. Yet +he interested me; and there was something not entirely repellent to me +about him. Above all for Olivia's sake, should we find her still living, +I was anxious to study his character. It might happen, as it does +sometimes, that my honor and straight-forwardness might prove a match +for his crafty shrewdness. + +"There," he said, exultantly, "Martin Dobree pledges himself to cure +me.--Carry, you are the witness of it. If I die, he has been my assassin +as surely as if he had plunged a stiletto into me." + +"Nonsense!" I answered; "it is not in my power to heal or destroy. I +simply pledge myself to use every means I know of for your recovery." + +"Which comes to the same thing," he replied; "for, mark you, I will be +the most careful patient you ever had. There should be no chance for +you, even if Olivia were alive." + +Always harping on that one string. Was it nothing more than a lore of +torturing some one that made him reiterate those words? Or did he wish +to drive home more deeply the conviction that she was indeed dead? + +"Have you communicated the intelligence of her death to her trustee in +Australia?" I asked. + +"No; why should I?" he said, "no good would come of it to me. Why should +I trouble myself about it?" + +"Nor to your step-sister?" I added. + +"To Mrs. Dobree?" he rejoined; "no, it does not signify a straw to her +either. She holds herself aloof from me now, confound her! You are not +on very good terms with her yourself, I believe?" + +"The cab was still standing at the door, and I could not leave before it +drove away, or I should have made my visit a short one. Mrs. Foster was +glancing through the window from time to time, evidently on the watch to +see the visitor depart. Would she recognize Johanna? She had stayed some +weeks in Guernsey; and Johanna was a fine, stately-looking woman, +noticeable among strangers. I must do something to get her away from her +post of observation. + +"Mrs. Foster," I said, and her eyes sparkled at the sound of her name, +"I should be exceedingly obliged to you if you will give me another +sight of those papers you showed to me the last time I was here." + +She was away for a few minutes, and I heard the cab drive off before she +returned. That was the chief point gained. When the papers were in my +hand, I just glanced at them, and that was all. + +"Have you any idea where they came from?" I asked. + +"There is the London post-mark on the envelop," answered Foster.--"Show +it to him, Carry. There is nothing to be learned from that." + +"No," I said, comparing the handwriting on the envelop with the letter, +and finding them the same. "Well, good-by! I cannot often pay you as +long a visit as this." + +I hurried off quickly to the corner of Dawson Street, where Johanna was +waiting for me. She looked exceedingly contented when I took my seat +beside her in the cab. + +"Well, Martin," she said, "you need suffer no more anxiety. Olivia has +gone as English teacher in an excellent French school, where the lady is +thoroughly acquainted with English ways and comforts. This is the +prospectus of the establishment. You see there are 'extensive grounds +for recreation, and the comforts of a cheerfully happy home, the +domestic arrangements being on a thoroughly liberal scale.' Here is also +a photographic view of the place: a charming villa, you see, in the best +French style. The lady's husband is an _avocat_; and every thing is +taught by professors--cosmography and pedagogy, and other studies of +which we never heard when I was a girl. Olivia is to stay there twelve +months, and in return for her services will take lessons from any +professors attending the establishment. Your mind may be quite at ease +now." + +"But where is the place?" I inquired. + +"Oh! it is in Normandy--Noireau," she said--"quite out of the range of +railways and tourists. There will be no danger of any one finding her +out there; and you know she has changed her name altogether this time." + +"Did you discover that Olivia and Ellen Martineau are the same persons?" +I asked. + +An expression of bewilderment and consternation came across her +contented face. + +"No, I did not," she answered; "I thought you were sure of that." + +But I was not sure of it; neither could Jack be sure. He puzzled himself +in trying to give a satisfactory description of his Ellen Martineau; but +every answer he gave to my eager questions plunged us into greater +uncertainty. He was not sure of the color either of her hair or eyes, +and made blundering guesses at her height. The chief proof we had of +Olivia's identity was the drunken claim made upon Ellen Martineau by +Foster, a month after he had received convincing proof that she was +dead. What was I to believe? + +It was running too great a risk to make any further inquiries at No. 19 +Bellringer Street. Mrs. Wilkinson was the landlady of the lodging-house, +and she had told Johanna that Madame Perrier boarded with her when she +was in London. But she might begin to talk to her other lodgers, if her +own curiosity were excited; and once more my desire to fathom the +mystery hanging about Olivia might plunge her into fresh difficulties, +should they reach the ears of Foster or his wife. + +"I must satisfy myself about her safety now," I said. "Only put yourself +in my place, Jack. How can I rest till I know more about Olivia?" + +"I do put myself in your place," he answered. "What do you say to having +a run down to this place in Basse-Normandie, and seeing for yourself +whether Miss Ellen Martineau is your Olivia?" + +"How can I?" I asked, attempting to hang back from the suggestion. It +was a busy time with us. The season was in full roll, and our most +aristocratic patients were in town. The easterly winds were bringing in +their usual harvest of bronchitis and diphtheria. If I went, Jack's +hands would be more than full. Had these things come to perplex us only +two months earlier, I could have taken a holiday with a clear +conscience. + +"Dad will jump at the chance of coming back for a week," replied Jack; +"he is bored to death down at Fulham. Go you must, for my sake, old +fellow. You are good for nothing as long as you're so down in the mouth. +I shall be glad to be rid of you." + +We shook hands upon that, as warmly as if he had paid me the most +flattering compliments. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-SECOND. + +NOIREAU + + +In this way it came to pass that two evenings later I was crossing the +Channel to Havre, and found myself about five o'clock in the afternoon +of the next day at Falaise. It was the terminus of the railway in that +direction; and a very ancient conveyance, bearing the name of La Petite +Vitesse, was in waiting to carry on any travellers who were venturesome +enough to explore the regions beyond. There was space inside for six +passengers, but it smelt too musty, and was too full of the fumes of bad +tobacco, for me; and I very much preferred sitting beside the driver, a +red-faced, smooth-cheeked Norman, habited in a blue blouse, who could +crack his long whip with almost the skill of a Parisian omnibus-driver. +We were friends in a trice, for my _patois_ was almost identical with +his own, and he could not believe his own ears that he was talking with +an Englishman. + +"La Petite Vitesse" bore out its name admirably, if it were meant to +indicate exceeding slowness. We never advanced beyond a slow trot, and +at the slightest hint of rising ground the trot slackened into a walk, +and eventually subsided into a crawl. By these means the distance we +traversed was made to seem tremendous, and the drowsy jingle of the +collar-bells, intimating that progress was being accomplished, added to +the delusion. But the fresh, sweet air, blowing over leagues of fields +and meadows, untainted with a breath of smoke, gave me a delicious +tingling in the veins. I had not felt such a glow of exhilaration since +that bright morning when I bad crossed the channel to Sark, to ask +Olivia to become mine. + +The sun sank below the distant horizon, with the trees showing clearly +against it, for the atmosphere was as transparent as crystal; and the +light of the stars that came out one by one almost cast a defined shadow +upon our path, from the poplar-trees standing in long, straight rows in +the hedges. If I found Olivia at the end of that starlit path my +gladness in it would be completed. Yet if I found her, what then? I +should see her for a few minutes in the dull _salon_ of a school perhaps +with some watchful, spying Frenchwoman present. I should simply satisfy +myself that she was living. There could be nothing more between us. I +dare not tell her how dear she was to me, or ask her if she ever thought +of me in her loneliness and friendlessness. I began to wish that I had +brought Johanna with me, who could have taken her in her arms, and +kissed and comforted her. Why had I not thought of that before? + +As we proceeded at our delusive pace along the last stage of our +journey, I began to sound the driver, cautiously wheeling about the +object of my excursion into those remote regions. I had tramped through +Normandy and Brittany three or four times, but there had been no +inducement to visit Noireau, which resembled a Lancashire cotton-town, +and I had never been there. + +"There are not many English at Noireau?" I remarked, suggestively. + +"Not one," he replied--"not one at this moment. There was one little +English mam'zelle--peste!--a very pretty little English girl, who was +voyaging precisely like you, m'sieur, some months ago. There was a +little child with her, and the two were quite alone. They are very +intrepid, are the English mam'zelles. She did not know a word of our +language. But that was droll, m'sieur! A French demoiselle would never +voyage like that." + +The little child puzzled me. Yet I could not help fancying that this +young Englishwoman travelling alone, with no knowledge of French, must +be my Olivia. At any rate it could be no other than Miss Ellen +Martineau. + +"Where was she going to?" I asked. + +"She came to Noireau to be an instructress in an establishment," +answered the driver, in a tone of great enjoyment--"an establishment +founded by the wife of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the avocat! He! he! he! +Mon Dieu! how droll that was, m'sieur! An avocat! So they believed that +in England? Bah! Emile Perrier an avocat--mon Dieu!" + +"But what is there to laugh at?" I asked, as the man's laughter rang +through the quiet night. + +"Am I an avocat?" he inquired derisively, "am I a proprietor? am I even +a cure? Pardon, m'sieur, but I am just as much avocat, proprietor, cure, +as Emile Perrier. He was an impostor. He became bankrupt; he and his +wife ran away to save themselves; the establishment was broken up. It +was a bubble, m'sieur, and it burst comme ca." + +My driver clapped his hands together lightly, as though Monsieur +Perrier's bubble needed very little pressure to disperse it. + +"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, "but what became of Oli--of the young +English lady, and the child?" + +"Ah, m'sieur!" he said, "I do not know. I do not live in Noireau, but I +pass to and fro from Falaise in La Petite Vitesse. She has not returned +in my omnibus, that is all I know. But she could go to Granville, or to +Caen. There are other omnibuses, you see. Somebody will tell you down +there." + +For three or four miles before us there lay a road as straight as a +rule, ending in a small cluster of lights glimmering in the bottom of a +valley, into which we were descending with great precaution on the part +of the driver and his team. That was Noireau. But already my +exhilaration was exchanged for profound anxiety. I extorted from the +Norman all the information he possessed concerning the bankrupt; it was +not much, and it only served to heighten my solicitude. + +It was nearly eleven o'clock before we entered the town; but I learned a +few more particulars from the middle-aged woman in the omnibus bureau. +She recollected the name of Miss Ellen Martineau, and her arrival; and +she described her with the accuracy and faithfulness of a woman. If she +were not Olivia herself, she must be her very counterpart. But who was +the child, a girl of nine or ten years of age, who had accompanied her? +It was too late to learn any more about them. The landlady of the hotel +confirmed all I had heard, and added several items of information. +Monsieur Perrier and his wife had imposed upon several English families, +and had succeeded in getting dozens of English pupils, so she assured +me, who had been scattered over the country, Heaven only knew where, +when the school was broken up, about a month ago. + +I started out early the next morning to find the Rue de Grace, where the +inscription on my photographic view of the premises represented them as +situated. The town was in the condition of a provincial town in England +about a century ago. The streets were as dirty as the total absence of +drains and scavengers could make them, and the cleanest path was up the +kennel in the centre. The filth of the houses was washed down into them +by pipes, with little cisterns at each story, and under almost every +window. There were many improprieties, and some indecencies, shocking to +English sensibilities. In the Rue de Grace I saw two nuns in their hoods +and veils, unloading a cart full of manure. A ladies' school for English +people in a town like this seemed ridiculous. + +There was no difficulty in finding the houses in my photographic view. +There were two of them, one standing in the street, the other lying back +beyond a very pleasant garden. A Frenchman was pacing up and down the +broad gravel-path which connected them, smoking a cigar, and examining +critically the vines growing against the walls. Two little children were +gambolling about in close white caps, and with frocks down to their +heels. Upon seeing me, he took his cigar from his lips with two fingers +of one hand, and lifted his hat with the other. I returned the +salutation with a politeness as ceremonious as his own. + +"Monsieur is an Englishman?" he said, in a doubtful tone. + +"From the Channel Islands," I replied. + +"Ah! you belong to us," he said, "but you are hybrid, half English, half +French; a fine race. I also have English blood in my veins." + +I paid monsieur a compliment upon the result of the admixture of blood +in his own instance, and then proceeded to unfold my object in visiting +him. + +"Ah!" he said, "yes, yes, yes; Perrier was an impostor. These houses are +mine, monsieur. I live in the front, yonder; my daughter and son-in-law +occupy the other. We had the photographs taken for our own pleasure, but +Perrier must have bought them from the artist, no doubt. I have a small +cottage at the back of my house; voila, monsieur! there it is. Perrier +rented it from me for two hundred francs a year. I permitted him to pass +along this walk, and through our coach-house into a passage which leads +to the street where madame had her school. Permit me, and I will show it +to you." + +He led me through a shed, and along a dirty, vaulted passage, into a +mean street at the back. A small, miserable-looking house stood in it, +shut up, with broken _persiennes_ covering the windows. My heart sank at +the idea of Olivia living here, in such discomfort, and neglect, and +sordid poverty. + +"Did you ever see a young English lady here, monsieur?" I asked; "she +arrived about the beginning of last November." + +"But yes, certainly, monsieur," he replied, "a charming English +demoiselle! One must have been blind not to observe her. A face sweet +and _gracieuse_; with hair of gold, but a little more sombre. Yes, yes! +The ladies might not admire her, but we others--" + +He laughed, and shrugged his shoulders in a detestable manner. + +"What height was she, monsieur?" I inquired. + +"A just height," he answered, "not tall like a camel, nor too short like +a monkey. She would stand an inch or two above your shoulder, monsieur." + +It could be no other than my Olivia! She had been living here, then, in +this miserable place, only a month ago; but where could she be now? How +was I to find any trace of her? + +"I will make some inquiries from my daughter," said the Frenchman; "when +the establishment was broken up I was ill with the fever, monsieur. We +have fever often here. But she will know--I will ask her." + +He returned to me after some time, with the information that the English +demoiselle had been seen in the house of a woman who sold milk, +Mademoiselle Rosalie by name; and he volunteered to accompany me to her +dwelling. + +It was a poor-looking house, of one room only, in the same street as the +school; but we found no one there except an old woman, exceedingly deaf, +who told us, after much difficulty in making her understand our object, +that Mademoiselle Rosalie was gone somewhere to nurse a relative, who +was dangerously ill. She had not had any cows of her own, and she had +easily disposed of her small business to this old woman and her +daughter. Did the messieurs want any milk for their families? No. Well, +then, she could not tell us any thing more about Mam'zelle Rosalie; and +she knew nothing of an Englishwoman and a little girl. + +I turned away baffled and discouraged; but my new friend was not so +quickly depressed. It was impossible, he maintained, that the English +girl and the child could have left the town unnoticed. He went with me +to all the omnibus bureaus, where we made urgent inquiries concerning +the passengers who had quitted Noireau during the last month. No places +had been taken for Miss Ellen Martineau and the child, for there was no +such name in any of the books. But at each bureau I was recommended to +see the drivers upon their return in the evening; and I was compelled to +give up the pursuit for that day. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-THIRD. + +A SECOND PURSUER. + + +No wonder there was fever in the town, I thought, as I picked my way +among the heaps of garbage and refuse lying out in the streets. The most +hideous old women I ever saw, wrinkled over every inch of their skin, +blear-eyed, and with eyelids reddened by smoke, met me at each turn. +Sallow weavers, in white caps, gazed out at me from their looms in +almost every house. There was scarcely a child to be seen about. The +whole district, undrained and unhealthy, bears the name of the +"Manufactory of Little Angels," from the number of children who die +there. And this was the place where Olivia had been spending a very hard +and severe winter! + +There was going to be a large cattle-fair the next day, and all the town +was alive. Every inn in the place was crowded to overflowing. As I sat +at the window of my _cafe_, watching the picturesque groups which formed +in the street outside, I heard a vehement altercation going on in the +archway, under which was the entrance to my hotel. + +"Grands Dieux!" cried the already familiar voice of my landlady, shrill +as the cackling of a hen--"grands Dieux! not a single soul from +Ville-en-bois can rest here, neither man nor woman! They have the fever +like a pest there. No, no, m'sieur, that is impossible; go away, you and +your beast. There is room at the Lion d'or. But the gensdarmes should +not let you enter the town. We have fever enough of our own." + +"But my farm is a league from Ville-en-bois," was the answer, in the +slow, rugged accents of a Norman peasant. + +"But I tell you it is impossible,'" she retorted; "I have an Englishman +here, very rich, a milor, and he will not hear of any person from +Ville-en-bois resting in the house. Go away to the Lion d'or, my good +friend, where there are no English. They are as afraid of the fever as +of the devil." + +I laughed to myself at my landlady's ingenious excuses; but after this +the conversation fell into a lower key, and I heard no more of it. + +I went out late in the evening to question each of the omnibus--drivers, +but in vain. Whether they were too busy to give me proper attention, or +too anxious to join the stir and mirth of the townspeople, they all +declared they knew nothing of any Englishwoman. As I returned dejectedly +to my inn, I heard a lamentable voice, evidently English, bemoaning in +doubtful French. The omnibus from Falaise had just come in, and under +the lamp in the entrance of the archway stood a lady before my hostess, +who was volubly asserting that there was no room left in her house. I +hastened to the assistance of my countrywoman, and the light of the lamp +falling full upon her face revealed to me who she was. + +"Mrs. Foster!" I exclaimed, almost shouting her name in my astonishment. +She looked ready to faint with fatigue and dismay, and she laid her hand +heavily on my arm, as if to save herself from sinking to the ground. + +"Have you found her?" she asked, involuntarily. + +"Not a trace of her," I answered. + +Mrs. Foster broke into an hysterical laugh, which was very quickly +followed by sobs. I had no great difficulty in persuading the landlady +to find some accommodation for her, and then I retired to my own room to +smoke in peace, and turn over the extraordinary meeting which had been +the last incident of the day. + +It required very little keenness to come to the conclusion that the +Fosters had obtained their information concerning Miss Ellen Martineau, +where we had got ours, from Mrs. Wilkinson. Also that Mrs. Foster had +lost no time in following up the clew, for she was only twenty-four +hours behind me. She had looked thoroughly astonished and dismayed when +she saw me there; so she had had no idea that I was on the same track. +But nothing could be more convincing than this journey of hers that +neither she nor Foster really believed in Olivia's death. That was as +clear as day. But what explanation could I give to myself of those +letters, of Olivia's above all? Was it possible that she had caused them +to be written, and sent to her husband? I could not even admit such a +question, without a sharp sense of disappointment in her. + +I saw Mrs. Foster early in the morning, somewhat as a truce-bearer may +meet another on neutral ground. She was grateful to me for my +interposition in her behalf the night before; and, as I knew Ellen +Martineau to be safely out of the way, I was inclined to be tolerant +toward her. I assured her, upon my honor, that I had failed in +discovering any trace of Olivia in Noireau, and I told her all I had +learned about the bankruptcy of Monsieur Perrier, and the scattering of +the school. + +"But why should you undertake such a chase?" I asked; "if you and Foster +are satisfied that Olivia is dead, why should you be running after Ellen +Martineau? You show me the papers which seem to prove her death, and now +I find you in this remote part of Normandy, evidently in pursuit of her. +What does this mean?" + +"You are doing the same thing yourself," she answered. + +"Yes," I replied, "because I am not satisfied. But you have proved your +conviction by becoming Richard Foster's second wife." + +"That is the very point," she said, shedding a few tears; "as soon as +ever Mrs. Wilkinson described Ellen Martineau to me, when she was +talking about her visitor who had come to inquire after her, in that cab +which was standing at the door the last time you visited Mr. Foster--and +I had no suspicion of it--I grew quite frightened lest he should ever be +charged with marrying me while she was alive. So I persuaded him to let +me come here and make sure of it, though the journey costs a great deal, +and we have very little money to spare. We did not know what tricks +Olivia might do, and it made me very miserable to think she might be +still alive, and I in her place." + +I could not but acknowledge to myself that there was some reason in Mrs. +Foster's statement of the case. + +"There is not the slightest chance of your finding her," I remarked. + +"Isn't there?" she asked, with an evil gleam in her eyes, which I just +caught before she hid her face again in her handkerchief. + +"At any rate," I said, "you would have no power over her if you found +her. You could not take her back with you by force. I do not know how +the French laws would regard Foster's authority, but you can have none +whatever, and he is quite unfit to take this long journey to claim her. +Really I do not see what you can do; and I should think your wisest +plan would be to go back and take care of him, leaving her alone. I am +here to protect her, and I shall stay until I see you fairly out of the +place." + +She did not speak again for some minutes, but she was evidently +reflecting upon what I had just said. + +"But what are we to live upon?" she asked at last; "there is her money +lying in the bank, and neither she nor Richard can touch it. It must be +paid to her personally or to her order; and she cannot prove her +identity herself without the papers Richard holds. It is aggravating. I +am at my wits' end about it." + +"Listen to me," I said. "Why cannot we come to some arrangement, +supposing Ellen Martineau proves to be Olivia? It would be better for +you all to make some division of her property by mutual agreement. You +know best whether Olivia could insist upon a judicial separation. But in +any other case why should not Foster agree to receive half her income, +and leave her free, as free as she can be, with the other half? Surely +some mutual agreement could be made." + +"He would never do it!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands round her +knees, and swaying to and fro passionately; "he never loses any power. +She belongs to him, and he never gives up any thing. He would torment +her almost to death, but he would never let her go free. No, no. You do +not know him, Dr. Martin." + +"Then we will try to get a divorce," I said, looking at her steadily. + +"On what grounds?" she asked, looking at me as steadily. + +I could not and would not enter into the question with her. + +"There has been no personal cruelty on Richard's part toward her," she +resumed, with a half-smile. "It's true I locked her up for a few days +once, but he was in Paris, and had nothing to do with it. You could not +prove a single act of cruelty toward her." + +Still I did not answer, though she paused and regarded me keenly. + +"We were not married till we had reason to believe her dead," she +continued; "there is no harm in that. If she has forged those papers, +she is to blame. We were married openly, in our parish church; what +could be said against that?" + +"Let us return to what I told you at first," I said; "if you find +Olivia, you have no more authority over her than I have. You will be +obliged to return to England alone; and I shall place her in some safe +custody. I shall ascertain precisely how the law stands, both, here and +in England. Now I advise you, for Foster's sake, make as much haste home +as you can; for he will be left without nurse or doctor while we two are +away." + +She sat gnawing her under lip for some minutes, and looking as vicious +as Madam was wont to do in her worst tempers. + +"You will let me make some inquiries to satisfy myself?" she said. + +"Certainly," I replied; "you will only discover, as I have, that the +school was broken up a month ago, and Ellen Martineau has disappeared." + +I kept no very strict watch over her during the day, for I felt sure she +would find no trace of Olivia in Noireau. At night I saw her again. She +was worn out and despondent, and declared herself quite ready to return +to Falaise by the omnibus at five o'clock in the morning. I saw her off, +and gave the driver a fee, to bring me word for what town she took her +ticket at the railway-station. When he returned in the evening, he told +me he had himself bought her one for Honfleur, and started her fairly on +her way home. + +As for myself, I had spent the day in making inquiries at the offices of +the _octrois_--those local custom-houses which stand at every entrance +into a town or village in France, for the gathering of trifling, +vexatious taxes upon articles of food and merchandise. At one of these I +had learned, that, three or four weeks ago, a young Englishwoman with a +little girl had passed by on foot, each carrying a small bundle, which +had not been examined. It was the _octroi_ on the road to Granville, +which was between thirty and forty miles away. From Granville was the +nearest route to the Channel Islands. Was it not possible that Olivia +had resolved to seek refuge there again? Perhaps to seek me! My heart, +bowed down by the sad picture of her and the little child leaving the +town on foot, beat high again at the thought of Olivia in Guernsey. + +I set off for Granville by the omnibus next morning, and made further +inquiries at every village we passed through, whether any thing had been +seen of a young Englishwoman and a little girl. At first the answer was +yes; then it became a matter of doubt; at last everywhere they replied +by a discouraging no. At one point of our journey we passed a +dilapidated sign-post with a rude, black figure of the Virgin hanging +below it. I could just decipher upon one finger of the post, in +half-obliterated letters, "Ville-en-bois." It recurred to me that this +was the place where fever was raging like the pest. + +"It is a poor place," said the driver, disparagingly; "there is nothing +there but the fever, and a good angel of a cure, who is the only doctor +into the bargain. It is two leagues and a kilometre, and it is on the +road to nowhere." + +I could not stop in my quest to turn aside, and visit this village +smitten with fever, though I felt a strong inclination to do so. At +Granville I learned that a young lady and a child had made the voyage to +Jersey a short time before; and I went on with stronger hope. But in +Jersey I could obtain no further information about her; nor in Guernsey, +whither I felt sure Olivia would certainly have proceeded. I took one +day more to cross over to Sark, and consult Tardif; but he knew no more +than I did. He absolutely refused to believe that Olivia was dead. + +"In August," he said, "I shall hear from her. Take courage and comfort. +She promised it, and she will keep her promise. If she had known herself +to be dying, she would have sent me word." + +"It is a long time to wait," I said, with an utter sinking of spirit. + +"It is a long time to wait!" he echoed, lifting up his hands, and +letting them fall again with a gesture of weariness; "but we must wait +and hope." + +To wait in impatience, and to hope at times, and despair at times, I +returned to London. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-FOURTH. + +THE LAW OF MARRIAGE. + + +One of my first proceedings, after my return, was to ascertain how the +English law stood with regard to Olivia's position. Fortunately for me, +one of Dr. Senior's oldest friends was a lawyer of great repute, and he +discussed the question with me after a dinner at his house at Fulham. + +"There seems to be no proof against the husband of any kind," he said, +after I had told him all. + +"Why!" I exclaimed, "here you have a girl, brought up in luxury and +wealth, willing to brave any poverty rather than continue to live with +him." + +"A girl's whim," he said; "mania, perhaps. Is there insanity in her +family?" + +"She is as sane as I am," I answered. "Is there no law to protect a wife +against the companionship of such a woman as this second Mrs. Foster?" + +"The husband introduces her as his cousin," he rejoined, "and places her +in some little authority on the plea that his wife is too young to be +left alone safely in Continental hotels. There is no reasonable +objection to be taken to that." + +"Then Foster could compel her to return to him?" I said. + +"As far as I see into the case, he certainly could," was the answer, +which drove me nearly frantic. + +"But there is this second marriage," I objected. + +"There lies the kernel of the case," he said, daintily peeling his +walnuts. "You tell me there are papers, which you believe to be +forgeries, purporting to be the medical certificate, with corroborative +proof of her death. Now, if the wife be guilty of framing these, the +husband will bring them against her as the grounds on which he felt free +to contract his second marriage. She has done a very foolish and a very +wicked thing there." + +"You think she did it?" I asked. + +He smiled significantly, but without saying any thing. + +"I cannot!" I cried. + +"Ah! you are blind," he replied, with the same maddening smile; "but let +me return. On the other hand, _if_ the husband has forged these papers, +it would go far with me as strong presumptive evidence against him, upon +which we might go in for a divorce, not a separation merely. If the +young lady had remained with him till she had collected proof of his +unfaithfulness to her, this, with his subsequent marriage to the same +person during her lifetime, would probably have set her absolutely +free." + +"Divorced from him?" I said. + +"Divorce," he repeated. + +"But what can be done now?" I asked. + +"All you can do," he answered, "is to establish your influence over this +fellow, and go cautiously to work with him. As long as the lady is in +France, if she be alive, and he is too ill to go after her, she is safe. +You may convince him by degrees that it is to his interest to come to +some terms with her. A formal deed of separation might be agreed upon, +and drawn up; but even that will not perfectly secure her in the +future." + +I was compelled to remain satisfied with this opinion. Yet how could I +be satisfied, while Olivia, if she was still living, was wandering about +homeless, and, as I feared, destitute, in a foreign country? + +I made my first call upon Foster the next evening. Mrs. Foster had been +to Brook Street every day since her return, to inquire for me, and to +leave an urgent message that I should go to Bellringer Street as soon as +I was again in town. The lodging-house looked almost as wretched as the +forsaken dwelling down at Noireau, where Olivia had perhaps been living; +and the stifling, musty air inside it almost made me gasp for breath. + +"So you are come back!" was Foster's greeting, as I entered the dingy +room. + +"Yes." I replied. + +"I need not ask what success you've had," he said, sneering, 'Why so +pale and wan, fond lover?' Your trip has not agreed with you, that is +plain enough. It did not agree with Carry, either, for she came back +swearing she would never go on such a wild-goose chase again. You know I +was quite opposed to her going?" + +"No," I said, incredulously. The diamond ring had disappeared from his +finger, and it was easy to guess how the funds had been raised for the +journey. + +"Altogether opposed," he repeated. "I believe Olivia is dead. I am quite +sure she has never been under this roof with me, as Miss Ellen Martineau +has been. I should have known it as surely as ever a tiger scented its +prey. Do you suppose I have no sense keen enough to tell me she was in +the very house where I was?" + +"Nonsense!" I answered. His eyes glistened cruelly, and made me almost +ready to spring upon him. I could have seized him by the throat and +shaken him to death, in my sudden passion of loathing against him; but I +sat quiet, and ejaculated "Nonsense!" Such power has the spirit of the +nineteenth century among civilized classes. + +"Olivia is dead," he said, in a solemn tone. "I am convinced of that +from another reason: through all the misery of our marriage, I never +knew her guilty of an untruth, not the smallest. She was as true as the +Gospel. Do you think you or Carry could make me believe that she would +trifle with such an awful subject as her own death? No. I would take my +oath that Olivia would never have had that letter sent, or write to me +those few lines of farewell, but to let me know that she was really +dead." + +His voice faltered a little, as though even he were moved by the thought +of her early death. Mrs. Foster glanced at him jealously, and he looked +back at her with a provoking curve about his lips. For the moment there +was more hatred than love in the regards exchanged between them. I saw +it was useless to pursue the subject. + +"Well," I said, "I came to arrange a time for Dr. Lowry to visit you +with me, for the purpose of a thorough examination. It is possible that +Dr. Senior may be induced to join us, though he has retired from +practice. I am anxious for his opinion as well as Lowry's." "You really +wish to cure me?" he answered, raising his eyebrows. + +"To be sure," I replied. "I can have no other object in undertaking your +case. Do you imagine it is a pleasure to me? It is possible that your +death would be a greater benefit to the world than your life, but that +is no question for me to decide. Neither is it for me to consider +whether you are my friend or my enemy. There is simply a life to be +saved if possible; whose, is not my business. Do you understand me?" + +"I think so," he said. "I am nothing except material for you to exercise +your craft upon." + +"Precisely," I answered; "that and nothing more. As some writer says, +'It is a mere matter of instinct with me. I attend you just as a +Newfoundland dog saves a drowning man.'" + +I went from him to Hanover Street, where I found Captain Carey, who met +me with the embarrassment and shamefacedness of a young girl. I had not +yet seen them since my return from Normandy. There was much to tell +them, though they already knew that my expedition had failed, and that +it was still doubtful whether Ellen Martineau and Olivia were the same +person. + +Captain Carey walked along the street with me toward home. He had taken +my arm in his most confidential manner, but he did not open his lips +till we reached Brook Street. + +"Martin," he said, "I've turned it over in my own mind, and I agree with +Tardif. Olivia is no more dead than you or me. We shall find out all +about it in August, if not before. Cheer up, my boy! I tell you what: +Julia and I will wait till we are sure about Olivia." + +"No, no," I interrupted; "you and Julia have nothing to do with it. +When is your wedding to be?" + +"If you have no objection," he answered--"have you the least shadow of +an objection?" + +"Not a shadow of a shadow," I said. + +"Well, then," he resumed, bashfully, "what do you think of August? It is +a pleasant month, and would give us time for that trip to Switzerland, +you know. Not any sooner, because of your poor mother; and later, if you +like that better." + +"Not a day later," I said; "my father has been married again these four +months." + +Yet I felt a little sore for my mother's memory. How quickly it was +fading away from every heart but mine! If I could but go to her now, and +pour out all my troubled thoughts into her listening, indulgent ear! Not +even Olivia herself, who could never be to me more than she was at this +moment, could fill her place. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIFTH. + +FULFILLING THE PLEDGE. + + +We--that is, Dr. Senior, Lowry, and I--made our examination of Foster, +and held our consultation, three days from that time. + +There was no doubt whatever that he was suffering from the same disease +as that which had been the death of my mother--a disease almost +invariably fatal, sooner or later. A few cases of cure, under most +favorable circumstances, had been reported during the last half-century; +but the chances were dead against Foster's recovery. In all probability, +a long and painful illness, terminating in inevitable death, lay before +him. In the opinion of my two senior physicians, all that I could do +would be to alleviate the worst pangs of it. + +His case haunted me day and night. In that deep under-current of +consciousness which lurks beneath our surface sensations and +impressions, there was always present the image of Foster, with his +pale, cynical face, and pitiless eyes. With this, was the perpetual +remembrance that a subtile malady, beyond the reach of our skill, was +slowly eating away his life. The man I abhorred; but the sufferer, +mysteriously linked with the memories which clung about my mother, +aroused her most urgent, instinctive compassion. Only once before had I +watched the conflict between disease and its remedy with so intense an +interest. + +It was a day or two after our consultation that I came accidentally upon +the little note-book which I had kept in Guernsey--a private note-book, +accessible only to myself. It was night; Jack, as usual, was gone out, +and I was alone. I turned over the leaves merely for listless want of +occupation. All at once I came upon an entry, made in connection with my +mother's illness, which recalled to me the discovery I believed I had +made of a remedy for her disease, had it only been applied in its +earlier stages. It had slipped out of my mind, but now my memory leaped +upon it with irresistible force. + +I must tell the whole truth, however terrible and humiliating it may be. +Whether I had been true or false to myself up to that moment I cannot +say. I had taken upon myself the care, and, if possible, the cure of +this man, who was my enemy, if I had an enemy in the world. His life and +mine could not run parallel without great grief and hurt to me, and to +one dearer than myself. Now that a better chance was thrust upon me in +his favor, I shrank from seizing it with unutterable reluctance. I +turned heart-sick at the thought of it. I tried my utmost to shake off +the grip of my memory. Was it possible that, in the core of my heart, I +wished this man to die? + +Yes, I wished him to die. Conscience flashed the answer across the inner +depths of my soul, as a glare of lightning over the sharp crags and +cruel waves of our island in a midnight storm. I saw with terrible +distinctness that there had been lurking within a sure sense of +satisfaction in the certainty that he must die. I had suspected nothing +of it till that moment. When I told him it was the instinct of a +physician to save his patient, I spoke the truth. But I found something +within me deeper than instinct, that was wailing and watching for the +fatal issue of his malady, with a tranquil security so profound that it +never stirred the surface of my consciousness, or lifted up its ghostly +face to the light of conscience. + +I took up my note-book, and went away to my room, lest Jack should come +in suddenly, and read my secret on my face. I thrust the book into a +drawer in my desk, and locked it away out of my sight. What need had I +to trouble myself with it or its contents? I found a book, one of +Charles Dickens's most amusing stories, and set myself resolutely to +read it; laughing aloud at its drolleries, and reading faster and +faster; while all the time thoughts came crowding into my mind of my +mother's pale, worn face, and the pains she suffered, and the remedy +found out too late. These images grew so strong at last that my eyes ran +over the sentences mechanically, but my brain refused to take in the +meaning of them. I threw the book from me; and, leaning my head on my +hands, I let all the waves of that sorrowful memory flow over me. + +How strong they were! how persistent! I could hear the tones of her +languid voice, and see the light lingering to the last in her dim eyes, +whenever they met mine. A shudder crept through me as I recollected how +she travelled that dolorous road, slowly, day by day, down to the grave. +Other feet were beginning to tread the same painful journey; but there +was yet time to stay them, and the power to do it was intrusted to me. +What was I to do with my power? + +It seemed cruel that this power should come to me from my mother's +death. If she were living still, or if she had died from any other +cause, the discovery of this remedy would never have been made by me. +And I was to take it as a sort of miraculous gift, purchased by her +pangs, and bestow it upon the only man I hated. For I hated him; I said +so to myself, muttering the words between my teeth. + +What was the value of his life, that I should ransom it by such a +sacrifice? A mean, selfish, dissipated life--a life that would be +Olivia's curse as long as it lasted. For an instant a vision stood out +clear before me, and made my heart beat fast, of Olivia free, as she +must be in the space of a few months, should I leave the disease to take +its course; free and happy, disenthralled from the most galling of all +bondage. Could I not win her then? She knew already that I loved her; +would she not soon learn to love me in return? If Olivia were living, +what an irreparable injury it would be to her for this man to recover! + +That seemed to settle the question. I could not be the one to doom her +to a continuation of the misery she was enduring. It was irrational and +over-scrupulous of my conscience to demand such a thing from me. I would +use all the means practised in the ordinary course of treatment to +render the recovery of my patient possible, and so fulfil my duty. I +would carefully follow all Dr. Senior's suggestions. He was an +experienced and very skilful physician; I could not do better than +submit my judgment to his. + +Besides, how did I know that this fancied discovery of mine was of the +least value? I had never had a chance of making experiment of it, and no +doubt it was an idle chimera of my brain, when it was overwrought by +anxiety for my mother's sake. I had not hitherto thought enough of it to +ask the opinion of any of my medical friends and colleagues. Why should +I attach any importance to it now? Let it rest. Not a soul knew of it +but myself. I had a perfect right to keep or destroy my own notes. +Suppose I destroyed that one at once? + +I unlocked the desk, and took out my book again. The leaf on which these +special notes were written was already loose, and might have been easily +lost at any time, I thought. I burned it by the flame of the gas, and +threw the brown ashes into the grate. For a few minutes I felt elated, +as if set free from an oppressive burden; and I returned to the story I +had been reading, and laughed more heartily than before at the grotesque +turn of the incidents. But before long the tormenting question came up +again. The notes were not lost. They seemed now to be burned in upon my +brain. + +The power has been put into your hands to save life, said my conscience, +and you are resolving to let it perish. What have you to do with the +fact that the nature is mean, selfish, cruel? It is the physical life +simply that you have to deal with. What is beyond that rests in the +hands of God. What He is about to do with this soul is no question for +you. Your office pledges you to cure him if you can, and the fulfilment +of this duty is required of you. If you let this man die, you are a +murderer. + +But, I said in answer to myself, consider what trivial chances the whole +thing has hung upon. Besides the accident that this was my mother's +malady, there was the chance of Lowry not being called from home. The +man was his patient, not mine. After that there was the chance of Jack +going to see him, instead of me; or of him refusing my attendance. If +the chain had broken at one of these links, no responsibility could have +fallen upon me. He would have died, and all the good results of his +death would have followed naturally. Let it rest at that. + +But it could not rest at that. I fought a battle with myself all through +the quiet night, motionless and in silence, lest Jack should become +aware that I was not sleeping. How should I ever face him, or grasp his +hearty hand again, with such a secret weight upon my soul? Yet how could +I resolve to save Foster at the cost of dooming Olivia to a life-long +bondage should he discover where she was, or to life-long poverty should +she remain concealed? If I were only sure that she was alive! But if she +were dead--why, then all motive for keeping back this chance of saving +him would be taken away. It was for her sake merely that I hesitated. + +For her sake, but for my own as well, said my conscience; for the subtle +hope, which had taken deeper root day by day, that by-and-by the only +obstacle between us would be removed. Suppose then that he was dead, and +Olivia was free to love me, to become my wife. Would not her very +closeness to me be a reproving presence forever at my side? Could I ever +recall the days before our marriage, as men recall them when they are +growing gray and wrinkled, as a happy golden time? Would there not +always be a haunting sense of perfidy, and disloyalty to duty, standing +between me and her clear truth and singleness of heart? There could be +no happiness for me, even with Olivia, my cherished and honored wife, if +I had this weight and cloud resting upon my conscience. + +The morning dawned before I could decide. The decision, when made, +brought no feeling of relief or triumph to me. As soon as it was +probable that Dr. Senior could see me; I was at his house at Fulham; and +in rapid, almost incoherent words laid what I believed to be my +important discovery before him. He sat thinking for some time, running +over in his own mind such cases as had come under his own observation. +After a while a gleam of pleasure passed over his face, and his eyes +brightened as he looked at me. + +"I congratulate you, Martin," he said, "though I wish Jack had hit upon +this. I believe it will prove a real benefit to our science. Let me turn +it over a little longer, and consult some of my colleagues about it. But +I think you are right. You are about to try it on poor Foster?" + +"Yes," I answered, with a chilly sensation in my veins, the natural +reaction upon the excitement of the past night. + +"It can do him no harm," he said, "and in my opinion it will prolong his +life to old age, if he is careful of himself. I will write a paper on +the subject for the _Lancet_, if you will allow me." + +"With all my heart," I said sadly. + +The old physician regarded me for a minute with his keen eyes, which had +looked through the window of disease into many a human soul. I shrank +from the scrutiny, but I need not have done so. He grasped my hand +firmly and closely in his own. + +"God bless you, Martin!" he said, "God bless you!" + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-SIXTH. + +A DEED OF SEPARATION. + + +That keen, benevolent glance of Dr. Senior's was like a gleam of +sunlight piercing through the deepest recesses of my troubled spirit. I +felt that I was no longer fighting my fight out alone. A friendly eye +was upon me; a friendly voice was cheering me on. "The dead shall look +me through and through," says Tennyson. For my part I should wish for a +good, wise man to look me through and through; feel the pulse of my soul +from time to time, when it was ailing, and detect what was there +contrary to reason and to right. Dr. Senior's hearty "God bless you!" +brought strength and blessing with it. + +I went straight from Fulham to Bellringer Street. A healthy impulse to +fulfil all my duty, however difficult, was in its first fervid moment of +action. Nevertheless there was a subtle hope within me founded upon one +chance that was left--it was just possible that Foster might refuse to +be made the subject of an experiment; for an experiment it was. + +I found him not yet out of bed. Mrs. Foster was busy at her task of +engrossing in the sitting-room--- a task she performed so well that I +could not believe but that she had been long accustomed to it. I +followed her to Foster's bedroom, a small close attic at the back, with +a cheerless view of chimneys and the roofs of houses. There was no means +of ventilation, except by opening a window near the head of the bed, +when the draught of cold air would blow full upon him. He looked +exceedingly worn and wan. The doubt crossed me, whether the disease had +not made more progress than we supposed. His face fell as he saw the +expression upon mine. + +"Worse, eh?" he said; "don't say I am worse." + +I sat down beside him, and told him what I believed to be his chance of +life; not concealing from him that I proposed to try, if he gave his +consent, a mode of treatment which had never been practised before. His +eye, keen and sharp as that of a lynx, seemed to read my thoughts as Dr. +Senior's had done. + +"Martin Dobree," he said, in a voice so different from his ordinary +caustic tone that it almost startled me, "I can trust you. I put myself +with implicit confidence into your hands." + +The last chance--dare I say the last hope?--was gone. I stood pledged on +my honor as a physician, to employ this discovery, which had been laid +open to me by my mother's fatal illness, for the benefit of the man +whose life was most harmful to Olivia and myself. I felt suffocated, +stifled. I opened the window for a minute or two, and leaned through it +to catch the fresh breath of the outer air. + +"I must tell you," I said, when I drew my head in again, "that you must +not expect to regain your health and strength so completely as to be +able to return to your old dissipations. You must make up your mind to +lead a regular, quiet, abstemious life, avoiding all excitement. Nine +months out of the twelve at least, if not the whole year, you must spend +in the country for the sake of fresh air. A life in town would kill you +in six months. But if you are careful of yourself you may live to sixty +or seventy." + +"Life at any price!" he answered, in his old accents, "yet you put it in +a dreary light before me. It hardly seems worth while to buy such an +existence, especially with that wife of mine downstairs, who cannot +endure the country, and is only a companion for a town-life. Now, if it +had been Olivia--you could imagine life in the country endurable with +Olivia?" + +What could I answer to such a question, which ran through me like an +electric shock? A brilliant phantasmagoria flashed across my brain--a +house in Guernsey with Olivia in it--sunshine--flowers--the singing of +birds--the music of the sea--the pure, exhilarating atmosphere. It had +vanished into a dead blank before I opened my mouth, though probably a +moment's silence had not intervened. Foster's lips were curled into a +mocking smile. + +"There would be more chance for you now," I said, "if you could have +better air than this." + +"How can I?" he asked. + +"Be frank with me," I answered, "and tell me what your means are. It +would be worth your while to spend your last farthing upon this chance." + +"Is it not enough to make a man mad," he said, "to know there are +thousands lying in the bank in his wife's name, and he cannot touch a +penny of it? It is life itself to me; yet I may die like a dog in this +hole for the want of it. My death will lie at Olivia's door, curse her!" + +He fell back upon his pillows, with a groan as heavy and deep as ever +came from the heart of a wretch perishing from sheer want. I could not +choose but feel some pity for him; but this was an opportunity I must +not miss. + +"It is of no use to curse her," I said; "come, Foster, let us talk over +this matter quietly and reasonably. If Olivia be alive, as I cannot help +hoping she is, your wisest course would be to come to some mutual +agreement, which-would release you both from your present difficulties; +for you must recollect she is as penniless as yourself. Let me speak to +you as if I were her brother. Of this one thing you may be quite +certain, she will never consent to return to you; and in that I will aid +her to the utmost of my power. But there is no reason why you should not +have a good share of the property, which she would gladly relinquish on +condition that you left her alone. Now just listen carefully. I think +there would be small difficulty, if we set about it, in proving that you +were guilty against her with your present wife; and in that case she +could claim a divorce absolutely, and her property would remain her own. +Your second marriage with the same person would set her free from you +altogether." + +"You could prove nothing." he replied, fiercely, "and my second marriage +is covered by the documents I could produce." + +"Which are forged," I said, calmly; "we will find out by whom. You are +in a net of your own making. But we do not wish to push this question to +a legal issue. Let us come to some arrangement. Olivia will consent to +any terms I agree to." + +Unconsciously I was speaking as if I knew where Olivia was, and could +communicate with her when I chose. I was merely anticipating the time +when Tardif felt sure of hearing from her. Foster lay still, watching me +with his cold, keen eyes. + +"If those letters are forged," he said, uneasily, "it is Olivia who has +forged them. But I must consult my lawyers. I will let you know the +result in a few days." + +But the same evening I received a note, desiring me to go and see him +immediately. I was myself in a fever of impatience, and glad at the +prospect of any settlement "of this subject, in the hope of setting +Olivia free, as far as she could be free during his lifetime. He was +looking brighter and better than in the morning, and an odd smile played +now and then about his face as he talked to me, after having desired +Mrs. Foster to leave us alone together. + +"Mark!" he said, "I have not the slightest reason to doubt Olivia's +death, except your own opinion to the contrary, which is founded upon +reasons of which I know nothing. But, acting on the supposition that she +may be still alive, I am quite willing to enter into negotiations with +her, I suppose it must be through you." + +"It must," I answered, "and it cannot be at present. You will have to +wait for some months, perhaps, while I pursue my search for her. I do +not know where she is any more than you do." + +A vivid gleam crossed his face at these words, but whether of +incredulity or satisfaction I could not tell. + +"But suppose I die in the mean time?" he objected. + +That objection was a fair and obvious one. His malady would not pause in +its insidious attack while I was seeking Olivia. I deliberated for a few +minutes, endeavoring to look at a scheme which presented itself to me +from every point of view. + +"I do not know that I might not leave you in your present position," I +said at last; "it may be I am acting from an over-strained sense of +duty. But if you will give me a formal deed protecting her from +yourself, I am willing to advance the funds necessary to remove you to +purer air, and more open quarters than these. A deed of separation, +which both of you must sign, can be drawn up, and receive your +signature. There will be no doubt as to getting hers, when we find her. +But that may be some months hence, as I said. Still I will run the +risk." + +"For her sake?" he said, with a sneer. + +"For her sake, simply," I answered; "I will employ a lawyer to draw up +the deed, and as soon as you sign it I will advance the money you +require. My treatment of your disease I shall begin at once; that falls, +under my duty as your doctor; but I warn you that fresh air and freedom +from agitation are almost, if not positively, essential to its success. +The sooner you secure these for yourself, the better your chance." + +Some further conversation passed between us, as to the stipulations to +be insisted upon, and the division of the yearly income from Olivia's +property, for I would not agree to her alienating any portion of it. +Foster wished to drive a hard bargain, still with that odd smile on his +face; and it was after much discussion that we came to an agreement. + +I had the deed drawn up by a lawyer, who warned me that, if Foster sued +for a restitution of his rights, they would be enforced. But I hoped +that when Olivia was found she would have some evidence in her own +favor, which would deter him from carrying the case into court. The deed +was signed by Foster, and left in my charge till Olivia's signature +could be obtained. + +As soon as the deed was secured, I had my patient removed from +Bellringer Street to some apartments in Fulham, near to Dr. Senior, +whose interest in the case was now almost equal to my own. Here, if I +could not visit him every day, Dr. Senior did, while his great +professional skill enabled him to detect symptoms which might have +escaped my less experienced eye. Never had any sufferer, under the +highest and wealthiest ranks, greater care and science expended upon him +than Richard Foster. + +The progress of his recovery was slow, but it was sure. I felt that it +would be so from the first. Day by day I watched the pallid hue of +sickness upon his face changing into a more natural tone. I saw his +strength coming back by slight but steady degrees. The malady was forced +to retreat into its most hidden citadel, where it might lurk as a +prisoner, but not dwell as a destroyer, for many years to come, if +Foster would yield himself to the _regime_ of life we prescribed. But +the malady lingered there, ready to break out again openly, if its +dungeon-door were set ajar. I had given life to him, but it was his part +to hold it fast. + +There was no triumph to me in this, as there would have been had my +patient been any one else. The cure aroused much interest among my +colleagues, and made my name more known. But what was that to me? As +long as this man lived, Olivia was doomed to a lonely and friendless +life. I tried to look into the future for her, and saw it stretch out +into long, dreary years. I wondered where she would find a home. Could I +persuade Johanna to receive her into her pleasant dwelling, which would +become so lonely to her when Captain Carey had moved into Julia's house +in St. Peter-Port? That was the best plan I could form. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-SEVENTH. + +A FRIENDLY, CABMAN. + + +Julia's marriage arrangements were going on speedily. There was +something ironical to me in the chance that made me so often the witness +of them. We were so merely cousins again, that she discussed her +purchases, and displayed them before me, as if there had never been any +notion between us of keeping house together. Once more I assisted in the +choice of a wedding-dress, for the one made a year before was said to be +yellow and old-fashioned. But this time Julia did not insist upon having +white satin. A dainty tint of gray was considered more suitable, either +to her own complexion or the age of the bridegroom. Captain Carey +enjoyed the purchase with the rapture I had failed to experience. + +The wedding was fixed to take place the last week in July, a fortnight +earlier than the time proposed; it was also a fortnight earlier than the +date I was looking forward to most anxiously, when, if ever, news would +reach Tardif from Olivia. All my plans were most carefully made, in the +event of her sending word where she was. The deed of separation, signed +by Foster, was preserved by me most cautiously, for I had a sort of +haunting dread that Mrs. Foster would endeavor to get possession of it. +She was eminently sulky, and had been so ever since the signing of the +deed. Now that Foster was very near convalescence, they might be trying +some stratagem to recover it. But our servants were trustworthy, and the +deed lay safe in the drawer of my desk. + +At last Dr. Senior agreed with me that Foster was sufficiently advanced +on the road to recovery to be removed from Fulham to the better air of +the south coast. The month of May had been hotter than usual, and June +was sultry. It was evidently to our patient's advantage to exchange the +atmosphere of London for that of the sea-shore, even though he had to +dispense with our watchful attendance. In fact he could not very well +fall back now, with common prudence and self-denial. We impressed upon +him the urgent necessity of these virtues, and required Mrs. Foster to +write us fully, three times a week, every variation she might observe in +his health. After that we started them off to a quiet village in Sussex. +I breathed more freely when they were out of my daily sphere of duty. + +But before they went a hint of treachery reached me, which put me doubly +on my guard. One morning, when Jack and I were at breakfast, each deep +in our papers, with an occasional comment to one another on their +contents, Simmons, the cabby, was announced, as asking to speak to one +or both of us immediately. He was a favorite with Jack, who bade the +servant show him in; and Simmons appeared, stroking his hat round and +round with his hand, as if hardly knowing what to do with his limbs off +the box. + +"Nothing amiss with your wife, or the brats. I hope?" said Jack. + +"No, Dr. John, no," he answered, "there ain't any thing amiss with them, +except being too many of 'em p'raps, and my old woman won't own to that. +But there's some thing in the wind as concerns Dr. Dobry, so I thought +I'd better come and give you a hint of it." + +"Very good, Simmons," said Jack. + +"You recollect taking my cab to Gray's-Inn Road about this time last +year, when I showed up so green, don't you?" he asked. + +"To be sure," I said, throwing down my paper, and listening eagerly. + +"Well, doctors," he continued, addressing us both, "the very last Monday +as ever was, a lady walks slowly along the stand, eying us all very +hard, but taking no heed to any of 'em, till she catches sight of _me_. +That's not a uncommon event, doctors. My wife says there's something +about me as gives confidence to her sex. Anyhow, so it is, and I can't +gainsay it. The lady comes along very slowly--she looks hard at me--she +nods her head, as much as to say, 'You, and your cab, and your horse, +are what I'm on the lookout for;' and I gets down, opens the door, and +sees her in quite comfortable. Says she, 'Drive me to Messrs. Scott and +Brown, in Gray's-Inn Road.'" + +"No!" I ejaculated. + +"Yes, doctors," replied Simmons. "'Drive me,' she says, 'to Messrs. +Scott and Brown, Gray's-Inn Road.' Of course I knew the name again; I +was vexed enough the last time I were there, at showing myself so green. +I looks hard at her. A very fine make of a woman, with hair and eyes as +black as coals, and a impudent look on her face somehow. I turned it +over and over again in my head, driving her there--could there be any +reason in it? or had it any thing to do with last time? and cetera. She +told me to wait for her in the street; and directly after she goes in, +there comes down the gent I had seen before, with a pen behind his ear. +He looks very hard at me, and me at him. Says he, 'I think I have seen +your face before, my man.' Very civil; as civil as a orange, as folks +say. 'I think you have,' I says. 'Could you step up-stairs for a minute +or two?' says he, very polite; 'I'll find a boy to take charge of your +horse.' And he slips a arf-crown into my hand, quite pleasant." + +"So you went in, of course?" said Jack. + +"Doctors," he answered, solemnly, "I did go in. There's nothing to be +said against that. The lady is sitting in a orfice up-stairs, talking to +another gent, with hair and eyes like hers, as black as coals, and the +same look of brass on his face. All three of 'em looked a little under +the weather. 'What's your name, my man?' asked the black gent. 'Walker,' +I says. 'And where do you live?' he says, taking me serious. 'In Queer +Street,' I says, with a little wink to show 'em I were up to a trick or +two. They all three larfed a little among themselves, but not in a +pleasant sort of way. Then the gent begins again. 'My good fellow,' he +says, 'we want you to give us a little information that 'ud be of use to +us, and we are willing to pay you handsome for it. It can't do you any +harm, nor nobody else, for it's only a matter of business. You're not +above taking ten shillings for a bit of useful information?' 'Not by no +manner of means.' I says." + +"Go on," I said, impatiently, as Simmons paused to look as hard at us as +he had done at these people. + +"Jest so doctors," he continued, "but this time I was minding my P's and +Q's. 'You know Dr. Senior, of Brook Street?' he says. 'The old doctor?' +I says; 'he's retired out of town.' 'No,' he says, 'nor the young doctor +neither; but there's another of 'em isn't there?' 'Dr. Dobry?' I says. +'Yes,' he says, 'he often takes your cab, my friend?' 'First one and +then the other,' I says, 'sometimes Dr. John and sometimes Dr. Dobry. +They're as thick as brothers, and thicker.' 'Good friends of yours?' he +says. 'Well,' says I, 'they take my cab when they can have it; but +there's not much friendship, as I see, in that. It's the best cab and +horse on the stand, though I say it, as shouldn't. Dr. John's pretty +fair, but the other's no great favorite of mine.' 'Ah!' he says." + +Simmons's face was illuminated with delight, and he winked sportively at +us. + +"It were all flummery, doctors," he said; "I don't deny as Dr. John is a +older friend, and a older favorite; but that is neither here nor there. +I jest see them setting a trap, and I wanted to have a finger in it. +'Ah!' he says, 'all we want to know, but we do want to know that very +particular, is where you drive Dr. Dobry to the oftenest. He's going to +borrow money from us, and we'd like to find out something about his +habits; specially where he spends his spare time, and all that sort of +thing, you understand. You know where he goes in your cab.' 'Of course I +do,' I says; 'I drove him and Dr. John here nigh a twelvemonth ago. The +other gent took my number down, and knew where to look for me when you +wanted me.' 'You're a clever fellow,' he says. 'So my old woman thinks,' +I says. 'And you'd be glad to earn a little more for your old woman?' he +says. 'Try me,' I says. 'Well then,' says he, 'here's a offer for you. +If you'll bring us word where he spends his spare time, we'll give you +ten shillings; and if it turns out of any use to us, well make it five +pounds.' 'Very good,' I says. 'You've not got any information to tell us +at once?' he says. 'Well, no,' I says, 'but I'll keep my eye upon him +now.' 'Stop,' he says, as I were going away; 'they keep a carriage, of +course?' 'Of course,' I says; 'what's the good of a doctor that hasn't a +carriage and pair?' 'Do they use it at night?' says he. 'Not often,' +says I; 'they take a cab; mine if it's on the stand.' 'Very good,' he +says; 'good-morning, my friend.' So I come away, and drives back again +to the stand." + +"And you left the lady there?" I asked, with no doubt in my mind that it +was Mrs. Foster. + +"Yes, doctor," he answered, "talking away like a poll-parrot with the +black-haired gent. That were last Monday; to-day's Friday, and this +morning there comes this bit of a note to me at our house in Dawson +Street. So my old woman says. 'Jim, you'd better go and show it to Dr. +John.' That's what's brought me here at this time, doctors." + +He gave the note into Jack's hands; and he, after glancing at it, passed +it on to me. The contents were simply these words: "James Simmons is +requested to call at No.--Gray's-Inn Road, at 6.30 Friday evening." The +handwriting struck me as one I had seen and noticed before. I scanned it +more closely for a minute or two; then a glimmering of light began to +dawn upon my memory. Could it be? I felt almost sure it was. In another +minute I was persuaded that it was the same hand as that which had +written the letter announcing Olivia's death. Probably if I could see +the penmanship of the other partner, I should find it to be identical +with that of the medical certificate which had accompanied the letter. + +"Leave this note with me, Simmons," I said, giving him half a crown in +exchange for it. I was satisfied now that the papers had been forged, +but not with Olivia's connivance. Was Foster himself a party to it? Or +had Mrs. Foster alone, with the aid of these friends or relatives of +hers, plotted and carried out the scheme, leaving him in ignorance and +doubt like my own? + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-EIGHTH. + +JULIA'S WEDDING. + + +Before the Careys and Julia returned to Guernsey, Captain Carey came to +see me one evening, at our own house in Brook Street. He seemed +suffering from some embarrassment and shyness; and I could not for some +time lead him to the point he was longing to gain. + +"You are quite reconciled to all this, Martin?" he said, stammering. I +knew very well what he meant. + +"More than reconciled," I answered, "I am heartily glad of it. Julia +will make you an excellent wife." + +"I am sure of that," he said, simply, "yet it makes me nervous a little +at times to think I may be standing in your light. I never thought what +it was coming to when I tried to comfort Julia about you, or I would +have left Johanna to do it all. It is very difficult to console a person +without seeming very fond of them; and then there's the danger of them +growing fond of you. I love Julia now with all my heart: but I did not +begin comforting her with that view, and I am sure you exonerate me, +Martin?" + +"Quite, quite," I said, almost laughing at his contrition; "I should +never have married Julia, believe me; and I am delighted that she is +going to be married, especially to an old friend like you. I shall make +your house my home." + +"Do, Martin," he answered, his face brightening; "and now I am come to +ask you a great favor--a favor to us all." + +"I'll do it, I promise that beforehand," I said. + +"We have all set our hearts on your being my best man," he replied--"at +the wedding, you know. Johanna says nothing will convince the Guernsey +people that we are all good friends except that. It will have a queer +look, but if you are there everybody will be satisfied that you do not +blame either Julia or me. I know it will be hard for you, dear Martin, +because of your poor mother, and your father being in Guernsey still; +but if you can conquer that, for our sakes, you would make us every one +perfectly happy." + +I had not expected them to ask this; but, when I came to think of it, it +seemed very natural and reasonable. There was no motive strong enough to +make me refuse to go to Julia's wedding; so I arranged to be with them +the last week in July. + +About ten days before going, I ran down to the little village on the +Sussex coast to visit Foster, from whom, or from his wife, I had +received a letter regularly three times a week. I found him as near +complete health as he could ever expect to be, and I told him so; but I +impressed upon him the urgent necessity of keeping himself quiet and +unexcited. He listened with that cool, taunting sneer which had always +irritated me. + +"Ah! you doctors are like mothers," he said, "who try to frighten their +children with bogies. A doctor is a good crutch to lean upon when one is +quite lame, but I shall be glad to dispense with my crutch as soon as my +lameness is gone." + +"Very good," I replied; "you know your life is of no value to me. I have +simply done my duty by you." + +"Your mother, Mrs. Dobree, wrote to me this week." he remarked, smiling +as I winced at the utterance of that name; "she tells me there is to be +a grand wedding in Guernsey; that of your _fiancee_, Julia Dobree, with +Captain Carey. You are to be present, so she says." + +"Yes," I replied. + +"It will be a pleasure to you to revisit your native island," he said, +"particularly under such circumstances." + +I took no notice of the taunt. My conversation with this man invariably +led to full stops. He said something to which silence was the best +retort. I did not stay long with him, for the train by which I was to +return passed through the village in less than an hour from my arrival. +As I walked down the little street I turned round once by a sudden +impulse, and saw Foster gazing after me with his pale face and +glittering eyes. Ho waved his hand in farewell to me, and that was the +last I saw of him. + +Some days after this I crossed in the mail-steamer to Guernsey, on a +Monday night, as the wedding was to take place at an early hour on +Wednesday morning, in time for Captain Carey and Julia to catch the boat +to England. The old gray town, built street above street on the rock +facing the sea, rose before my eyes, bathed in the morning sunlight. But +there was no home in it for me now. The old familiar house in the Grange +Road was already occupied by strangers. I did not even know where I was +to go. I did not like the idea of staying under Julia's roof, where +every thing would remind me of that short spell of happiness in my +mother's life, when she was preparing it for my future home. Luckily, +before the steamer touched the pier, I caught sight of Captain Carey's +welcome face looking out for my appearance. He stood at the end of the +gangway, as I crossed over it with my portmanteau. + +"Come along, Martin," hee said; "you are to go with me to the Vale, as +my groomsman, you know. Are all the people staring at us, do you think? +I daren't look round. Just look about you for me, my boy." + +"They are staring awfully," I answered, "and there are scores of them +waiting to shake hands with us." + +"Oh, they must not!" he said, earnestly; "look as if you did not see +them, Martin. That's the worst of getting married; yet most of them are +married themselves, and ought to know better. There's the dog-cart +waiting for us a few yards off, if we could only get to it. I have kept +my face seaward ever since I came on the pier, with my collar turned up, +and my hat over my eyes. Are you sure they see who we are?" + +"Sure!" I cried, "why, there's Carey Dobree, and Dobree Carey, and Brock +de Jersey, and De Jersey le Cocq, and scores of others. They know us as +well as their own brothers. We shall have to shake hands with every one +of them." + +"Why didn't you come in disguise?" asked Captain Carey, reproachfully; +but before I could answer I was seized upon by the nearest of our +cousins, and we were whirled into a very vortex of greetings and +congratulations. It was fully a quarter of an hour before we were +allowed to drive off in the dog-cart; and Captain Carey was almost +breathless with exhaustion. + +"They are good fellows," he said, after a time, "very good fellows, but +it is trying, isn't it, Martin? It is as if no man was ever married +before; though they have gone through it themselves, and ought to know +how one feels. Now you take it quietly, my boy, and you do not know how +deeply I feel obliged to you." + +There was some reason for me to take it quietly. I could not help +thinking how nearly I had been myself in Captain Carey's position. I +knew that Julia and I would have led a tranquil, matter-of-fact, +pleasant enough life together, but for the unlucky fate that had carried +me across to Sark to fall in love with Olivia. There was something +enviable in the tranquil prosperity I had forfeited. Guernsey was the +dearest spot on earth to me, yet I was practically banished from it. +Julia was, beyond all doubt, the woman I loved most, next to Olivia, but +she was lost to me. There was no hope for me on the other hand. Foster +was well again, and by my means. Probably I might secure peace and +comparative freedom for Olivia, but that was all. She could never be +more to me than she was now. My only prospect was that of a dreary +bachelorhood; and Captain Carey's bashful exultation made the future +seem less tolerable to me. + +I felt it more still when, after dinner in the cool of the summer +evening, we drove lack into town to see Julia for the last time before +we met in church the next morning. There was an air of glad excitement +pervading the house. Friends were running in, with gifts and pleasant +words of congratulation. Julia herself had a peculiar modest stateliness +and frank dignity, which suited her well. She was happy and content, and +her face glowed. Captain Carey's manner was one of tender chivalry, +somewhat old-fashioned. I found it a hard thing to "look at happiness +through another man's eyes." + +I drove Captain Carey and Johanna home along the low, level shore which +I had so often traversed with my heart full of Olivia. It was dusk, the +dusk of a summer's night; but the sea was luminous, and Sark lay upon it +a bank of silent darkness, sleeping to the music of the waves. A strong +yearning came over me, a longing to know immediately the fate of my +Olivia. Would to Heaven she could return to Sark, and be cradled there +in its silent and isolated dells! Would to Heaven this huge load of +anxiety and care for her, which bowed me down, might be taken away +altogether! + +"A fortnight longer," I said to myself, "and Tardif will know where she +is; then I can take measures for her tranquillity and safety in the +future." + +It was well for me that I had slept during my passage, for I had little +sleep during that night. Twice I was aroused by the voice of Captain +Carey at my door, inquiring what the London time was, and if I could +rely upon my watch not having stopped. At four o'clock he insisted upon +everybody in the house getting up. The ceremony was to be solemnized at +seven, for the mail-steamer from Jersey to England was due in Guernsey +at nine, and there were no other means of quitting the island later in +the day. Under these circumstances there could be no formal +wedding-breakfast, a matter not much to be regretted. There would not be +too much time, so Johanna said, for the bride to change her +wedding-dress at her own house for a suitable travelling-costume, and +the rest of the day would be our own. + +Captain Carey and I were standing at the altar of the old church some +minutes before the bridal procession appeared. He looked pale, but wound +up to a high pitch of resolute courage. The church was nearly full of +eager spectators, all of whom I had known from my childhood--faces that +would have crowded about me, had I been standing in the bridegroom's +place. Far back, half sheltered by a pillar, I saw the white head and +handsome face of my father, with Kate Daltrey by his side; but though +the church was so full, nobody had entered the same pew. His name had +not been once mentioned in my hearing. As far as his old circle in +Guernsey was concerned, Dr. Dobree was dead. + +At length Julia appeared, pale like the bridegroom, but dignified and +prepossessing. She did not glance at me; she evidently gave no thought +to me. That was well, and as it should be. If any fancy had been +lingering in my head that she still regretted somewhat the exchange she +had made, that fancy vanished forever. Julia's expression, when Captain +Carey drew her hand through his arm, and led her down the aisle to the +vestry, was one of unmixed contentment. + +Yet there was a pang in it--reason as I would, there was a pang in it +for me. I should have liked her to glance once at me, with a troubled +and dimmed eye. I should have liked a shade upon her face as I wrote my +name below hers in the register. But there was nothing of the kind. She +gave me the kiss, which I demanded as her cousin Martin, without +embarrassment, and after that she put her hand again upon the +bridegroom's arm, and marched off with him to the carriage. + +A whole host of us accompanied the bridal pair to the pier, and saw them +start off on their wedding-trip, with a pyramid of bouquets before them +on the deck of the steamer. We ran round to the light-house, and waved +out hats and handkerchiefs as long as they were in sight. That duty +done, the rest of the day was our own. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FORTY-NINTH. + +A TELEGRAM IN PATOIS. + + +What a long day it was! How the hours seemed to double themselves, and +creep along at the slowest pace they could! + +I had had some hope of running over to Sark to see Tardif, but that +could not be. I was needed too much by the party that had been left +behind by Captain Carey and Julia. We tried to while away the time by a +drive round the island, and by visiting many of my old favorite haunts; +but I could not be myself. + +Everybody rallied me on my want of spirits, but I found it impossible to +shake off my depression. I was glad when the day was over, and Johanna +and I were left in the quiet secluded house in the Vale, where the moan +of the sea sighed softly through the night air. + +"This has been a trying day for you, Martin," said Johanna. + +"Yes," I answered; "though I can hardly account for my own depression. +Johanna, in another fortnight I shall learn where Olivia is. I want to +find a home for her. Just think of her desolate position! She has no +friends but Tardif and me; and you know how the world would talk if I +were too openly her friend. Indeed, I do not wish her to come to live in +London; the trial would be too great for me. I could not resist the +desire to see her, to speak to her--and that would be fatal to her. +Dearest Johanna, I want such a home as this for her." + +Johanna made no reply, and I could not see her face in the dim moonlight +which filled the room. I knelt down beside her, to urge my petition more +earnestly. + +"Your name would be such a protection to her." I went on, "this house +such a refuge! If my mother were living, I would ask her to receive her. +You have been almost as good to me as my mother. Save me, save Olivia +from the difficulty I see before us." + +"Will you never get over this unfortunate affair?"' she asked, half +angrily. + +"Never!" I said; "Olivia is so dear to me that I am afraid of harming +her by my love. Save her from me, Johanna. You have it in your power. I +should be happy if I knew she was here with you. I implore you, for my +mother's sake, to receive Olivia into your home." + +"She shall come to me," said Johanna, after a few minutes' silence. I +was satisfied, though the consent was given with a sigh. I knew that, +before long, Johanna would be profoundly attached to my Olivia. + +It was almost midnight the next day when I reached Brook Street, where I +found Jack expecting my return. He had bought, in honor of it, some +cigars of special quality, over which I was to tell him all the story of +Julia's wedding. But a letter was waiting for me, directed in queer, +crabbed handwriting, and posted in Jersey a week before. It had been so +long on the road in consequence of the bad penmanship of the address. I +opened it carelessly as I answered Jack's first inquiries; but the +instant I saw the signature I held up my hand to silence him. It was +from Tardif. This is a translation: + + + "DEAR DOCTOR AND FRIEND: This day I received a letter from + mam'zelle; quite a little letter with only a few lines in it. + She says, 'Come to me. My husband has found me; he is here. I + have no friends but you and one other, and I cannot send for + him. You said you would come to me whenever I wanted you. I + have not time to write more. I am in a little village called + Ville-en-bois, between Granville and Noireau. Come to the + house of the cure; I am there.' + + "Behold, I am gone, dear monsieur. I write this in my boat, + for we are crossing to Jersey to catch the steamboat to + Granville. To-morrow evening I shall be in Ville-en-bois. Will + you learn the law of France about this affair? They say the + code binds a woman to follow her husband wherever he goes. At + London you can learn any thing. Believe me, I will protect + mam'zelle, or I should say madame, at the loss of my life. + Write to me as soon as you receive this. There will be an inn + at Ville-en-bois; direct to me there. Take courage, monsieur. + Your devoted TARDIF." + +"I must go!" I exclaimed, starting to my feet, about to rush out of the +house. + +"Where?" cried Jack, catching my arm between both his hands, and holding +me fast. + +"To Olivia," I answered; "that villain, that scoundrel has hunted her +out in Normandy. Read that, Jack. Let me go." + +"Stay!" he said; "there is no chance of going so late as this; it is +after twelve o'clock. Let us think a few minutes, and look at Bradshaw." + +But at that moment a furious peal of the bell rang through the house. +We both ran into the hall. The servant had just opened the door, and a +telegraph-clerk stood on the steps, with a telegram, which he thrust +into his hands. It was directed to me. I tore it open. "From Jean +Grimont, Granville, to Dr. Dobree. Brook Street, London." I did not know +any Jean Grimont, of Granville, it was the name of a stranger to me. A +message was written underneath in Norman _patois_, but so mispelt and +garbled in its transmission that I could not make out the sense of it. +The only words I was sure about were "mam'zelle," "Foster," "Tardif," +and "_a l'agonie_." Who was on the point of death I could not tell. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIRST. + +OLIVIA'S JUSTIFICATION. + + +I know that in the eyes of the world I was guilty of a great fault--a +fault so grave that society condemns it bitterly. How shall I justify +myself before those who believe a woman owes her whole self to her +husband, whatever his conduct to her may be? That is impossible. To them +I merely plead "guilty," and say nothing of extenuating circumstances. + +But there are others who will listen, and be sorry for me. There are +women like Johanna Carey, who will pity me, and lay the blame where it +ought to lie. + +I was little more than seventeen when I was married; as mere a child as +any simple, innocent girl of seventeen among you. I knew nothing of what +life was, or what possibilities of happiness or misery it contained. I +married to set away from a home that had been happy, but which had +become miserable. This was how it was: + +My own mother died when I was too young a child to feel her loss. For +many years after that, my father and I lived alone together on one of +the great sheep-farms of Adelaide, which belonged to him, and where he +made all the fortune that he left me. A very happy life, very free, with +no trammels of society and no fetters of custom; a simple, rustic life, +which gave me no preparation for the years that came after it. + +When I was thirteen my father married again--for my sake, and mine +only. I knew afterward that he was already foreseeing his death, and +feared to leave me alone in the colony. He thought his second wife would +be a mother to me, at the age when I most needed one. He died two years +after, leaving me to her care. He died more peacefully than he could +have done, because of that. This he said to me the very last day of his +life. Ah! I trust the dead do not know the troubles that come to the +living. It would have troubled my father--nay, it would have been +anguish to him, even in heaven itself, if he could have seen my life +after he was gone. It is no use talking or thinking about it. After two +wretched years I was only too glad to be married, and get away from the +woman who owed almost the duty of a mother to me. + +Richard Foster was a nephew of my step-mother, the only man I was +allowed to see. He was almost twice my age; but he had pleasant manners, +and a smooth, smooth tongue. I believed he loved me, he swore it so +often and so earnestly; and I was in sore need of love. I wanted some +one to take care of me, and think of me, and comfort me, as my father +had been used to do. So much alone, so desolate I had been since his +death, no one caring whether I were happy or miserable, ill or well, +that I felt grateful to Richard Foster when he said he loved me. He +seemed to come in my father's stead, and my step-mother urged and +hurried on our marriage, and I did not know what I was doing. The +trustees who had charge of my property left me to the care of my +father's widow. That was how I came to marry him when I was only a girl +of seventeen, with no knowledge of the world but what I had learned on +my father's sheep-run. + +It was a horrible, shameful thing, if you will only think of it. There +was I, an ignorant, unconscious, bewildered girl, with the film of +childhood over my eyes still; and there was he, a crafty, unprincipled, +double-tongued adventurer, who was in love with my fortune, not with me. +As quickly as he could carry me off from my home, and return to his own +haunts in Europe, he brought me away from the colony, where all whom I +could ever call friends were living. I was utterly alone with him--at +his mercy. There was not an ear that I could whisper a complaint to; not +one face that would look at me in pity and compassion. My father had +been a good man, single-hearted, high-minded, and chivalrous. This man +laughed at all honor and conscience scornfully. + +I cannot tell you the shock and horror of it. I had not known there were +such places and such people in the world, until I was thrust suddenly +into the midst of them; innocent at first, like the child I was, but the +film soon passed away from my eyes. I grew to loathe myself as well as +him. How would an angel feel, who was forced to go down to hell, and +become like the lost creatures there, remembering all the time the +undefiled heaven he was banished from? I was no angel, but I had been a +simple, unsullied, clear-minded girl, and I found myself linked in +association with men and women such as frequent the gambling-places on +the Continent. For we lived upon the Continent, going from one +gambling-place to another. How was a girl like me to possess her own +soul, and keep it pure, when it belonged to a man like Richard Foster? + +There was one more injury and degradation for me to suffer. I recollect +the first moment I saw the woman who wrought me so much misery +afterward. We were staying in Homburg for a few weeks at a hotel; and +she was seated at a little table in a window, not far from the one where +we were sitting. A handsome, bold-looking, arrogant woman. They had +known one another years before, it seemed. He said she was his cousin. +He left me to go and speak to her, and I watched them, though I did not +know then that any thing more would come of it than a casual +acquaintance. I saw his face grow animated, and his eyes look into hers, +with an expression that stirred something like jealousy within me, if +jealousy can exist without love. When he returned to me, he told me he +had invited her to join us as my companion. She came to us that evening. + +She never left us after that. I was too young, he said, to be left alone +in foreign towns while he was attending to his business, and his cousin +would be the most suitable person to take care of me. I hated the woman +instinctively. She was civil to me just at first, but soon there was +open war between us, at which he laughed only; finding amusement for +himself in my fruitless efforts to get rid of her. After a while I +discovered it could only be by setting myself free from him. + +Now judge me. Tell me what I was bound to do. Three voices I hear speak. + +One says: "You, a poor hasty girl, very weak yet innocent, ought to have +remained in the slough, losing day by day your purity, your worth, your +nobleness, till you grew like your companions. You had vowed ignorantly, +with a profound ignorance it might be, to obey and honor this man till +death parted you. You had no right to break that vow." + +Another says: "You should have made of yourself a spy, you should have +laid traps; you should have gathered up every scrap of evidence you +could find against them, that might have freed you in a court of law." + +A third says: "It was right for you, for the health of your soul, and +the deliverance of your whole self from an intolerable bondage, to break +the ignorantly-taken vow, and take refuge in flight. No soul can be +bound irrevocably to another for its own hurt and ruin." + +I listened then, as I should listen now, to the third voice. The chance +came to me just before I was one-and-twenty. They were bent upon +extorting from me that portion of my father's property which would come +to me, and be solely in my own power, when I came of age. It had been +settled upon me in such a way, that if I were married my husband could +not touch it without my consent. + +I must make this quite clear. One-third, of my fortune was so settled +that I myself could not take any portion of it save the interest; but +the other two-thirds were absolutely mine, whether I was married or +single. By locking up one-third, my father had sought to provide against +the possibility of my ever being reduced to poverty. The rest was my +own, to keep if I pleased; to give up to my husband if I pleased. + +At first they tried what fair words and flattery would do with me. Then +they changed their tactics. They brought me over to London, where not a +creature knew me. They made me a prisoner in dull, dreary rooms, where I +had no employment and no resources. That is, the woman did it. My +husband, after settling us in a house in London, disappeared, and I saw +no more of him. I know now he wished to keep himself irresponsible for +my imprisonment. She would have been the scape-goat, had any legal +difficulties arisen. He was anxious to retain all his rights over me. + +I can see how subtle he was. Though my life was a daily torture, there +was positively nothing I could put into words against him--nothing that +would have authorized me to seek a legal separation. I did not know any +thing of the laws, how should I? except the fact which he dinned into my +ears that he could compel me to live with him. But I know now that the +best friends in the world could not have saved me from him in any other +way than the one I took. He kept within the letter of the law. He +forfeited no atom of his claim upon me. + +Then God took me by the hand, and led me into a peaceful and untroubled +refuge, until I had gathered strength again. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SECOND. + +ON THE WING AGAIN. + + +How should I see that Dr. Martin Dobree was falling in love with me? I +was blind to it; strangely blind those wise people will think, who say a +woman always knows when a man loves her. I knew so well that all my life +was shut out from the ordinary hopes and prospects of girlhood, that I +never realized the fact that to him I was a young girl whom he might +love honorably, were he once set free from his engagement to his cousin +Julia. + +I had not looked for any trouble of that kind. He had been as kind to me +as any brother could have been--kind, and chivalrous, and considerate. +The first time I saw him I was weak and worn out with great pain, and my +mind seemed wandering. His face came suddenly and distinctly before me; +a pleasant face, though neither handsome nor regular in features. It +possessed great vivacity and movement, changing readily, and always full +of expression. He looked at me so earnestly and compassionately, his +dark eyes seeming to search for the pain I was suffering, that I felt +perfect confidence in him at once. I was vaguely conscious of his close +attendance, and unremitting care, during the whole week that I lay ill. +All this placed us on very pleasant terms of familiarity and friendship. + +How grieved I was when this friendship came to an end--when he confessed +his unfortunate love to me--it is impossible for me to say. Such a +thought had never crossed my mind. Not until I saw the expression on his +face, when he called to us from the shore to wait for him, and waded +eagerly through the water to us, and held my hands fast as I helped him +into the boat--not till then did I suspect his secret. Poor Martin! + +Then there came the moment when I was compelled to say to him. "I was +married four years ago, and my husband is still living"--a very bitter +moment to me; perhaps more bitter than to him. I knew we must see one +another no more; and I who was so poor in friends, lost the dearest of +them by those words. That was a great shock to me. + +But the next day came the second shock of meeting Kate Daltrey, my +husband's half-sister. Martin had told me that there was a person in +Guernsey who had traced my flight so far; but in my trouble and sorrow +for him, I had not thought much of this intelligence. I saw in an +instant that I had lost all again, my safety, my home, my new friends. I +must flee once more, alone and unaided, leaving no trace behind me. When +old Mother Renouf, whom Tardif had set to watch me for very fear of this +mischance, had led me away from Kate Daltrey to the cottage, I sought +out Tardif at once. + +He was down at the water's edge, mending his boat, which lay with its +keel upward. He heard my footsteps among the pebbles, and turned round +to greet me with one of his grave smiles, which had never failed me +whenever I went to him. + +"Mam'zelle is triste," he said; "is there any thing I can do for you?" + +"I must go away from here, Tardif," I answered, with a choking voice. + +A change swept quickly across his face, but he passed his hand for a +moment over it, and then regarded me again with his grave smile. + +"For what reason, mam'zelle?" he asked. + +"Oh! I must tell you every thing!" I cried. + +"Tell me every thing," he repeated; "it shall be buried here, in my +heart, as if it was buried in the depths of the sea. I will try not to +think of it even, if you bid me. I am your friend as well as your +servant." + +Then leaning against his boat, for I could not control my trembling, I +told him almost all about my wretched life, from which God had delivered +me, leading me to him for shelter and comfort. He listened with his eyes +cast down, never once raising them to my face, and in perfect silence, +except that once or twice he groaned within himself, and clinched his +hard hands together. I know that I could never have told my history to +any other man as I told it to him, a homely peasant and fisherman, but +with as noble and gentle a heart as ever beat. + +"You must go," he said, when I had finished. His voice was hollow and +broken, but the words were spoken distinctly enough for me to hear them. + +"Yes, there is no help for me," I answered; "there is no rest for me but +death." + +"It would be better to die," he said, solemnly, "than return to a life +like that. I would sooner bury you up yonder, in our little graveyard, +than give you up to your husband." + +"You will help me to get away at once?" I asked. + +"At once," he repeated, in the same broken voice. His face looked gray, +and his mouth twitched. He leaned against his boat, as if he could +hardly stand; as I was doing myself, for I felt utterly weak and shaken. + +"How soon?" I asked. + +"To-morrow I will row you to Guernsey in time for the packet to +England," he answered. Mon Dieu! how little I thought what I was mending +my boat for! Mam'zelle, is there nothing, nothing in the world I can do +for you?" + +"Nothing, Tardif," I said, sorrowfully. + +"Nothing!" he assented, dropping his head down upon his hands. No, there +was positively nothing he could do for me. There was no person on the +face of the earth who could help me. + +"My poor Tardif," I said, laying my hand on his shoulder, "I am a great +trouble to you." + +"I cannot bear to let you go in this way," he replied, without looking +up. "If it had been to marry Dr. Martin--why, then--but you have to go +alone, poor little child!" + +"Yes," I said, "alone." + +After that we were both silent for some minutes. We could hear the +peaceful lapping of the water at our feet, and its boom against the +rocks, and the shrieking of the sea-gulls; but there was utter silence +between us two. I felt as if it would break my heart to leave this +place, and go whither I knew not. Yet there was no alternative. + +"Tardif," I said at last, "I will go first to London. It is so large a +place, nobody will find me there. Besides, they would never think of me +going back to London. When I am there I will try to get a situation as +governess somewhere. I could teach little children; and if I go into a +school there will be no one to fall in love with me, like Dr. Martin. I +am very sorry for him." + +"Sorry for him!" repeated Tardif. + +"Yes, very sorry," I replied; "it is as if I must bring trouble +everywhere. You are troubled, and I cannot help it." + +"I have only had one trouble as great," he said, as if to himself, "and +that was when my poor little wife died. I wish to God I could keep you +here in safety, but that is impossible." + +"Quite impossible," I answered. + +Yet it seemed too bad to be true. What had I done, to be driven away +from this quiet little home into the cold, wide world? Poor and +friendless, after all my father's far-seeing plans and precautions to +secure me from poverty and friendlessness! What was to be my lot in that +dismal future, over the rough threshold of which I must cross to-morrow? + +Tardif and I talked it all over that evening, sitting at the +cottage-door until the last gleam of daylight had faded from the sky. He +had some money in hand just then, which he had intended to invest the +next time he went to Guernsey, and could see his notary. This money, +thirty pounds, he urged me to accept as a gift; but I insisted upon +leaving with him my watch and chain in pledge, until I could repay the +money. It would be a long time before I could do that, I knew; for I was +resolved never to return to Richard Foster, and to endure any privation +rather than claim my property. + +I left Tardif after a while, to pack up my very few possessions. We did +not tell his mother that I was going, for he said it would be better +not. In the morning he would simply let her know I was going over to +Guernsey. No communication had ever passed between the old woman and me +except by signs, yet I should miss even her in that cold, careless crowd +in which I was about to be lost, in the streets of London. + +We started at four in the morning, while the gray sky was dappled over +with soft clouds, and the sea itself seemed waking up from sleep, as if +it too had been slumbering through the night. The morning mist upon the +cliffs made them look mysterious, as if they had some secrets to +conceal. Untrodden tracks climbed the surface of the rocks, and were +lost in the fine filmy haze. The water looked white and milky, with +lines across it like the tracks on the cliffs, which no human foot could +tread; and the tide was coming back to the shore with a low, tranquil, +yet sad moan. The sea-gulls skimmed past us with their white wings, +almost touching us; their plaintive wailing seeming to warn us of the +treachery and sorrow of the sea. I was not afraid of the treachery of +the sea, yet I could not bear to hear them, nor could Tardif. + +We landed at one of the stone staircases running up the side of the pier +at Guernsey; for we were only just in time for the steamer. The steps +were slimy and wet with seaweed, but Tardif's hand grasped mine firmly. +He pushed his way through the crowd of idlers who were watching the +lading of the cargo, and took me down immediately into the cabin. + +"Good-by, mam'zelle," he said; "I must leave you. Send for me, or come +to me, if you are in trouble and I can do any thing for you. If it were +to Australia, I would follow you. I know I am only fit to be your +servant, but all the same I am your friend. You have a little regard for +me, mam'zelle?" + +"O Tardif!" I sobbed, "I love you very dearly." + +"Now that makes me glad," he said, holding my hand between his, and +looking down at me with tears in his eyes; "you said that from your good +heart, mam'zelle. When I am out alone in my boat, I shall think of it, +and in the long winter nights by the fire, when there is no little +mam'zelle to come and talk to me, I shall say to myself, 'She loves you +very dearly.' Good-by, mam'zelle. God be with you and protect you!" + +"Good-by," I said, with a sore grief in my heart, "good-by, Tardif. It +is very dreadful to be alone again." + +There was no time to say more, for a bell rang loudly on deck, and we +heard the cry, "All friends on shore!" Tardif put his lips to my hand, +and left me. I was indeed alone. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRD. + +IN LONDON LODGINGS. + + +Once more I found myself in London, a city so strange to me that I did +not know the name of any street in it. I had more acquaintance with +almost every great city on the Continent. Fortunately, Tardif had given +me the address of a boarding-house, or rather a small family hotel, +where he had stayed two or three times, and I drove there at once. It +was in a quiet back street, within sound of St. Paul's clock. The hour +was so late, nearly midnight, that I was looked upon with suspicion, as +a young woman travelling alone, and with little luggage. It was only +when I mentioned Tardif, whose island bearing had made him noticeable +among the stream of strangers passing through the house, that the +mistress of the place consented to take me in. + +This was my first difficulty, but not the last. By the advice of the +mistress of the boarding-house, I went to several governess agencies, +which were advertising for teachers in the daily papers. At most of +these they would not even enter my name, as soon as I confessed my +inability to give one or two references to persons who would vouch for +my general character, and my qualifications. This was a fatal +impediment, and one that had never occurred to me; yet the request was a +reasonable one, even essential. What could be more suspicious than a +girl of my age without a friend to give a guarantee of her +respectability? There seemed no hope whatever of my entering into the +ill-paid ranks of governesses. + +When a fortnight had passed with no opening for me, I felt it necessary +to leave the boarding-house which had been my temporary home. I must +economize my funds, for I did not know how long I must make them hold +out. Wandering about the least fashionable suburbs, where lodgings would +cost least, I found a bedroom in the third story of a house in a +tolerably respectable street. The rent was six shillings a week, to be +paid in advance. In this place, I entered upon a new phase of life, so +different from that in Sark that, in the delusions which solitude often +brings, I could not always believe myself the same person. + +A dreamy, solitary, gloomy life; shut in upon myself, with no outlet for +association with my fellow creatures. My window opened upon a back-yard, +with a row of half-built houses standing opposite to it. These houses +had been left half-finished, and were partly falling into ruin. A row of +bare, empty window-frames faced me whenever I turned my wearied eyes to +the scene without. Not a sound or sign of life was there about them. +Within, my room was; small and scantily furnished, yet there was +scarcely space enough for me to move about it. There was no table for me +to take my meals at, except the top of the crazy chest of drawers, which +served as my dressing-table. One chair, broken in the back, and tied +together with a faded ribbon, was the only seat, except my box, which, +set in a corner where I could lean against the wall, made me the most +comfortable place for resting. There was a little rusty grate, but it +was still summer-time, and there was no need of a fire. A fire indeed +would have been insupportable, for the sultry, breathless atmosphere of +August, with the fever-heat of its sun burning in the narrow streets and +close yards, made the temperature as parching as an oven. I panted for +the cool cliffs and sweet fresh air of Sark. + +In this feverish solitude one day dragged itself after another with +awful monotony. As they passed by, the only change they brought was that +the sultry heat grew ever cooler, and the long days shorter. The winter +seemed inclined to set in early, and with unusual rigor, for a month +before the usual time fires became necessary. I put off lighting mine, +for fear of the cost, until my sunless little room under the roof was +almost like an ice-house. A severe cold, which made me afraid of having +to call in a doctor, compelled me to have a fire; and the burning of it, +and the necessity of tending it, made it like a second person and +companion in the lonely place. Hour after hour I sat in front of it on +my box, with my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands, watching the +changeful scenery of its embers, and the exquisite motion of the flames, +and the upward rolling of the tiny columns of smoke, and the fiery, +gorgeous colors that came and went with a breath. To see the tongues of +fire lap round the dull, black coal, and run about it, and feel it, and +kindle it with burning touches, and never quit it till it was glowing +and fervid, and aflame like themselves--that was my sole occupation for +hours together. + +Think what a dreary life for a young girl! I was as fond of +companionship, and needed love, as much as any girl. Was it strange that +my thoughts dwelt somewhat dangerously upon the pleasant, peaceful days +in Sark? + +When I awoke in the morning to a voiceless, solitary, idle day, how +could I help thinking of Martin Dobree, of Tardif, even of old Mother +Renouf, with her wrinkled face and her significant nods and becks? +Martin Dobree's pleasant face would come before me, with his eyes +gleaming so kindly under his square forehead, and his lips moving +tremulously with every change of feeling. Had he gone back to his cousin +Julia again, and were they married? I ought not to feel any sorrow at +that thought. His path had run side by side with mine for a little +while, but always with a great barrier between us; and now they had +diverged, and must grow farther and farther apart, never to touch again. +Yet, how my father would have loved him had he known him! How securely +he would have trusted to his care for me! But stop! There was folly and +wickedness in thinking that way. Let me make an end of that. + +There was no loneliness like that loneliness. Twice a day I exchanged a +word or two with the overworked drudge of a servant in the house where I +lived; but I had no other voice to speak to me. No wonder that my +imagination sometimes ran in forbidden and dangerous channels. + +When I was not thinking and dreaming thus, a host of anxieties crowded +about me. My money was melting away again, though slowly, for I denied +myself every thing but the bare necessaries of life. What was to become +of me when it was all gone? It was the old question; but the answer was +as difficult to find as ever. I was ready for any kind of work, but no +chance of work came to me. With neither work nor money, what was I to +do? What was to be the end of it? + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTH. + +RIDLEY'S AGENCY-OFFICE. + + +Now and then, when I ventured out into the streets, a panic would seize +me, a dread unutterably great, that I might meet my husband amid the +crowd. I did not even know that he was in London; he had always spoken +of it as a place he detested. His habits made the free, unconventional +life upon the Continent more agreeable to him. How he was living now, +what he was doing, where he was, were so many enigmas to me; and I did +not care to run any risk in finding out the answers to them. Twice I +passed the Bank of Australia, where very probably. I could have learned +if he was in the same city as myself; but I dared not do it, and as soon +as I knew how to avoid that street, I never passed along it. + +I had been allowed to leave my address with the clerk of a large general +agency in the city, when I had not been permitted to enter my name in +the books for want of a reference. Toward the close of October I +received a note from him, desiring me to call at the office at two +o'clock the following afternoon, without fail. + +No danger of my failing to keep such an appointment! I felt in better +spirits that night than I had done since I had been driven from Sark. +There was an opening for me, a chance of finding employment, and I +resolved beforehand to take it, whatever it might be. + +It was an agency for almost every branch of employment not actually +menial, from curates to lady's-maids, and the place of business was a +large one. There were two entrances, and two distinct compartments, at +the opposite ends of the building; but a broad, long counter ran the +whole length of it, and a person at one end could see the applicants at +the other as they stood by the counter. The compartment into which I +entered was filled with a crowd of women, waiting their turn to transact +their business. Behind the counter were two or three private boxes, in +which employers might see the candidates, and question them on the spot. +A lady was at that moment examining a governess, in a loud, imperious +voice which we could all hear distinctly. My heart sank at the idea of +passing through such a cross-examination as to my age, my personal +history, my friends, and a number of particulars foreign to the question +of whether I was fit for the work I offered myself for. + +At last I heard the imperious voice say, "You may go. I do not think you +will suit me," and a girl of about my own age came away from the +interview, pale and trembling, and with tears stealing down her cheeks. +A second girl was summoned to go through the same ordeal. + +What was I to do if this person, unseen in her chamber of torture, was +the lady I had been summoned to meet? + +It was a miserable sight, this crowd of poor women seeking work, and my +spirits sank like lead. A set of mournful, depressed, broken-down women! +There was not one I would have chosen to be a governess for my girls. +Those who were not dispirited were vulgar and self-asserting; a class +that wished to rise above the position they were fitted for by becoming +teachers. These were laughing loudly among themselves at the +cross-questioning going on so calmly within their hearing. I shrank away +into a corner, until my turn to speak to the busy clerk should come. + +I had a long time to wart. The office clock pointed to half-past three +before I caught the clerk's eye, and saw him beckon me up to the +counter. I had thrown back my veil, for here I was perfectly safe from +recognition. At the other end of the counter, in the compartment devoted +to curates, doctors' assistants, and others, there stood a young man in +earnest consultation with another clerk. He looked earnestly at me, but +I was sure he could not know me. + +"Miss Ellen Martineau?" said the clerk. That was my mother's name, and I +had adopted it for my own, feeling as if I had some right to it. + +"Yes," I answered. + +"Would you object to go into a French school as governess?" he inquired. + +"Not in the least," I said, eagerly. + +"And pay a small premium?" he added. "How much?" I asked, my spirits +falling again. + +"A mere trifle," he said; "about ten pounds or so for twelve months. You +would perfect yourself in French, you know; and you would gain a referee +for the future." + +"I must think about it," I replied. + +"Well, there is the address of a lady who can give you all the +particulars," he said, handing me a written paper. + +I left the office heavy-hearted. Ten pounds would be more than the half +of the little store left to me. Yet, would it not be wiser to secure a +refuge and shelter for twelve months than run the risk of hearing of +some other situation? I walked slowly along the street toward the busier +thoroughfares, with my head bent down and my mind busy, when suddenly a +heavy hand was laid upon my arm, grasping it with crushing force, and a +harsh, thick voice shouted triumphantly in my ear: + +"The devil! I've caught you at last!" + +It was like the bitterness of death, that chill and terror sweeping over +me. My husband's hot breath was upon my cheek, and his eyes were looking +closely into mine. But before I could speak his grasp was torn away from +me, and he was sent whirling into the middle of the road. I turned, +almost in equal terror, to see who had thrust himself between us. It was +the stranger whom I had seen in the agency-office. But his face was now +dark with passion, and as my husband staggered back again toward us, his +hand was ready to thrust him away a second time. + +"She's my wife," he stammered, trying to get past the stranger to me. By +this time a knot of spectators had formed about us, and a policeman had +come up. The stranger drew my arm through his, and faced them defiantly. + +"He's a drunken vagabond!" he said; "he has just come out of those +spirit-vaults. This young lady is no more his wife than she is mine, and +I know no more of her than that she has just come away from Ridley's +office, where she has been looking after a situation. Good Heavens! +cannot a lady walk through the streets of London without being insulted +by a drunken scoundrel like that"?" + +"Will you give him in charge, sir?" asked the policeman, while Richard +Foster was making vain efforts to speak coherently, and explain his +claim upon me. I clung to the friendly arm that had come to my aid, sick +and almost speechless with fear. + +"Shall I give him in charge?" he asked me. + +"I have only just heard of a situation," I whispered, unable to speak +aloud. + +"And you are afraid of losing it?" he said; "I understand.--Take the +fellow away, policeman, and lock him up if you can for being drunk and +disorderly in the streets; but the lady won't give him in charge. I've a +good mind to make him go down on his knees and beg her pardon." + +"Do, do!" said two or three voices in the crowd. + +"Don't," I whispered again, "oh! take me away quickly." + +He cleared a passage for us both with a vigor and decision that there +was no resisting. I glanced back for an instant, and saw my husband +struggling with the policeman, the centre of the knot of bystanders from +which I was escaping. He looked utterly unlike a gay, prosperous, +wealthy man, with a well-filled purse, such as he had used to appear. He +was shabby and poor enough now for the policeman to be very hard upon +him, and to prevent him from following me. The stranger kept my hand +firmly on his arm, and almost carried me into Fleet Street, where, in a +minute or two we were quite lost in the throng, and I was safe from all +pursuit. + +"You are not fit to go on," he said, kindly; "come out of the noise a +little." + +He led me down a covered passage between two shops, into a quiet cluster +of squares and gardens, where only a subdued murmur of the uproar of the +streets reached us. There were a sufficient number of passers-by to +prevent it seeming lonely, but we could hear our own voices, and those +of others, even in whispers. + +"This is the Temple," he said, smiling, "a fit place for a sanctuary." + +"I do not know how to thank you," I answered falteringly. + +"You are trembling still!" he replied; "how lucky it was that I +followed you directly out of Ridley's! If I ever come across that +scoundrel again, I shall know him, you may be sure. I wish we were a +little nearer home, you should go in to rest; but our house is in Brook +Street, and we have no women-kind belonging to us. My name is John +Senior. Perhaps you have heard of my father, Dr. Senior, of Brook +Street?" + +"No." I replied, "I know nobody in London." + +"That's bad," he said. "I wish I was Jane Senior instead of John Senior; +I do indeed. Do you feel better now, Miss Martineau?" + +"How do you know my name?" I asked. + +"The clerk at Ridley's called you Miss Ellen Martineau," he answered. +"My hearing is very good, and I was not deeply engrossed in my business. +I heard and saw a good deal while I was there, and I am very glad I +heard and saw you. Do you feel well enough now for me to see you home?" + +"Oh! I cannot let you see me home," I said, hurriedly. + +"I will do just what you like best." he replied. "I have no more right +to annoy you than that drunken vagabond had. If I did, I should be more +blamable than he was. Tell me what I shall do for you then. Shall I call +a cab?" + +I hesitated, for my funds were low, and would be almost spent by the +time I had paid the premium of ten pounds, and my travelling expenses; +yet I dared not trust myself either in the streets or in an omnibus. I +saw my new friend regard me keenly; my dress, so worn and faded, and my +old-fashioned bonnet. A smile flickered across his face. He led me back +into Fleet Street, and called an empty cab that was passing by. We shook +hands warmly. There was no time for loitering; and I told him the name +of the suburb where I was living, and he repeated it to the cabman. + +"All right," he said, speaking through the window, "the fare is paid, +and I've taken cabby's number. If he tries to cheat you, let me know; +Dr. John Senior, Brook Street. I hope that situation will be a good one, +and very pleasant. Good-by." + +"Good-by," I cried, leaning forward and looking at his face till the +crowd came between us, and I lost sight of it. It was a handsomer face +than Dr. Martin Dobree's, and had something of the same genial, +vivacious light about it. I knew it well afterward, but I had not +leisure to think much of it then. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTH. + +BELLRINGER STREET. + + +I was still trembling with the terror that my meeting with Richard +Foster had aroused. A painful shuddering agitated me, and my heart +fluttered with an excess of fear which I could not conquer. I could +still feel his grasp upon my arm, where the skin was black with the +mark; and there was before my eyes the sight of his haggard and enraged +face, as he struggled to get free from the policeman. When he was sober +would he recollect all that had taken place, and go to make inquiries +after me at Ridley's agency-office? Dr. John Senior had said he had +followed me from there. I scarcely believed he would. Yet there was a +chance of it, a deadly chance to me. If so, the sooner I could fly from +London and England the better. + +I felt safer when the cabman set me down at the house where I lodged, +and I ran up-stairs to my little room. I kindled the fire, which had +gone out during my absence, and set my little tin tea-kettle upon the +first clear flame which burned up amid the coal. Then I sat down on my +box before it, thinking. + +Yes; I must leave London. I must take this situation, the only one open +to me, in a school in France. I should at least be assured of a home for +twelve months; and, as the clerk had said, I should perfect myself in +French and gain a referee. I should be earning a character, in fact. At +present I had none, and so was poorer than the poorest servant-maid. No +character, no name, no money; who could be poorer than the daughter of +the wealthy colonist, who had owned thousands of acres in Adelaide? I +almost laughed and cried hysterically at the thought of my father's vain +care and provision for my future. + +But the sooner I fled from London again the better, now that I knew my +husband was somewhere in it and might be upon my track. I unfolded the +paper on which was written the name of the lady to whom I was to apply. +Mrs. Wilkinson. 19 Bellringer Street. I ran down to the sitting-room, to +ask my landlady where it was, and told her, in my new hopefulness, that +I had heard of a situation in France. Bellringer Street was less than a +mile away, she said. I could be there before seven o'clock, not too late +perhaps for Mrs. Wilkinson to give me an interview. + +A thick yellow fog had come in with nightfall--a fog that could almost +be tasted and smelt--but it did not deter me from my object. I inquired +my way of every policeman I met, and at length entered the street. The +fog hid the houses from my view, but I could see that some of the lower +windows were filled with articles for sale, as if they were shops +struggling into existence. It was not a fashionable street, and Mrs. +Wilkinson could not be a very aristocratic person. + +No. 19 was not difficult to find, and I pulled the bell-handle with a +gentle and quiet pull, befitting my errand. I repeated this several +times without being admitted, when it struck me that the wire might be +broken. Upon that I knocked as loudly as I could upon the panels of the +broad old door; a handsome, heavy door, such as are to be found in the +old streets of London, from which the tide of fashion has ebbed away. A +slight, thin child in rusty mourning opened it, with the chain across, +and asked who I was in a timid voice. + +"Does Mrs. Wilkinson live here?" I asked. + +"Yes," said the child. + +"Who is there?" I heard a voice calling shrilly from within; not an +English voice, I felt sure, for each word was uttered distinctly and +slowly. + +"I am come about a school in France," I said to the child. + +"Oh! I'll let you in," she answered, eagerly; "she will see you about +that, I'm sure. I'm to go with you, if you go." + +She let down the chain, and opened the door. There was a dim light +burning in the hall, which looked shabby and poverty-stricken. There was +no carpet upon the broad staircase, and nothing but worn-out oil-cloth +on the floor. I had only time to take in a vague general impression, +before the little girl conducted me to a room on the ground-floor. That +too was uncarpeted and barely furnished; but the light was low, and I +could see nothing distinctly, except the face of the child looking +wistfully at me with shy curiosity. + +"I'm to go if you go," she said again; "and, oh! I do so hope you will +agree to go." + +"I think I shall," I answered. + +"I daren't be sure," she replied, nodding her head with an air of +sagacity; "there have been four or five governesses here, and none of +them would go. You'd have to take me with you; and, oh! it is such a +lovely, beautiful place. See! here is a picture of it." + +She ran eagerly to a side-table, on which lay a book or two, one of +which she opened, and reached out a photograph, which had been laid +there for security. When she brought it to me, she stood leaning lightly +against me as we both looked at the same picture. It was a clear, +sharply-defined photograph, with shadows so dark yet distinct as to show +the clearness of the atmosphere in which it had been taken. At the left +hand stood a handsome house, with windows covered with lace curtains, +and provided with outer Venetian shutters. In the centre stood a large +square garden, with fountains, and arbors, and statues, in the French +style of gardening, evidently well kept; and behind this stood a long +building of two stories, and a steep roof with dormer windows, every +casement of which was provided, like the house in the front, with rich +lace curtains and Venetian shutters. The whole place was clearly in good +order and good taste, and looked like a very pleasant home. It would +probably be my home for a time, and I scrutinized it the more closely. +Which of those sunny casements would be mine? What nook in that garden +would become my favorite? If I could only get there undetected, how +secure and happy I might be! + +Above the photograph was written in ornamental characters, "Pensionnat +de Demoiselles, a Noireau, Calvados." Underneath it were the words, +"Fonde par M. Emile Perrier, avocat, et par son epouse." Though I knew +very little of French, I could make out the meaning of these sentences. +Monsieur Perrier was an _avocat_. Tardif had happened to speak to me +about the notaries in Guernsey, who appeared to me to be of the same +rank as our solicitors, while the _avocats_ were on a par with our +barristers. A barrister founding a boarding-school for young ladies +might be somewhat opposed to English customs, but it was clear that he +must be a man of education and position; a gentleman, in fact. + +"Isn't it a lovely place?" asked the child beside me, with a deep sigh +of longing. + +"Yes," I said; "I should like to go." + +I had had time to make all these observations before the owner of the +foreign voice, which I had heard at the door, came in. At the first +glance I knew her to be a Frenchwoman, with the peculiar yellow tone in +her skin which seems inevitable in middle-aged Frenchwomen. Her black +eyes were steady and cold, and her general expression one of +watchfulness. She had wrapped tightly about her a China crape shawl, +which had once been white, but had now the same yellow tint as her +complexion. The light was low, but she turned it a little higher, and +scrutinized me with a keen and steady gaze. + +"I have not the honor of knowing you," she said politely. + +"I come from Ridley's agency-office," I answered, "about a situation as +English teacher in a school in France." + +"Be seated, miss," she said, pointing me to a stiff, high-backed chair, +whither the little girl followed me, stroking with her hand the soft +seal-skin jacket I was wearing. + +"It is a great chance," she continued; "my friend Madame Perrier is very +good, very amiable for her teachers. She is like a sister for them. The +terms are very high, very high for France; but there is absolutely every +comfort. The arrangements are precisely like England. She has lived in +England for two years, and knows what English young ladies look for; and +the house is positively English. I suppose you could introduce a few +English pupils." + +"No," I answered, "I am afraid I could not. I am sure I could not." + +"That of course must be considered in the premium," she continued; "if +you could have introduced, say, six pupils, the premium would be low. I +do not think my friend would take one penny less than twenty pounds for +the first year, and ten for the second." + +The tears started to my eyes. I had felt so sure of going if I would pay +ten pounds, that I was quite unprepared for this disappointment. There +was still my diamond ring left; but how to dispose of it, for any thing +like its value, I did not know. It was in my purse now, with all my +small store of money, which I dared not leave behind me in my lodgings. + +"What were you prepared to give?" asked Mrs. Wilkinson, while I +hesitated. + +"The clerk at Ridley's office told me the premium would be ten pounds," +I answered; + +"I do not see how I can give more." + +"Well," she said, after musing a little, while I watched her face +anxiously, "it is time this child went. She has been here a month, +waiting for somebody to take her down to Noireau. I will agree with you, +and will explain it to Madame Perrier. How soon could you go?" + +"I should like to go to-morrow," I replied, feeling that the sooner I +quitted London the better. Mrs. Wilkinson's steady eyes fastened upon me +again with sharp curiosity. + +"Have you references, miss?" she asked. + +"No," I faltered, my hope sinking again before this old difficulty. + +"It will be necessary then," she said, "for you to give the money to me, +and I will forward it to Madame Perrier. Pardon, miss, but you perceive +I could not send a teacher to them unless I knew that she could pay the +money down. There is my commission to receive the money for my friend." + +She gave me a paper written in French, of which I could read enough to +see that it was a sort of official warrant to receive accounts for +Monsieur Perrier, _avocat_, and his wife. I did not waver any longer. +The prospect seemed too promising for me to lose it by any irresolution. +I drew out my purse, and laid down two out of the three five-pound notes +left me. She gave me a formal receipt in the names of Emile and Louise +Perrier, and her sober face wore an expression of satisfaction. + +"There! it is done," she said, wiping her pen carefully. "You will take +lessons, any lessons you please, from the professors who attend the +school. It is a grand chance, miss, a grand chance. Let us say you go +the day after to-morrow; the child will be quite ready. She is going for +four years to that splendid place, a place for ladies of the highest +degree." + +At that moment an imperious knock sounded upon the outer door, and the +little girl ran to answer it, leaving the door of our room open. A voice +which I knew well, a voice which made my heart stand still and my veins +curdle, spoke in sharp loud tones in the hall. + +"Is Mr. Foster come home yet?" were the words the terrible voice +uttered, quite close to me it seemed; so close that I shrank