THE TRAVELER RETURNS.
One evening Sadie was sitting by herself upon the veranda that
overlooked the ocean, and where she was watching a glorious full
moon which seemed to be rolling straight out of the glimmering sea
into the cloudless vault above. It was unusual for her to be
alone, but Mrs. Minturn had slipped away for a chat with Mrs.
Seabrook, and Katherine, at the invitation of Dr. Stanley, had
gone for a walk to the library in search of an interesting book
for Dorothy.
Sadie had changed much during her summer with her friends. She had
grown more thoughtful, more self-poised, more orderly and
systematic in her ways; while, it goes without saying, she had
become deeply attached to every member of the family.
Just now she was absorbed in a mental discussion with herself
regarding what would be the most acceptable and appropriate gift
she could offer each one, to attest her appreciation of their
united kindness and unrivaled hospitality in taking her so
lovingly into their household for the long vacation.
Without having heard a step or a movement, without a suspicion
that any living being was near, her name was suddenly pronounced
in familiar tones directly behind her.
"Sadie!"
She sprang to her feet and faced the intruder.
"Oh, Ned! Why have you come? Why cannot you let me alone?" she
cried, in a startled tone.
"I have come to make you take back your ring," and he held out the
box to her. "And I cannot 'leave you alone,' because--you know
why, Sadie."
"No, I shall not take back the ring," she replied, waving it away,
"and I wrote you that everything was at an end between us; that I
would not be bound to you any longer."
"But you are bound--you have given me your promise."
"I have taken back that promise."
"Why?"
"Because--oh! for many reasons. I have my course to finish; I mean
to put my best work into the coming year, and I will not be
hampered in any such way," resolutely returned Sadie, who was fast
recovering tier self-possession.
"No; it is because that preaching, sanctimonious Katherine Minturn
has influenced you against me," hotly retorted her companion.
"Katherine Minturn is the dearest, loveliest, sweetest girl in the
world, and I won't hear one word against her," said Sadie, in
stout defense of her friend.
"Well, what are some of your other 'many reasons'?" demanded Mr.
Willard, and quickly retreating from what he saw was dangerous
ground.
"I--reckon I'm under no obligation to give them," slowly returned
the girl, after a moment of thought. "It is sufficient that I have
decided to end everything. Now please let that settle it and don't
try to see me again."
"Don't you care for me any more, Sadie? What have I done? What
fault have you to find with me?"
"Have you no fault to find with yourself, Ned Willard? Are you
satisfied with the life you are living?" gravely inquired Sadie,
but ignoring his queries.
"But you would be the making of me, Sadie. Under your influence I
could be anything--everything you could wish."
"Well, now--doesn't that strike you as rather a weak argument for
a man to offer for himself?" returned his companion, lapsing into
her Southern drawl which, of late, had not been so prominent; "to
ask a girl to bind herself irrevocably to him for life and holding
out as an inducement the privilege of reforming him?" and there
was a note of scorn in the lazy tones that stung the man to sudden
anger.
"I swear I will not be trifled with in any such way," he
passionately exclaimed. "You shall rue your words, Sadie Minot--"
"I reckon I'd better go in," she interrupted, and turned haughtily
from him.
"You won't go in yet," he said, through tightly shut teeth, as he
placed himself in her path. "I'll see if--"
At that instant voices were heard, and, turning, both saw
Katherine, accompanied by Dr. Stanley, mounting the steps leading
to the veranda.
With a half audible imprecation, the baffled intruder sprang upon
the railing and vaulted over.
But his foot becoming entangled in the vines trailing there caused
him to fall heavily to the ground, where, after one sharp cry of
agony, he lay silent and motionless.
In less time than it takes to record it, Sadie was kneeling beside
him, while her friends followed closely after.
"I will call the coachman. We must get him into the house
immediately," said Katherine, who was intent only upon giving
instant succor to the injured man.
"No," vetoed Dr. Stanley, authoritatively, "he must not be taken
in here. You may call help, however, and I will have him carried
to my room, where I will ascertain how seriously he is injured,
then we can decide what further disposition to make of him."
The coachman and hostler were summoned, and the unconscious man
was borne to the Hunt cottage and laid upon Phillip Stanley's bed.
Here an examination revealed that the left leg had been broken
above the knee; but, before an hour had passed, this was
skillfully set and the patient made as comfortable as possible for
the night.
