Leonard and Helen settled themselves in two little chambers in a small
lane. The neighbourhood was dull enough, the accommodation humble; but
their landlady had a smile. That was the reason, perhaps, why Helen
chose the lodgings: a smile is not always found on the face of a landlady
when the lodger is poor. And out of their windows they caught sight of a
green tree, an elm, that grew up fair and tall in a carpenter's yard at
the rear. That tree was like another smile to the place. They saw the
birds come and go to its shelter; and they even heard, when a breeze
arose, the pleasant murmur of its boughs.
Leonard went the same evening to Captain Digby's old lodgings, but he
could learn there no intelligence of friends or protectors for Helen.
The people were rude and surly, and said that the captain still owed them
L1 17s. The claim, however, seemed very disputable, and was stoutly
denied by Helen. The next morning Leonard set out in search of Dr.
Morgan. He thought his best plan was to inquire the address of the
doctor at the nearest chemist's, and the chemist civilly looked into the
"Court Guide," and referred him to a house in Bulstrode Street,
Manchester Square. To this street Leonard contrived to find his way,
much marvelling at the meanness of London: Screwstown seemed to him the
handsomer town of the two.
A shabby man-servant opened the door, and Leonard remarked that the
narrow passage was choked with boxes, trunks, and various articles of
furniture. He was shown into a small room containing a very large round
table, whereon were sundry works on homoeopathy, Parry's "Cymbrian
Plutarch," Davies's "Celtic Researches," and a Sunday news paper. An
engraved portrait of the illustrious Hahnemann occupied the place of
honour over the chimneypiece. In a few minutes the door to an inner room
opened, and Dr. Morgan appeared, and said politely, "Come in, sir."
The doctor seated himself at a desk, looked hastily at Leonard, and then
at a great chronometer lying on the table. "My time's short, sir,--going
abroad: and now that I am going, patients flock to me. Too late. London
will repent its apathy. Let it!"
The doctor paused majestically, and not remarking on Leonard's face the
consternation he had anticipated, he repeated peevishly, "I am going
abroad, sir, but I will make a synopsis of your case, and leave it to my
successor. Hum!
"Hair chestnut; eyes--what colour? Look this way,--blue, dark blue.
Hem! Constitution nervous. What are the symptoms?"
"Sir," began Leonard, "a little girl--"
DR. MORGAN (impatiently).--"Little girl; never mind the history of your
sufferings; stick to the symptoms,--stick to the symptoms."
LEONARD.--"YOU mistake me, Doctor, I have nothing the matter with me. A
little girl--"
DR. MORGAN.--"Girl again! I understand! it is she who is ill. Shall I
go to her? She must describe her own symptoms,--I can't judge from your
talk. You'll be telling me she has consumption, or dyspepsia, or some
such disease that don't exist: mere allopathic inventions,--symptoms,
sir, symptoms."
LEONARD (forcing his way).--"You attended her poor father, Captain Digby,
when he was taken ill in the coach with you. He is dead, and his child
is an orphan."
DR. MORGAN (fumbling in his medical pocket-book).--"Orphan! nothing for
orphans, especially if inconsolable, like aconite and chamomilla."
[It may be necessary to observe that bomoeopathy professes to deal
with our moral affections as well as with our physical maladies, and
has a globule for every sorrow.]
With some difficulty Leonard succeeded in bringing Helen to the
recollection of the homoeopathist, stating how he came in charge of her,
and why he sought Dr. Morgan.
The doctor was much moved.
"But, really," said he, after a pause, "I don't see how I can help the
poor child. I know nothing of her relations. This Lord Les--whatever
his name is--I know of no lords in London. I knew lords, and physicked
them too, when I was a blundering allopathist. There was the Earl of
Lansmere,--has had many a blue pill from me, sinner that I was. His son
was wiser; never would take physic. Very clever boy was Lord
L'Estrange--"
"Lord L'Estrange! that name begins with Les--"
"Stuff! He's always abroad,--shows his sense. I'm going abroad too.
No development for science in this horrid city,--full of prejudices,
sir, and given up to the most barbarous allopathical and phlebotomical
propensities. I am going to the land of Hahnemann, sir,--sold my good-
will, lease, and furniture, and have bought in on the Rhine. Natural
life there, sir,--homeeopathy needs nature: dine at one o'clock, get up
at four, tea little known, and science appreciated. But I forget. Cott!
what can I do for the orphan?"
"Well, sir," said Leonard, rising, "Heaven will give me strength to
support her."
The doctor looked at the young man attentively. "And yet," said he, in a
gentler voice, "you, young man, are, by your account, a perfect stranger
to her, or were so when you undertook to bring her to London. You have a
good heart, always keep it. Very healthy thing, sir, a good heart,--that
is, when not carried to excess. But you have friends of your own in
town?"
LEONARD.--"Not yet, sir; I hope to make them."
DOCTOR.--"Pless me, you do? How?--I can't make any."