back +shivering as if every syllable struck a separate blow. All my senses +were awake: I could hear every sound in the hall, each step that came +nearer and nearer. Was she about to enter the room where I was sitting? +She stood still for half a minute as if uncertain what to do. + +"He is up stairs," said the child's voice. "He told me he was ill when I +opened the door for him." + +"Where is Mrs. Wilkinson?" she asked. + +"She is here," said the child, "but there's a lady with her." + +Then the woman's footsteps went on up the staircase. I listened to them +climbing up one step after another, my brain throbbing with each sound, +and I heard a door opened and closed. Mrs. Wilkinson had gone to the +door, and looked out into the hall, as if expecting some other questions +to be asked. She had not seen my panic of despair. I must get away +before I lost the use of my senses, for I felt giddy and faint. + +"I will send the child to you in a cab on Wednesday," she said, as I +stood up and made my way toward the hall; "you have not told me your +address." + +I paused for a moment. Dared I tell her my address? Yet my money was +paid, and if I did not I should lose both it and the refuge I had bought +with it. Besides, I should awaken suspicion and inquiry by silence. It +was a fearful risk to run; yet it seemed safer than a precipitous +retreat. I gave her my address, and saw her write it down on a slip of +paper. + +As I returned to my lodgings I grew calmer and more hopeful. It was not +likely that my husband would see the address, or even hear that any one +like me had been at the house. I did not suppose he would know the name +of Martineau as my mother's maiden name. As far as I recollected, I had +never spoken of her to him. Moreover he was not a man to make himself at +all pleasant and familiar with persons whom he looked upon as inferiors. +It was highly improbable that he would enter into any conversation with +his landlady. If that woman did so, all she would learn would be that a +young lady, whose name was Martineau, had taken a situation as English +teacher in a French school. What could there be in that to make her +think of me? + +I tried to soothe and reassure myself with these reasonings, but I could +not be quiet or at peace. I watched all through the next day, listening +to every sound in the house below; but no new terror assailed me. The +second night I was tranquil enough to sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTH. + +LEAVING ENGLAND. + + +I was on the rack all the next day. It was the last day I should be in +England, and I had a nervous dread of being detained. If I should once +more succeed in quitting the country undetected, it seemed as though I +might hope to be in safety in Calvados. Of Calvados I knew even less +than of the Channel Islands; I had never heard the name before. But Mrs. +Wilkinson had given me the route by which we were to reach Noireau: by +steamer to Havre, across the mouth of the Seine to Honfleur, to Falaise +by train, and finally from Falaise to Noireau by omnibus. It was an +utterly unknown region to me; and I had no reason to imagine that +Richard Foster was better acquainted with it than I. My anxiety was +simply to get clear away. + +In the afternoon the little girl arrived quite alone, except that a man +had been hired to carry a small box for her, and to deliver her into my +charge. This was a great relief to me, and I paid the shilling he +demanded gladly. The child was thinly and shabbily dressed for our long +journey, and there was a forlorn loneliness about her position, left +thus with a stranger, which touched me to the heart. We were alike poor, +helpless, friendless--I was about to say childish, and in truth I was in +many things little more than a child still. The small elf, with her +sharp, large eyes, which were too big for her thin face, crept up to +me, as the man slammed the door after him and clattered noisily +downstairs. + +"I'm so glad!" she said, with a deep-drawn sigh of relief; "I was afraid +I should never go, and school is such a heavenly place!" + +The words amused yet troubled me; they were so different from a child's +ordinary opinion. + +"It's such a hateful place at Mrs. Wilkinson's," she went on, "everybody +calling me at once, and scolding me; and there are such a many people to +run errands for. You don't know what it is to run errands when you are +tired to death. And it's such a beautiful, splendid place where we're +going to!" + +"What is your name, my dear?" I asked, sitting down on my box and taking +her on my lap. Such a thin, stunted little woman, precociously learned +in trouble! Yet she nestled in my arms like a true child, and a tear or +two rolled down her cheeks, as if from very contentment. + +"Nobody has nursed me like this since mother died," she said. "I'm +Mary; but father always called me Minima, because I was the least in the +house. He kept a boys' school out of London, in Epping Forest, you know; +and it was so heavenly! All the boys were good to me, and we used to +call father Dominie. Then he died, and mother died just before him; and +he said,'Courage, Minima! God will take care of my little girl.' So the +boys' fathers and mothers made a subscription for me, and they got a +great deal of money, a hundred pounds; and somebody told them about this +school, where I can stay four years for a hundred pounds, and they all +said that was the best thing they could do with me. But I've had to stay +with Mrs. Wilkinson nearly two months, because she could not find a +governess to go with me. I hate her; I detest her; I should like to spit +at her!" + +The little face was all aflame, and the large eyes burning. + +"Hush! hush!" I said, drawing her head down upon my shoulder again. + +"Then there is Mr. Foster," she continued, almost sobbing; "he torments +me so. He likes to make fun of me, and tease me, till I can't bear to go +into his room. Father used to say it was wicked to hate anybody, and I +didn't hate anybody then. I was so happy. But you'd hate Mr. Foster, and +Mrs. Foster, if you only knew them." + +"Why?" I asked in a whisper. My voice sounded husky to me, and my throat +felt parched. The child's impotent rage and hatred struck a slumbering +chord within me. + +"Oh! they are horrid in every way," she said, with emphasis; "they +frighten me. He is fond of tormenting any thing because he's cruel. We +had a cruel boy in our school once, so I know. But they are very +poor--poor as Job, Mrs. Wilkinson says, and I'm glad. Aren't you glad?" + +The question jarred in my memory against a passionate craving after +revenge, which had died away in the quiet and tranquillity of Sark. A +year ago I should have rejoiced in any measure of punishment or +retribution, which had overtaken those who had destroyed my happiness. +But it was not so now; or perhaps I should rather own that it was only +faintly so. It had never occurred to me that my flight would plunge him +into poverty similar to my own. But now that the idea was thrust upon +me. I wondered how I could have overlooked this necessary consequence of +my conduct. Ought I to do any thing for him? Was there any thing I could +do to help him?" + +"He is ill, too," pursued the child; "I heard him say once to Mrs. +Foster, he knew he should die like a dog. I was a little tiny bit sorry +for him then; for nobody would like to die like a dog, and not go to +heaven, you know. But I don't care now, I shall never see them +again--never, never! I could jump out of my skin for joy. I sha'n't even +know when he is dead, if he does die like a dog." + +Ill! dead! My heart beat faster and faster as I pondered over these +words. Then I should be free indeed; his death would release me from +bondage, from terror, from poverty--those three evils which dogged my +steps. I had never ventured to let my thoughts run that way, but this +child's prattling had forced them into it. Richard Foster ill--dying! O +God! what ought I to do? + +I could not make myself known to him; that was impossible. I would ten +thousand times sooner die myself than return to him. He was not alone +either. But yet there came back to my mind the first days when I knew +him, when he was all tenderness and devotion to me, declaring that he +could find no fault in his girl-wife. How happy I had been for a little +while, exchanging my stepmother's harshness for his indulgence! He might +have won my love; he had almost won it. But that happy, golden time was +gone, and could never come back to me. Yet my heart was softened toward +him, as I thought of him ill, perhaps dying. What could I do for him, +without placing myself in his power? + +There was one thing only that I could do, only one little sacrifice I +could make for him whom I had vowed, in childish ignorance, to love, +honor, and cherish in sickness and in health, until death parted us. A +home was secured to me for twelve months, and at the end of that time I +should have a better career open to me. I had enough money still to last +me until then. My diamond ring, which had been his own gift to me on our +wedding-day, would be valuable to him. Sixty pounds would be a help to +him, if he were as poor as this child said. He must be poor, or he would +never have gone to live in that mean street and neighborhood. + +Perhaps--if he had been alone--I do not know, but possibly if he had +been quite alone, ill, dying in that poor lodging of his, I might have +gone to him. I ask myself again, could you have done this thing? But I +cannot answer it even to myself. Poor and ill he was, but he was not +alone. + +It was enough for me, then, that I could do something, some little +service for him. The old flame of vengeance had no spark of heat left in +it. I was free from hatred of him. I set the child gently away from me, +and wrote my last letter to my husband. Both the letter and the ring I +enclosed in a little box. These are the words I wrote, and I put neither +date nor name of place: + +"I know that you are poor, and I send you all I can spare--the ring you +once gave to me. I am even poorer than yourself, but I have just enough +for my immediate wants. I forgive you, as I trust God forgives me." + +I sat looking at it, thinking of it for some time. There was a vague +doubt somewhere in my mind that this might work some mischief. But at +last I decided that it should go. I must register the packet at a +post-office on our way to the station, and it could not fail to reach +him. + +This business settled, I returned to the child, who was sitting, as I +had so often, done, gazing pensively into the fire. Was she to be a sort +of miniature copy of myself? + +"Come, Minima," I said, "we must be thinking of tea. Which would you +like best, buns, or cake, or bread-and-butter? We must go out and buy +them, and you shall choose." + +"Which would cost the most?" she asked, looking at me with the careworn +expression of a woman. The question sounded so oddly, coming from lips +so young, that it grieved me. How bitterly and heavily must the burden +of poverty have already fallen upon this child! I was almost afraid to +think what it must mean. I put my arm round her, pressing my cheek +against hers, while childish visions, more childish than any in this +little head, flitted before me, of pantomimes, and toys, and sweetmeats, +and the thousand things that children love. If I had been as rich as my +father had planned for me to be, how I would have lavished them upon +this anxious little creature! + +We were discussing this question with befitting gravity, when a great +thump against the door brought a host of fears upon me. But before I +could stir the insecure handle gave way, and no one more formidable +appeared than the landlady of the house, carrying before her a tray on +which was set out a sumptuous tea, consisting of buttered crumpets and +shrimps. She put it down on my dressing-table, and stood surveying it +and us with an expression of benign exultation, until she had recovered +her breath sufficiently to speak. + +"Those as are going into foring parts," she said, "ought to get a good +English meal afore they start. If you was going to stay in England, +miss, it would be quite a differing thing; but me and my master don't +know what they may give you to eat where you're going to. Therefore we +beg you'll accept of the crumpets, and the shrimps, and the +bread-and-butter, and the tea, and every thing; and we mean no offence +by it. You've been a very quiet, regular lodger, and give no trouble; +and we're sorry to lose you. And this, my master says, is a testimonial +to you." + +I could hardly control my laughter, and I could not keep back my tears. +It was a long time now since any one had shown me so much kindness and +sympathy as this. The dull face of the good woman was brightened by her +kind-hearted feeling, and instead of thanking her I put my lips to her +cheek. + +"Lor!" she exclaimed, "why! God bless you, my dear! I didn't mean any +offence, you know. Lor! I never thought you'd pay me like that. It's +very pretty of you, it is; for I'm sure you're a lady to the backbone, +as often and often I've said to my master. Be good enough to eat it all, +you and the little miss, for you've a long journey before you. God bless +you both, my dears, and give you a good appetite!" + +She backed out of the room as she was speaking, her face beaming upon us +to the last. + +There was a pleasant drollery about her conduct, and about the intense +delight of the child, and her hearty enjoyment of the feast, which for +the time effectually dissipated my fears and my melancholy thoughts. It +was the last hour I should spend in my solitary room; my lonely days +were past. This little elf, with her large sharp eyes, and sagacious +womanly face, was to be my companion for the future. I felt closely +drawn to her. Even the hungry appetite with which she ate spoke of the +hard times she had gone through. When she had eaten all she could eat, I +heard her say softly to herself, "Courage, Minima!" + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. + +A LONG JOURNEY. + + +It as little more than twelve months since I had started from the same +station on the same route; but there was no Tardif at hand now. As I +went into the ticket-office, Minima caught me by the dress and whispered +earnestly into my ear. + +"We're not to travel first-class," she said; "it costs too much. Mrs. +Wilkinson said we ought to go third, if we could; and you're to pay for +me, please, only half-price, and they'll pay you again when we reach the +school. I'll come with you, and then they'll see I'm only half-price. I +don't look too old, do I?" + +"You look very old," I answered, smiling at her anxious face. + +"Oh, dear, dear!" she said; "but I sit very small. Perhaps I'd better +not come to the ticket-office; the porters are sure to think me only a +little girl." + +She was uneasy until we had fairly started from the station, her right +to a half-ticket unchallenged. + +The November night was cold and foggy, and there was little difference +between the darkness of the suburbs and the darkness of the open +country. + +Once again the black hulls and masts of two steamers stood before us, at +the end of our journey, and hurrying voices shouted, "This way for +Jersey and Guernsey," "This way to Havre." What would I not have given +to return to Sark, to my quiet room under Tardif's roof, with his true +heart and steadfast friendship to rest upon! But that could not be. My +feet were setting out upon a new track, and I did not know where the +hidden path would lead me. + +The next morning found us in France. It was a soft, sunny day, with a +mellow light, which seemed to dwell fondly on the many-tinted leaves of +the trees which covered the banks of the Seine. From Honfleur to Falaise +the same warm, genial sunshine filled the air. The slowly-moving train +carried us through woods where the autumn seemed but a few days old, and +where the slender leaflets of the acacias still fluttered in the +caressing breath of the wind. We passed through miles upon miles of +orchards, where a few red leaves were hanging yet upon the knotted +branches of the apple-trees, beneath which lay huge pyramids of apples. +Truck-loads of them stood at every station. The air was scented by them. +Children were pelting one another with them; and here and there, where +the orchards had been cleared and the trees stripped, flocks of geese +were searching for those scattered among the tufts of grass. The roses +were in blossom, and the chrysanthemums were in their first glory. The +few countrywomen who got into our carriage were still wearing their +snowy muslin caps, as in summer. Nobody appeared cold and pinched yet, +and everybody was living out-of-doors. + +It was almost like going into a new world, and I breathed more freely +the farther we travelled down into the interior. At Falaise we exchanged +the train for a small omnibus, which bore the name "Noireau" +conspicuously on its door. I had discovered that the little French I +knew was not of much service, as I could in no way understand the rapid +answers that were given to my questions. A woman came to us, at the door +of a _cafe_, where the omnibus stopped in Falaise, and made a long and +earnest harangue, of which I did not recognize one word. At length we +started off on the last stage of our journey. + +Where could we be going to? I began to ask myself the question anxiously +after we had crept on, at a dog-trot, for what seemed an interminable +time. We had passed through long avenues of trees, and across a series +of wide, flat plains, and down gently-sloping roads into narrow valleys, +and up the opposite ascents; and still the bells upon the horses' +collars jingled sleepily, and their hoof-beats shambled along the roads. +We were seldom in sight of any house, and we passed through very few +villages. I felt as if we were going all the way to Marseilles. + + +"I'm so hungry!" said Minima, after a very long silence. + +I too had been hungry for an hour or two past. We had breakfasted at +mid-day at one of the stations, but we had had nothing to eat since, +except a roll which Minima had brought away from breakfast, with wise +prevision; but this had disappeared long ago. + +"Try to go to sleep," I said; "lean against me. We must be there soon." + +"Yes," she answered, "and it's such a splendid school! I'm going to stay +there four years, you know, so it's foolish to mind being hungry now. +'Courage, Minima!' I must recollect that." + +"Courage, Olivia!" I repeated to myself. "The farther you go, the more +secure will be your hiding-place." The child nestled against me, and +soon fell asleep. I went to sleep myself--an unquiet slumber, broken by +terrifying dreams. Sometimes I was falling from the cliffs in Sark into +the deep, transparent waters below, where the sharp rocks lay like +swords. Then I was in the Gouliot Caves, with Martin Dobree at my side, +and the tide was coming in too strongly for us; and beyond, in the +opening through which we might have escaped, my husband's face looked in +at us, with a hideous exultation upon it. I woke at last, shivering with +cold and dread, for I had fancied that he had found me, and was carrying +me away again to his old hateful haunts. + +Our omnibus was jolting and rumbling down some steep and narrow streets +lighted by oil-lamps swung across them. There were no lights in any of +the houses, save a few in the upper windows, as though the inmates were +all in bed, or going to bed. Only at the inn where we stopped was there +any thing like life. A lamp, which hung over the archway leading to the +yard and stables, lit up a group of people waiting for the arrival of +the omnibus. I woke up Minima from her deep and heavy sleep. + +"We are here at Noireau!" I said. "We have reached our home at last!" + +The door was opened before the child was fairly awake. A small cluster +of bystanders gathered round us as we alighted, and watched our luggage +put down from the roof; while the driver ran on volubly, and with many +gesticulations, addressed to the little crowd. He, the chamber-maid, the +landlady, and all the rest, surrounded us as solemnly as if they were +assisting at a funeral. There was not a symptom of amusement, but they +all stared at us unflinchingly, as if a single wink of their eyelids +would cause them to lose some extraordinary spectacle. If I had been a +total eclipse of the sun, and they a group of enthusiastic astronomers +bent upon observing every phenomenon, they could not have gazed more +steadily. Minima was leaning against me, half asleep. A narrow vista of +tall houses lay to the right and left, lost in impenetrable darkness. +The strip of sky overhead was black with midnight. + +"Noireau?" I asked, in a tone of interrogation. + +"Oui, oui, madame," responded a chorus of voices. + +"Carry me to the house of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the _avocat_," I said, +speaking slowly and distinctly. + +The words, simple as they were, seemed to awaken considerable +excitement. The landlady threw up her hands, with an expression of +astonishment, and the driver recommenced his harangue. Was it possible +that I could have made a mistake in so short and easy a sentence? I +said it over again to myself, and felt sure I was right. With renewed +confidence I repeated it aloud, with a slight variation. + +"I wish to go to the house of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the _avocat_," I +said. + +But while they still clustered round Minima and me, giving no sign of +compliance with my request, two persons thrust themselves through the +circle. The one was a man, in a threadbare brown greatcoat, with a large +woollen comforter wound several times about his neck; and the other a +woman, in an equally shabby dress, who spoke to me in broken English. + +"Mees, I am Madame Perrier, and this my husband," she said; "come on. +The letter was here only an hour ago; but all is ready. Come on; come +on." + +She put her hand through my arm, and took hold of Minima's hand, as if +claiming both of us. A dead silence had fallen upon the little crowd, as +if they were trying to catch the meaning of the English words. But as +she pushed on, with us both in her hands, a titter for the first time +ran from lip to lip. I glanced back, and saw Monsieur Perrier, the +_avocat_, hurriedly putting our luggage on a wheelbarrow, and preparing +to follow us with it along the dark streets. + +I was too bewildered yet to feel any astonishment. We were in France, in +a remote part of France, and I did not know what Frenchmen would or +would not do. Madame Perrier, exhausted with her effort at speaking +English, had ceased speaking to me, and contented herself with guiding +us along the strange streets. We stopped at last opposite the large, +handsome house, which stood in the front of the photograph I had seen in +London. I could just recognize it in the darkness; and behind lay the +garden and the second range of building. Not a glimmer of light shone in +any of the windows. + +"It is midnight nearly," said Madame Perrier, as we came to a +stand-still and waited for her husband, the _avocat_. + +Even when he came up with the luggage there seemed some difficulty in +effecting an entrance. He passed through the garden-gate, and +disappeared round the corner of the house, walking softly, as if careful +not to disturb the household. How long the waiting seemed! For we were +hungry, sleepy, and cold--strangers in a very strange land. I heard +Minima sigh weariedly. + +At last he reappeared round the corner, carrying a candle, which +flickered in the wind. Not a word was spoken by him or his wife as the +latter conducted us toward him. We were to enter by the back-door, that +was evident. But I did not care what door we entered by, so that we +might soon find rest and food. She led us into a dimly-lighted room, +where I could just make out what appeared to be a carpenter's bench, +with a heap of wood-shavings lying under it. But I was too weary to be +certain about any thing. + +"It is a leetle cabinet of work of my husband," said Madame Perrier; +"our chamber is above, and the chamber for you and leetle mees is there +also. But the school is not there. Will you go to bed? Will you sleep? +Come on, mees." + +"But we are very hungry," I remonstrated; "we have had nothing to eat +since noon. We could not sleep without food." + +"Bah! that is true," she said. "Well, come on. The food is at the +school. Come on." + +That must be the house at the back. We went down the broad gravel walk, +with the pretty garden at the side of us, where a fountain was tinkling +and splashing busily in the quiet night. But we passed the front of the +house behind it without stopping, at the door. Madame led us through a +cart-shed into a low, long, vaulted passage, with doors opening on each +side; a black, villanous-looking place, with the feeble, flickering +light of the candle throwing on to the damp walls a sinister gleam. +Minima pressed very close to me, and I felt a strange quiver of +apprehension: but the thought that there was no escape from it, and no +help at hand, nerved me to follow quietly to the end. + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. + +AT SCHOOL IN FRANCE. + + +The end brought us out into a mean, poor street, narrow even where the +best streets were narrow. A small house, the exterior of which I +discovered afterward to be neglected and almost dilapidated, stood +before us; and madame unlocked the door with a key from her pocket. We +were conducted into a small kitchen, where a fire had been burning +lately, though it was now out, and only a little warmth lingered about +the stove. Minima was set upon a chair opposite to it, with her feet in +the oven, and I was invited to do the same. I assented mechanically, and +looked furtively about me, while madame was busy in cutting a huge hunch +or two of black bread, and spreading upon them a thin scraping of rancid +butter. + +There was an oil-lamp here, burning with a clear, bright blaze. Madame's +face was illuminated by it. It was a coarse, sullen face, with an +expression of low cunning about it. There was not a trace of refinement +or culture about her, not even the proverbial taste of a Frenchwoman in +dress. The kitchen was a picture of squalid dirt and neglect; the walls +and ceiling black with smoke, and the floor so crusted over with unswept +refuse and litter that I thought it was not quarried. The few +cooking-utensils were scattered about in disorder. The stove before +which we sat was rusty. Could I be dreaming of this filthy dwelling and +this slovenly woman? No; it was all too real for me to doubt their +existence for an instant. + +She was pouring out some cold tea into two little cups, when Monsieur +Perrier made his appearance, his face begrimed and his shaggy hair +uncombed. I had been used to the sight of rough men in Adelaide, on our +sheep-farm, but I had never seen one more boorish. He stood in the +doorway, rubbing his hands, and gazing at us unflinchingly with the hard +stare of a Norman peasant, while he spoke in rapid, uncouth tones to his +wife. I turned away my head, and shut my eyes to this unwelcome sight. + +"Eat, mees," said the woman, bringing us our food. "There is tea. We +give our pupils and instructresses tea for supper at six o'clock: after +that there is no more to eat." + +I took a mouthful of the food, but I could hardly swallow it, exhausted +as I was from hunger. The bread was sour and the butter rancid; the tea +tasted of garlic. Minima ate hers ravenously, without uttering a word. +The child had not spoken since we entered these new scenes: her careworn +face was puckered, and her sharp eyes were glancing about her more +openly than mine. As soon as she had finished her hunch of black bread, +I signified to Madame Perrier that we were ready to go to our bedroom. + +We had the same vaulted passage and cart-shed to traverse on our way +back to the other house. There we were ushered into a room containing +only two beds and our two boxes. I helped Minima to undress, and tucked +her up in bed, trying not to see the thin little face and sharp eyes +which wanted to meet mine, and look into them. She put her arm round my +neck, and drew down my head to whisper cautiously into my ear. + +"They're cheats," she said, earnestly, "dreadful cheats. This isn't a +splendid place at all. Oh! whatever shall I do? Shall I have to stay +here four years?" + +"Hush, Minima!" I answered. "Perhaps it is better than we think now. We +are tired. To-morrow we shall see the place better, and it may be +splendid after all. Kiss me, and go to sleep." + +But it was too much for me, far too much. The long, long journey; the +hunger the total destruction of all my hopes; the dreary prospect that +stretched before me. I laid my aching head on my pillow, and cried +myself to sleep like a child. + +I was awakened, while it was yet quite dark, by the sound of a +carpenter's tool in the room below me. Almost immediately a loud knock +came at my door, and the harsh voice of madame called to us. + +"Get up, mees, get up, and come on," she said; "you make your toilet at +the school. Come on, quick!" + +Minima was more dexterous than I in dressing herself in the dark; but we +were not long in getting ready. The air was raw and foggy when we turned +out-of-doors, and it was so dark still that we could scarcely discern +the outline of the walls and houses. But madame was waiting to conduct +us once more to the other house, and as she did so she volunteered an +explanation of their somewhat singular arrangement of dwelling in two +houses. The school, she informed me, was registered in the name of her +head governess, not in her own; and as the laws of France prohibited any +man dwelling under the same roof with a school of girls, except the +husband of the proprietor, they were compelled to rent two dwellings. + +"How many pupils have you, madame?" I inquired. + +"We have six, mees," she replied. "They are here; see them." + +We had reached the house, and she opened the door of a long, low room. +There was an open hearth, with a few logs of green wood upon it, but +they were not kindled. A table ran almost the whole length of the room, +with forms on each side. A high chair or two stood about. All was +comfortless, dreary, and squalid. + +But the girls who were sitting on the hard benches by the table were +still more squalid and dreary-looking. Their faces were pinched, and +just now blue with cold, and their hands were swollen and red with +chilblains. They had a cowed and frightened expression, and peeped +askance at us as we went in behind madame. Minima pressed closely to me, +and clasped my hand tightly in her little fingers. We were both entering +upon the routine of a new life, and the first introduction to it was +disheartening. + +"Three are English," said madame, "and three are French. The English are +_frileuses_; they are always sheever, sheever, sheever. Behold, how they +have fingers red and big! Bah! it is disgusting." + +She rapped one of the swollen hands which lay upon the table, and the +girl dropped it out of sight upon her lap, with a frightened glance at +the woman. Minima's fingers tightened upon mine. The head governess, a +Frenchwoman of about thirty, with a number of little black papillotes +circling about her head, was now introduced to me; and an animated +conversation followed between her and madame. + +"You comprehend the French?" asked the latter, turning with a suspicious +look to me. + +"No," I answered; "I know very little of it yet." + +"Good!" she replied. "We will eat breakfast." + +"But I have not made my toilet," I objected; "there was neither +washingstand nor dressing-table in my room." + +"Bah!" she said, scornfully; "there are no gentlemans here. No person +will see you. You make your toilet before the promenade; not at this +moment." + +It was evident that uncomplaining submission was expected, and no +remonstrance would be of avail. Breakfast was being brought in by one of +the pupils. It consisted of a teacupful of coffee at the bottom of a big +basin, which was placed before each of us, a large tablespoon to feed +ourselves with; and a heaped plateful of hunches of bread, similar to +those I had turned from last night. But I could fast no longer. I sat +down with the rest at the long table, and ate my food with a sinking and +sorrowful heart. + +Minima drank her scanty allowance of coffee thirstily, and then asked, +in a timid voice, if she could have a little more. Madame's eyes glared +upon her, and her voice snapped out an answer; while the English girls +looked frightened, and drew in their bony shoulders, as if such temerity +made them shudder. As soon as madame was gone, the child flung her arms +around me, and hid her face in my bosom. + +"Oh!" she cried, "don't you leave me; don't forsake me! I have to stay +here four years, and it will kill me. I shall die if you go away and +leave me." + +I soothed her as best I could, without promising to remain in this trap. +Would it not be possible in some way to release her as well as myself? I +sat thinking through the long cold morning, with the monotonous hum of +lessons in my ears. There was nothing for me to do, and I found that I +could not return to the house where I had slept, and where my luggage +was, until night came again. I sat all the morning in the chilly room, +with Minima on the floor at my feet, clinging to me for protection and +warmth, such as I could give. + +But what could I do either for her or myself? My store of money was +almost all gone, for our joint expenses had cost more than I had +anticipated, and I could very well see that I must not expect Madame +Perrier to refund Minima's fare. There was perhaps enough left to carry +me back to England, and just land me on its shores. But what then? Where +was I to go then? Penniless, friendless; without character, without a +name--but an assumed one--what was to become of me? I began to wonder +vaguely whether I should be forced to make myself known to my husband; +whether fate would not drive me back to him. No; that should never be. I +would face and endure any hardship rather than return to my former life. +A hundred times better this squalid, wretched, foreign school, than the +degradation of heart and soul I had suffered with him. + +I could do no more for Minima than for myself, for I dared not even +write to Mrs. Wilkinson, who was either an accomplice or a dupe of +these Perriers. My letter might fall into the hands of Richard Foster, +or the woman living with him, and so they would track me out, and I +should have no means of escape. I dared not run that risk. The only +thing I could do for her was to stay with her, and as far as possible +shield her from the privations and distress that threatened us both. I +was safe here; no one was likely to come across me, in this remote +place, who could by any chance know me. I had at least a roof over my +head; I had food to eat. Elsewhere I was not sure of either. There +seemed to be no other choice given me than to remain in the trap. + +"We must make the best of it, Minima," I whispered to the child, through +the hum of lessons. Her shrewd little face brightened with a smile that +smoothed all the wrinkles out of it. + +"That's what father said!" she cried; "he said, 'Courage, Minima. God +will take care of my little daughter.' God has sent you to take care of +me. Suppose I'd come all the way alone, and found it such a horrid +place!" + + + + +CHAPTER THE NINTH. + +A FRENCH AVOCAT. + + +December came in with intense severity. Icicles a yard long hung to the +eaves, and the snow lay unmelted for days together on the roofs. More +often than not we were without wood for our fire, and when we had it, it +was green and unseasoned, and only smouldered away with a smoke that +stung and irritated our eyes. Our insufficient and unwholesome food +supplied us with no inward warmth. Coal in that remote district cost too +much for any but the wealthiest people, Now and then I caught a glimpse +of a blazing fire in the houses I had to pass, to get to our chamber +over Monsieur Perrier's workshop; and in an evening the dainty, savory +smell of dinner, cooking in the kitchen adjoining, sometimes filled the +frosty air. Both sight and scent were tantalizing, and my dreams at +night were generally of pleasant food and warm firesides. + +At times the pangs of hunger grew too strong for us both, and forced me +to spend a little of the money I was nursing so carefully. As soon as I +could make myself understood, I went out occasionally after dark, to buy +bread-and-milk. + +Noireau was a curious town, the streets everywhere steep and narrow, and +the houses, pell-mell, rich and poor, large and small huddled together +without order. Almost opposite the handsome dwelling, the photograph of +which had misled me, stood a little house where I could buy rich, creamy +milk. It was sold by a Mademoiselle Rosalie, an old maid, whom I +generally found solitarily reading a _Journal pour Tous_ with her feet +upon a _chaufferette_, and no light save that of her little oil-lamp. +She had never sat by a fire in her life, she told me, burning her face +and spoiling her _teint_. Her dwelling consisted of a single room, with +a shed opening out of it, where she kept her milkpans. She was the only +person I spoke to out of Madame Perrier's own household. + +"Is Monsieur Perrier an avocat?" I asked her one day, as soon as I could +understand what she might say in reply. There was very little doubt in +my mind as to what her answer would be. + +"An avocat, mademoiselle?" She repeated, shrugging her shoulders; "who +has told you that? Are the avocats in England like Emile? He is my +relation, and you see me! He is a bailiff; do you understand? If I go in +debt, he comes and takes possession of my goods, you see. It is very +simple. One need not be very learned to do that. Emile Perrier an +avocat? Bah!" + +"What is an avocat?" I inquired. + +"An avocat is even higher than a notaire," she answered; "he gives +counsel; he pleads before the judges. It is a high _role_. One must be +very learned, very eloquent, to be an avocat." + +"I suppose he must be a gentleman," I remarked. + +"A gentleman, mademoiselle?" she said; "I do not understand you. There +is equality in France. We are all messieurs and mesdames. There is +monsieur the bailiff, and monsieur the duke; and there is madame the +washer-woman, and madame the duchess. We are all gentlemen, all ladies. +It is not the same in your country." + +"Not at all," I answered. + +"Did my little Emile tell you he was an avocat, mademoiselle?" she +asked. + +"No," I said. I was on my guard, even if I had known French well enough +to explain the deception practised upon me. She looked as if she did not +believe me, but smiled and nodded with imperturbable politeness, as I +carried off my jug of milk. + +So Monsieur Perrier was nothing higher than a bailiff, and with very +little to do even in that line of the law! He took off his tasselled cap +to me as I passed his workshop, and went up-stairs with the milk to +Minima, who was already gone to bed for the sake of warmth. The +discovery did not affect me with surprise. If he had been an avocat, my +astonishment at French barristers would have been extreme. + +Yet there was something galling in the idea of being under the roof of a +man and woman of that class, in some sort in their power and under their +control. The low, vulgar cunning of their nature appeared more clearly +to me. There was no chance of success in any contest with them, for they +were too boorish to be reached by any weapon I could use. All I could do +was to keep as far aloof from them as possible. + +This was not difficult to do, for neither of them interfered with the +affairs of the school, and we saw them only at meal times, when they +watched every mouthful we ate with keen eyes. + +I found that I had no duties to perform as a teacher, for none of the +three French pupils desired to learn English. English girls, who had +been decoyed into the same snare by the same false photograph and +prospectus which had entrapped me, were all of families too poor to be +able to forfeit the money which had been paid in advance for their +French education. Two of them, however, completed their term at +Christmas, and returned home weak and ill; the third was to leave in the +spring. I did not hear that any more pupils were expected, and why +Madame Perrier should have engaged any English teacher became a problem +to me. The premium I had paid was too small to cover my expenses for a +year, though we were living at so scanty a cost. It was not long before +I understood my engagement better. + +I studied the language diligently. I felt myself among foreigners and +foes, and I was helpless till I could comprehend what they were saying +in my presence. Having no other occupation, I made rapid progress, +though Mademoiselle Morel, the head governess, gave me very little +assistance. + +She was a dull, heavy, yet crafty-looking woman, who had taken a +first-class diploma as a teacher; yet, as far as I could judge, knew +very much less than most English governesses who are uncertificated. So +far from there being any professors attending the school, I could not +discover that there were any in the town. It was a cotton-manufacturing +town, with a population of six thousand, most of them hand-loom weavers. +There were three or four small factories, built on the banks of the +river, where the hands were at work from six in the morning till ten at +night, Sundays included. There was not much intellectual life here; a +professor would have little chance of making a living. + +At first Minima, and I took long walks together into the country +surrounding Noireau, a beautiful country, even in November. Once out of +the vapor lying in the valley, at the bottom of which the town was +built, the atmosphere showed itself as exquisitely clear, with no smoke +in it, except the fine blue smoke of wood-fire. We could distinguish the +shapes of trees standing out against the horizon, miles and miles away; +while between us and it lay slopes of brown woodland and green pastures, +with long rows of slim poplars, the yellow leaves clinging to them +still, and winding round them, like garlands on a May-pole. But this +pleasure was a costly one, for it awoke pangs of hunger, which I was +compelled to appease by drawing upon my rapidly-emptying purse. We +learned that it was necessary to stay in-doors, and cultivate a small +appetite. + +"Am I getting very thin?" asked Minima one day, as she held up her +transparent hand against the light; "how thin do you think I could get +without dying, Aunt Nelly?" + +"Oh! a great deal thinner, my darling," I said, kissing the little +fingers, My heart was bound up in the child. I had been so lonely +without her, that now her constant companionship, her half-womanly, +half-babyish prattle seemed necessary to me. There was no longer any +question in my mind as to whether I could leave her. I only wondered +what I should do when my year was run out, and only one of those four of +hers, for which these wretches had received the payment. + +"Some people can get very thin indeed," she went on, with her shrewd, +quaint smile; "I've heard the boys at school talk about it. One of them +had seen a living skeleton, that was all skin and bone, and no flesh. I +shouldn't like to be a living skeleton, and be made a show of. Do you +think I ever shall be, if I stay here four years? Perhaps they'd take me +about as a show." + +"Why, you are talking nonsense, Minima," I answered. + +"Am I?" she said, wistfully, as if the idea really troubled her; "I +dream of it often and often. I can feel all my bones now, and count +them, when I'm in bed. Some of them are getting very sharp. The boys +used to say they'd get as sharp as knives sometimes, and cut through the +skin. But father said it was only boys' talk." + +"Your father was right," I answered; "you must think of what he said, +not the boys' talk." + +"But," she continued, "the boys said sometimes people get so hungry they +bite pieces out of their arms. I don't think I could ever be so hungry +as that; do you?" + +"Minima," I said, starting up, "let us run to Mademoiselle Rosalie's for +some bread-and-milk." + +"You're afraid of me beginning to eat myself!" she cried, with a little +laugh. But she was the first to reach Mademoiselle Rosalie's door; and I +watched her devouring her bread-and-milk with the eagerness of a +ravenous appetite. + +Very fast melted away my money. I could not see the child pining with +hunger, though every sou I spent made our return to England more +difficult. Madame Perrier put no hinderance in my way, for the more food +we purchased ourselves, the less we ate at her table. The bitter cold +and the coarse food told upon Minima's delicate little frame. Yet what +could I do? I dared not write to Mrs. Wilkinson, and I very much doubted +if there would be any benefit to be hoped for if I ran the risk. Minima +did not know the address of any one of the persons who had subscribed +for her education and board; to her they were only the fathers and +mothers of the boys of whom she talked so much. She