CHAPTER X.
THE THIRD CASE
"Hollo there! Where are you off to?"—Dr. Craig hailed his young assistant who was just setting forth from the surgery door; "I want you, Tommy."
Tommy stood still. He had thought the doctor out for the day, and had not heard the wheels of the returning gig. Otherwise—well, perhaps otherwise, he would have been busy within doors, not starting out into the sunshine of a brilliant June morning.
"Where are you off to?"—repeated his interrogator, and this time an answer to the question was necessary.
"I was going to the Abbey, sir." An observant person might have noted that the young man would have preferred not to say it, and a very observant person might also have seen that he shifted the parcel in his hand, and moved his feet uneasily.
Dr. Craig however either saw nothing or affected to do so. "To the Abbey? Who's ill there?" he said, quickly. "Anything sudden?"
"No, sir. Mrs. Stubbs–"
"Mrs. Stubbs? What's wrong with her? I saw her on the road yesterday."
"She called here, but you were out. There's nothing much the matter, but she wanted a tonic. I—I forgot to mention it."
"And you forgot something else, mister. No tonics go out from here that I don't prescribe. Here, give me that bottle. What's this? Trash. If Mrs. Stubbs wants a tonic–"
"She merely mentioned that she was not feeling quite the thing, sir; and I—it was my suggestion–"
"A damned impudent suggestion. Now look here, young man, there must be no more of such suggestions, or you and I must part. You taking it upon yourself to prescribe for my patients! Bless my soul!"—but the delinquent was a favourite, and suddenly a humorous twinkle appeared beneath the frowning eyebrows. "You poor devil, what mischief is this? Hey? You blush like a girl? Come in here," pushing him gently back through the open door—"come in, and I'll prescribe for you, Mr. Thomas Andrews. I had an inkling something of this sort was going on, and—and I'm not blaming you, my boy. But it's you that needs the tonic, not that little widow-witch up yonder. Aye, you may turn red and white and glower at me—I know what I'm talking about. I've seen what she's after, the artful hussy,—and please God, I'll circumvent her."
"Sir—sir!"
"Haud your wheesht, Tommy. Ye're but a bairn and an ignorant fule-bairn at that:"—the broad Scotch accent lent itself readily to a wonderful mingling of compassion and contempt; "hark to me,—what? You're trembling?"—for the youth's lanky frame quivered beneath the weight of his hand. "Lord, has it gone as far as that?" muttered the speaker, under his breath.
Then he let go the young man's shoulder, and turned and shut the door carefully. "Sit ye down: sit, I tell ye. You are going to hear the truth, and you'll have to hear it. What? You think I've no eyes nor ears nor sense, because you have none—except for her? Tommy,—" he paused and drew a breath, a long, deep breath—"Tommy, my man, I've that to say to you to-day I've never said to mortal man, nor woman before. Will ye listen—but listen ye must, only—only I would as soon ye heard it kindly, for your own sake. Tommy, I know what it's like."
Tommy started, lifted his eyes, and let them fall again.
"Aye, I know;"—the big, shaggy head nodded slowly, and the words dropped one by one from the full, protruding lips. "The world's a dream while it lasts.... You walk among shadows, without she's there.... There's no sleep at night,—there's only thinking, and tossing, and sweating—and heugh! the next hour strikes!… And one day it's heaven, and the next hell.... And it ends–"
There was a long silence.
"It was twenty years ago," said the doctor, simply. "Tommy lad, would you—would you care to hear about it? You shall." He covered his eyes with his hand and had begun to speak ere he removed it. "I was about your age, but I was still at college; I left late. It was a custom in Edinburgh for the professors to ask us students once a year to an evening party; and although some of us did not care over much for that kind of entertainment, we could not have refused if we would. I remember I was annoyed at having to buy a dress suit, when my invitation came; I thought it waste of money, and money was scarce in those days. Tommy, I've got that suit now....