Leonard coloured and hung his'head. He longed to say, "Authors find
friends in their readers,--I am going to be an author." But he felt that
the reply would savour of presumption, and held his tongue.
The doctor continued to examine him, and with friendly interest. "You
say you walked up to London: was that from choice or economy?"
LEONARD.--"Both, sir."
DOCTOR.--"Sit down again, and let us talk. I can give you a quarter of
an hour, and I'll see if I can help either of you, provided you tell me
all the symptoms,--I mean all the particulars."
Then, with that peculiar adroitness which belongs to experience in the
medical profession, Dr. Morgan, who was really an acute and able man,
proceeded to put his questions, and soon extracted from Leonard the boy's
history and hopes. But when the doctor, in admiration at a simplicity
which contrasted so evident an intelligence, finally asked him his name
and connections, and Leonard told them, the homoeopathist actually
started. "Leonard Fairfield, grandson of my old friend, John Avenel of
Lansmere! I must shake you by the hand. Brought up by Mrs. Fairfield!--
"Ah, now I look, strong family likeness,--very strong"
The tears stood in the doctor's eyes. "Poor Nora!" said he.
"Nora! Did you know my aunt?"
"Your aunt! Ah! ah! yes, yes! Poor Nora! she died almost in these
arms,--so young, so beautiful. I remember it as if yesterday."
The doctor brushed his hand across his eyes, and swallowed a globule; and
before the boy knew what he was about, had, in his benevolence, thrust
another between Leonard's quivering lips.
A knock was heard at the door.
"Ha! that 's my great patient," cried the doctor, recovering his self-
possession,--"must see him. A chronic case, excellent patient,--tic,
sir, tic. Puzzling and interesting. If I could take that tic with me, I
should ask nothing more from Heaven. Call again on Monday; I may have
something to tell you then as to yourself. The little girl can't stay
with you,--wrong and nonsensical! I will see after her. Leave me
your address,--write it here. I think I know a lady who will
take charge of her. Good-by. Monday next, ten o'clock." With this, the
doctor thrust out Leonard, and ushered in his grand patient, whom he was
very anxious to take with him to the banks of the Rhine.
Leonard had now only to discover the nobleman whose name had been so
vaguely uttered by poor Captain Digby. He had again recourse to the
"Court Guide;" and finding the address of two or three lords the first
syllable of whose titles seemed similar to that repeated to him, and all
living pretty near to each other, in the regions of Mayfair, he
ascertained his way to that quarter, and, exercising his mother-wit,
inquired at the neighbouring shops as to the personal appearance of these
noblemen. Out of consideration for his rusticity, he got very civil and
clear answers; but none of the lords in question corresponded with the
description given by Helen. One was old, another was exceedingly
corpulent, a third was bedridden,--none of them was known to keep a great
dog. It is needless to say that the name of L'Estrange (no habitant of
London) was not in the "Court Guide." And Dr. Morgan's assertion that
that person was always abroad unluckily dismissed from Leonard's mind the
name the homoeopathist had so casually mentioned. But Helen was not
disappointed when her young protector returned late in the day, and told
her of his ill-success. Poor child! she was so pleased in her heart not
to be separated from her new brother; and Leonard was touched to see how
she had contrived, in his absence, to give a certain comfort and cheerful
grace to the bare room devoted to himself. She had arranged his few
books and papers so neatly, near the window, in sight of the one green
elm. She had coaxed the smiling landlady out of one or two extra
articles of furniture, especially a walnut-tree bureau, and some odds and
ends of ribbon, with which last she had looped up the curtains. Even the
old rush-bottom chairs had a strange air of elegance, from the mode in
which they were placed. The fairies had given sweet Helen the art that
adorns a home, and brings out a smile from the dingiest corner of hut and
attic.
Leonard wondered and praised. He kissed his blushing ministrant
gratefully, and they sat down in joy to their abstemious meal; when
suddenly his face was overclouded,--there shot through him the
remembrance of Dr. Morgan's words, "The little girl can't stay with you,
--wrong and nonsensical. I think I know a lady who will take charge of
her."
"Ah," cried Leonard, sorrowfully, "how could I forget?" And he told Helen
what grieved him. Helen at first exclaimed that she would not go.
Leonard, rejoiced, then began to talk as usual of his great prospects;
and, hastily finishing his meal, as if there were no time to lose, sat
down at once to his papers. Then Helen contemplated him sadly, as he
bent over his delightful work. And when, lifting his radiant eyes from
his manuscripts, he exclaimed, "No, no, you shall not go. This must
succeed,--and we shall live together in some pretty cottage, where we can
see more than one tree,"--then Helen sighed, and did not answer this
time, "No, I will not go."
Shortly after she stole from the room, and into her own; and there,
kneeling down, she prayed, and her prayer was somewhat this, "Guard me
against my own selfish heart; may I never be a burden to him who has
shielded me."
Perhaps as the Creator looks down on this world, whose wondrous beauty
beams on us more and more, in proportion as our science would take it
from poetry into law,--perhaps He beholds nothing so beautiful as the
pure heart of a simple loving child.