Dr. Stanley would not permit his sister to be inconvenienced in
any way by this addition to their family, but took it upon himself
to minister to the sufferer's requirements, which he did with all
the ease and skill of a trained nurse.
During the first day or two the young man preserved a sullen
silence; but as his attendant manifested only good will and
invariably treated him with the utmost courtesy and kindness, his
reserve gradually wore away and he became more communicative.
"This has proved a pretty unlucky trip for me," he observed, on
the third morning after the accident, and thus introducing a
subject which Dr. Stanley had studiously avoided.
"Possibly; but you are coming on all right. You have had no fever,
no pain," the physician replied.
"No, and I don't understand that part of it at all," remarked his
patient, thoughtfully. "I have always supposed it was a terrible
experience to have a broken bone set."
"Well, Willard, I have a confession to make to you about that,"
his companion returned; "you were in such a state of collapse
Tuesday night I felt you were unfit to decide any question for
yourself, and, as I had no anaesthetics at hand, I asked Mrs.
Minturn to give you a Christian Science treatment while I
performed my duties, and since then I have been trying to work,
under her direction, to keep the claims of inflammation and fever
from manifesting themselves."
"Christian Science!" repeated the patient, with a short laugh.
"Well, I've heard that it would do great things, but I never took
any stock in it; it seemed like so much twaddle to me. You are
sure you're not guying me, doctor?"
"Indeed, I am not; you can rely on what I have told you."
"All right; the method doesn't signify, so long as I was spared
the pain."
"Then, are you willing to keep on under the same treatment?"
inquired his companion.
"I'll be blamed! I believe you're turning Scientist yourself!"
exclaimed Willard, with a broad grin. "But it makes no difference
to me what you do, so I get results. You're a first-class doctor,
and would be sure to know if anything was going wrong. But--
confound the luck!--I don't want to be laid up here for three
months," he concluded, impatiently.
"There will be no need of that. I think by the end of another week
you can be put upon a Pullman and go home," was the encouraging
response.
"Home!" was the bitter retort. "You know I can't go there,
Stanley."
"Well, you are going to be well taken care of, anyway. I shall
attend to that," said Dr. Stanley, kindly.
"Doc, you're O. K. You've been mighty good to me, first and last,"
the patient observed, and flushing with sudden feeling. "I suppose
you know what brought me down here," he added, after a moment of
silence.
"Yes, I know something about it. You followed Miss Minot here."
"Why shouldn't I follow her?" was the hot reply. "She had promised
to marry me."
"I understand that promise had been revoked."
"She had no right to revoke it after leading me on--"
"Leading you on!" sternly interrupted Phillip Stanley. "Willard,
don't add to your other sins by laying that at the girl's door,
when I've known of your boasts that before the year was out you
'would have a wife and the handling of a cool three hundred
thousand dollars.'"
"Who told you that?" demanded the young man, with a guilty flush
and a shame-faced air.
"It does not matter who told me; I have it on good authority."
"But, Stanley, I am fond of her. I really am."
"Suppose Alfred Bent was fond of your sister, Minnie, in the same
way, would you like to have him marry her?"
The fellow shrank as under a lash and his eyes blazed.
"By thunder--no!" he vehemently returned.
"But Alfred Bent has been your inseparable crony during the last
two years that you have wasted, and there is very little to choose
between you. So ask yourself if you are fit to marry a girl like
Miss Minot; what right you have to ruin her life and squander her
money."
"I say, doc, you are piling it on thick," Willard here interposed,
in an injured tone.
"Yes, I know it sounds harsh, Ned," said the physician, bending a
grave though kindly look on him, "but, in my profession, you know
we sometimes have to probe and adopt severe measures before a cure
can be effected. You also know, from past experience, that
kindness was the only motive that prompted me in what I have done
and still prompts me in what I am doing; so, now having come to an
enforced pause in your career, I want you to improve it by doing
some serious thinking. You are a fellow of more than ordinary
natural ability, Ned, and have it in your power to gain an
enviable position in the world if you would turn your talents in
the right direction."
"You flatter me," was the sarcastic interruption.
"I have been telling you some very plain truths, and it is only
fair to give credit also where it is due," said his companion, in
a friendly tone. "I am sure that underneath your seeming
recklessness you have not always felt comfortable or satisfied
with yourself. You are the only son of a fine father, who has
given you every advantage. Your mother is one of the 'salt of the
earth'; but her hair has been growing very white during the last
two years, and Minnie--well, my heart has often ached for her as I
have noted the sad drooping of her eyes and the grieved quiver of
her lips when she has spoken to me of you."