"You know that I am as happily married as a man can be;" the speaker started afresh. "No husband ever had a better, a dearer, or a fonder wife—but she has never thought of inquiring into the secret of that locked drawer upstairs,—and though I shall tell it her some day, I haven't yet. It sticks in my throat, and I have put off and put off—but, anyhow, you shall hear.... I went to the party I was telling you about, and—and she was there. A colonel's daughter, and no great lady—as I was at the pains to find out afterwards. Her family was not much better than my own, and upon that I built my hopes—for we think much of family in Scotland. But hopes? I don't know that they could be called 'hopes'. I was stunned, bewildered. She was the loveliest creature I had ever seen, and Tommy"—he leaned forward, his hands clasping the chair arms on either side—"many women as I've seen since, I have never yet seen her like.... Such eyes, such a brow, such a dazzling fair skin—the curved oval of her cheek—huts! I maunder.... She was amused by my adoration, Tommy; I don't know that it even flattered her, she was so accustomed to it—and I fear, I fear she felt no pity.... At any rate I was permitted to come to the house—for I fought and struggled till I obtained an entrance,—and even what I saw there did not open my eyes. I was doing well at college, you see; oh, I had better speak out, I did a deal better than ever you did, my lad, and carried off honours which at that time seemed high enough to promise anything. I saw myself at the head of my profession, with money, position, perhaps a title—and thought if she would only wait? Had she shown, were it ever so cruelly, her real sentiments, I might have groaned beneath the knife, but the wound would have healed swiftly, as wounds do at that age—but she kept me dangling on through long months of torture, worn to skin and bone,"—he broke off abruptly, paced the room, and stood for a moment at the window with his back turned, then resumed:—
"When my sick jealousy became too apparent, she applied an opiate. A few kind words or looks, an enchanting smile, and the poor, infatuated fool was as mad as ever. We used to walk in Princes Street Gardens—I can smell the spring flowers there now."
Another pause.
"You can guess the rest, I suppose?" With an effort the speaker heaved himself upright, and a grimmer expression overcast his features. "It was all a delusion—all. There never had been anything on her side—never. Oh, she was sorry, so sorry, but really she could not blame herself. My boy, I was made to feel I was the dirt of the earth beneath her feet.... Heigho! I got over it, Tommy—in time. Not for a long, long time; not till years had come and gone." Another pause. "Those years are what I would fain save you from," said Dr. Craig, slowly.
He had been encouraged to proceed by the respectful attention of the motionless form beside him. A deep sigh, or an inarticulate murmur on the young man's part alone showed that he was following what was said, and that it struck home,—but he remained rigid, and there might even have been something of stubbornness in the set of his shoulders. What if after all he refused to learn the lesson thus sternly and withal tenderly taught? "Maybe I've wasted my breath," mentally queried the other, frowning and biting his lip. Already he was repenting himself of the confidence wrung out of him, when all in a moment the scene changed.
"My lad—my lad," he cried, for Tommy had flung himself across the table, sobbing as though his heart would break.
"So, so? I should have spoken before," muttered the doctor, half-aloud. "It's the old story of shutting the door on the empty stable.—Tommy?"
But Tommy only quivered and shrank, as again a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder. "Be a man," exhorted a gruff voice overhead. ("To be soft now would be damnation. It's the hammer he needs.") "Take it like a man—not like a whimpering bairn,"—and the speaker's grip tightened. "What? What d'ye say? Let you be? What for then did I bare my soul to you just now—do you think that cost me nothing? Up! Fight with it. Master it." Then more gently: "Would you have me ashamed of you, Tommy?"
"I—I—I'm ashamed of nothing," gasped the unfortunate youth, suddenly assuming a bravado he was far from feeling. "What have I to be ashamed of? I have never done anything, nor said anything–"
"Nor—thought—anything?"
Tommy's head fell upon his breast.
"Where were you going when I stopped you?" proceeded his mentor, sternly. "You know the road, I'm thinking. And it can't be all on one side. She may have led you on, but–"
"Not a word against her." Tommy started up, inflamed. "Say what you will of me; strike at me as you will; sneer and scoff–"
"Hoots!" said the doctor, shortly. This melodramatic attitude annoyed him.
"Aye, it's just 'hoots!'" he repeated, bringing his big, red face close to the pale and frenzied one before him, "and lucky for you it is. I'm not going to take offence, my man—and that's the long and the short of it. I know you've been bamboozled—I know it,"—bearing down interruption; "and you're still—all I've said goes for nothing, I suppose?" he broke off sharply.
Tommy, who had tried to speak, also stopped, and the two glared at each other.
But it was the younger who gave way first. "It does not go for nothing, Dr. Craig, and perhaps I ought to feel grateful to you, sir, and all that, for taking such a—a kind interest–"
"Go on," said the doctor sardonically. "'A kind interest'—aweel?"
"But you don't, you can't know. You judge every case by your own. Because you were hardly treated, you think every woman deceitful. And yet, Leonore–"
"Leonore?"
"I do not call her that to her face, sir; I do not indeed."
"For which the Lord be praised—though it is but a small mercy. Did not I say it was in thought, my lad—but have it out, Tommy—such thoughts are best let out, like ill birds. Keeping them pent, they breed. Loose, they may fly away. How long has this been going on?" Suddenly the speaker's tone changed, becoming peremptory and commonplace.
Tommy murmured inaudibly.
"Speak out," thundered Dr. Craig, losing patience, "speak out, sir, and be damned to you. How long?"
"We met first on the last day of March."
"How? When? Where?"
"Accidentally. In the village. In the post-office. Till that day I had never–"
"No matter about that. What happened at this precious meeting? Answer me truly, Tommy, for–" he paused, and once more the angry tone softened. "You have neither father nor mother, and I've got to see you through this brash. The truth I must have, so out with it."