was as friendless as +I was in the world. + +So far away were Dr. Martin Dobree and Tardif, that I dared not count +them as friends who could have any power to help me. Better for Dr. +Martin Dobree if he could altogether forget me, and return to his cousin +Julia. Perhaps he had done so already. + +How long was this loneliness, this friendlessness to be my lot? I was so +young yet, that my life seemed endless as it stretched before me. Poor, +desolate, hunted, I shrank from life as an evil thing, and longed +impatiently to be rid of it. Yet how could I escape even from its +present phase? + + + +CHAPTER THE TENTH. + +A MISFORTUNE WITHOUT PARALLEL. + +My escape was nearer than I expected, and was forced upon me in a manner +I could never have foreseen. + +Toward the middle of February, Mademoiselle Morel appeared often in +tears. Madame Perrier's coarse face was always overcast, and monsieur +seemed gloomy, too gloomy to retain even French politeness of manner +toward any of us. The household was under a cloud, but I could not +discover why. What little discipline and work there had been in the +school was quite at an end. Every one was left to do as she chose. + +Early one morning, long before daybreak, I was startled out of my sleep +by a hurried knock at my door. I cried out, "Who is there?" and a +voice, indistinct with sobbing, replied, "C'est moi." + +The "moi" proved to be Mademoiselle Morel. I opened the door for her, +and she appeared in her bonnet and walking-dress, carrying a lamp in her +hand, which lit up her weary and tear-stained face. She took a seat at +the foot of my bed, and buried her face in her handkerchief. + +"Mademoiselle," she said, "here is a grand misfortune, a misfortune +without parallel. Monsieur and madame are gone." + +"Gone!" I repeated; "where are they gone?" + +"I do not know, mademoiselle," she answered; "I know nothing at all. +They are gone away. The poor good people were in debt, and their +creditors are as hard as stone. They wished to take every sou, and they +talked of throwing monsieur into prison, you understand. That is +intolerable. They are gone, and I have no means to carry on the +establishment. The school is finished." + +"But I am to stay here twelve months," I cried, in dismay, "and Minima +was to stay four years. The money has been paid to them for it. What is +to become of us?" + +"I cannot say, mademoiselle; I am desolated myself," she replied, with a +fresh burst of tears; "all is finished here. If you have not money +enough to take you back to England, you must write to your friends. I'm +going to return to Bordeaux. I detest Normandy; it is so cold and +_triste_." + +"But what is to be done with the other pupils?" I inquired, still lost +in amazement, and too bewildered to realize my own position. + +"The English pupil goes with me to Paris," she answered; "she has her +friends there. The French demoiselles are not far from their own homes, +and they return to-day by the omnibus to Granville. It is a misfortune +without parallel, mademoiselle--a misfortune quite without parallel." + +By the way she repeated this phrase, it was evidently a great +consolation to her--as phrases seem to be to all classes of the French +people. But both the tone of her voice, and the expression of her face, +impressed upon me the conviction that it was not her only consolation. +In answer to my urgent questions, she informed me that, without doubt, +the goods left in the two houses would be seized, as soon as the flight +of madame and monsieur became known. + +To crown all, she was going to start immediately by the omnibus to +Falaise, and on by rail to Paris, not waiting for the storm to burst. +She kissed me on both cheeks, bade me adieu, and was gone, leaving me in +utter darkness, before I fairly comprehended the rapid French in which +she conveyed her intention. I groped to the window, and saw the +glimmering of her lamp, as she turned into the cart-shed, on her way to +the other house. Before I could dress and follow her, she would be gone. + +I had seen my last of Monsieur and Madame Perrier, and of Mademoiselle +Morel. + +I had time to recover from my consternation, and to see my position +clearly, before the dawn came. Leagues of land, and leagues of sea, lay +between me and England. Ten shillings was all that was left of my money. +Besides this, I had Minima dependent upon me, for it was impossible to +abandon her to the charity of foreigners. I had not the means of sending +her back to Mrs. Wilkinson, and I rejected the mere thought of doing so, +partly because I dared not run the risk, and partly because I could not +harden myself against the appeals the child would make against such a +destiny. But then what was to become of us? + +I dressed myself as soon as the first faint light came, and hurried to +the other house. The key was in the lock, as mademoiselle had left it. A +fire was burning in the school-room, and the fragments of a meal were +scattered about the table. The pupils up-stairs were preparing for their +own departure, and were chattering too volubly to one another for me to +catch the meaning of their words. They seemed to know very well how to +manage their own affairs, and they informed me their places were taken +in the omnibus, and a porter was hired to fetch their luggage. + +All I had to do was to see for myself and Minima. + +I carried our breakfast back with me, when I returned to Minima. Her +wan and womanly face was turned toward the window, and the light made it +look more pinched and worn than usual. She sat up in bed to eat her +scanty breakfast--the last meal we should have in this shelter of +ours--and I wrapped a shawl about her thin shoulders. + +"I wish I'd been born a boy," she said, plaintively; "they can get their +own living sooner than girls, and better. How soon do you think I could +get my own living? I could be a little nurse-maid now, you know; and I'd +eat very little." + +"What makes you talk about getting your living?" I asked. + +"How pale you look!" she answered, nodding her little head; "why, I +heard something of what mademoiselle said. They've all run away, and +left us to do what we can. We shall both have to get our own living. +I've been thinking how nice it would be if you could get a place as +housemaid and me nurse, in the same house. Wouldn't that be first-rate? +You're very poor, aren't you, Aunt Nelly?" + +"Very poor!" I repeated, hiding my face on her pillow, while hot tears +forced themselves through my eyelids. + +"Oh! this will never do," said the childish voice; "we mustn't cry, you +know. The boys always said it was like a baby to cry; and father used to +say, 'Courage, Minima!' Perhaps, when all our money is gone, we shall +find a great big purse full of gold; or else a beautiful French prince +will see you, and fall in love with you, and take us both to his palace, +and make you his princess; and we shall all grow up till we die." + +I laughed at the oddity of this childish climax in spite of the +heaviness of my heart and the springing of my tears. Minima's fresh +young fancies were too droll to resist, especially in combination with +her shrewd, old-womanish knowledge of many things of which I was +ignorant. + +"I should know exactly what to do if we were in London," she resumed; +"we could take our things to the pawnbroker's, and get lots of money for +them. That is what poor people do. Mrs. Foster has pawned all her rings +and brooches. It is quite easy to do, you know; but perhaps there are no +pawn-shops in France." + +This incidental mention of Mrs. Foster had sent my thoughts and fears +fluttering toward a deep, unutterable dread, which was lurking under all +my other cares. Should I be driven by the mere stress of utter poverty +to return to my husband? There must be something wrong in a law which +bound me captive, body and soul, to a man whose very name had become a +terror to me, and to escape whom I was willing to face any difficulties, +any distresses. But all my knowledge of the law came from his lips, and +he would gladly deceive me. It might be that I was suffering all these +troubles quite needlessly. Across the darkness of my prospects flushed a +thought that seemed like an angel of light. Why should I not try to make +my way to Mrs. Dobree, Martin's mother, to whom I could tell my whole +history, and on whose friendship and protection I could rely implicitly? +She would learn for me how far the law would protect me. By this time +Kate Daltrey would have quitted the Channel Islands, satisfied that I +had eluded her pursuit. The route to the Channel Islands was neither +long nor difficult, for at Granville a vessel sailed directly for +Jersey, and we were not more than thirty miles from Granville. It was a +distance that we could almost walk. If Mrs. Dobree could not help me, +Tardif would take Minima into his house for a time, and the child could +not have a happier home. I could count upon my good Tardif doing that. +These plans were taking shape in my brain, when I heard a voice calling +softly under the window. I opened the casement, and, leaning out, saw +the welcome face of Rosalie, the milk-woman. + +"Will you permit me to come in?" she inquired. + +"Yes, yes, come in," I said, eagerly. + +She entered, and saluted us both with much ceremony. Her clumsy wooden +_sabots_ clattered over the bare boards, and the wings of her high +Norman cap flapped against her sallow cheeks. No figure could have +impressed upon me more forcibly the unwelcome fact that I was in great +straits in a foreign land. I regarded her with a vague kind of fear. + +"So my little Emile and his spouse are gone, mademoiselle," she said, in +a mysterious whisper. "I have been saying to myself, 'What will my +little English lady do?' That is why I am here. Behold me." + +"I do not know what to do," I answered. + +"If mademoiselle is not difficult," she said, "she and the little one +could rest with me for a day or two. My bed is clean and soft--bah! ten +times softer than these paillasses. I would ask only a franc a night for +it. That is much less than at the hotels, where they charge for light +and attendance. Mademoiselle could write to her friends, if she has not +enough money to carry her and the little one back to their own country." + +"I have no friends," I said, despondently. + +"No friends! no relations!" she exclaimed. + +"Not one," I replied. + +"But that is terrible!" she said. "Has mademoiselle plenty of money?" + +"Only twelve francs," I answered. + +Rosalie's face grew long and grave. This was an abyss of misfortune she +had not dreamed of. She looked at us both critically, and did not open +her lips again for a minute or two. + +"Is the little one your relation?" she inquired, after this pause. + +"No," I replied; "I did not know her till I brought her here. She does +not know of any friends or relations belonging to her." + +"There is the convent for her," she said; "the good sisters would take a +little girl like her, and make a true Christian of her. She might become +a saint some day--" + +"No, no," I interrupted, hastily; "I could not leave her in a convent." + +Mademoiselle Rosalie was very much offended; her sallow face flushed a +dull red, and the wings of her cap flapped as if she were about to take +flight, and leave me in my difficulties. She had kindliness of feeling, +but it was not proof against my poverty and my covert slight of her +religion. I caught her hand in mine to prevent her going. + +"Let us come to your house for to-day," I entreated: "to-morrow we will +go. I have money enough to pay you." + +I was only too glad to get a shelter for Minima and myself for another +night. She explained to me the French system of borrowing money upon +articles left in pledge and offered to accompany me to the _mont de +piete_ with those things that we could spare. But, upon packing up our +few possessions, I remembered that only a few days before Madame Perrier +had borrowed from me my seal-skin mantle, the only valuable thing I had +remaining. I had lent it reluctantly, and in spite of myself; and it had +never been returned. Minima's wardrobe was still poorer than my own. All +the money we could raise was less than two napoleons; and with this we +had to make our way to Granville, and thence to Guernsey. We could not +travel luxuriously. + +The next morning we left Noireau on foot. + + + + +CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. + +LOST AT NIGHTFALL. + + +It was a soft spring morning, with an exhilarating, jubilant lightness +in the air, such as only comes in the very early spring, or at sunrise +on a dewy summer-day. A few gray clouds lay low along the horizon, but +overhead the sky was a deep, rich blue, with fine, filmy streaks of +white vapor floating slowly across it. The branches of the trees were +still bare, showing the blue through their delicate net-work; but the +ends of the twigs were thickening, and the leaf-buds swelling under the +rind. The shoots of the hazel-bushes wore a purple bloom, with yellow +catkins already hanging in tassels about them. The white buds of the +chestnut-trees shone with silvery lustre. In the orchards, though the +tangled boughs of the apple-trees were still thickly covered with gray +lichens, small specks of green among the gray gave a promise of early +blossom. Thrushes were singing from every thorn-bush; and the larks, +lost in the blue heights above us, flung down their triumphant carols, +careless whether our ears caught them or no. A long, straight road +stretched before us, and seemed to end upon the skyline in the far +distance. Below us, when we looked back, lay the valley and the town; +and all around us a vast sweep of country, rising up to the low floor of +clouds from which the bright dome of the sky was springing. + +We strolled on as if we were walking on air, and could feel no fatigue; +Minima with a flush upon her pale cheeks, and chattering incessantly +about the boys, whose memories were her constant companions. I too had +my companions; faces and voices were about me, which no eye or ear but +mine could perceive. + +During the night, while my brain had been between waking and sleeping, I +had been busy with the new idea that had taken possession of it. The +more I pondered upon the subject, the more impossible it appeared that +the laws of any Christian country should doom me, and deliver me up +against my will, to a bondage more degrading and more cruel than slavery +itself. If every man, I had said to myself, were proved to be good and +chivalrous, of high and steadfast honor, it might be possible to place +another soul, more frail and less wise, into his charge unchallenged. +But the law is made for evil men, not for good. I began to believe it +incredible that it should subject me to the tyranny of a husband who +made my home a hell, and gave me no companionship but that of the +vicious. Should the law make me forfeit all else, it would at least +recognize my right to myself. Once free from the necessity of hiding, I +did not fear to face any difficulty. Surely he had been deceiving me, +and playing upon my ignorance, when he told me I belonged to him as a +chattel! + +Every step which carried us nearer to Granville brought new hope to me. +The face of Martin's mother came often to my mind, looking at me, as she +had done in Sark, with a mournful yet tender smile--a smile behind which +lay many tears. If I could but lay my head upon her lap, and tell her +all, all which I had never breathed into any ear, I should feel secure +and happy. "Courage!" I said to myself; "every hour brings you nearer to +her." + +Now and then, whenever we came to a pleasant place, where a fallen tree, +or the step under a cross, offered us a resting-place by the roadside, +we sat down, scarcely from weariness, but rather for enjoyment. I had +full directions as to our route, and I carried a letter from Rosalie to +a cousin of hers, who lived in a convent about twelve miles from +Noirean; where, she assured me, they would take us in gladly for a +night, and perhaps send us on part of our way in their conveyance, in +the morning. Twelve miles only had to be accomplished this first day, +and we could saunter as we chose, making our dinner of the little loaves +which we had bought hot from the oven, as we quitted the town, and +drinking of the clear little rills, which were gurgling merrily under +the brown hedge-rows. If we reached the convent before six o'clock we +should find the doors open, and should gain admission. + +But in the afternoon the sky changed. The low floor of clouds rose +gradually, and began to spread themselves, growing grayer and thicker as +they crept higher into the sky. The blue became paler and colder. The +wind changed a point or two from the south, and a breath from the east +blew, with a chilly touch, over the wide open plain we were now +crossing. + +Insensibly our high spirits sank. Minima ceased to prattle; and I began +to shiver a little, more from an inward dread of the utterly unknown +future, than from any chill of the easterly wind. The road was very +desolate. Not a creature had we seen for an hour or two, from whom I +could inquire if we were on the high-road to Granville. About noon we +had passed a roadside cross, standing where three ways met, and below it +a board had pointed toward Granville. I had followed its direction in +confidence, but now I began to feel somewhat anxious. This road, along +which the grass was growing, was strangely solitary and dreary. + +It brought us after a while to the edge of a common, stretching before +us, drear and brown, as far as my eye could reach. A wild, weird-looking +flat, with no sign of cultivation; and the road running across it lying +in deep ruts, where moss and grass were springing. As far as I could +guess, it was drawing near to five o'clock; and, if we had wandered out +of our way, the right road took an opposite direction some miles behind +us. There was no gleam of sunshine now, no vision of blue overhead. All +there was gray, gloomy, and threatening. The horizon was rapidly +becoming invisible; a thin, cold, clinging vapor shut it from us. Every +few minutes a fold of this mist overtook us, and wrapped itself about +us, until the moaning wind drifted it away. Minima was quite silent now, +and her weary feet dragged along the rough road. The hand which rested +upon my wrist felt hot, as it clasped it closely. The child was worn +out, and was suffering more than I did, though in uncomplaining +patience. + +"Are you very tired, my Minima?" I asked. + +"It will be so nice to go to bed, when we reach the convent," she said, +looking up with a smile. "I can't imagine why the prince has not come +yet." + +"Perhaps he is coming all the time," I answered, "and he'll find us when +we want him worst." + +We plodded on after that, looking for the convent, or for any dwelling +where we could stay till morning. But none came in sight, or any person +from whom we could learn where we were wandering. I was growing +frightened, dismayed. What would become of us both, if we could find no +shelter from the cold of a February night? + +There were unshed tears in my eyes--for I would not let Minima know my +fears--when I saw dimly, through the mist, a high cross standing in the +midst of a small grove of yews and cypresses, planted formally about it. +There were three tiers of steps at its foot, the lowest partly screened +from the gathering rain by the trees. The shaft of the cross, with a +serpent twining about its base, rose high above the cypresses; and the +image of the Christ hanging upon its crossbeams fronted the east, which +was now heavy with clouds. The half-closed eyes seemed to be gazing over +the vast wintry plain, lying in the brown desolateness of a February +evening. The face was full of an unutterable and complete agony, and +there was the helpless languor of dying in the limbs. The rain was +beating against it, and the wind sobbing in the trees surrounding it. It +seemed so sad, so forsaken, that it drew us to it. Without speaking the +child and I crept to the shelter at its foot, and sat down to rest +there, as if we were companions to it in its loneliness. + +There was no sound to listen to save the sighing of the east wind +through the fine needle-like leaflets of the yew-trees; and the mist was +rapidly shutting out every sight but the awful, pathetic form above us. +Evening had closed in, night was coming gradually, yet swiftly. Every +minute was drawing the darkness more densely about us. If we did not +bestir ourselves soon, and hasten along, it would overtake us, and find +us without resource. Yet I felt as if I had no heart to abandon that +gray figure, with the rain-drops beating heavily against it. I forgot +myself, forgot Minima, forgot all the world, while looking up to the +face, growing more dim to me through my own tears. + +"Hush! hush!" cried Minima, though I was neither moving nor speaking, +and the stillness was profound; "hark! I hear something coming along the +road, only very far off." + +I listened for a minute or two, and there reached my ears a faint +tinkling, which drew nearer and nearer every moment. At last it was +plainly the sound of bells on a horse's collar; and presently I could +distinguish the beat of a horse's hoofs coming slowly along the road. In +a few minutes some person would be passing by, who would be able to help +us; and no one could be so inhuman as to leave us in our distress. + +It was too dark now to see far along the road, but as we waited and +watched there came into sight a rude sort of covered carriage, like a +market-cart, drawn by a horse with a blue sheep-skin hanging round his +neck. The pace at which he was going was not above a jog-trot, and he +came almost to a stand-still opposite the cross, as if it was customary +to pause there. + +This was the instant to appeal for aid. I darted forward in front of the +_char a bancs_, and stretched out my hands to the driver. + +"Help us," I cried; we have lost our way, and the night is come. "Help +us, for the love of Christ!" I could see now that the driver was a +burly, red-faced, cleanshaven Norman peasant, wearing a white cotton +cap, with a tassel over his forehead, who stared at me, and at Minima +dragging herself weariedly to my side, as if we had both dropped from +the clouds. He crossed himself hurriedly, and glanced at the grove of +dark, solemn trees from which we had come. But by his side sat a priest, +in his cassock and broad-brimmed hat fastened up at the sides, who +alighted almost before I had finished speaking, and stood before us +bareheaded, and bowing profoundly. + +"Madame," he said, in a bland tone, "to what town are you going?" + +"We are going to Granville," I answered, "but I am afraid I have lost +the way. We are very tired, this little child and I. We can walk no +more, monsieur. Take care of us, I pray you." + +I spoke brokenly, for in an extremity like this it was difficult to put +my request into French. The priest appeared perplexed, but he went back +to the _char a bancs_, and held a short, earnest conversation with the +driver, in a subdued voice. + +"Madame," he said, returning to me, "I am Francis Laurentie, the cure of +Ville-en-bois. It is quite a small village about a league from here, and +we are on the road to it; but the route to Granville is two leagues +behind us, and it is still farther to the first village. There is not +time to return with you this evening. Will you, then, go with us to +Ville-en-bois, and to-morrow we will send you on to Granville?" + +He spoke very slowly and distinctly, with a clear, cordial voice, which +filled me with confidence. I could hardly distinguish his features, but +his hair was silvery white, and shone in the gloom, as he still stood +bareheaded before me, though the rain was falling fast. + +"Take care of us, monsieur?" I replied, putting my hand in his; "we will +go with you." + +"Make haste then, my children," he said, cheerfully; "the rain will hurt +you. Let me lift the _mignonne_ into the _char a bancs_. Bah! How little +she is! _Voila!_ Now, madame, permit me." + +There was a seat in the back of the _char a bancs_ which we reached by +climbing over the front bench, assisted by the driver. There we were +well sheltered from the driving wind and rain, with our feet resting +upon a sack of potatoes, and the two strange figures of the Norman +peasant in his blouse and white cotton cap, and the cure in his hat and +cassock, filling up the front of the car before us. + +It was so unlike any thing I had foreseen, that I could scarcely believe +that it was real. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. + +THE CURE OF VILLE-EN-BOIS. + + +"They are not Frenchwomen, Monsieur le Cure," observed the driver, after +a short pause. We were travelling slowly, for the cure would not allow +the peasant to whip on the shaggy cart-horse. We were, moreover, going +up-hill, along roads as rough as any about my father's sheep-walk, with +large round stones deeply bedded in the soil. + +"No, no, my good Jean," was the cure's answer; "by their tongue I should +say they are English. Englishwomen are extremely intrepid, and voyage +about all the world quite alone, like this. It is only a marvel to me +that we have never encountered one of them before to-day." + +"But, Monsieur le Cure, are they Christian?" inquired Jean, with a +backward glance at us. Evidently he had not altogether recovered from +the fright we had given him, when we appeared suddenly from out of the +gloomy shadows of the cypresses. + +"The English nation is Protestant," replied the cure, with a sigh. + +"But, monsieur," exclaimed Jean, "if they are Protestants they cannot be +Christians! Is it not true that all the Protestants go to hell on the +back of that bad king who had six wives all at one time?" + +"Not all at one time, my good Jean," the cure answered mildly; "no, no, +surely they do not all go to perdition. If they know any thing of the +love of Christ, they must be Christians, however feeble and ignorant. He +does not quench the smoking flax, Jean. Did you not hear madame say, +'Help me, for the love of Christ?' Good! There is the smoking flax, +which may burn into a flame brighter than yours or mine some day, my +poor friend. We must make her and the _mignonne_ as welcome as if they +were good Catholics. She is very poor, cela saute aux yeux--" + +"Monsieur," I interrupted, feeling almost guilty in having listened so +far, "I understand French very well, though I speak it badly." + +"Pardon, madame!" he replied, "I hope you will not be grieved by the +foolish words we have been speaking one to the other." + +After that all was still again for some time, except the tinkling of the +bells, and the pad-pad of the horse's feet upon the steep and rugged +road. Hills rose on each side of us, which were thickly planted with +trees. Even the figures of the cure and driver were no longer well +defined in the denser darkness. Minima had laid her head on my shoulder, +and seemed to be asleep. By-and-by a village clock striking echoed +faintly down the valley; and the cure turned round and addressed me +again. + +"There is my village, madame," he said, stretching forth his hand to +point it out, though we could not see a yard beyond the _char a bancs_; +"it is very small, and my parish contains but four hundred and +twenty-two souls, some of them very little ones. They all know me, and +regard me as a father. They love me, though I have some rebel sons.--Is +it not so, Jean? Rebel sons, but not many rebel daughters. Here we are!" + +We entered a narrow and roughly-paved village-street. The houses, as I +saw afterward, were all huddled together, with a small church at the +point farthest from the entrance; and the road ended at its porch, as if +there were no other place in the world beyond it. + +As we clattered along the dogs barked, and the cottage-doors flew open. +Children toddled to the thresholds, and called after us, in shrill +notes, "Good-evening, and a good-night, Monsieur le Cure!" Men's voices, +deeper and slower, echoed the salutation. The cure was busy greeting +each one in return: "Good-night, my little rogue," "Good-night, my +lamb." "Good-night to all of you, my friends;" his cordial voice making +each word sound as if it came from his very heart. I felt that we were +perfectly secure in his keeping. + +Never, as long as I live, shall I smell the pungent, pleasant scent of +wood burning without recalling to my memory that darksome entrance into +Ville-en-bois. + +"We drove at last into a square courtyard, paved with pebbles. Almost +before the horse could stop I saw a stream of light shining from an open +door across a causeway, and the voice of a woman, whom I could not see, +spoke eagerly as soon as the horse's hoofs had ceased to scrape upon the +pebbles. + +"Hast thou brought a doctor with thee, my brother?" she asked. + +"I have brought no doctor except thy brother, my sister," answered +Monsieur Laurentie, "also a treasure which I found at the foot of the +Calvary down yonder." + +He had alighted while saying this, and the rest of the conversation was +carried on in whispers. There was some one ill in the house, and our +arrival was ill-timed, that was quite clear. Whoever the woman was that +had come to the door, she did not advance to speak to me, but retreated +as soon as the conversation was over; while the cure returned to the +side of the _char a bancs_, and asked me to remain where I was, with +Minima, for a few minutes. + +The horse was taken out by Jean, and led away to the stable, the shafts +of the _char a bancs_ being supported by two props put under them. Then +the place grew profoundly quiet. I leaned forward to look at the +presbytery, which I supposed this house to be. It was a low, large +building of two stories, with eaves projecting two or three feet over +the upper one. At the end of it rose the belfry of the church--an open +belfry, with one bell hanging underneath a little square roof of tiles. +The church itself was quite hidden by the surrounding walls and roofs. +All was dark, except a feeble glimmering in four upper casements, which +seemed to belong to one large room. The church-clock chimed a quarter, +then half-past, and must have been near upon the three-quarters; but yet +there was no sign that we were remembered. Minima was still asleep. I +was growing cold, depressed, and anxious, when the house-door opened +once more, and the cure appeared carrying a lamp, which he placed on the +low stone wall surrounding the court. + +"Pardon, madame," he said, approaching us, "but my sister is too much +occupied with a sick person to do herself the honor of attending upon +you. Permit me to fill her place, and excuse her, I pray you. Give me +the poor _mignonne_; I will lift her down first, and then assist you to +descend." + +His politeness did not seem studied; it had too kindly a tone to be +artificial. I lifted Minima over the front seat, and sprang down myself, +glad to be released from my stiff position, and hardly availing myself +of his proffered help. He did not conduct us through the open door, but +led us round the angle of the presbytery to a small outhouse, opening on +to the court, and with no other entrance. It was a building lying +between the porch and belfry of the church and his own dwelling place. +But it looked comfortable and inviting. A fire had been hastily kindled +on an open hearth, and a heap of wood lay beside it. A table stood close +by, in the light and warmth, on which were steaming two basins of soup, +and an omelette fresh from the frying-pan; with fruit and wine for a +second course. Two beds were in this room: one with hangings over the +head, and a large, tall cross at the foot-board; the other a low, narrow +pallet, lying along the foot of it. A crucifix hung upon the wall, and +the wood-work of the high window also formed a cross. It seemed a +strange goal to reach after our day's wanderings. + +Monsieur Laurentie put the lamp down on the table, and drew the logs of +wood together on the hearth. He was an old man, as I then thought, over +sixty. He looked round upon us with a benevolent smile. + +"Madame," he said, "our hospitality is rude and simple, but you are very +welcome guests. My sister is desolated that she must leave you to my +cares. But if there be any thing you have need of, tell me, I pray you." + +"There is nothing, monsieur," I answered; "you are too good to us, too +good." + +"No, no, madame," he said, "be content. To-morrow I will send you to +Granville under the charge of my good Jean. Sleep well, my children, and +fear nothing. The good God will protect you." + +He closed the door after him as he spoke, but opened it again to call my +attention to a thick wooden bar, with which I might fasten it inside if +I chose; and to tell me not to alarm myself when I heard the bell +overhead toll for matins, at half-past five in the morning. I listened +to his receding footsteps, and then turned eagerly to the food, which I +began to want greatly. + +But Minima had thrown herself upon the low pallet-bed, and I could not +persuade her to swallow more than a few spoonfuls of soup. I toot off +her damp clothes, and laid her down comfortably to rest. Her eyes were +dull and heavy, and she said her head was aching; but she looked up at +me with a faint smile. + +"I told you how nice it would be to be in bed," she whispered. + +"It was not long before I was also sleeping soundly the deep, dreamless +sleep which comes to any one as strong as I was, after unusual physical +exertion. Once or twice a vague impression forced itself upon me that +Minima was talking a great deal in her dreams. It was the clang of the +bell for matins which fully roused me at last, but it was a minute or +two before I could make out where I was. Through the uncurtained window, +high in the opposite wall, I could see a dim, pallid moon sinking slowly +into the west. The thick beams of the cross were strongly delineated +against its pale light. For a moment I fancied that Minima and I had +passed the night under the shelter of the solitary image, which we had +left alone in the dark and rainy evening. I knew better immediately, and +lay still, listening to the tramp of the wooden _sabots_ hurrying past +the door into the church-porch. Then Minima began to talk. + +"How funny that is!" she said, "there the boys run, and I can't catch +one of them. Father, Temple Secundus is pulling faces at me, and all the +boys are laughing." "Well! it doesn't matter, does it? Only we are so +poor, Aunt Nelly and all. We're so poor--so poor--so poor!" + +Her voice fell into a murmur too low for me to hear what she was saying, +though she went on talking rapidly, and laughing and sobbing at times. I +called to her, but she did not answer. + +What could ail the child? I went to her, and took her hands in +mine--burning little hands. I said, "Minima! and she turned to me with +a caressing gesture, raising her hot fingers to stroke my face. + +"Yes, Aunt Nelly. How poor we are, you and me! I am so tired, and the +prince never comes!" + +There was hardly room for me in the narrow bed, but I managed to lie +down beside her, and took her into my arms to soothe her. She rested +there quietly enough; but her head was wandering, and all her whispered +chatter was about the boys, and the dominie, her father, and the happy +days at home in the school in Epping Forest. As soon as it was light I +dressed myself in haste, and opened my door to see if I could find any +one to send to Monsieur Laurentie. + +The first person I saw was himself, coming in my direction. I had not +fairly looked at him before, for I had seen him only by twilight and +firelight. His cassock was old and threadbare, and his hat brown. His +hair fell in rather long locks below his hat, and was beautifully white. +His face was healthy-looking, like that of a man who lived much +out-of-doors, and his clear, quick eyes shone with a kindly light. I +ran impulsively to meet him, with outstretched hands, which he took into +his own with a pleasant smile. + +"Oh, come, monsieur," I cried; "make haste! She is ill, my poor Minima!" + +The smile faded away from his face in an instant, and he did not utter a +word. He followed me quickly to the side of the little bed, laid his +hand softly on the child's forehead, and felt her pulse. He lifted up +her head gently, and, opening her mouth, looked at her tongue and +throat. He shook his head as he turned to me with a grave and perplexed +expression, and he spoke with a low, solemn accent. + +"Madame," he said, "it is the fever." + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. + +A FEVER-HOSPITAL. + + +The fever! What fever? Was it any thing more than some childish malady +brought on by exhaustion? I stood silent, in amazement at his solemn +manner, and looking from him to the delirious child. He was the first to +speak again. + +"It will be impossible for you to go to-day," he said; "the child cannot +be removed. I must tell Jean to put up the horse and _char a bancs_ +again. I shall return in an instant to you, madame." + +He left me, and I sank down on a chair, half stupefied by this new +disaster. It would be necessary to stay where we were until Minima +recovered; yet I had no means to pay these people for the trouble we +should give them, and the expense we should be to them. Monsieur le Cure +had all the appearance of a poor parish priest, with a very small +income. I had not time to decide upon any course, however, before he +returned and brought with him his sister. + +Mademoiselle Therese was a tall, plain, elderly woman, but with the same +pleasant expression of open friendliness as that of her brother. She +went through precisely the same examination of Minima as he had done. + +"The fever!" she ejaculated, in much the same tone as his. They looked +significantly at each other, and then held a hurried consultation +together outside the door, after which the cure returned alone. + +"Madame," he said, "this child is not your own, as I supposed last +night. My sister says you are too young to be her mother. Is she your +sister?" + +"No, monsieur," I answered. + +"I called you madame because you were travelling alone," he continued, +smiling; "French demoiselles never travel alone before they are married. +You are mademoiselle, no doubt?" + +An awkward question, for he paused as if it were a question. I look into +his kind, keen face and honest eyes. + +"No, monsieur," I said, frankly, "I am married." + +"Where, then, is your husband?" he inquired. + +"He is in London," I answered. "Monsieur, it is difficult for me to +explain it; I cannot speak your language well enough. I think in +English, and I cannot find the right French words. I am very unhappy, +but I am not wicked." + +"Good," he said, smiling again, "very good, my child; I believe you. You +will learn my language quickly; then you shall tell me all, if you +remain with us. But you said the _mignonne_ is not your sister." + +"No; she is not my relative at all," I replied; "we were both in a +school at Noireau, the school of Monsieur Emile Perrier. Perhaps you +know it, monsieur?" + +"Certainly, madame," he said. + +"He has failed and run away," I continued; "all the pupils are +dispersed. Minima and I were returning through Granville."' + +"Bien! I understand, madame," he responded; "but it is villanous, this +affair! Listen, my child. I have much to say to you. Do I speak gently +and slowly enough for you?" + +"Yes," I answered; "I understand you perfectly."' + +"We have had the fever in Ville-en-bois for some weeks," he went on; "it +is now bad, very bad. Yesterday I went to Noireau to seek a doctor, but +I could only hear of one, who is in Paris at present, and cannot come +immediately. When you prayed me for succor last night, I did not know +what to do. I could not leave you by the way-side, with the night coming +on, and I could not take you to my own house. At present we have made my +house into a hospital for the sick. My people bring their sick to me, +and we do our best, and put our trust in God. I said to myself and to +Jean, 'We cannot receive these children into the presbytery, lest they +should take the fever.' But this little house has been kept free from +all infection, and you would be safe here for one night, so I hoped. The +_mignonne_ must have caught the fever some days ago. There is no blame, +therefore, resting upon me, you understand. Now I must carry her into my +little hospital. But you, madame, what am I to do with you? Do you wish +to go on to Granville, and leave the _mignonne_ with me? We will take +care of her as a little angel of God. What shall I do with you, my +child?" + +"Monsieur," I exclaimed, speaking so eagerly that I could scarcely bring +my sentences into any kind of order, "take me into your hospital too. +Let me take care of Minima and your other sick people. I am very strong, +and in good health; I am never ill, never, never. I will do all you say +to me. Let me stay, dear monsieur." + +"But your husband, your friends--" he said. + +"I have no friends," I interrupted, "and my husband does not love me. If +I have the fever, and die--good! very good! I am not wicked; I am a +Christian, I hope. Only let me stay with Minima, and do all I can in the +hospital." + +He stood looking at me scrutinizingly, trying to read, I fancied, if +there were any sign of wickedness in my face. I felt it flush, but I +would not let my eyes sink before his. I think he saw in them, in my +steadfast, tearful eyes, that I might be unfortunate, but that I was not +wicked. A pleasant gleam came across his features. + +"Be content, my child," he said, "you shall stay with us." + +I felt a sudden sense of contentment take possession of me; for here was +work for me to do, as well as a refuge. Neither should I be compelled to +leave Minima. I wrapped her up warmly in the blankets, and Monsieur +Laurentie lifted her carefully and tenderly from the low bed. He told me +to accompany him, and we crossed the court, and entered the house by the +door I had seen the night before. A staircase of red quarries led up to +the second story, and the first door we came to was a long, low room, +with a quarried floor, which had been turned into a hastily-fitted-up +fever-ward for women and children. There were already nine beds in it, of +different sizes, brought with the patients who now occupied them. But +one of these was empty. + +I learned afterward that the girl to whom the bed belonged had died the +day before, during the cure's absence, and was going to be buried that +morning, in a cemetery lying in a field on the side of the valley. +Mademoiselle Therese was making up the bed with homespun linen, scented +with rosemary and lavender, and the cure laid Minima down upon it with +all the skill of a woman. In this home-like ward I took up my work as +nurse. + +It was work that seemed to come naturally to me, as if I had a special +gift for it. I remembered how some of the older shepherds on the station +at home used to praise my mother's skill as a nurse. I felt as if I knew +by instinct the wants of my little patients, when they could not put +them into coherent words for themselves. They were mostly children, or +quite young girls; for the older people who were stricken by the fever +generally clung to their own homes, and the cure visited them there with +the regularity of a physician. I liked to find for these suffering +children a more comfortable position when they were weary; or to bathe +their burning heads with some cool lotion; or to give the parched lips +the _titane_ Mademoiselle Therese prepared. Even the delirium of these +little creatures was but a babbling about playthings, and _fetes_, and +games. Minima, whose fever took faster hold of her day after day, +prattled of the same things in English, only with sad alternations of +moaning over our poverty. + +It was probably these lamentations of Minima which made me sometimes +look forward with dread to the time when this season of my life should +be ended. I knew it could be only for a little while, an interlude, a +brief, passing term, which must run quickly to its conclusion, and bring +me face to face again with the terrible poverty which the child bemoaned +in words no one could understand but myself. Already my own appearance +was changing, as Mademoiselle Therese supplied the place of my clothing, +which wore out with my constant work, replacing it with the homely +costume of the Norman village. I could not expect to remain here when my +task was done. The presbytery was too poor to offer me a shelter when I +could be nothing but a burden in it. This good cure, who was growing +fonder of me every day, and whom I had learned to love and honor, could +not be a father to me as he was to his own people. Sooner or later there +would come an hour when we must say adieu to one another, and I must go +out once again to confront the uncertain future. + +But for the present these fears were very much in the background, and I +only felt that they were lurking there, ready for any moment of +depression. I was kept too busy with the duties of the hour to attend to +them. Some of the children died, and I grieved over them; some recovered +sufficiently to be removed to a farm on the brow of the hill, where the +air was fresher than in the valley. There was plenty to do and to think +of from day to day. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. + +OUTCAST PARISHIONERS. + + +"Madame." said Monsieur Laurentie; one morning, the eighth that I had +been in the fever-smitten village, "you did not take a promenade +yesterday." + +"Not yesterday, monsieur." + +"Nor the day before yesterday?" he continued. + +"No, monsieur," I answered; "I dare not leave Minima, I fear she is +going to die." + +My voice failed me as I spoke to him. I was sitting down for a few +minutes on a low seat, between Minima's bed and one where a little boy +of six years of age lay. Both were delirious. He was the little son of +Jean, our driver, and the sacristan of the church; and his father had +brought him into the ward the evening of the day after Minima had been +taken ill. Jean had besought me with tears to be good to his child. The +two had engrossed nearly all my time and thoughts, and I was losing +heart and hope every hour. + +Monsieur Laurentie raised me gently from my low chair, and seated +himself upon it, with a smile, as he looked up at me. + +"_Voila_, madame," he said, "I promise not to quit the chamber till you +return. My sister has a little commission for you to do. Confide the +_mignonne_ to me, and make your promenade in peace. It is necessary, +madame; you must obey me." + +The commission for mademoiselle was to carry some food and medicine to a +cottage lower down the valley; and Jean's eldest son, Pierre, was +appointed to be my guide. Both the cure and his sister gave me a strict +charge as to what we were to do; neither of us was upon any account to +go near or enter the dwelling; but after the basket was deposited upon a +flat stone, which Pierre was to point out to me, he was to ring a small +hand-bell which he carried with him for that purpose. Then we were to +turn our backs and begin our retreat, before any person came out of the +infected house. + +I set out with Pierre, a solemn-looking boy of about twelve years of +age, who cast upon me sidelong glances of silent scrutiny. We passed +down the village street, with its closely-packed houses forming a very +nest for fever, until we reached the road by which I had first entered +Ville-en-bois. Now that I could see it by daylight, the valley was +extremely narrow, and the hills on each side so high that, though the +sun had risen nearly three hours ago, it had but just climbed above the +brow of the eastern slope. There was a luxurious and dank growth of +trees, with a tangle of underwood and boggy soil beneath them. A vapor +was shining in rainbow colors against the brightening sky. In the depth +of the valley, but hidden by the thicket, ran a noisy stream--too noisy +to be any thing else than shallow. There had been no frost since the +sharp and keen wintry weather in December, and the heavy rains which had +fallen since had flooded the stream, and made the lowlands soft and oozy +with undrained moisture. My guide and I trudged along in silence for +almost a kilometre. + +"Are you a pagan, madame?" inquired Pierre, at last, with eager +solemnity of face and voice. His blue eyes were fastened upon me +pityingly. + +"No, Pierre," I replied. + +"But you are a heretic," he pursued. + +"I suppose so," I said. + +"Pagans and heretics are the same," he rejoined, dogmatically; "you are +a heretic, therefore you are a pagan, madame." + +"I am not a pagan," I persisted; "I am a Christian like you." + +"Does Monsieur le Cure say you are a Christian?" he inquired. + +"You can ask him, Pierre," I replied. + +"He will know," he said, in a confident tone; "he knows every thing. +There is no cure like monsieur between Ville-en-bois and Paris. All the +world must acknowledge that. He is our priest, our doctor, our _juge de +paix_, our school-master. Did you ever know a cure like him before, +madame?" + +"I never knew any cure before," I replied. + +"Never knew any cure!" he repeated slowly; "then, madame, you must be a +pagan. Did you never confess? Were you never prepared for your first +communion? Oh! it is certain, madame, you are a true pagan." + +We had not any more time to discuss my religion, for we were drawing +near the end of our expedition. Above the tops of the trees appeared a +tall chimney, and a sudden turn in the by-road we had taken brought us +full in sight of a small cotton-mill, built on the banks of the noisy +stream. It was an ugly, formal building, as all factories are, with +straight rows of window-frames; but both walls and roof were mouldering +into ruin, and looked as though they must before long sink into the +brawling waters that were sapping the foundations. A more +mournfully-dilapidated place I had never seen. A blight seemed to have +fallen upon it; some solemn curse might be brooding over it, and slowly +working out its total destruction. + +In the yard adjoining this deserted factory stood a miserable cottage, +with a thatched roof, and eaves projecting some feet from the walls, and +reaching nearly to the ground, except where the door was. The small +casements of the upper story, if there were any, were completely hidden. +A row of _fleur-de-lis_ was springing up, green and glossy, along the +peak of the brown thatch; this and the picturesque eaves forming its +only beauty. The thatch looked old and rotten, and was beginning to +steam in the warm sunshine. The unpaved yard about it was a slough of +mire and mud. There were mould and mildew upon all the wood-work. The +place bore the aspect of a pest-house, shunned by all the inmates of the +neighboring village. Pierre led me to a large flat stone, which had once +been a horse-block, standing at a safe distance from this hovel, and I +laid down my basket upon it. Then he rang his hand-bell noisily, and the +next instant was scampering back along the road. + +But I could not run away. The desolate, plague-stricken place had a +dismal fascination for me. I wondered what manner of persons could dwell +in it; and, as I lingered, I saw the low door opened, and a thin, +spectral figure standing in the gloom within, but delaying to cross the +mouldering door-sill as long as I remained in sight. In another minute +Pierre had rushed back for me, and dragged me away with all his boyish +strength and energy. + +"Madame," he said, in angry remonstrance, "you are disobeying Monsieur +le Cure. If you catch the fever, and die while you are a pagan, it will +be impossible for you to go to heaven. It would be a hundred times +better for me to die, who have taken my first communion." + +"But who lives there?" I asked. + +"They are very wicked people," he answered, emphatically; "no one goes +near them, except Monsieur le Cure, and he would go and nurse the devil +himself, if he had the fever in his parish. They became wicked before my +time, and Monsieur le Cure has forbidden us to speak of them with +rancor, so we do not speak of them at all." + +I walked back in sadness, wondering at this misery and solitariness by +the side of the healthy, simple society of the lonely village, with its +interwoven family interests. As I passed through the street again, I +heard the click of the hand-looms in most of the dwellings, and saw the +pale-faced weavers, in their white and tasselled caps, here a man and +there a woman, look after me, while they suspended their work for a +moment. Every door was open; the children ran in and out of any house, +playing together as if they were of one family; the women were knitting +in companies under the eaves. Who were these pariahs, whose name even +was banished from every tongue? I must ask the cure himself. + +But I had no opportunity that day. When I returned to the sick-ward, I +found Monsieur Laurentie pacing slowly up and down the long room, with +Jean's little son in his arms, to whom he was singing in a low, soft +voice, scarcely louder than a whisper. His eyes, when they met mine, +were glistening with tears, and he shook his head mournfully. + +I went on to look at Minima. She was lying quiet, too weak and exhausted +to be violent, but chattering all the time in rapid, childish sentences. +I could do nothing for her, and I went back to the hearth, where the +cure was now standing, looking sadly at the child in his arms. He bade +me sit down on a tabouret that stood there, and laid his little burden +on my lap. + +"The child has no mother, madame," he said; "let him die in a woman's +arms." + +I had never seen any one die, not even my father, and I shrank from +seeing it. But the small white face rested helplessly against my arm, +and the blue eyes unclosed for a moment, and gazed into mine, almost +with a smile. Monsieur Laurentie called in Jean and Pierre, and they +knelt before us in silence, broken only by sobs. In the room there were +children's voices talking about their toys, and calling to one another +in shrill, feverish accents. How many deaths such as this was I to +witness? + +"Monsieur le Cure!" murmured the failing voice of the little child. + +"What is it, my little one?" he said, stooping over him. + +"Shall I play sometimes with the little child Jesus?" + +The words fell one by one from the feeble lips. + +"Yes, _mon cheri_, yes. The holy child Jesus knows what little children +need," answered the cure. + +"He is always good and wise," whispered the dying child; "so good, so +wise." + +How quickly it was over after that! + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. + +A TACITURN FRENCHWOMAN. + + +Minima was so much worse that night, that Monsieur Laurentie gave me +permission to sit up with Mademoiselle Therese, to watch beside her. +There was a kindly and unselfish disposition about Monsieur le Cure +which it was impossible to resist, or even gainsay. His own share of the +trouble, anxiety, and grief, was so large, that he seemed to stand above +us all, and be naturally our director and ruler. But to-night, when I +begged to stay with Minima, he conceded the point without a word. + +Mademoiselle Therese was the most silent woman I ever met. She could +pass a whole day without uttering a word, and did not seem to suffer any +_ennui_ from her silence. In the house she wore always, like the other +inhabitants of the village, men and women, soundless felt socks, which +slipped readily into the wooden _sabots_ used for walking out-of-doors. +I was beginning to learn to walk in _sabots_ myself, for the time was +drawing rapidly near when otherwise I should be barefoot. + +With this taciturn Frenchwoman I entered upon my night-watch by Minima, +whose raving no one could understand but myself. The long, dark hours +seemed interminable. Mademoiselle sat knitting a pair of gray stockings +in the intervals of attendance upon our patients. The subdued glimmer +of the night-lamp, the ticking of the clock, the chimes every quarter of +an hour from the church-tower, all conspired to make me restless and +almost nervous. + +"Mademoiselle," I said, at last, "talk to me. I cannot bear this +tranquillity. Tell me something." + +"What can I tell you, madame?" she inquired, in a pleasant tone. + +"Tell me about those people I saw this morning," I answered. + +"It is a long history," she said, her face kindling, as if this were a +topic that excited her; and she rolled up her knitting, as though she +could not trust herself to continue that while she was talking; "all the +world knows it here, and we never talk of it now. Bat you are a +stranger; shall I tell it you?" + +I had hit upon the only subject that could unlock her lips. It was the +night-time too. At night one is naturally more communicative than in the +broad light of day. + +"Madame," she said, in an agitated voice, "you have observed already +that my brother is not like other cures. He has his own ideas, his own +sentiments. Everybody knows him at this moment as the good Cure of +Ville-en-bois; but when he came here first, thirty years ago, all the +world called him infidel, heretic, atheist. It was because he would make +many changes in the church and parish. The church had been famous for +miracles; but Francis did not believe in them, and he would not +encourage them. There used to be pilgrimages to it from all the country +round; and crowds of pilgrims, who spend much money. There was a great +number of crutches left at the shrine of the Virgin by cripples who had +come here by their help, but walked away without them. He cleared them +all away, and called them rubbish. So every one said he was an +infidel--you understand?" + +"I understand it very well," I said. + +"Bien! At that time there was one family richer than all the others. +They were the proprietors of the factory down yonder, and everybody +submitted to them. There was a daughter not married, but very devote. I +have been devote, myself. I was coquette till I was thirty-five, then I +became devote. It is easier than being a simple Christian, like my +brother the cure. Mademoiselle Pineau was accustomed to have visions, +ecstasies. Sometimes the angels lifted her from the ground into the air +when she was at her prayers. Francis did not like that. He was young, +and she came very often to the confessional, and told him of these +visions and ecstasies. He discouraged them, and enjoined penances upon +her. Bref! she grew to detest him, and she was quite like a female cure +in the parish. She set everybody against him. At last, when he removed +all the plaster images of the saints, and would have none but wood or +stone, she had him cited to answer for it to his bishop." + +"But what did he do that for?" I asked, seeing no difference between +plaster images, and those of wood or stone. + +"Madame, these Normans are ignorant and very superstitious," she +replied; "they thought a little powder from one of the saints would cure +any malady. Some of the images were half-worn away with having powder +scraped off them. My brother would not hold with such follies, and his +bishop told him he might fight the battle out, if he could. No one +thought he could; but they did not know Francis. It was a terrible +battle, madame. Nobody would come to the confessional, and every month +or so, he was compelled to have a vicaire from some other parish to +receive the confessions of his people. Mademoiselle Pineau fanned the +flame, and she had the reputation of a saint." + +"But how did it end?" I inquired. Mademoiselle's face was all aglow, and +her voice rose and fell in her excitement; yet she lingered over the +story as if reluctant to lose the rare pleasure of telling it. + +"In brief, madame," she resumed, "there was a terrible conflagration in +the village. You perceive that all our houses are covered with tiles? In +those days the roofs were of thatch, very old and very dry, and there +was much timber in the walls. How the fire began, the good God alone +knows. It was a sultry day in July; the river was almost dry, and there +was no hope of extinguishing the flames. They ran like lightning from +roof to roof. All that could be done was to save life, and a little +property. My brother threw off his cassock, and worked like Hercules. + +"The Pineaux lived then close by the presbytery, in a house half of +wood, which blazed like tinder; there was nothing comparable to it in +all the village. A domestic suddenly cried out that mademoiselle was in +her oratory, probably in a trance. Not a soul dares venture through the +flames to save her, though she is a saint. Monsieur le Cure hears the +rumor of it; he steps in through the doorway through which the smoke is +rolling; walks in as tranquilly as if he were going to make a visit as +pastor; he is lost to their sight; not a man stirs to look after his own +house. Bref! he comes back to the day, his brown hair all singed and his +face black, carrying mademoiselle in his arms. Good: The battle is +finished. All the world adores him." + +"Continue, mademoiselle, I pray you," I said, eagerly; "do not leave off +there." + +"Bien! Monsieur le Cure and his unworthy sister had a small fortune +which was spent, for the people. He begged for them; he worked with +them; he learned to do many things to help them. He lives for them and +them only. He has refused to leave them for better positions. They are +not ungrateful; they love him, they lean upon him." + +"But the Pineaux?" I suggested. + +"Bah! I had forgotten them. Their factory was burnt at the same time. It +is more than a kilometre from here; but who can say how far the burning +thatch might be carried on the wind? It was insured for a large sum in a +bureau in Paris. But there were suspicions raised and questions asked. +Our sacristan, Jean, who was then a young boy, affirmed that he had seen +some one carrying a lighted torch around the building, after the +work-people had all fled to see after their own houses. The bureau +refused to pay, except by a process of law; and the Pineaux never began +their process. They worked the factory a few years on borrowed money; +but they became poor, very poor. Mademoiselle ceased to be devote, and +did not come near the church or the confessional again. Now they are +despised and destitute. Not a person goes near them, except my good +brother, whom they hate still. There remain but three of them, the old +monsieur, who is very aged, a son, and mademoiselle, who is as old as +myself. The son has the fever, and Francis visits him almost every day." + +"It is a wretched, dreadful place," I said, shuddering at the +remembrance of it. + +"They will die there probably," she remarked, in a quiet voice, and with +an expression of some weariness now the tale was told; "my brother +refuses to let me go to see them. Mademoiselle hates me, because in some +part I have taken her place. Francis says there is work enough for me at +home. Madame, I believe the good God sent you here to help us." + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH. + +SENT BY GOD. + + +I discovered that mademoiselle's opinion was shared by all the people in +Ville-en-bois, and Monsieur Laurentie favored the universal impression. +I had been sent to them by a special providence. There was something +satisfactory and consolatory to them all in my freedom from personal +anxieties and cares like their own. I had neither parent, nor husband, +nor child to be attacked by the prevailing infection. As soon as Minima +had passed safely through the most dangerous stages of the fever, I was +at leisure to listen to and sympathize with each one of them. Possibly +there was something in the difficulty I still experienced in expressing +myself fluently which made me a better listener, and so won them to pour +out their troubles into my attentive ear. Jean and Pierre especially +were devoted to me, since the child that had belonged to them had died +upon my lap. + +Through March, April, and May, the fever had its fling, though we were +not very long without a doctor. Monsieur Laurentie found one who came +and, I suppose, did all he could for the sick; but he could not do much. +I was kept too busily occupied to brood much either upon the past or the +future, of my own life. Not a thought crossed my mind of deserting the +little Norman village where I could be of use. Besides, Minima gained +strength very slowly, too slowly to be removed from the place, or to +encounter any fresh privations. + +When June came there were no new cases in the village, though the +summer-heat kept our patients languid. The last person who died of the +fever was Mademoiselle Pineau, in the mill-cottage. The old man and his +son had died before her, the former of old age, the latter of fever. Who +was the heir to the ruined factory and the empty cottage no one as yet +knew, but, until he appeared, every thing had to be left as it was. The +cure kept the key of the dwelling, though there was no danger of any one +trespassing upon the premises, as all the villagers regarded it as an +accursed place. Of the four hundred and twenty-two souls which had +formed the total of Monsieur le Cure's flock, he had lost thirty-one. + +In July the doctor left us, saying there was no fear of the fever +breaking out again at present. His departure seemed the signal for mine. +Monsieur Laurentie was not rich enough to feed two idle mouths, like +mine and Minima's, and there was little for me to do but sit still in +the uncarpeted, barely-furnished _salon_ of the presbytery, listening to +the whirr of mademoiselle's spinning-wheel, and the drowsy, sing-song +hum of the village children at school, in a shed against the walls of +the house. Every thing seemed falling back into the pleasant monotony of +a peaceful country life, pleasant after the terror and grief of the past +months. The hay-harvest was over, and the cherry-gathering; the corn and +the apples were ripening fast in the heat of the sun. In this lull, this +pause, my heart grew busy again with itself. + +"My child," said the cure to me, one evening, when his long day's work +was over, "your face is _triste_. What are you thinking of?" + +I was seated under a thick-leaved sycamore, a few paces from the +church-porch. Vespers were just ended; the low chant had reached my +ears, and I missed the soothing undertone. The women, in their high +white caps, and the men, in their blue blouses, were sauntering slowly +homeward. The children were playing all down the village street, and not +far away a few girls and young men were beginning to dance to the piping +of a flute. Over the whole was creeping the golden twilight of a summer +evening. + +"I am very _triste_" I replied; "I am thinking that it is time for me to +go away from you all. I cannot stay in this tranquil place." + +"But wherefore must you leave us?" he asked, sitting down on the bench +beside me; "I found two little stray lambs, wandering without fold or +shepherd, and I brought them to my own house. What compels them to go +into the wide world again?" + +"Monsieur, we are poor," I answered, "and you are not rich. We should be +a burden to you, and we have no claim upon you." + +"You have a great claim," he said; "there is not a heart in the parish +that does not love you already. Have not our children died in your arms? +Have you not watched over them? spent sleepless nights and watchful days +for them? How could we endure to see you go away? Remain with us, +madame; live with us, you and my _mignonne_, whose face is white yet." + +Could I stay then? It was a very calm, very secure refuge. There was no +danger of discovery. Yet there was a restlessness in my spirit at war +with the half-mournful, half-joyous serenity of the place, where I had +seen so many people die, and where there were so many new graves in the +little cemetery up the hill. If I could go away for a while, I might +return, and learn to be content amid this tranquillity. + +"Madame," said the pleasant tones of Monsieur Laurentie, "do you know +our language well enough to tell me your history now? You need not prove +to me that you are not wicked; tell me how you are unfortunate. Where +were you wandering to that night when I found you at the foot of the +Calvary?" + +There, in the cool, deepening twilight, I told him my story, little by +little; sometimes at a loss for words, and always compelled to speak in +the simplest and most direct phrases. He listened, with no other +interruption than to supply me occasionally with an expression when I +hesitated. He appeared to understand me almost by intuition. It was +quite dark before I had finished, and the deep blue of the sky above us +was bright with stars. A glow-worm was moving among the tufts of grass +growing between the roots of the tree; and I watched it almost as +intently as if I had nothing else to think of. + +"Speak to me as if I were your daughter," I said. "Have I done right or +wrong? Would you give me up to him, if he came to claim me?" + +"I am thinking of thee as my daughter," he answered, leaning his hands +and his white head above them, upon the top of the stick he was holding, +and sitting so for some moments in silent thought. "Thy voice is not the +voice of passion," he continued; "it is the voice of conviction, +profound and confirmed. Thou mayst have fled from him in a paroxysm of +wrath, but thy judgment and conscience acquit thee of wrong. In my eyes +it is a sacrament which thou hast broken; yet he had profaned it first. +My daughter, if thy husband returned to thee, penitent, converted, +confessing his offences against thee, couldst thou forgive him?" + +"Yes," I answered, "yes! I could forgive him." + +"Thou wouldst return to him?" he said, in calm, penetrating accents, but +so low as to seem almost the voice of my own heart; "thou wouldst be +subject to him as the Church is subject to Christ? He would be thy head; +wouldst thou submit thyself unto him as unto the Lord?" + +"I shivered with dread as the quiet, solemn tones fell upon my ear, +poignantly, as if they must penetrate to my heart. I could not keep +myself from sobbing. His face was turned toward me in the dusk, and I +covered mine with my hands. + +"Not now," I cried; "I cannot, I cannot. I was so young, monsieur; I did +not know what I was promising. I could never return to him, never." + +"My daughter," pursued the inexorable voice beside me, "is it because +there is any one whom thou lovest more?" + +"Oh!" I cried, almost involuntarily, and speaking now in my own +language, "I do not know. I could have loved Martin dearly--dearly." + +"I do not understand thy words," said Monsieur Laurentie, "but I +understand thy tears and sighs. Thou must stay here, my daughter, with +me, and these poor, simple people who love thee. I will not let thee go +into temptation. Courage; thou wilt be happy among us, when thou hast +conquered this evil. As for the rest, I must think about it. Let us go +in now. The lamp has been lit and supper served this half-hour. There is +my sister looking out at us. Come, madame. You are in my charge, and I +will take care of you." + +A few days after this, the whole community was thrown into a tumult by +the news that their cure was about to undertake the perils of a voyage +to England, and would be absent a whole fortnight. He said it was to +obtain some information as to the English system of drainage in +agricultural districts, which might make their own valley more healthy +and less liable to fever. But it struck me that he was about to make +some inquiries concerning my husband, and perhaps about Minima, whose +desolate position had touched him deeply. I ventured to tell him what +danger might arise to me if any clew to my hiding-place fell into +Richard Foster's hands. + +"My poor child," he said, "why art thou so fearful? There is not a man +here who would not protect thee. He would be obliged to prove his +identity, and thine, before he could establish his first right to claim +thee. Then we would enter a _proces_. Be content. I am going to consult +some lawyers of my own country and thine." + +He bade us farewell, with as many directions and injunctions as a father +might leave to a large family of sons and daughters. Half the village +followed his _char-a-banc_ as far as the cross where he had found Minima +and me, six miles on his road to Noireau. His sister and I, who had +ridden with him so far, left him there, and walked home up the steep, +long road, in the midst of that enthusiastic crowd of his parishioners. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. + +A MOMENT OF TRIUMPH. + + +The afternoon of that day was unusually sultry and oppressive. The blue +of the sky was almost livid. I was weary with the long walk in the +morning, and after our mid-day meal I stole away from mademoiselle and +Minima in the _salon_, and betook myself to the cool shelter of the +church, where the stone walls three feet thick, and the narrow casements +covered with vine-leaves, kept out the heat more effectually than the +half-timber walls of the presbytery. A _vicaire_ from a neighboring +parish was to arrive in time for vespers, and Jean and Pierre were +polishing up the interior of the church, with an eye to their own +credit. It was a very plain, simple building, with but few images in it, +and only two or three votive pictures, very ugly, hanging between the +low Norman arches of the windows. A shrine occupied one transept, and +before it the offerings of flowers were daily renewed by the unmarried +girls of the village. + +I sat down upon a bench just within the door, and the transept was not +in sight, but I could hear Pierre busy at his task of polishing the +oaken floor, by skating over it with brushes fastened to his feet. Jean +was bustling in and out of the sacristy, and about the high altar in the +chancel. There was a faint scent yet of the incense which had been +burned at the mass celebrated before the cure's departure, enough to +make the air heavy and to deepen the drowsiness and languor which were +stealing over me. I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes, +with a pleasant sense of sleep coming softly toward me, when suddenly a +hand was laid upon my arm, with a firm, close, silent gripe. + +I do not know why terror always strikes me dumb and motionless. I did +not stir or speak, but looked steadily, with a fascinated gaze, into my +husband's face--a worn, white, emaciated face, with eyes peering cruelly +into mine. It was an awful look; one of dark triumph, of sneering, +cunning exultation. Neither of us spoke. Pierre I could hear still busy +in the transept, and Jean, though he had disappeared into the sacristy, +was within call. Yet I felt hopelessly and helplessly alone under the +cruel stare of those eyes. It seemed as if he and I were the only beings +in the whole world, and there was none to help, none to rescue. In the +voiceless depths of my spirit I cried, "O God!" + +He sank down on the seat beside me, with an air of exhaustion, yet with +a low, fiendish laugh which sounded hideously loud in my ears. His +fingers were still about my arm, but he had to wait to recover from the +first shock of his success--for it had been a shock. His face was bathed +with perspiration, and his breath came and went fitfully. I thought I +could even hear the heavy throbbing of his heart. He spoke after a time, +while my eyes were still fastened upon him, and my ears listening to +catch the first words he uttered. + +"I've found you," he said, his hand tightening its hold, and at the +first sound of his voice the spell which bound me snapped; "I've tracked +you out at last to this cursed hole. The game is up, my little lady. By +Heaven! you'll repent of this. You are mine, and no man on earth shall +come between us." + +"I don't understand you," I muttered. He had spoken in an undertone, and +I could not raise my voice above a whisper, so parched and dry my throat +was. + +"Understand?" he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I know all about +Dr. Martin Dobree. You understand that well enough. I am here to take +charge of you, to carry you home with me as my wife, and neither man nor +woman can interfere with me in that. It will be best for you to come +with me quietly." + +"I will not go with you," I answered, in the same hoarse whisper; "I am +living here in the presbytery, and you cannot force me away. I will not +go." + +He laughed a little once more, and looked down upon me contemptuously in +silence, as if there were no notice to be taken of words so foolish. + +"Listen to me," I continued. "When I refused to sign away the money my +father left me, it was because I said to myself it was wrong to throw +away his life's toil and skill upon pursuits like yours. He had worked, +and saved, and denied himself for me, not for a man like you. His money +should not be flung away at gambling-tables. But now I know he would +rather a thousand times you had the money and left me free. Take it +then. You shall have it all. We are both poor as it is, but if you will +let me be free of you, you may have it all--all that I can part with." + +"I prefer having the money and you," he replied, with his frightful +smile. "Why should I not prize what other people covet? You are my wife; +nothing can set that aside. Your money is mine, and you are mine; why +should I forfeit either?" + +"No," I said, growing calmer; "I do not belong to you. No laws on earth +can give you the ownership you claim over me. Richard, you might have +won me, if you had been a good man. But you are evil and selfish, and +you have lost me forever." + +"The silly raving of an ignorant girl!" he sneered; "the law will compel +you to return to me. I will take the law into my own hands, and compel +you to go with me at once. If there is no conveyance to be hired in this +confounded hole, we will walk down the road together, like two lovers, +and wait for the omnibus. Come, Olivia." + +Our voices had not risen much above their undertones yet, but these last +words he spoke more loudly. Jean opened the door of the sacristy and +looked out, and Pierre skated down to the corner of the transept to see +who was speaking. I lifted the hand Richard was not holding, and +beckoned Jean to me. + +"Jean," I said, in a low tone still, "this man is my enemy. Monsieur le +Cure knows all about him; but he is not here. You must protect me." + +"Certainly, madame," he replied, his eyes more roundly open than +ordinarily.--"Monsieur, have the goodness to release madame." + +"She is my wife," retorted Richard Foster. + +"I have told all to Monsieur le Cure," I said. + +"_Bon!_" ejaculated Jean. Monsieur le Cure is gone to England; it is +necessary to wait till his return, Monsieur Englishman." + +"Fool!" said Richard in a passion, "she is my wife, I tell you." + +"_Bon!_" he replied phlegmatically, "but it is my affair to protect +madame. There is no resource but to wait till Monsieur le Cure returns +from his voyage. If madame does not say, 'This is my husband,' how can I +believe you? She says, 'He is my enemy.' I cannot confide madame to a +stranger." + +"I will not leave her," he exclaimed with an oath, spoken in English, +which Jean could not understand. + +"Good! very good! Pardon, monsieur," responded Jean, laying his iron +fingers upon the hand that held me, and loosening its grip as easily as +if it had been the hand of a child.--"_Voila_! madame, you are free. +Leave Monsieur the Englishman to me, and go away into the house, if you +please." + +I did not wait to hear any further altercation, but fled as quickly as I +could into the presbytery. Up into my own chamber I ran, drew a heavy +chest against the door, and fell down trembling and nerveless upon the +floor beside it. + +But there was no time to lose in womanish terrors; my difficulty and +danger were too great. The cure was gone, and would be away at least a +fortnight. How did I know what French law might do with me, in that +time? I dragged myself to the window, and, with my face just above the +sill, looked down the street, to see if my husband were in sight. He was +nowhere to be seen, but loitering at one of the doors was the +letter-carrier, whose daily work it was to meet the afternoon omnibus +returning from Noireau to Granville. Why should I not write to Tardif? +He had promised to come to my help whenever and wherever I might summon +him. I ran down to Mademoiselle Therese for the materials for a letter, +and in a few minutes it was written, and on the way to Sark. + +I was still watching intently from my own casement, when I saw Richard +Foster come round the corner of the church, and turn down the street. +Many of the women were at their doors, and he stopped to speak to first +one and then another. I guessed what he wanted. There was no inn in the +valley, and he was trying to hire a lodging for the night. But Jean was +following him closely, and from every house he was turned away, baffled +and disappointed. He looked weary and bent, and he leaned heavily upon +the strong stick he carried. At last he passed slowly out of sight, and +once more I could breathe freely. + +But I could not bring myself to venture downstairs, where the +uncurtained windows were level with the court, and the unfastened door +opened to my hand. The night fell while I was still alone, unnerved by +the terror I had undergone. Here and there a light glimmered in a +lattice-window, but a deep silence reigned, with no other sound than the +brilliant song of a nightingale amid the trees which girdled the +village. Suddenly there was the noisy rattle of wheels over the rough +pavement--the baying of dogs--an indistinct shout from the few men who +were still smoking their pipes under the broad eaves of their houses. A +horrible dread took hold of me. Was it possible that he returned, with +some force--I knew not what--which should drag me away from my refuge, +and give me up to him? What would Jean and the villagers do? What could +they do against a body of _gendarmes_? + +I gazed shrinkingly into the darkness. The conveyance looked, as far as +I could make out of its shape, very like the _char-a-banc_, which was +not to return from Noireau till the next day. But there was only the +gleam of the lantern it carried on a pole rising above its roof, and +throwing crossbeams of light upon the walls and windows on each side of +the street. It came on rapidly, and passed quickly out of my sight round +the angle of the presbytery. My heart scarcely beat, and my ear was +strained to catch every sound in the house below. + +I heard hurried footsteps and joyous voices. A minute or two afterward, +Minima beat against my barricaded door, and shouted gleefully through +the key-hole: + +"Come down in a minute, Aunt Nelly," she cried; "Monsieur Laurentie is +come home again!" + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. + +PIERRE'S SECRET. + + +I felt as if some strong hand had lifted me out of a whirl of troubled +waters, and set me safely upon a rock. I ran down into the _salon_, +where Monsieur Laurentie was seated, as tranquilly as if he had never +been away, in his high-backed arm-chair, smiling quietly at Minima's +gambols of delight, which ended in her sitting down on a _tabouret_ at +his feet. Jean stood just within the door, his hands behind his back, +holding his white cotton cap in them: he had been making his report of +the day's events. Monsieur held out his hand to me, and I ran to him, +caught it in both of mine, bent down my face upon it, and burst into a +passion of weeping, in spite of myself. + +"Come, come, madame!" he said, his own voice faltering a little, "I am +here, my child; behold me! There is no place for fear now. I am king in +Ville-en-bois.