"Stanley, have you any brandy in the house?" suddenly demanded
Willard, trying to speak in his ordinary tone; but his companion
saw that he was white to his lips, and concluded that he had
"probed" far enough for the present.
"You are not to have stimulants while you are under treatment,"
was the quiet but decisive reply.
"But, doc, I can't stand it. I really can't. Look!" and he held up
a hand that shook like a leaf.
"You will be better of that shortly, my boy. I'll take care of
it," was the kind reply. "But"--confidentially--"while we are
talking of it, wouldn't you be glad to have that habit broken--to
be free?"
The poor fellow drew in a quick, sharp breath; then, in a hard,
metallic tone, he said:
"I've thought a score of times I would be free; that I'd end it
once for all--take a last drink, you know, with a dose of
strychnine in it." Then, tossing back the hair from his forehead,
he added, with an effort to be facetious: "I wonder how your
science would work on that? I say, Stanley, are you really turning
Christian Scientist?"
Before his companion could reply, a maid appeared in the doorway,
bearing a tray on which a tempting lunch was arranged. Dr. Stanley
drew a table beside the bed and deftly placed things so that his
patient could easily reach them; then, at his request, went below
to join his sister and Dorothy at their repast.
The subjects of their recent conversation were not resumed, but,
though the physician was in some doubt regarding the impression
made on the young man's mind, it was evident that he cherished no
resentment. He did not ask for liquor again, either, though there
were times when a certain look in his eyes warned his watchful
attendant that the old craving was making itself felt and caused
him to flee to his "little book" and work vigorously on this first
venture, which, with Mrs. Minturn's assistance, he was making in
Christian Science.
One day, having made his charge comfortable and supplied him with
an entertaining book to read, Dr. Stanley sought the companionship
of his sister and Dorothy, on the broad piazza, where they now
almost lived when the weather was fine.
"See! Uncle Phil," cried his niece, the moment he appeared, and
holding up some work for his inspection, "mamma is teaching me to
fagot and hemstitch, and I am going to make some pretty collars
like hers," and the eager tone and sparkling eyes told how deeply
interested the girl was in the novel employment.
The hitherto sunken cheeks were beginning to assume a graceful
contour; the lips had taken on a decided tinge of scarlet, while
an unaccustomed vigor in all her movements told of daily
increasing strength, and the cheery ring in her voice was like
music to loving hearts.
The man bent down to inspect the small piece of linen and the
dainty stitches, his face all aglow with inward thanksgiving as he
praised her work.
"We will have you turning dressmaker next and setting up an
establishment for yourself," he observed, in a sportive tone.
"Well, why not?" she gayly retorted. "If I took a notion to learn
dressmaking, I am sure I could do it. But"--more gravely--"I am
going to study like everything this winter and make up for lost
time. Mamma and I have been talking it over, and she thinks I can
begin the regular course if I want to. I do, and I mean to go
through and graduate like any other student."
"Indeed! We are making great plans, aren't we?"
"Yes, I know it sounds big for me; but Mrs. Minturn says 'there is
nothing we cannot do if we do not limit God,' and Miss Katherine
says--"
"Well, what does Miss Katherine say?" queried her uncle, in an
eager tone, as Dorothy paused to count the threads she was taking
on her needle.
She looked up quickly into his face, his tone having attracted
her.
"I guess you think she is pretty nice, too," she observed,
naively.
"What has put that idea into your small head?"
"Oh! the way you speak of her and look at her sometimes, and--
well, of course"--with an appreciative sigh--"anybody couldn't
help loving her."
"But you haven't told me what she said," persisted the man, but
feeling the color mounting in his face as he caught the merry
gleam in his sister's eyes.
"Oh! she said that 'God being the only intelligence, man reflects
that intelligence, and there is nothing we cannot learn if we keep
that in our thought as we study'; so you see, it is all right for
me to plan to go through college if I want to," and the tone
indicated that the matter was settled.
"'Thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent and hast
revealed them unto babes,'" quoted Phillip Stanley to himself, as
he stooped to recover a spool that rolled from Mrs. Seabrook's
lap.
At the same moment the sound of wheels fell upon their ears; the
next, a carriage stopped before their door and a stalwart figure
leaped to the ground.
"Papa!" "William!" fell simultaneously from the lips of the mother
and daughter--one with a ring of triumph in her voice, the other
with a note of intense yearning in her tones.
The man caught his wife to his breast.