"She spoke to me," owned Tommy, reluctantly. "She knew who I was, and asked if I would take a message to Mrs. Craig?"
"Well?"
"Afterwards she was not sure that she had got the message correctly—it was from Miss Boldero, I believe,—and—and–"
"And you had to walk back with her to the Abbey and get it?"
Now this was precisely what had happened, but the dry tone with its covert mockery, stung.
"Certainly I had. I don't know why you should speak to me so, Dr. Craig? I did what every man in my case would have done. And Mrs. Stubbs–"
"That's better. 'Mrs. Stubbs.' Never let me hear 'Leonore' again."
"Dash it, I can manage my own affairs, sir. I—I don't need either your advice or interference. You take advantage of your position, and of—of a moment's weakness on my part. Please to let me alone in future." White, infuriated, and shaking like a reed, the wretched lad struggled desperately for manhood, and his companion was secretly relieved by the outburst.
Here was something to lay hold of at last; some good, honest, fighting blood roused; real anger melted as he assumed its mask.
"Very well—very well. Neither advice nor interference shall you have, if it comes to that, young sir; but there is such a thing as authority. You are in my house, and in my employment, and I'll be hanged if I stand by and see you ruined. Unless you give me your word that you will hold no more communication with this woman, I shall go straight to Boldero Abbey, and speak to her—mark you—to her, myself."
"You?—To her?—You?"
"And if she will not hearken to me, I shall address myself to her father."
"To her father?"—in a soundless whisper.
"That's what I shall do. You can take your choice. Hollo!" For he saw what was going to happen, and pushed a chair beneath the nerveless limbs just in time. "Here! take a taste of this"—the doctor hurriedly poured from a small phial of brandy in his pocket, "take it,—or I'll pour it down your throat, silly loon. We'll not quarrel yet, you and I. And we'll talk no more at present; when we are both reasonable again, and can discuss this business doucely and decently, as between man and man, we will. Meantime just bide here a bit, and think it over. And, Tommy, ahem–?"
Tommy's moist hand stole out feebly, tremulously.
"You'll never let on to anybody about—about yon wee story of mine?"
"Poor lad—poor lad," said the doctor, going out presently wiping his eyes. "He's safe now. But, Lord, what a time I've had of it! And one false step—one straining of the line and it would have snapped like silk. Aye, aye; I played my fish on a single gut, and," triumphantly, "landed him! Landed him, by Jupiter!"
It was strictly true that chance had discovered to Leonore the existence of her village admirer, who otherwise most certainly would never have come within the sphere of her observation. But each was waiting to despatch a telegram, and something had gone wrong with the wires. It was nothing too serious to be remedied and that speedily, they were assured, and if they could wait a few minutes, all would be well. But the few minutes expanded into a quarter-of-an-hour, and then—perhaps it was she or perhaps it was he, or perhaps it was both at once who were electrified by the all-potent touch of opportunity.
On Leonore's part, here was a comely youth,—and she had seen the comely youth in Dr. Craig's gig, and guessed at once who he might be. Three months had passed since the collapse of Lady Butts' well-meant little scheme, and no one had stepped into the cast-off shoes of her philosophical nephew—and Leonore had been bored, sadly bored. True, Val was there, but since his perfunctory declaration, Val had lost his savour. Up till then, Leo had not been sufficiently certain of his real sentiments to make his company uninteresting, and had decided to probe them by way of experiment—but the excitement of the interview had fizzled out, and his honesty did him no service in the eyes of his charmer. She would now bring him straight in to where her sisters were assembled, if met outside—and as he was always happy and at home among them, he had not the wit to perceive that things had changed.
Consequently the coast was clear for George Butts, and he had his ephemeral hour; and then?—then there rose above the dull, tame level of the horizon a new object.
What! He was beneath her? She would never have looked at him, still less spoken to him? Oh, my dear incredulous sir, or madam, how much or how little do you who pronounce thus know of human nature? Have you ever felt what it is to have an eye, blue or grey or what not, a mute, appealing, impassioned eye, flashing into yours its secret?—and have you cared to reckon coldly its owner's claims to your notice? You bearded widower, with your family of big girls and boys, what about that little lodging-house keeper at the sea-side, who welcomes your most trivial order reverentially, who hardly ever speaks, but gives you one long look as she leaves the room? The humble soul has no idea of betraying herself, and as for you—you are resolved that if you marry again, it shall be well and prudently—but you can't forget that look.
And you, great lady of the manor, what takes you so often to the hot, stuffy, little village school-house, where the master, with awe upon his brow, in silence hands you copy-books and samplers? He hardly emits a syllable, but his soul flames beneath those weary eyelids—poor wretch, poor wretch!