--Is it not so, my good Jean?" + +"Monsieur le Cure, you are emperor," replied Jean. + +"If that is the case," he continued, "madame is perfectly secure in my +castle. You do not ask me what brings me back again so soon. But I will +tell you, madame. At Noireau, the proprietor of the omnibus to Granville +told me that an Englishman had gone that morning to visit my little +parish. Good! We do not have that honor every day. I ask him to have the +goodness to tell me the Englishman's name. It is written in the book at +the bureau. Monsieur Fostere. I remember that name well, very well. That +is the name of the husband of my little English daughter. Fostere! I see +in a moment it will not do to proceed, on my voyage. But I find that my +good Jacques has taken on the _char-a-banc_ a league or two beyond +Noireau, and I am compelled to await his return. There is the reason +that I return so late." + +"O monsieur!" I exclaimed, "how good you are--" + +"Pardon, madame," he interrupted, "let me hear the end of Jean's +history." + +Jean continued his report in his usual phlegmatic tone, and concluded +with the assurance that he had seen the Englishman safe out of the +village, and returning by the road he came. + +"I could have wished," said the cure, regretfully, "that we might have +shown him some hospitality in Ville-en-bois; but you did what was very +good, Jean. Yet we did not encounter any stranger along the route." + +"Not possible, monsieur," replied Jean; "it was four o'clock when he +returned on his steps, and it is now after nine. He would pass the +Calvary before six. After that, Monsieur le Cure, he might take any +route which pleased him." + +"That is true, Jean," he said, mildly; "you have done well. You may go +now. Where is Monsieur the Vicaire?" + +"He sleeps, monsieur, in the guest's chamber, as usual." + +"_Bien_! Good-evening, Jean, and a good-night." + +"Good-night, Monsieur le Cure, and all the company," said Jean. + +"And you also, my child," continued Monsieur Laurentie, when Jean was +gone, "you have great need of rest. So has this baby, who is very +sleepy." + +"I am not sleepy," protested Minima, "and I am not a baby." + +"You are a baby," said the cure, laughing, "to make such rejoicing over +an old papa like me. But go now, my children. There is no danger for +you. Sleep well and have pleasant dreams." + +I slept well, but I had no pleasant dreams, for I did not dream at all. +The cure's return, and his presence under the same roof, gave me such a +sense of security as was favorable to profound, unbroken slumber. When +the chirping of the birds awoke me in the morning, I could not at first +believe that the events of the day before were not themselves a dream. +The bell rang for matins at five o'clock now, to give the laborers the +cool of the morning for their work in the fields, after they were over. +I could not sleep again, for the coming hours must be full of suspense +and agitation to me. So at the first toll of the deep-toned bell, I +dressed myself, and went out into the dewy freshness of the new day. + +Matins were ended, and the villagers were scattered about their farms +and households, when I noticed Pierre loitering stealthily about the +presbytery, as if anxious not to be seen. He made me a sign as soon as +he caught my eye, to follow him out of sight, round the corner of the +church. It was a mysterious sign, and I obeyed it quickly. + +"I know a secret, madame," he said, in a troubled tone, and with an +apprehensive air--"that monsieur who came yesterday has not left the +valley. My father bade me stay in the church, at my work; but I could +not, madame, I could not. Not possible, you know. I wished to see your +enemy again. I shall have to confess it to Monsieur le Cure, and he will +give me a penance, perhaps a very great penance. But it was not possible +to rest tranquil, not at all. I followed monsieur, your enemy, _a la +derobee_. He did not go far away." + +"But where is he, then?" I asked, looking down the street, with a +thrill of fear. + +"Madame," whispered Pierre, "he is a stranger to this place, and the +people would not receive him into their houses--not one of them. My +father only said, 'He is an enemy to our dear English madame,' and all +the women turned the back upon him. I stole after him, you know, behind +the trees and the hedges. He marched very slowly, like a man very weary, +down the road, till he came in sight of the factory of the late Pineaux. +He turned aside into the court there. I saw him knock at the door of the +house, try to lift the latch, and peep through the windows. Bien! After +that, he goes into the factory; there is a door from it into the house. +He passed through. I dared not follow him, but in one short half-hour I +saw smoke coming out of the chimney. Bon! The smoke is there again this +morning. The Englishman has sojourned there all the night." + +"But, Pierre," I said, shivering, though the sun was already shining +hotly--"Pierre, the house is like a lazaretto. No one has been in it +since Mademoiselle Pineau died. Monsieur le Cure locked it up, and +brought away the key." + +"That is true, madame," answered the boy; "no one in the village would +go near the accursed place; but I never thought of that. Perhaps +monsieur your enemy will take the fever, and perish." + +"Run, Pierre, run," I cried; "Monsieur Laurentie is in the sacristy, +with the strange vicaire. Tell him I must speak to him this very moment. +There is no time to be lost." + +I dragged myself to the seat under the sycamore-tree, and hid my face in +my hands, while shudder after shudder quivered through me. I seemed to +be watching him again, as he strode weariedly down the street, leaning, +with bent shoulders, on his stick, and turned away from every door at +which he asked for rest and shelter for the night. Oh! that the time +could but come back again, that I might send Jean to find some safe +place for him where he could sleep! Back to my memory rushed the old +days, when he screened me from the unkindness of my step-mother, and +when he seemed to love me. For the sake of those times, would to God +the evening that was gone, and the sultry, breathless night, could only +come back again! + + + + +CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH. + +SUSPENSE. + + +I felt as if I had passed through an immeasurable spell, both of memory +and anguish, before Monsieur Laurentie came to me, though he had +responded to my summons immediately. I told him, in hurried, broken +sentences, what Pierre had confessed to me. His face grew overcast and +troubled; yet he did not utter a word of his apprehensions to me. + +"Madame," he said, "permit me to take my breakfast first; then I will +seek Monsieur Foster without delay. I will carry with me some food for +him. We will arrange this affair before I return; Jean shall bring the +_char a bancs_ to the factory, and take him back to Noireau." + +"But the fever, monsieur? Can he pass a night there without taking it?" + +"He is in the hands of his Creator," he answered; "we can know nothing +till I have seen him. We cannot call back the past." + +"Ought I not to go with you?" I asked. + +"Wherefore, my child?" + +"He is my husband," I said, falteringly; "if he is ill, I will nurse +him." + +"Good! my poor child," he replied, "leave all this affair to me; leave +even thy duty to me. I will take care there shall be no failure in it, +on thy part." + +We were not many minutes over our frugal breakfast of bread-and-milk, +and then we set out together, for he gave me permission to go with him, +until we came within sight of the factory and the cottage. We walked +quickly and in foreboding silence. He told me, as soon as he saw the +place, that I might stay on the spot where he left me, till the +church-clock struck eight; and then, if he had not returned to me, I +must go back to the village, and send Jean with the _char a bancs_. I +sat down on the felled trunk of a tree, and watched him, in his old +threadbare cassock, and sunburnt hat, crossing the baked, cracked soil +of the court, till he reached the door, and turned round to lift his hat +to me with a kindly gesture of farewell. He fitted the key into the +lock, passed out of my sight; but I could not withdraw my eyes from the +deep, thatched eaves, and glossy _fleur-de-lis_ growing along the roof. + +How interminable seemed his absence! I sat so still that the crickets +and grasshoppers in the tufted grass about me kept up their ceaseless +chirruping, and leaped about my feet, unaware that I could crush their +merry life out of them by a single movement. The birds in the dusky +branches overhead whistled their wild wood-notes, as gayly as if no one +were near their haunts. Now and then there came a pause, when the +silence deepened until I could hear the cones, in the fir-trees close at +hand, snapping open their polished scales, and setting free the winged +seeds, which fluttered softly down to the ground. The rustle of a +swiftly--gliding snake through the fallen leaves caught my ear, and I +saw the blunted head and glittering eyes lifted up to look at me for a +moment; but I did not stir. All my fear and feeling, my whole life, were +centred upon the fever-cottage yonder. + +There was not the faintest line of smoke from the chimney, when we first +came in sight of it. Was it not quite possible that Pierre might have +been mistaken? And if he had made a mistake in thinking he saw smoke +this morning, why not last night also? Yet the cure was lingering there +too long for it to be merely an empty place. Something detained him, or +why did he not come back to me? Presently a thin blue smoke curled +upward into the still air. Monsieur Laurentie was kindling a fire on the +hearth. _He_ was there then. + +What would be the end of it all? My heart contracted, and my spirit +shrank from the answer that was ready to flash upon my mind. I refused +to think of the end. If Richard were ill, why, I would nurse him, as I +should have nursed him if he had always been tender and true to me. That +at least was a clear duty. What lay beyond that need not be decided +upon now. Monsieur Laurentie would tell me what I ought to do. + +He came, after a long, long suspense, and opened the door, looking out +as if to make sure that I was still at my post. I sprang to my feet, and +was running forward, when he beckoned me to remain where I was. He came +across to the middle of the court, but no nearer; and he spoke to me at +that distance, in his clear, deliberate, penetrating voice. + +"My child," he said, "monsieur is ill! attacked, I am afraid, by the +fever. He is not delirious at present, and we have been talking together +of many things. But the fever has taken hold upon him, I think. I shall +remain with him all the day. You must bring us what we have need of, and +leave it on the stone there, as it used to be." + +"But cannot he be removed at once?" I asked. + +"My dear," he answered, "what can I do? The village is free from +sickness now; how can I run the risk of carrying the fever there again? +It is too far to send monsieur to Noireau. If he is ill of it, it is +best for us all that he should remain here. I will not abandon him; no, +no. Obey me, my child, and leave him to me and to God. Cannot you +confide in me yet?" + +"Yes," I said, weeping, "I trust you with all my heart." + +"Go, then, and do what I bid you," he replied. "Tell my sister and Jean, +tell all my people, that no one must intrude upon me, no one must come +nearer this house than the appointed place. Monsieur le Vicaire must +remain in Ville-en-bois, and officiate for me, as though I were pursuing +my journey to England. You must think of me as one absent, yet close at +hand: that is the difference. I am here, in the path of my duty. Go, and +fulfil yours." + +"Ought you not to let me share your work and your danger?" I ventured to +ask. + +"If there be any need, you shall share both," he answered, in a tranquil +tone, "though your life should be the penalty. Life is nothing in +comparison with duty. When it is thy duty, my daughter, to be beside thy +husband, I will call thee without fail." + +Slowly I retraced my steps to the village. The news had already spread, +from Pierre--for no one else knew it--that the Englishman, who had been +turned away from their doors the day before, had spent the night in the +infected dwelling. A group of weavers, of farmers, of women from their +household work, stopped me as I entered the street. I delivered to them +their cure's message, and they received it with sobs and cries, as +though it bore in it the prediction of a great calamity. They followed +me up the street to the presbytery, and crowded the little court in +front of it. + +When mademoiselle had collected the things Monsieur Laurentie had sent +me for--a mattress, a chair, food, and medicine--every person in the +crowd wished to carry some small portion of them. We returned in a troop +to the factory, and stood beyond the stone, a group of sorrowful, almost +despairing people. In a few minutes we saw the cure open the door, close +it behind him, and stand before the proscribed dwelling. His voice came +across the space between us and him in distinct and cheerful tones. + +"My good children," he said, "I, your priest, forbid any one of you to +come a single step nearer to this house. It may be but for a day or two, +but let no one venture to disobey me. Think of me as though I had gone +to England, and should be back again among you in a few days. God is +here, as near to me under this roof, as when I stand before him and you +at his altar." + +He lifted up his hands to give them his benediction, and we all knelt to +receive it. Then, with unquestioning obedience, but with many +lamentations, the people returned to their daily work. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. + +A MALIGNANT CASE. + + +For three days, morning after morning, while the dew lay still upon the +grass, I went down, with a heavy and foreboding heart, to the place +where I could watch the cottage, through the long, sultry hours of the +summer-day. The first thing I saw always was Monsieur Laurentie, who +came to the door to satisfy me that he was himself in good health, and +to tell me how Richard Foster had passed the night. After that I caught +from time to time a momentary glimpse of his white head, as he passed +the dusky window. He would not listen to my entreaties to be allowed to +join him in his task. It was a malignant case, he said, and as my +husband was unconscious, I could do him no good by running the risk of +being near him. + +An invisible line encircled the pestilential place, which none of us +dare break through without the permission of the cure, though any one of +the villagers would have rejoiced if he had summoned them to his aid. A +perpetual intercession was offered up day and night, before the high +altar, by the people, and there was no lack of eager candidates ready to +take up the prayer when the one who had been praying grew weary. On the +third morning I felt that they were beginning to look at me with altered +faces, and speak to me in colder accents. If I were the means of +bringing upon them the loss of their cure, they would curse the day he +found me and brought me to his home. I left the village street half +broken-hearted, and wandered hopelessly down to my chosen post. + +I thought I was alone, but as I sat with my head bowed down upon my +hands, I felt a child's hand laid upon my neck, and Minima's voice spoke +plaintively in my ear. + +"What is the matter, Aunt Nelly?" she asked. "Everybody is in trouble, +and mademoiselle says it is because your husband is come, and Monsieur +Laurentie is going to die for his sake. She began to cry when she said +that, and she said, 'What shall we all do if my brother dies? My God! +what will become of all the people in Ville-en-bois?' Is it true? Is +your husband really come, and is he going to die?" + +"He is come," I said, in a low voice; "I do not know whether he is going +to die." + +"Is he so poor that he will die?" she asked again. "Why does God let +people be so poor that they must die?". + +"It is not because he is so poor that he is ill," I answered. + +"But my father died because he was so poor," she said; "the doctors told +him he could get well if he had only enough money. Perhaps your husband +would not have died if he had not been very poor." + +"No, no," I cried, vehemently, "he is not dying through poverty." + +Yet the child's words had a sting in them, for I knew he had been poor, +in consequence of my act. I thought of the close, unwholesome house in +London, where he had been living. I could not help thinking of it, and +wondering whether any loss of vital strength, born of poverty, had +caused him to fall more easily a prey to this fever. My brain was +burdened with sorrowful questions and doubts. + +I sent Minima back to the village before the morning-heat grew strong, +and then I was alone, watching the cottage through the fine haze of heat +which hung tremulously about it. The song of every bird was hushed; the +shouts of the harvest-men to their oxen ceased; and the only sound that +stirred the still air was the monotonous striking of the clock in the +church-tower. I had not seen Monsieur Laurentie since his first greeting +of me in the early morning. A panic fear seized upon me. Suppose he +should have been stricken suddenly by this deadly malady! I called +softly at first, then loudly, but no answer came to comfort me. If this +old man, worn out and exhausted, had actually given his life for +Richard's, what would become of me? what would become of all of us? + +Step by step, pausing often, yet urged on by my growing fears, I stole +down the parched and beaten track toward the house, then called once +more to the oppressive silence. + +Here in the open sunshine, with the hot walls of the mill casting its +rays back again, the heat was intense, though the white cap I wore +protected my head from it. My eyes were dazzled, and I felt ready to +faint. No wonder if Monsieur Laurentie should have sunk under it, and +the long strain upon his energies, which would have overtaxed a younger +and stronger man. I had passed the invisible line which his will had +drawn about the place, and had half crossed the court, when I heard +footsteps close behind me, and a large, brown, rough hand suddenly +caught mine. + +"Mam'zelle'" cried a voice I knew well, "is this you!" + +"O Tardif! Tardif!" I exclaimed. I rested my beating head against him, +and sobbed violently, while he surrounded me with his strong arm, and +laid his hand upon my head, as if to assure me of his help and +protection. + +"Hush; hush! mam'zelle," he said; "it is Tardif, your friend, my little +mam'zelle; your servant, you know. I am here. What shall I do for you? +Is there any person in yonder house who frightens you, my poor little +mam'zelle? Tell me what I can do?" + +He had drawn me back into the green shade of the trees, and set me down +upon the felled tree where I had been sitting before. I told him all +quickly, briefly--all that had happened since I had written to him. I +saw the tears start to his eyes. + +"Thank God I am here!" he said; "I lost no time, mam'zelle, after your +letter reached me. I will save Monsieur le Cure; I will save them both, +if I can. _Ma foi!_ he is a good man, this cure, and we must not let him +perish. He has no authority over me, and I will go this moment and force +my way in, if the door is fastened. Adieu, my dear little mam'zelle." + +He was gone before I could speak a word, striding with quick, energetic +tread across the court. The closed door under the eaves opened readily. +In an instant the white head of Monsieur Laurentie passed the casement, +and I could hear the hum of an earnest altercation, though I could not +catch a syllable of it. But presently Tardif appeared again in the +doorway, waving his cap in token of having gained his point. + +I went back to the village at once to carry the good news, for it was +the loneliness of the cure that had weighed so heavily on every heart, +though none among them dare brave his displeasure by setting aside his +command. The quarantine was observed as rigidly as ever, but fresh hope +and confidence beamed upon every face, and I felt that they no longer +avoided me, as they had begun to do before Tardif's arrival. Now +Monsieur Laurentie could leave his patient, and sit under the sheltering +eaves in the cool of the morning or evening, while his people could +satisfy themselves from a distance that he was still in health. + +The physician whom Jean fetched from Noireau spoke vaguely of Richard's +case. It was very malignant, he said, full of danger, and apparently his +whole constitution had been weakened by some protracted and grave +malady. We must hope, he added. + +Whether it was in hope or fear I awaited the issue, I scarcely know. I +dared not glance beyond the passing hour; dared not conjecture what the +end would be. The past was dead; the future yet unborn. For the moment +my whole being was concentrated upon the conflict between life and +death, which was witnessed only by the cure and Tardif. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. + +THE LAST DEATH. + + +It seemed to me almost as if time had been standing still since that +first morning when Monsieur Laurentie had left my side, and passed out +of my sight to seek for my husband in the fever-smitten dwelling. Yet it +was the tenth day after that when, as I took up my weary watch soon +after daybreak, I saw him crossing the court again, and coming toward +me. + +"What had he to say? What could impel him to break through the strict +rule which had interdicted all dangerous contact with himself? His face +was pale, and his eyes were heavy as if with want of rest, but they +looked into mine as if they could read my inmost soul. + +"My daughter," he said, "I bade you leave even your duty in my keeping. +Now I summon you to fulfil it. Your duty lies yonder, by your husband's +side in his agony of death." + +"I will go," I whispered, my lips scarcely moving to pronounce the +words, so stiff and cold they felt. + +"Stay one moment," he said, pityingly. "You have been taught to judge +of your duty for yourself, not to leave it to a priest. I ought to let +you judge now. Your husband is dying, but he is conscious, and is asking +to see you. He does not believe us that death is near; he says none but +you will tell him the truth. You cannot go to him without running a +great risk. Your danger will be greater than ours, who have been with +him all the time. You see, madame, he does not understand me, and he +refuses to believe in Tardif. Yet you cannot save him; you can only +receive his last adieu. Think well, my child. Your life may be the +forfeit." + +"I must go," I answered, more firmly; "I will go. He is my husband." + +"Good!" he said, "you have chosen the better part. Come, then. The good +God will protect you." + +He drew my hand through his arm, and led me to the low doorway. The +inner room was very dark with the overhanging eaves, and my eyes, +dilated by the strong sunlight, could discern but little in the gloom. +Tardif was kneeling beside a low bed, bathing my husband's forehead. He +made way for me, and I felt him touch my hand with his lips as I took +his place. But no one spoke. Richard's face, sunken, haggard, dying, +with filmy eyes, dawned gradually out of the dim twilight, line after +line, until it lay sharp and distinct under my gaze. I could not turn +away from it for an instant, even to glance at Tardif or Monsieur +Laurentie. The poor, miserable face! the restless, dreary, dying eyes! + +"Where is Olivia?" he muttered, in a hoarse and labored voice. + +"I am here, Richard," I answered, falling on my knees where Tardif had +been kneeling, and putting my hand on his; "look at me. I am Olivia." + +"You are mine, you know," he said, his fingers closing round my wrist +with a grasp as weak as a very young child's.--"She is my wife, Monsieur +le Cure." + +"Yes," I sobbed, "I am your wife, Richard." + +"Do they hear it?" he asked, in a whisper. + +"We hear it," answered Tardif. + +A strange, spasmodic smile flitted across his ghastly face, a look of +triumph and success. His fingers tightened over my hand, and I left it +passively in their clasp. + +"Mine!" he murmured. + +"Olivia," he said, after a long pause, and in a stronger voice, "you +always spoke the truth to me. This priest and his follower have been +trying to frighten me into repentance, as if I were an old woman. They +say I am near dying. Tell me, is it true?" + +The last words he had spoken painfully, dragging them one after another, +as if the very utterance of them was hateful to him. He looked at me +with his cold, glittering eyes, which seemed almost mocking at me, even +then. + +"Richard," I said, "it is true." + +"Good God!" he cried. + +His lips closed after that cry, and seemed as if they would never open +again. He shut his eyes weariedly. Feebly and fitfully came his gasps +for breath, and he moaned at times. But still his fingers held me fast, +though the slightest effort of mine would have set me free. I left my +hand in his cold grasp, and spoke to him whenever he moaned. + +"Martin," he breathed between his set teeth, though so low that only my +ear could catch the words, "Martin--could--have saved--me." + +There was another long silence. I could hear the chirping of the +sparrows in the thatched roof, but no other sound broke the deep +stillness. Monsieur Laurentie and Tardif stood at the foot of the bed, +looking down upon us both, but I only saw their shadows falling across +us. My eyes were fastened upon the face I should soon see no more. The +little light there was seemed to be fading away from it, leaving it all +dark and blank; eyelids closed, lips almost breathless; an unutterable +emptiness and confusion creeping over every feature. + +"Olivia!" he cried, once again, in a tone of mingled anger and +entreaty. + +"I am here," I answered, laying my other hand upon his, which was at +last relaxing its hold, and falling away helplessly. But where was he? +Where was the voice which half a minute ago called Olivia? Where was +the life gone that had grasped my hand? He had not heard my answer, or +felt my touch upon his cold fingers. + +Tardif lifted me gently from my place beside him, and carried me away +into the open air, under the overshadowing eaves. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. + +FREE. + + +The rest of that day passed by like a dream. Jean had come down with the +daily supply of food, and I heard Monsieur Laurentie call to him to +accompany me back to the presbytery, and to warn every one to keep away +from me, until I could take every precaution against spreading +infection. He gave me minute directions what to do, and I obeyed them +automatically and mechanically. I spent the whole day in my room alone. + +At night, after all the village was silent, with the moon shining +brilliantly down upon the deserted streets, the sound of stealthy +footsteps came to me through my window. I pulled the casement open and +looked out. There marched four men, with measured steps, bearing a +coffin on their shoulders, while Monsieur Laurentie followed them +bareheaded. It was my husband's funeral; and I sank upon my knees, and +remained kneeling till I heard them return from the little cemetery up +the valley, where so many of the cure's flock had been buried. I prayed +with all my heart that no other life would be forfeited to this +pestilence, which had seemed to have passed away from us. + +But I was worn out myself with anxiety and watching. For three or four +days I was ill with a low, nervous fever--altogether unlike the terrible +typhoid, yet such as to keep me to my room. Minima and Mademoiselle +Therese were my only companions. Mademoiselle, after talking that one +night as much as she generally talked in twelve months, had relapsed +into deeper taciturnity than before. But her muteness tranquillized me. +Minima's simple talk brought me back to the level of common life. My own +nervous weeping, which I could not control, served to soothe me. My +casement, almost covered by broad, clustering vine-leaves, preserved a +cool, dim obscurity in my room. The village children seemed all at once +to have forgotten how to scream and shout, and no sound from the street +disturbed me. Even the morning and evening bell rang with a deep, +muffled tone, which scarcely stirred the silence. I heard afterward that +Jean had swathed the bell in a piece of sackcloth, and that the children +had been sent off early every morning into the woods. + +But I could not remain long in that idle seclusion. I felt all my +strength returning, both of body and mind. I began to smile at Minima, +and to answer her childish prattle, with none of the feeling of utter +weariness which had at first prostrated me. + +"Are we going to stay here forever and ever?" she asked me, one day, +when I felt that the solitary peace of my own chamber was growing too +monotonous for me. + +"Should you like to stay, Minima?" I inquired in reply. It was a +question I must face, that of what I was going to do in the future. + +"I don't know altogether," she said, reflectively. "The boys here are +not so nice as they used to be at home. Pierre says I'm a little pagan, +and that's not nice, Aunt Nelly. He says I must be baptized by Monsieur +Laurentie, and be prepared for my first communion, before I can be as +good as he is. The boys at home used to think me quite as good as them, +and better. I asked Monsieur Laurentie if I ought to be baptized over +again, and he only smiled, and said I must be as good a little girl as I +could be, and it did not much matter. But Pierre, and all the rest, +think I'm not as good as them, and I don't like it." + +I could not help laughing, like Monsieur Laurentie, at Minima's +distress. Yet it was not without foundation. Here we were heretics amid +the orthodox, and I felt it myself. Though Monsieur le Cure never +alluded to it in the most distant manner, there was a difference between +us and the simple village-folk in Ville-en-bois which would always mark +us as strangers in blood and creed. + +"I think," continued Minima, with a shrewd expression on her face, +which was beginning to fill up and grow round in its outlines, "I think, +when you are quite well again, we'd better be going on somewhere to try +our fortunes. It never does, you know, to stop too long in the same +place. I'm quite sure we shall never meet the prince here, and I don't +think we shall find any treasure. Besides, if we began to dig they'd all +know, and want to go shares. I shouldn't mind going shares with Monsieur +Laurentie, but I would not go shares with Pierre. Of course when we've +made our fortunes we'll come back, and we'll build Monsieur Laurentie a +palace of marble, and put Turkey carpets on all the floors, and have +fountains and statues, and all sorts of things, and give him a cook to +cook splendid dinners. But we wouldn't stay here always if we were very, +very rich; would you, Aunt Nelly?" + +"Has anybody told you that I am rich?" I asked, with a passing feeling +of vexation. + +"Oh, no," she said, laughing heartily, "I should know better than that. +You're very poor, my darling auntie, but I love you all the same. We +shall be rich some day, of course. It's all coming right, by-and-by." + +Her hand was stroking my face, and I drew it to my lips and kissed it +tenderly. I had scarcely realized before what a change had come over my +circumstances. + +"But I am not poor any longer, my little girl," I said; "I am rich +now.". + +"Very rich?" she asked, eagerly. + +"Very rich," I repeated. + +"And we shall never have to go walking, walking, till our feet are sore +and tired? And we shall not be hungry, and be afraid of spending our +money? And we shall buy new clothes as soon as the old ones are worn +out? O Aunt Nelly, is it true? is it quite true?" + +"It is quite true, my poor Minima," I answered. + +She looked at me wistfully, with the color coming and going on her face. +Then she climbed up, and lay down beside me, with her arm over me and +her face close to mine. + +"O Aunt Nelly!" she cried, "if this had only come while my father was +alive!" + +"Minima," I said, after her sobs and tears were ended, "you will always +be my little girl. You shall come and live with me wherever I live." + +"Of course," she answered, with the simple trustfulness of a child, "we +are going to live together till we die. You won't send me to school, +will you? You know what school is like now, and you wouldn't like me to +send you to school, would you? If I were a rich, grown-up lady, and you +were a little girl like me, I know what I should do." + +"What would you do?" I inquired, laughing. + +"I should give you lots of dolls and things," she said, quite seriously, +her brows puckered with anxiety, "and I should let you have +strawberry-jam every day, and I should make every thing as nice as +possible. Of course I should make you learn lessons, whether you liked +it or not, but I should teach you myself, and then I should know nobody +was unkind to you. That's what I should do, Aunt Nelly." + +"And that's what I shall do, Minima," I repeated. + +We had many things to settle that morning, making our preliminary +arrangements for the spending of my fortune upon many dolls and much +jam. But the conviction was forced upon me that I must be setting about +more important plans. Tardif was still staying in Ville-en-bois, +delaying his departure till I was well enough to see him. I resolved to +get up that evening, as soon as the heat of the day was past, and have a +conversation with him and Monsieur Laurentie. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD. + +A YEAR'S NEWS. + + +In the cool of the evening, while the chanting of vespers in the church +close by was faintly audible, I went downstairs into the _salon_. All +the household were gone to the service; but I saw Tardif sitting outside +in my own favorite seat under the sycamore-tree. I sent Minima to call +him to me, bidding her stay out-of-doors herself; and he came in +hurriedly, with a glad light in his deep, honest eyes. + +"Thank God, mam'zelle, thank God!" he said. + +"Yes," I answered, "I am well again now. I have not been really ill, I +know, but I felt weary and sick at heart. My good Tardif, how much I owe +you!" + +"You owe me, nothing, mam'zelle," he said, dropping my hand, and +carrying the cure's high-backed chair to the open window, for me to sit +in it, and have all the freshness there was in the air. "Dear +mam'zelle," he added, "if you only think of me as your friend, that is +enough." + +"You are my truest friend," I replied. + +"No, no. You have another as true," he answered, "and you have this good +Monsieur le Cure into the bargain. If the cures were all like him I +should be thinking of becoming a good Catholic myself, and you know how +far I am from being that." + +"No one can say a word too much in his praise," I said. + +"Except," continued Tardif, "that he desires to keep our little mam'zelle +in his village. 'Why must she leave me?' he says; 'never do I say a word +contrary to her religion, or that of the _mignonne_. Let them stay in +Ville-en-bois.' But Dr. Martin, says: 'No, she must not remain here. The +air is not good for her; the village is not drained, and it is +unhealthy. There will always be fever here.' Dr. Martin was almost angry +with Monsieur le Cure." + +"Dr. Martin?" I said, in a tone of wonder and inquiry. + +"Dr. Martin, mam'zelle. I sent a message to him by telegraph. It was +altered somehow in the offices, and he did not know who was dead. He +started off at once, travelled without stopping, and reached this place +two nights ago." + +"Is he here now?" I asked, while a troubled feeling stirred the +tranquillity which had but just returned to me. I shrank from seeing him +just then. + +"No, mam'zelle. He went away this morning, as soon as he was sure you +would recover without his help. He said that to see him might do you +more harm, trouble you more, than he could do you good by his medicines. +He and Monsieur le Cure parted good friends, though they were not of the +same mind about you. 'Let her stay here,' says Monsieur le Cure. 'She +must return to England,' says Dr. Martin. 'Mam'zelle must be free to +choose for herself,' I said. They both smiled, and said yes, I was +right. You must be free." + +"Why did no one tell me he was here? Why did Minima keep it a secret?" I +asked. + +"He forbade us to tell you. He did not wish to disquiet you. He said to +me: 'If she ever wishes to see me, I would come gladly from London to +Ville-en-bois', only to hear her say, 'Good-morning, Dr. Martin.' 'But I +will not see her now, unless she is seriously ill.' I felt that he was +right, Dr. Martin is always right." + +I did not speak when Tardif paused, as if to hear what I had to say. I +heard him sigh as softly as a woman sighs. + +"If you could only come back to my poor little house!" he said; "but +that is impossible. My poor mother died in the spring, and I am living +alone. It is desolate, but I am not unhappy. I have my boat and the sea, +where I am never solitary. But why should I talk of myself? We were +speaking of what you are to do." + +"I don't know what to do," I said, despondently; "you see Tardif, I have +not a single friend I could go to in England. I shall have to stay here +in Ville-en-bois." + +"No," he answered; "Dr. Martin has some plan for you, I know, though he +did not tell me what it is. He said you would have a home offered to +you, such as you would accept gladly. I think it is in Guernsey." + +"With his mother, perhaps," I suggested. + +"His mother, mam'zelle!" he repeated; "alas! no. His mother is dead; she +died only a few weeks after you left Sark." + +I felt as if I had lost an old friend whom I had known for a long time, +though I had only seen her once. In my greatest difficulty I had thought +of making my way to her, and telling her all my history. I did not know +what other home could open for me, if she were dead. + +"Dr. Dobree married a second wife only three months after," pursued +Tardif, "and Dr. Martin left Guernsey altogether, and went to London, +to be a partner with his friend, Dr. Senior." + +"Dr. John Senior?" I said. + +"Yes, mam'zelle," he answered. + +"Why! I know him," I exclaimed; "I recollect his face well. He is +handsomer than Dr. Martin. But whom did Dr. Dobree marry?" + +"I do not know whether he is handsomer than Dr. Martin," said Tardif, in +a grieved tone. "Who did Dr. Dobree marry? Oh! a foreigner. No Guernsey +lady would have married him so soon after Mrs. Dobree's death. She was a +great friend of Miss Julia Dobree. Her name was Daltrey." + +"Kate Daltrey!" I ejaculated. My brain seemed to whirl with the +recollections, the associations, the rapid mingling and odd readjustment +of ideas forced upon me by Tardif's words. What would have become of me +if I had found my way to Guernsey, seeking Mrs. Dobree, and discovered +in her Kate Daltrey? I had not time to realize this before Tardif went +on in his narration. + +"Dr. Martin was heart-broken," he said; "we had lost you, and his mother +was dead. He had no one to turn to for comfort. His cousin Julia, who +was to have been his wife, was married to Captain Carey three weeks ago. +You recollect Captain Carey, mam'zelle?" + +Here was more news, and a fresh rearranging of the persons who peopled +my world. Kate Daltrey become Dr. Dobree's second wife; Julia Dobree +married to Captain Carey; and Dr. Martin living in London, the partner +of Dr. Senior! How could I put them all into their places in a moment? +Tardif, too, was dwelling alone, now, solitarily, in a very solitary +place. + +"I am very sorry for you," I said, in a low tone. + +"Why, mam'zelle?" he asked. + +"Because you have lost your mother," I answered. + +"Yes, mam'zelle," he said, simply; "she was a great loss to me, though +she was always fretting about my inheriting the land. That is the law of +the island, and no one can set it aside. The eldest son inherits the +land, and I was not her own son, though I did my best to be like a real +son to her. She died happier in thinking that her son, or grandson, +would follow me when I am gone, and I was glad she had that to comfort +her, poor woman." + +"But you may marry again some day, my good Tardif," I said; "how I wish +you would!" + +"No, mam'zelle, no," he answered, with a strange quivering tone in his +voice; "my mother knew why before she died, and it was a great comfort +to her. Do not think I am not happy alone. There are some memories that +are better company than most folks. Yes, there are some things I can +think of that are more and better than any wife could be to me." + +Why we were both silent after that I scarcely knew. Both of us had many +things to think about, no doubt, and the ideas were tumbling over one +another in my poor brain till I wished I could cease to think for a few +hours. + +Vespers ended, and the villagers began to disperse stealthily. Not a +wooden _sabot_ clattered on the stones. Mademoiselle and Monsieur +Laurentie came in, with a tread as soft as if they were afraid of waking +a child out of a light slumber. + +"Mademoiselle," I cried, "monsieur, behold me; I am here." + +My voice and my greeting seemed to transport them with delight. +Mademoiselle embraced me, and kissed me on both cheeks. Monsieur le Cure +blessed me, in a tremulously joyous accent, and insisted upon my keeping +his arm-chair. We sat down to supper together, by the light of a +brilliant little lamp, and Pierre, who was passing the uncurtained +window, saw me there, and carried the news into the village. + +The next day Tardif bade me farewell, and Monsieur Laurentie drove him +to Granville on his way home to Sark. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH. + +FAREWELL TO VILLE-EN-BOIS. + + +The unbroken monotony of Ville-en-bois closed over me again. The tolling +of the morning bell; the hum of matins; the frugal breakfast in the +sunlit _salon_; the long, hot day; vespers again; then an hour's chat by +twilight with the drowsy cure and his sister, whose words were so rare. +Before six such days had passed, I felt as if they were to last my +lifetime. Then the fretting of my uneasy woman's heart began. There was +no sign that I had any friends in England. What ought I to do? How must +I set about the intricate business of my affairs? Must I write to my +trustees in Melbourne, giving them the information of my husband's +death, and wait till I could receive from them instructions, and +credentials to prove my identity, without which it was useless, if it +were practicable, to return to London? Was there ever any one as +friendless as I was? Monsieur Laurentie could give me no counsel, except +to keep myself tranquil; but how difficult it was to keep tranquil amid +such profound repose! I had often found it easier to be calm amid many +provocations and numerous difficulties. + +A week has glided by; a full week. The letter-carrier has brought me no +letter. I am seated at the window of the _salon_, gasping in these +simmering dog-days for a breath of fresh air; such a cool, balmy breeze +as blows over the summer sea to the cliffs of Sark. Monsieur Laurentie, +under the shelter of a huge red umbrella, is choosing the ripest cluster +of grapes for our supper this evening. All the street is as still as at +midnight. Suddenly there breaks upon us the harsh, metallic clang of +well-shod horse-hoofs upon the stony roadway--the cracking of a +postilion's whip--the clatter of an approaching carriage. + +It proves to be a carriage with a pair of horses. + +Pierre, who has been basking idly under the window, jumps to his feet, +shouting, "It is Monsieur the Bishop!" Minima claps her hands, and +cries, "The prince, Aunt Nelly, the prince!" + +Monsieur Laurentie walks slowly down to the gate, his cotton umbrella +spread over him, like a giant fungus. It is certainly not the prince; +for an elderly, white-haired man, older than Monsieur Laurentie, but +with a more imposing and stately presence, steps out of the carriage, +and they salute one another with great ceremony. If that be Monsieur the +Bishop, he has very much the air of an Englishman. + +In a few minutes my doubt as to the bishop's nationality was solved. The +two white-headed men, the one in a glossy and handsome suit of black, +the other in his brown and worn-out cassock, came up the path together, +under the red umbrella. They entered the house, and came directly to the +_salon_. I was making my escape by another door, not being sure how I +ought to encounter a bishop, when Monsieur Laurentie called to me. + +"Behold a friend for you madame," he said, "a friend from +England.--Monsieur, this is my beloved English child." + +I turned back, and met the eyes of both, fixed upon me with that +peculiar half-tender, half-regretful expression, with which so many old +men look upon women as young as I. A smile came across my face, and I +held out my hand involuntarily to the stranger. + +"You do not know who I am, my dear!" he said. The English voice and +words went straight to my heart. How many months it was since I had +heard my own language spoken thus! Tardif had been too glad to speak in +his own _patois_, now I understood it so well; and Minima's prattle had +not sounded to me like those few syllables in the deep, cultivated voice +which uttered them. + +"No," I answered, "but you are come to me from Dr. Martin Dobree." + +"Very true," he said, "I am his friend's father--Dr. John Senior's +father. Martin has sent me to you. He wished Miss Johanna Carey to +accompany me, but we were afraid of the fever for her. I am an old +physician, and feel at home with disease and contagion. But we cannot +allow you to remain in this unhealthy village; that is out of the +question. I am come to carry you away, in spite of this old cure." + +Monsieur Laurentie was listening eagerly, and watching Dr. Senior's +lips, as if he could catch the meaning of his words by sight, if not by +hearing. + +"But where am I to go?" I asked. "I have no money, and cannot get any +until I have written to Melbourne, and have an answer. I have no means +of proving who I am." + +"Leave all that to us, my dear girl," answered Dr. Senior, cordially. "I +have already spoken of your affairs to an old friend of mine, who is an +excellent lawyer. I am come to offer myself to you in place of your +guardians on the other side of the world. You will do me a very great +favor by frankly accepting a home in my house for the present. I have +neither wife nor daughter; but Miss Carey is already there, preparing +rooms for you and your little charge. We have made inquiries about the +little girl, and find she has no friends living. I will take care of her +future. Do you think you could trust yourself and her to me?" + +"Oh, yes!" I replied, but I moved a little nearer to Monsieur Laurentie, +and put my hand through his arm. He folded his own thin, brown hand over +it caressingly, and looked down at me, with something like tears +glistening in his eyes. + +"Is it all settled?" he asked, "is monsieur come to rob me of my English +daughter? She will go away now to her own island, and forget +Ville-en-bois and her poor old French father!" + +"Never! never!" I answered vehemently, "I shall not forget you as long +as I live. Besides, I mean to come back very often; every year if I can. +I almost wish I could stay here altogether; but you know that is +impossible, monsieur. Is it not quite impossible?" + +"Quite impossible!" he repeated, somewhat sadly, "madame is too rich +now; she will have many good friends." + +"Not one better than you," I said, "not one more dear than you. Yes, I +am rich; and I have been planning something to do for Ville-en-bois. +Would you like the church enlarged and beautified, Monsieur le Cure?" + +"It is large enough and fine enough already," he answered. + +"Shall I put some painted windows and marble images into it?" I asked. + +"No, no, madame," he replied, "let it remain as it is during my short +lifetime." + +"I thought so," I said, "but I believe I have discovered what Monsieur +le Cure would approve. It is truly English. There is no sentiment, no +romance about it. Cannot you guess what it is, my wise and learned +monsieur?" + +"No, no, madame," he answered, smiling in spite of his sadness. + +"Listen, dear monsieur," I continued: "if this village is unhealthy for +me, it is unhealthy for you and your people. Dr. Martin told Tardif +there would always be fever here, as long as there are no drains and no +pure water. Very well; now I am rich I shall have it drained, precisely +like the best English town; and there shall be a fountain in the middle +of the village, where all the people can go to draw good water. I shall +come back next year to see how it has been done, _Voila_, monsieur! +There is my secret plan for Ville-en-bois." + +Nothing could have been more effectual for turning away Monsieur +Laurentie's thoughts from the mournful topic of our near separation. +After vespers, and before supper, he, Dr. Senior, and I made the tour of +Ville-en-bois, investigating the close, dark cottages, and discussing +plans for rendering them more wholesome. The next day, and the day +following, the same subject continued to occupy him and Dr. Senior; and +thus the pain of our departure was counterbalanced by his pleasure in +anticipating the advantages to be obtained by a thorough drainage of his +village, and more ventilation and light in the dwellings. + +The evening before we were to set out on our return to England, while +the whole population, including Dr. Senior, were assisting at vespers, I +turned my feet toward the little cemetery on the hill-side, which I had +never yet visited.--The sun had sunk below the tops of the +pollard-trees, which grew along the brow of the hill in grotesque and +fantastic shapes; but a few stray beams glimmered through the branches, +and fell here and there in spots of dancing light. The small square +enclosure was crowded with little hillocks, at the head of which stood +simple crosses of wood; crosses so light and little as to seem +significant emblems of the difference between our sorrows, and those +borne for our sakes upon Calvary. Wreaths of immortelles hung upon most +of them. Below me lay the valley and the homes where the dead at my feet +had lived; the sunshine lingered yet about the spire, with its cross, +which towered above the belfry; but all else was in shadow, which was +slowly deepening into night. In the west the sky was flushing and +throbbing with transparent tints of amber and purple and green, with +flecks of cloud floating across it of a pale gold. Eastward it was still +blue, but fading into a faint gray. The dusky green of the cypresses +looked black, as I turned my splendor-dazzled eyes toward them. + +I strolled to and fro among the grassy mounds, not consciously seeking +one of them; though, very deep down in my inmost spirit, there must have +been an impulse which unwittingly directed me. I did not stay my feet, +or turn away from the village burial-place, until I came upon a grave, +the latest made among them. It was solitary, unmarked; with no cross to +throw its shadow along it, as the sun was setting. I knew then that I +had come to seek it, to bid farewell to it, to leave it behind me for +evermore. + +The next morning Monsieur Laurentie accompanied us on our journey, as +far as the cross at the entrance to the valley. He parted with us there; +and when I stood up in the carriage to look back once more at him, I saw +his black-robed figure kneeling on the white steps of the Calvary, and +the sun shining upon his silvery head. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH. + +TOO HIGHLY CIVILIZED. + + +For the third time I landed in England. When I set foot upon its shores +first I was worse than friendless, with foes of my own household +surrounding me; the second time I was utterly alone, in daily terror, in +poverty, with a dreary, life-long future stretching before me. Now every +want of mine was anticipated, every step directed, as if I were a child +again, and my father himself was caring for me. How many friends, good +and tried and true, could I count! All the rough paths were made smooth +for me. + +It was dusk before we reached London; but before the train stopped at +the platform, a man's hand was laid upon the carriage-door, and a +handsome face was smiling over it upon us. I scarcely dared look who it +was; but the voice that reached my ears was not Martin Dobree's. + +"I am here in Martin's place," said Dr. John Senior, as soon as he could +make himself heard; "he has been hindered by a wretch of a +patient.--Welcome home, Miss Martineau!" + +"She is not Miss Martineau, John," remarked Dr. Senior. There was a +tinge of stateliness about him, bordering upon formality, which had kept +me a little in awe of him all the journey through. His son laughed, with +a pleasant audacity. + +"Welcome home. Olivia, then!" he said, clasping my hand warmly. "Martin +and I never call you by any other name." + +A carriage was waiting for us, and Dr. John took Minima beside him, +chattering with her as the child loved to chatter. As for me, I felt a +little anxious and uneasy. Once more I was about to enter upon an +entirely new life; upon the untried ways of a wealthy, conventional, +punctilious English household. Hitherto my mode of life had been almost +as wandering and free as that of a gypsy. Even at home, during my +pleasant childhood, our customs had been those of an Australian +sheep-farm, exempt from all the usages of any thing like fashion. Dr. +John's kid gloves, which fitted his hand to perfection, made me +uncomfortable. + +I felt still more abashed and oppressed when we reached Dr. Senior's +house, and a footman ran down to the carriage, to open the door and to +carry in my poor little portmanteau. It looked miserably poor and out of +place in the large, brilliantly-lit hall. Minima kept close beside me, +silent, but gazing upon this new abode with wide-open eyes. + +Why was not Martin here? He had known me in Sark, in Tardif's cottage, +and he would understand how strange and how unlike home all this was to +me. + +A trim maid was summoned to show us to our rooms, and she eyed us with +silent criticism. She conducted us to a large and lofty apartment, +daintily and luxuriously fitted up, with a hundred knick-knacks about +it, of which I could not even guess the use. A smaller room communicated +with it which had been evidently furnished for Minima. The child +squeezed my hand tightly as we gazed into it. I felt as if we were +gypsies, suddenly caught, and caged in a splendid captivity. + +"Isn't it awful?" asked Minima, in a whisper; "it frightens me." + +It almost frightened me too. I was disconcerted also by my own +reflection in the long mirror before me. A rustic, homely peasant-girl, +with a brown face and rough hands, looked back at me from the shining +surface, wearing a half-Norman dress, for I had not had time to buy more +than a bonnet and shawl as we passed through Falaise. What would Miss +Carey think of me? How should I look in Dr. John's fastidious eyes? +Would not Martin be disappointed and shocked when he saw me again? + +I could not make any change in my costume, and the maid carried off +Minima to do what she could with her. There came a gentle knock at my +door, and Miss Carey entered. Here was the fitting personage to dwell in +a house like this. A delicate gray-silk dress, a dainty lace cap, a +perfect self-possession, a dignified presence. My heart sank low. But +she kissed me affectionately, and smiled as I looked anxiously into her +face. + +"My dear," she said, "I hope you will like your room. John and Martin +have ransacked London for pretty things for it. See, there is a +painting of Tardifs cottage in Sark. Julia has painted it for you. And +here is a portrait of my dear friend, Martin's mother; he hung it there +himself only this morning. I hope you will soon feel quite at home with +us, Olivia." + +Before I could answer, a gong sounded through the house, with a sudden +clang that startled me. + +We went down to the drawing-room, where Dr. Senior gave me his arm, and +led me ceremoniously to dinner. At this very hour my dear Monsieur +Laurentie and mademoiselle were taking their simple supper at the little +round table, white as wood could be made by scrubbing, but with no cloth +upon it. My chair and Minima's would be standing back against the wall. +The tears smarted under my eyelids, and I answered at random to the +remarks made to me. How I longed to be alone for a little while, until I +could realize all the change that had come into my life! + +We had been in the drawing-room again only a few minutes, when we heard +the hall-door opened, and a voice speaking. By common consent, as it +were, every one fell into silence to listen. I looked up for a moment, +and saw that all three of them had turned their eyes upon me; friendly +eyes they were, but their scrutiny was intolerable. Dr. Senior began to +talk busily with Miss Carey. + +"Hush!" cried Minima, who was standing beside Dr. John, "hush! I believe +it is--yes, I am sure it is Dr. Martin!" + +She sprang to the door just as it was opened, and flung her arms round +him in a transport of delight. I did not dare to lift my eyes again, to +see them all smiling at me. He could not come at once to speak to me, +while that child was clinging to him and kissing him. + +"I'm so glad," she said, almost sobbing; "come and see my auntie, who +was so ill when you were in Ville-en-bois. You did not see her, you +know; but she is quite well now, and very, very rich. We are never going +to be poor again. Come; she is here. Auntie, this is that nice Dr. +Martin, who made me promise not to tell you he was at Ville-en-bois, +while you were so ill." + +She dragged him eagerly toward me, and I put my hand in his; but I did +not look at him. That I did some minutes afterward, when he was talking +to Miss Carey. It was many months since I had seen him last in Sark. +There was a great change in his face, and he looked several years older. +It was grave, and almost mournful, as if he did not smile very often, +and his voice was lower in tone than it had been then. Dr. John, who was +standing beside him, was certainly much gayer and handsomer than he was. +He caught my eye, and came back to me, sitting near enough to talk with +me in an undertone. + +"Are you satisfied with the arrangements we have made for you?" he +inquired. + +"Quite," I said, not daring either to thank him, or to tell him how +oppressed I was by my sudden change. Both of us spoke as quietly, and +with as much outward calm, as if we were in the habit of seeing each +other every day. A chill came across me. + +"At one time," he continued, "I asked Johanna to open her home to you; +but that was when I thought you would be safer and happier in a quiet +place like hers than anywhere else. Now you are your own mistress, and +can choose your own residence. But you could not have a better home than +this. It would not be well for you, so young and friendless, to live in +a house of your own." + +"No," I said, somewhat sadly. + +"Dr. Senior is delighted to have you here," he went on; "you will see +very good society in this house, and that is what you should do. You +ought to see more and better people than you have yet known. Does it +seem strange to you that we have assumed a sort of authority over you +and your affairs? You do not yet know how we have been involved in +them." + +"How?" I asked, looking up into his face with a growing curiosity. + +"Olivia," he said, "Foster was my patient for some months, and I knew +all his affairs intimately. He had married that person--" + +"Married her!" I ejaculated. + +"Yes. You want to know how he could do that? Well, he produced two +papers, one a medical certificate of your death, the other a letter +purporting to be from some clergyman. He had, too, a few lines in your +own handwriting, which stated you had sent him your ring, the only +valuable thing left to you, as you had sufficient for your last +necessities. Even I believed for a few hours that you were dead. But I +must tell you all about it another time." + +"Did he believe it?" I asked, in a trembling voice. + +"I do not know," he answered; "I cannot tell, even now, whether he knew +them to be forgeries or not. But I have no doubt, myself, that they were +forged by Mrs. Foster's brother and his partner, Scott and Brown." + +"But for what reason?" I asked again. + +"What reason!" he repeated; "you were too rich a prize for them to allow +Foster to risk losing any part of his claim upon you, if he found you. +You and all you had were his property on certain defined conditions. You +do not understand our marriage laws; it is as well for you not to +understand them. Mrs. Foster gave up to me to-day all his papers, and +the letters and credentials from your trustees in Melbourne to your +bankers here. There will be very little trouble for you now. Thank God! +all your life lies clear and fair before you." + +I had still many questions to ask, but my lips trembled so much that I +could not speak readily. He was himself silent, probably because he also +had so much to say. All the others were sitting a little apart from us +at a chess-table, where Dr. Senior and Miss Carey were playing, while +Dr. John sat by holding Minima in his arm, though she was gazing +wistfully across to Martin and me. + +"You are tired, Olivia," said Martin, after a time, "tired and sad. Your +eyes are full of tears. I must be your doctor again for this evening, +and send you to bed at once. It is eleven o'clock already; but these +people will sit up till after midnight. You need not say good-night to +them.--Minima, come here." + +She did not wait for a second word, or a louder summons; but she slipped +under Dr. John's arm, and rushed across to us, being caught by Martin +before she could throw herself upon me. He sat still, talking to her for +a few minutes, and listening to her account of our journey, and how +frightened we were at the grandeur about us. His face lit up with a +smile as his eyes fell upon me, as if for the first time he noticed how +out of keeping I was with the place. Then he led us quietly away, and +up-stairs to my bedroom-door. + +"Good-night, Olivia," he said; "sleep soundly, both of you, for you are +at home. I will send one of the maids up to you." + +"No, no," I cried hastily, "they despise us already." + +"Ah!" he said, "to-night you are the Olivia I knew first, in Sark. In a +week's time I shall find you a fine lady." + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH. + +SEEING SOCIETY. + + +Whether or no I was transformed into a finer lady than Martin +anticipated, I could not tell, but certainly after that first evening he +held himself aloof from me. I soon learned to laugh at the dismay which +had filled me upon my entrance into my new sphere. It would have been +difficult to resist the cordiality with which I was adopted into the +household. Dr. Senior treated me as his daughter; Dr. John was as much +at home with me as if I had been his sister. We often rode together, for +I was always fond of riding as a child, and he was a thorough horseman. +He said Martin could ride better than himself; but Martin never asked me +to go out with him. + +Minima, too, became perfectly reconciled to her new position; though for +a time she was anxious lest we were spending our riches too lavishly. I +heard her one day soundly rating Dr. John, who seldom came to his +father's house without bringing some trinket, or bouquet, or toy, for +one or other of us. + +"You are wasting all your money," she said, with that anxious little +pucker of her eyebrows, which was gradually being smoothed away +altogether, "you're just like the boys after the holidays. They would +buy lots of things every time the cake-woman came--and she came every +day--till they'd spent all their money. You can't always have cakes, you +know, and then you'll miss them." + +"But I shall have cakes always." answered Dr. John. + +"Nobody has them always," she said, in an authoritative tone, "and you +won't like being poor. We were so poor we daren't buy as much as we +could eat; and our boots wore out at the toes. You like to have nice +boots, and gloves, and things, so you must learn to take care of your +money, and not waste it like this." + +"I'm not wasting my money, little woman," he replied, "when I buy pretty +things for you and Olivia." + +"Why doesn't Dr. Martin do it then?" she asked; "he never spends his +money in that sort of way. Why doesn't he give auntie as many things as +you do?" + +Martin had been listening to Minima's rebukes with a smile upon his +face; but now it clouded a little, and I knew he glanced across to me. I +appeared deeply absorbed in the book I held in my hand, and he did not +see that I was listening and watching attentively. + +"Minima," he said, in a low tone, as if he did not care that even she +should hear, "I gave her all I had worth giving when I saw her first." + +"That's just how it will be with you, Dr. John," exclaimed Minima, +triumphantly, "you'll give us every thing you have, and then you'll have +nothing left for yourself." + +But still, unless Martin had taken back what he gave to me so long ago, +his conduct was very mysterious to me. He did not come to Fulham half +as often as Dr. John did; and when he came he spent most of the time in +long, professional discussions with Dr. Senior. They told me he was +devoted to his profession, and it really seemed as if he had not time to +think of any thing else. + +Neither had I very much time for brooding over any subject, for guests +began to frequent the house, which became much gayer, Dr. Senior said, +now there was a young hostess in it. The quiet evenings of autumn and +winter were gone, and instead of them our engagements accumulated on our +hands, until I very rarely met Martin except at some entertainment, +where we were surrounded by strangers. Martin was certainly at a +disadvantage among a crowd of mere acquaintances, where Dr. John was +quite at home. He was not as handsome, and he did not possess the same +ease and animation. So he was a little apt to get into corners with Dr. +Senior's scientific friends, and to be somewhat awkward and dull if he +were forced into gayer society. Dr. John called him glum. + +But he was not glum; I resented that, till Dr. John begged my pardon. +Martin did not smile as quickly as Dr. John, he was not forever ready +with a simper, but when he did smile it had ten times more expression. I +liked to watch for it, for the light that came into his eyes now and +then, breaking through his gravity as the sun breaks through the clouds +on a dull day. + +Perhaps he thought I liked to be free. Yes, free from tyranny, but not +free from love. It is a poor thing to have no one's love encircling you, +a poor freedom that. A little clew came to my hand one day, the other +end of which might lead me to the secret of Martin's reserve and gloom. +He and Dr. Senior were talking together, as they paced to and fro about +the lawn, coming up the walk from the river-side to the house, and then +back again. I was seated just within the drawing-room window, which was +open. They knew I was there, but they did not guess how keen my hearing +was for any thing that Martin said. It was only a word or two here and +there that I caught. + +"If you were not in the way," said Dr. Senior, "John would have a good +chance, and there is no one in the world I would sooner welcome as a +daughter." + +"They are like one another," answered Martin; "have you never seen it?" + +What more they said I did not hear, but it seemed a little clearer to me +after that why Martin kept aloof from me, and left me to ride, and talk, +and laugh with his friend Jack. Why, they did not know that I was +happier silent beside Martin, than laughing most merrily with Dr. John. +So little did they understand me! + +Just before Lent, which was a busy season with him, Monsieur Laurentie +paid us his promised visit, and brought us news from Ville-en-bois. The +money that had been lying in the bank, which I could not touch, whatever +my necessities were, had accumulated to more than three thousand pounds, +and out of this sum were to come the funds for making Ville-en-bois the +best-drained parish in Normandy. Nothing could exceed Monsieur +Laurentie's happiness in choosing a design for a village fountain, and +in examining plans for a village hospital. For, in case any serious +illness should break out again among them, a simple little hospital was +to be built upon the brow of the hill, where the wind sweeps across +leagues of meadow-land and heather. + +"I am too happy, madame," said the cure; "my people will die no more of +fever, and we will teach them many English ways. When will you come +again, and see what you have done for us?" + +"I will come in the autumn," I answered. + +"And you will come alone?" he continued. + +"Yes, quite alone," I answered, "or with Minima only." + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH. + +BREAKING THE ICE. + + +Yet while I told Monsieur Laurentie seriously that I should go alone to +Ville-en-bois in the autumn, I did not altogether believe it. We often +speak in half-falsehoods, even to ourselves. + +Dr. Senior's lawn, in which he takes great pride, slopes gently down to +the river, and ends with a stone parapet, over which it is exceedingly +pleasant to lean, and watch idly the flowing of the water, which seems +to loiter almost reluctantly before passing on to Westminster, and the +wharves and docks of the city. On the opposite bank grows a cluster of +cedars, with rich, dark-green branches, showing nearly black against the +pale blue of the sky. In our own lawn there stand three fine elms, a +colony for song-birds, under which the turf is carefully kept as smooth +and soft as velvet; and seats are set beneath their shadow, where one +can linger for hours, seeing the steamers and pleasure-boats passing to +and fro, and catching now and then a burst of music or laughter, +softened a little by the distance. My childhood had trained me to be +fond of living out-of-doors; and, when the spring came, I spent most of +my days under these elm-trees, in the fitful sunshine and showers of an +English April and May, such as I had never known before. + +From one of these trees I could see very well any one who went in or out +through the gate. But it was not often that I cared to sit there, for +Martin came only in an evening, when his day's work was done, and even +then his coming was an uncertainty. Dr. John seldom missed visiting us, +but Martin was often absent for days. That made me watch all the more +eagerly for his coming, and feel how cruelly fast the time fled when he +was with us. + +But one Sunday afternoon in April I chose my seat there, behind the tree +where I could see the gate, without being too plainly seen myself. +Martin had promised Dr. Senior he would come down to Fulham with Dr. +John that afternoon, if possible. The river was quieter than on other +days, and all the world seemed calmer. It was such a day as the one in +Sark, two years ago, when I slipped from the cliffs, and Tardif was +obliged to go across to Guernsey to fetch a doctor for me. I wondered if +Martin ever thought of it on such a day as this. But men do not remember +little things like these as women do. + +I heard the click of the gate at last, and, looking round the great +trunk of the tree, I saw them come in together, Dr. John and Martin. He +had kept his promise then! Minima was gone out somewhere with Dr. +Senior, or she would have run to meet them, and so brought them to the +place where I was half-hidden. + +However, they might see my dress if they chose. They ought to see it. I +was not going to stand up and show myself. If they were anxious to find +me, and come to me, it was quite simple enough. + +But my heart sank when Martin marched straight on, and entered the house +alone, while Dr. John came as direct as an arrow toward me. They knew I +was there, then! Yet Martin avoided me, and left his friend to chatter +and laugh the time away. I was in no mood for laughing; I could rather +have wept bitter tears of vexation and disappointment. But Dr. John was +near enough now for me to discern a singular gravity upon his usually +gay face. + +"Is there any thing the matter?" I exclaimed, starting to my feet and +hastening to meet him. He led me back again silently to my seat, and sat +down beside me, still in silence. Strange conduct in Dr. John! + +"Tell me what is the matter," I said, not doubting now that there was +some trouble at hand. Dr. John's face flushed, and he threw his hat down +on the grass, and pushed his hair back from his forehead. Then he laid +his hand upon mine, for a moment only. + +"Olivia," he said, very seriously, "do you love me?" + +The question came upon me like a shock from a galvanic battery. He and I +had been very frank and friendly together; a pleasant friendship, which +had seemed to me as safe as that of a brother. Besides, he knew all that +Martin had done and borne for my sake. With my disappointment there was +mingled a feeling of indignation against his treachery toward his +friend. I sat watching the glistening of the water through the pillars +of the parapet till my eyes were dazzled. + +"I scarcely understand what you say," I answered, after a long pause; +"you know I care for you all. If you mean, do I love you as I love your +father and Monsieur Laurentie, why, yes, I do." + +"Very good, Olivia," he said. + +That was so odd of him, that I turned and looked steadily into his face. +It was not half as grave as before, and there was a twinkle in his eyes +as if another half minute would make him as gay and light-hearted as +ever. + +"Whatever did you come and ask me such a question for?" I inquired, +rather pettishly. + +"Was there any harm in it?" he rejoined. + +"Yes, there was harm in it," I answered; "it has made me very +uncomfortable. I thought you were going out of your mind. If you meant +nothing but to make me say I liked you, you should have expressed +yourself differently. Of course, I love you all, and all alike." + +"Very good," he said again. + +I felt so angry that I was about to get up, and go away to my own room; +but he caught my dress, and implored me to stay a little longer. + +"I'll make a clean breast of it," he said; "I promised that dear old +dolt Martin to come straight to you, and ask you if you loved me, in so +many words. Well, I've kept my promise; and now I'll go and tell him you +say you love us all, and all alike." + +"No," I answered, "you shall not go and tell him that. What could put it +into Dr. Martin's head that I was in love with you?" + +"Why shouldn't you be in love with me?" retorted Dr. John; "Martin +assures me that I am much handsomer than he is--a more eligible _parti_ +in every respect. I suppose I shall have an income, apart from our +practice, at least ten times larger than his. I am much more sought +after generally; one cannot help seeing that. Why should you not be in +love with me?" + +I did not deign to reply to him, and Jack leaned forward a little to +look into my face. + +"Olivia," he continued, "that is part of what Martin says. We have just +been speaking of you as we came down to Fulham--never before. He +maintains he is bound in honor to leave you as free as possible to make +your choice, not merely between us, but from the number of fellows who +have found their way down here, since you came. You made one fatal +mistake, he says, through your complete ignorance of the world; and it +is his duty to take care that you do not make a second mistake, through +any gratitude you might feel toward him. He would not be satisfied with +gratitude. Besides, he has discovered that he is not so great a prize as +he fancied, as long as he lived in Guernsey; and you are a richer prize +than you seemed to be then. With your fortune you ought to make a much +better match than with a young physician, who has to push his way among +a host of competitors. Lastly, Martin said, for I'm merely repeating his +own arguments to you: 'Do you think I can put her happiness and mine +into a balance, and coolly calculate which has the greater weight? If I +had to choose for her, I should not hesitate between you and me.' Now I +have told you the sum of our conversation, Olivia." + +Every word Dr. John had spoken had thrown clearer light upon Martin's +conduct. He had been afraid I should feel myself bound to him; and the +very fact that he had once told me he loved me, had made it more +difficult to him to say so a second time. He would not have any love +from me as a duty. If I did not love him fully, with my whole heart, +choosing him after knowing others with whom I could compare him, he +would not receive any lesser gift from me. + +"What will you do, my dear Olivia?" asked Dr. John. + +"What can I do?" I said. + +"Go to him," he urged; "he is alone. I saw him a moment ago, looking out +at us from the drawing-room window. The old fellow is making up his mind +to see you and me happy together, and to conceal his own sorrow. God +bless him! Olivia, my dear girl, go to him." + +"O Jack!" I cried, "I cannot." + +"I don't see why you cannot," he answered, gayly. "You are trembling, +and your face goes from white to red, and then white again; but you have +not lost the use of your limbs, or your tongue. If you take my arm, it +will not be very difficult to cross the lawn. Come; he is the best +fellow living, and worth walking a dozen yards for." + +Jack drew my hand through his arm, and led me across the smooth lawn. We +caught a glimpse of Martin looking out at us; but he turned away in an +instant, and I could not see the expression of his face. Would he think +we were coming to tell him that he had wasted all his love upon a girl +not worthy of a tenth part of it? + +The glass doors, which opened upon the lawn, had been thrown back all +day, and we could see distinctly into the room. Martin was standing at +the other end of it, apparently absorbed in examining a painting, which +he must have seen a thousand times. The doors creaked a little as I +passed through them, but he did not turn round. Jack gave my hand a +parting squeeze, and left me there in the open doorway, scarcely knowing +whether to go on, and speak to Martin, or run away to my room, and leave +him to take his own time. + +I believe I should have run away, but I heard Minima's voice behind me, +calling shrilly to Dr. John, and I could not bear to face him again. +Taking my courage in both hands, I stepped quickly across the floor, for +if I had hesitated longer my heart would have failed me. Scarcely a +moment had passed since Jack left me, and Martin had not turned his +head, yet it seemed an age. + +"Martin," I whispered, as I stood close behind him, "how could you be so +foolish as to send Dr. John to me?" + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH. + +PALMY DAYS. + + +We were married as soon as the season was over, when Martin's +fashionable patients were all going away from town. Ours was a very +quiet wedding, for I had no friends on my side, and Martin's cousin +Julia could not come, for she had a baby not a month old, and Captain +Carey could not leave them. Johanna Carey and Minima were my +bridesmaids, and Jack was Martin's groomsman. + +On our way home from Switzerland, in the early autumn, we went down from +Paris to Falaise, and through Noireau to Ville-en-bois. From Falaise +every part of the road was full of associations to me. This was the +long, weary journey which Minima and I had taken, alone, in a dark +November night; and here were the narrow and dirty streets of Noireau, +which we had so often trodden, cold, and hungry, and friendless. Martin +said little about it, but I knew by his face, and by the tender care he +lavished upon me, that his mind was as full of it as mine was. + +There was no reason for us to stay even a day in Noireau, and we hurried +through it on our way to Ville-en-bois. This road was still more +memorable to me, for we had traversed it on foot. + +"See, Martin!" I cried, "there is the trunk of the tree still, where +Minima and I sat down to rest. I am glad the tree is there yet. If we +were not in a hurry, you and I would sit there now; it is so lonely and +still, and scarcely a creature passes this way. It is delicious to be +lonely sometimes. How foot-sore and famished we were, walking along this +rough part of the road! Martin, I almost wish our little Minima were +with us. There is the common! If you will look steadily, you can just +see the top of the cross, against the black line of fir-trees, on the +far side." + +I was getting so excited that I could speak no longer; but Martin held +my hand in his, and I clasped it more and more tightly as we drew nearer +to the cross, where Minima and I had sat down at the foot, forlorn and +lost, in the dark shadows of the coming night. Was it possible that I +was the same Olivia? + +But as we came in sight of the little grove of cypresses and yews, we +could discern a crowd of women, in their snow-white caps, and of men and +boys, in blue blouses. The hollow beat of a drum reached our ears afar +off, and after it the shrill notes of a violin and fife playing a merry +tune. Monsieur Laurentie appeared in the foreground of the multitude, +bareheaded, long before we reached the spot. + +"O Martin!" I said, "let us get out, and send the carriage back, and +walk up with them to the village." + +"And my wife's luggage?" he answered, "and all the toys and presents she +has brought from Paris?" + +It was true that the carriage was inconveniently full of parcels, for I +do not think that I had forgotten one of Monsieur Laurentie's people. +But it would not be possible to ride among them, while they were +walking. + +"Every man will carry something," I said. "Martin, I must get out." + +It was Monsieur Laurentie who opened the carriage-door for me; but the +people did not give him time for a ceremonious salutation. They thronged +about us with _vivats_ as hearty as an English hurrah. + +"All the world is here to meet us, monsieur," I said. + +"Madame, I have also the honor of presenting to you two strangers from +England," answered Monsieur Laurentie, while the people fell back to +make way for them. Jack and Minima! both wild with delight. We learned +afterward, as we marched up the valley to Ville-en-bois, that Dr. Senior +had taken Jack's place in Brook Street, and insisted upon him and Minima +giving us this surprise. Our procession, headed by the drum, the fife, +and the violin, passed through the village street, from every window of +which a little flag fluttered gayly, and stopped before the presbytery, +where Monsieur Laurentie dismissed it, after a last _vivat_. + +The next stage of our homeward journey was made in Monsieur Laurentie's +_char a bancs_, from Ville-en-bois to Granville--Jack and Minima had +returned direct to England, but we were to visit Guernsey on the way. +Captain Carey and Julia made it a point that we should go to see them, +and their baby, before settling down in our London home. Martin was +welcomed with almost as much enthusiasm in St. Peter-Port as I had been +in little Ville-en-bois. + +From our room in Captain Carey's house I could look at Sark lying along +the sea, with a belt of foam encircling it. At times, early in the +morning, or when the sunset light fell upon it, I could distinguish the +old windmill, and the church breaking the level line of the summit; and +I could even see the brow of the knoll behind Tardifs cottage. But day +after day the sea between us was rough, and the westerly breeze blew +across the Atlantic, driving the waves before it. There was no steamer +going across, and Captain Carey's yacht could not brave the winds. I +began to be afraid that Martin and I would not visit the place, which of +all others in this half of the world was dearest to me. + +"To-morrow," said Martin one night, after scanning the sunset, the sky, +and the storm-glass, "if you can be up at five o'clock, we will cross to +Sark." + +I was up at four, in the first gray dawn of a September morning. We had +the yacht to ourselves, for Captain Carey declined running the risk of +being weather-bound on the island--a risk which we were willing to +chance. The Havre Gosselin was still in morning shadow when we ran into +it; but the water between us and Guernsey was sparkling and dancing in +the early light, as we slowly climbed the rough path of the cliff. My +eyes were dazzled with the sunshine, and dim with tears, when I first +caught sight of the little cottage of Tardif, who was stretching out his +nets, on the stone causeway under the windows. Martin called to him, and +he flung down his nets and ran to meet us. + +"We are come to spend the day with you, Tardif," I cried, when he was +within hearing of my voice. + +"It will be a day from heaven," he said, taking off his fisherman's cap, +and looking round at the blue sky with its scattered clouds, and the sea +with its scattered islets. + +It was like a day from heaven. We wandered about the cliffs, visiting +every spot which was most memorable to either of us, and Tardif rowed us +in his boat past the entrance of the Gouliot Caves. He was very quiet, +but he listened to our free talk together, for I could not think of good +old Tardif as any stranger; and he seemed to watch us both, with a +far-off, faithful, quiet look upon his face. Sometimes I fancied he did +not bear what we were saying, and again his eyes would brighten with a +sudden gleam, as if his whole soul and heart shone through them upon us. +It was the last day of our holiday, for in the morning we were about to +return to London, and to work; but it was such a perfect day as I had +never known before. + +"You are quite happy, Mrs. Martin Dobree?" said Tardif to me, when we +were parting from him. + +"I did not know I could ever be so happy," I answered. + +"We saw him to the last moment standing on the cliff, and waving his hat +to us high above his head. Now and then there came a shout across the +water. Before we were quite beyond ear-shot, we heard Tardif's voice +calling amid the splashing of the waves: + +"God be with you, my friends. Adieu, mam'zelle!" + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH. + +A POSTSCRIPT BY MARTIN DOBREE. + + +You may describe to a second person, with the most minute and exact +fidelity in your power, the leading and critical events in your life, +and you will find that some trifle of his own experience is ten times +more vivid to his mind. You narrate to your friend, whom you have not +met for many years, the incident that has turned the whole current of +your existence; and after a minute or two of musing, he asks you, "Do +you remember the day we two went bird-nesting on Gull's Cliff?" That day +of boyish daring and of narrow escapes is more real to him than your +deepest troubles or keenest joys. The brain receives but slightly +second-hand impressions. + +I had told Olivia faithfully all my dilemmas with regard to Julia and +the Careys; and she had seemed to listen with intense interest. +Certainly it was during those four bewildering and enchanted months +immediately preceding our marriage, and no doubt the narrative was +interwoven with many a topic of quite a different character. However +that might be, I was surprised to find that Olivia was not half as +nervous and anxious as I felt, when we were nearing Guernsey on our +visit to Julia and Captain Carey. Julia had seen her but once, and that +for a few minutes only in Sark. On her account she had suffered the +severest mortification a woman can undergo. How would she receive my +wife? + +Olivia did not know, though I did, that Julia was somewhat frigid and +distant in her manner, even while thoroughly hospitable in her welcome. +Olivia felt the hospitality; I felt the frigidity. Julia called her +"Mrs. Dobree." It was the first time she had been addressed by that +name; and her blush and smile were exquisite to me, but they did not +thaw Julia in the least. I began to fear that there would be between +them that strange, uncomfortable, east-wind coolness, which so often +exists between the two women a man most loves. + +It was the baby that did it. Nothing on earth could be more charming, or +more winning, than Olivia's delight over that child. It was the first +baby she had ever had in her arms, she told us; and to see her sitting +in the low rocking-chair, with her head bent over it, and to watch her +dainty way of handling it, was quite a picture. Captain Carey had an +artist's eye, and was in raptures; Julia had a mother's eye, and was so +won by Olivia's admiration of her baby, that the thin crust of ice +melted from her like the arctic snows before a Greenland summer. + +I was not in the least surprised when, two days or so before we left +Guernsey, Julia spoke to us with some solemnity of tone and expression. + +"My dear, Olivia," she said, "and you, Martin, Arnold and I would +consider it a token of your friendship for us both, if you two would +stand as sponsors for our child." + +"With the greatest pleasure, Julia," I replied; and Olivia crossed the +hearth to kiss her, and sat down on the sofa at her side. + +"We have decided upon calling her Olivia," continued Julia, stroking my +wife's hand with a caressing touch--"Olivia Carey! That sounds extremely +well, and is quite new in the island. I think it sounds even better than +Olivia Dobree." + +As we all agreed that no name could sound better, or be newer in +Guernsey, that question was immediately settled. There was no time for +delay, and the next morning we carried the child to church to be +christened. As we were returning homeward, Julia, whose face had worn +its softest expression, pressed my arm with a clasp which made me look +down upon her questioningly. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her +mouth quivered. Olivia and Captain Carey were walking on in front, at a +more rapid pace than ours, so that we were in fact alone. + +"What is the matter?" I asked, hastily. + +"O Martin!" she exclaimed, "we are both so happy, after all! I wish my +poor, darling aunt could only have foreseen this! but, don't you think, +as we are both so happy, we might just go and see my poor uncle? Kate +Daltrey is away in Jersey, I know that for certain, and he is alone. It +would give him so much pleasure. Surely you can forgive him now." + +"By all means let us go," I answered. I had not heard even his name +mentioned before, by any one of my old friends in Guernsey. But, as +Julia said, I was so happy, that I was ready to forgive and forget all +ancient grievances. Olivia and Captain Carey were already out of sight; +and we turned into a street leading to Vauvert Road. + +"They live in lodgings now," remarked Julia, as we went slowly up the +steep street, "and nobody visits them; not one of my uncle's old +friends. They have plenty to live upon, but it is all her money. I do +not mean to let them got upon visiting terms with me--at least, not Kate +Daltrey. You know the house, Martin?" + +I knew nearly every house in St. Peter-Port, but this I remembered +particularly as being the one where Mrs. Foster had lodged when she was +in Guernsey. Upon inquiring for Dr. Dobree, we were ushered at once, +without warning, into his presence. + +Even I should scarcely have recognized him. His figure was sunken and +bent, and his clothes, which were shabby, sat in wrinkles upon him. His +crisp white hair had grown thin and limp, and hung untidily about his +face. He had not shaved for a week. His waistcoat was sprinkled over +with snuff, in which he had indulged but sparingly in former years. +There was not a trace of his old jauntiness and display. This was a +rusty, dejected old man, with the crow's-feet very plainly marked upon +his features. + +"Father!" I said. + +"Uncle!" cried Julia, running to him, and giving him a kiss, which she +had not meant to do, I am sure, when we entered the house. + +He shed a few tears at the sight of us, in a maudlin manner; and he +continued languid and sluggish all through the interview. It struck me +more forcibly than any other change could have done, that he never once +appeared to pluck up any spirit, or attempted to recall a spark of his +ancient sprightliness. He spoke more to Julia than to me. + +"My love," he said, "I believed I knew a good deal about women, but I've +lived to find out my mistake. You and your beloved aunt were angels. +This one never lets me have a penny of my own: and she locks up my best +suit when she goes from home. That is to prevent me going among my own +friends. She is in Jersey now; but she would not hear a word of me going +with her, not one word. The Bible says: 'Jealousy is cruel as the grave; +the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.' +Kate is jealous of me. I get nothing but black looks and cold shoulders. +There never lived a cat and dog that did not lead a more comfortable +life than Kate leads me." + +"You shall come and see Arnold and me sometimes, uncle," said Julia. + +"She won't let me," he replied, with fresh tears; "she won't let me +mention your name, or go past your house. I should very much like to see +Martin's wife--a very pretty creature they say she is--but I dare not. O +Julia! how little a man knows what is before him!" + +We did not prolong our visit, for it was no pleasure to any one of us. +Dr. Dobree himself seemed relieved when we spoke of going away. He and I +shook hands with one another gravely; it was the first time we had done +so since he had announced his intention of marrying Kate Daltrey. + +"My son," he said, "if ever you should find yourself a widower, be very +careful how you select your second wife." + +These were his parting words--words which chafed me sorely as a young +husband in his honeymoon. I looked round when we were out of the house, +and caught a glimpse of his withered face, and ragged white hair, as he +peeped from behind the curtain at us. Julia and I walked on in silence +till we reached her threshold. + +"Yet I am not sorry we went, Martin," she observed, in a tone as if she +thus summed up a discussion with herself. Nor was I sorry. + +A few days after our return to London, as I was going home to dinner, I +met, about half-war along Brook Street, Mrs. Foster. For the first time +since my marriage I was glad to be alone; I would not have had Olivia +with me on any account. But the woman was coming away from our house, +and a sudden fear flashed across me. Could she have been annoying my +Olivia? + +"Have you been to see me?" I asked her, abruptly. + +"Why should I come to see you?" she retorted. + +"Nor my wife?" I said. + +"Why shouldn't I go to see Mrs. Dobree?" she asked again. + +I felt that it was necessary to secure Olivia, and to gain this end I +must be firm. But the poor creature looked miserable and unhappy, and I +could not be harsh toward her. + +"Come, Mrs. Foster," I said, "let us talk reasonably together. You know +as as well as I do you have no claim upon my wife; and I cannot have her +disturbed and distressed by seeing you; I wish her to forget all the +past. Did I not fulfil my promise to Foster? Did I not do all I could +for him?" + +"Yes," she answered, sobbing, "I know you did all you could to save my +husband's life." + +"Without fee?" I said. + +"Certainly. We were too poor to pay you." + +"Give me my fee now, then," I replied. "Promise me to leave Olivia +alone. Keep away from this street, and do not thrust yourself upon her +at any time. If you meet by accident, that will be no fault of yours. I +can trust you to keep your promise." + +She stood silent and irresolute for a minute. Then she clasped my hand, +with a strong grip for a woman's fingers. + +"I promise," she said, "for you were very good to him." + +She had taken a step or two into the dusk of the evening, when I ran +after her for one more word. + +"Mrs. Foster," I said, "are you in want?" + +"I can always keep myself," she answered, proudly; "I earned his living +and my own, for months together. Good-by, Martin Dobree." + +"Good-by," I said. She turned quickly from me round a corner near to us; +and have not seen her again from that day to this. + +Dr. Senior would not consent to part with Minima, even to Olivia. She +promises fair to take the reins of the household at a very early age, +and to hold them with a tight hand. Already Jack is under her authority, +and yields to it with a very droll submission. She is so old for her +years, and he is so young for his, that--who can tell? Olivia predicts +that Jack Senior will always be a bachelor. + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Doctor's Dilemma, by Hesba Stretton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA *** + +***** This file should be named 14454.txt or 14454.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/4/5/14454/ + +Produced by Steven Gibbs and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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