"Sweetheart, it is joy to hold you here once more," he breathed,
as their lips met; and she knew there was no cloud between them.
Then he turned and knelt beside his child, folding her in a long,
silent embrace.
One swift glance into her bright, eager, happy face had told him a
story that thrilled his soul and made him, for the moment, dumb.
"Papa, you can see, can't you?--and you are glad, aren't you?
"Dorothy at length observed, as she lifted wet but joyful eyes to
his bronzed face.
"Darling, I can see, and I am more than 'glad,'" he returned, in a
husky tone, as he gently released her, then arose to greet his
brother-in-law.
"Phillip, old boy, it is good to be home again," he said, as he
clasped the outstretched hand, and the hearty grip told the
younger man that there would be no controversy between them over a
previously mooted question, while he was strangely touched, when
he added, with a smile that was somewhat tremulous:
"The cane is here, Phil, and at your disposal."
"What is that about a cane, papa?" cried Dorothy, whose quick ears
had caught what he had said.
"I asked your father to bring me a nice cane from abroad," her
uncle explained.
"Well, papa," the girl pursued, "I hope it is a very handsome one,
and that you will make him a present of it, for you can never know
how good Uncle Phil' has been to us."
Both gentlemen laughed, and were glad of the opportunity to give
vent in this way to their pent-up emotions.
"All right, Dorrie; and when you see it you shall be the judge
whether it is fine enough," replied the professor, as he turned
again to feast his eyes upon the wonderful change in her.
A little later the lunch bell sounded, and the happy quartet went
within to break bread together, for the first time in two long
months. But one of the number could only make a pretense at
eating--his heart was too full to allow him to do much but
covertly watch his child, who was vigorously plying knife and fork
and manifesting the appreciative appetite of a normally hungry
girl.
Of course, there was much to tell and talk over, and the afternoon
slipped swiftly away, twilight coming upon them almost before "the
half had been told."
The subject of Christian Science had been mutually avoided, and
was not referred to until after dinner, when Mrs. Minturn came in
for her usual visit to Dorothy.
Prof. Seabrook had never met her but once, and that was when she
had visited Hilton to apply for Katherine's admission to the
school. But he recognized her instantly, and greeted her with the
utmost cordiality.
When her interview with Dorothy was over and she rejoined the
group in the parlor, he invited her to be seated and placed a
chair for her.
"But this is your first evening with your dear ones, and they
should have the privilege of monopolizing you," she objected, with
her charming smile.
"Nay, there are some things that must be said, you know, and they,
I am sure, are longing to hear them," he returned, with visible
emotion. "First, I have no words adequate to express my gratitude
for what you have done for my child."
"Not what I have done," the lady interposed, with gentle emphasis.
"I understand--and I have been trying to thank God every moment
since my return," he said, "but you claim to be His messenger, or
instrument, and surely we cannot ignore that fact. I left Dorrie
pale and wasted to a mere shadow, scarcely able to move or help
herself in any way. I find to-day a bright, animated girl, rapidly
taking on flesh and strength, sitting upright in her chair--
sewing! How the wonder has been accomplished is beyond my
comprehension. I had previously vetoed Christian Science
treatment; to be frank, I contemptuously repudiated it. I can no
longer hold it in derision, neither can I say that my attitude
towards it, as a science, or a religion, has changed."
"That is yet to come," said Mrs. Minturn, smiling, as he paused.
"I have read your text-book," he resumed, "but with a critical
frame of mind that has been termed 'ecclesiastical and
intellectual pride'"--this with a quizzical glance at his brother,
who nodded back a sharp assent--"and I could or would find nothing
good in it. To me it seemed atheistic, fallacious, heretical. You
perceive I am not sparing myself in these admissions," he
interposed, "but I have been doing some serious thinking during my
return voyage, and now I am going to read that book again; not to
criticise, but to get at its true inwardness if I can."
"That is a spirit that will surely bring its own reward," Mrs.
Minturn responded, her face luminous with admiration for the frank
and conscientious acknowledgment which the man had made.
Mrs. Seabrook turned glad eyes upon her husband.
"And, William, we will have her keep on with the treatment, will
we not?"
"Assuredly; one could never have the heart to stop the good work,
even though one may not comprehend the method," he heartily
responded, and the happy wife and mother heaved a sigh of supreme
content.
They talked on for a while longer, then Mrs. Minturn gracefully
took her leave and went home to tell Katherine that another
prodigal was on his way to his Father's house.