Leonore having uttered a few commonplaces to a companion delayed like herself, chanced to glance directly at him. To her he was virtually a stranger, and, to do her justice, she would have talked to any stranger, obeying the sociable instincts which she alone of her family possessed—but to find a pair of fine, dark, luminous orbs fastened eagerly, almost ravenously, upon hers was?—her first emotion was one of great surprise.
It was weeks since young Andrews had secretly elected her to be the lady of his dreams—(when and where he had first beheld her, it boots not here to say)—but he had been content to adore from afar, and had never thrust himself upon her notice,—so that all the concentrated fire of brooding, hopeless passion was not only visible, but almost offensive—and yet it was not quite offensive.
The lady within her stiffened, but the woman? At least she need not be uncivil; to be haughty and supercilious, as Maud would have been under like circumstances, went against the grain; she could keep the young man at a distance without hurting his feelings; she—essayed a remark.
Afterwards she laughed to think how that remark was leaped at; how it was turned and twisted and stammered over. For very pity of his hopeless confusion she had to rejoin kindly, and again the words were caught out of her lips, and so on, and so on—and still the postmistress was invisible behind the scenes.
Eventually, as we know, Leonore accepted an escort back to the Abbey when the two errands were accomplished, and a message extracted from her sister threw a properly respectable air over the whole proceeding.
Had things ended there, Dr. Humphrey Craig would not have returned home unexpectedly on the present occasion. But he had heard whispers and caught glimpses—he saw a gossip nudge her neighbour and look up a bye-street; and looking himself, recognised two figures whose backs were turned. Not a word said he; but he watched young Andrews narrowly that evening, and the next, and on the third day he spoke.
He spoke, and the bubble burst.
Ignorant of any cause for the non-delivery of her prescribed tonic which she had arranged to receive herself at one of the park lodges—since General Boldero was not to be annoyed by the suspicion of ill-health, and would infallibly make a fuss if medicines were handed in at the front door—Leonore, after waiting some time in vain, returned home and said nothing about the matter;—but she started a little when she heard a voice in the doorway a few hours later, and found that it proceeded from Dr. Humphrey Craig.
He had not yet rung the bell; and took the liberty of a privileged old friend to hail her instead of doing so.
"Mrs. Stubbs? It was you I wanted to see. If no one's about, I'll step inside for a minute. Eh? It's all right, is it? I've something here for you; but I might have a word first, perhaps?"
She drew him into an empty room.
"This is not a professional visit," nodded he; "you haven't called me in, and there will be no note of it in my tablets,—but I understand from my young man that you are feeling a wee bit run down,—don't be frightened, we'll soon put you to rights—and I thought I'd look in. How's the appetite?"
Presently it was the sleep—then the spirits, the walking powers;—she was completely put through her facings, her tongue looked at, her pulse felt,—and at length the doctor sat back in his chair. "I have known you from a child, Miss Leonore, ahem—Mrs. Stubbs. Your family has honoured me with its friendship for fifteen years now, and as a friend," with emphasis, "I'm going to lay down the law on this matter. If you'd prefer me to speak to Miss Sue, I will."
"Oh, no—no."
"I thought not," said the doctor, smiling a little grimly. "But if it should become necessary, I shall do it all the same. You must get away from this place. Your father must be made to let you go. Only for a bit, of course,—but that bit I do insist upon. You've been shut up here, fretting, and brooding, for a matter of nearly two years–"
"Indeed, indeed I am quite well."
"You tell Tommy Andrews you're not. Trust me, my dear young lady, you wouldn't have told Tommy anything if you had been. It was, ahem—a foolish thing to do, to consult a raw young apprentice."
"I—I didn't like to trouble you."
"Trouble me? Bless my soul, what am I for? If you hadn't been a wee thing off colour you would never have had such a ridiculous notion. However, I take it, your father—aye, I see—and you thought if you could quietly get a few bottles of physic, and no questions asked, it would set all to rights. Well, now," proceeded he, on receiving a mute assent, "I've got a tonic here worth a score of that rubbish Andrews was for giving you. But you need something more than that. I've forbidden that lad of mine, forbidden him absolutely to have you for a patient in future; he's a good lad, but he had mistaken his place, Miss Leonore—Mrs. Stubbs. You understand me? Yes, I thought you would. He will not trouble you any more. While for you, it's not physic you want most, it's a thorough change of life and scene. You must get away—I say, you must. Now," rising, "will you manage this, or shall I? It must be done soon, mind."
Voices were heard outside at the moment, and Leonore swiftly turned and opened the door.
"Come in, Sue, come in and find me out. I've been trying to get doctored,"—and she ran on glibly—but directly the conference was over, shamefaced and crestfallen she flew to be alone.
"He saw; oh, how horrible, how detestable! How could I stoop to it?" For hours she rang the changes on this theme.
And the very next day, Sue, alarmed and repentant, herself conveyed her young sister up to London.