THE RECLUSE.
"The third meeting will be fatal," said Dan to himself as he climbed
the hill. "At the first I liked her beauty; now I am charmed with her
innocence and candour. When I meet her for the third time, it may be a
case of love."
It was indeed astonishing how persistently the face and speech of Meg
haunted his mind. She was so unconscious of her own beauty, so free
from affectation, that he could not help admiring her simplicity of
character. He was not of a particularly inflammable nature, and
hitherto had shut his heart to the allurements of the other sex. The
ladies with whom he was acquainted, though refined in every sense of
the word, annoyed him by their persistent artificiality and their
insincerity. But this wild rose was free from such taints, and in her
conversation she displayed perfect candour. To Dan she was like the
inhabitant of another planet, and she had for him all the charm of
novelty. Without being a prophet, he could foresee that a few weeks in
her company would chain him for ever to her side. She was ignorant of
her power to do this, and in such unconsciousness lay a goodly portion
of her fascination. In sober earnest, the girl puzzled him. By her own
confession, she haunted the hills from morning till night, and by
rights should be an uncouth creature, a female barbarian. Yet her
accent and manners were both refined, and she had an evident
acquaintance with literature, though not of the newest. Dan supposed
that she owed such culture and polish as she possessed to Miss
Linisfarne; but if that lady took an interest in her, he could not
understand why she permitted the girl to roam the moors and woods at
will. It was certain that Meg was in no way conscious of her own
beauty, or she would have taken better care of her appearance, her
dress, and her complexion. She apparently cared nothing for these
things, and let the sun brown her face and the brambles scratch her
hands without giving the matter a thought. Such negligence was not
without its charm.
After that second meeting, Dan made up his mind to see her again; but
though he watched the whole of the next day, he caught not a glimpse
of his charmer. He had no excuse for calling on Dr. Merle, else he
might have taken advantage of it, and so passed at least a few minutes
by her side. It then struck him that Mother Jericho might know her
haunts, and he was on his way to the gipsy encampment for the purpose
of inquiry, when Fate provided him with an excuse for calling at the
doctor's house. On the path through the pine wood he picked up a red
coral necklace which he had noticed her wearing. She had doubtless
lost it on one of her excursions.
"Good!" said Dan, slipping it into his pocket; "with this I can call
on Dr. Merle and find out more about the huntress. If I introduce
myself to the father, he may ask me to renew my visit, though I'm
afraid my position does not warrant such a hope. However, I'll try; at
least, I shall see her again."
Contrary to her promise, Meg had not been near the dell, so Dan
supposed that she had told her father of the invitation, and had been
forbidden to accept it. When he saw Dr. Merle, this idea was
dispelled. No one had less influence over his daughter than her
surviving parent. But Dan did not come to this conclusion for some
weeks.
The doctor's house was built of grey stone, and placed as it was among
the sombre pines, looked singularly funereal. It was not even enclosed
by a fence, nor was there the slightest attempt at cultivating a
garden. There it stood, square and gloomy, as though dropped suddenly
into that savage solitude. It could be easily seen that the owner had
no care for his surroundings.
"If the father is so careless, I do not wonder that the daughter is
allowed to run wild," murmured Dan, as he came in sight of this
mausoleum.
There was no bell, and though he knocked hard at the door, it was
quite five minutes before it opened. A bent old man, dressed in dingy
black, appeared, and, on being questioned, intimated in a surly voice
that Meg was at the Court.
"Is Dr. Merle in?"
"A' be sleeping," was the crabbed response.
"Then wake him and say that I wish to see him," said Dan, enraged at
this uncivil reception. "Don't close the door till you have delivered
my message."
Somewhat startled by this determined bearing, so different to that of
the meek Farbis folk, the surly Cerberus shuffled away, and returned
in a few minutes with the information that the doctor would receive
him in his study. Dan followed his guide, who led him into a dark
apartment like a cell, and, pushing him in, the man shut the door as
though to prevent his escape.
"Well, what is it?" said a querulous voice at the other end of the
room. "Why do you come at this hour? Don't you know it is my time for
sleeping?"
"Sleeping at three o'clock!" said Dan, with great astonishment.
There was a rustle in the darkness, and a little man came forward. He
did not recognize the voice, but guessing from its refinement that his
visitor was a gentleman, he pulled up the blind to see who had thus
roused him. A pale light filtered in through the dirty windowpanes,
and Dan saw before him a small and neatly made person clothed in a
ragged dressing-gown and carpet slippers. He was still handsome, and
not more than fifty years of age, but his waxen skin had an unhealthy
appearance, as though in want of fresh air and sunlight. His black
hair and beard, both streaked with grey, were dishevelled, and his
brown eyes had a vacant expression, as though his thoughts were far
away. Altogether he did not look the kind of man likely to cure a sick
person. Dan towered above him, and as he considered the little figure
and the darkened room, he was reminded of Stanley's account of the
African pygmies in their sunless forest.
It took Dr. Merle some time to grasp the fact that his visitor was a
stranger, and he peered curiously at him, with one little hand raking
his untidy beard. So long did he look without speaking, that Dan felt
rather embarrassed, and hardly knew how to begin a conversation. Merle
saved him the trouble by speaking first.
"Who are you?" he asked, still in the same querulous voice. "What do
you want here? Physic?"
"Never took a drop of physic in my life, sir," answered Dan,
good-humouredly. "As to my name, it is Dan."
"Dan what?"
"Dan nothing," responded the other, with great coolness--"simply Dan.
I am camping in the pinewood dell up yonder, and there I picked up
this necklace. I think it belongs to your daughter."
Dr. Merle took the corals and turned them over in a dazed fashion. He
seemed to be half asleep, and started peevishly when his visitor's
hearty voice rang through the room. The man's nervous system was out
of order.
"It is Miss Merle's, is it not?"
"Yes, yes; thank you for bringing it back. I have no doubt she would
say the same herself, but that she is with Miss Linisfarne at Farbis
Court."
"In that case I need not wait," said Dan, turning his back.
The doctor stopped him before he could reach the door.
"Don't go yet. I see so few people. I should like to have a talk with
you."
Seeing a chance of gaining information about Meg, the young man,
nothing loth, sat down. His face was to the light, and Merle, who had
shrunk back into the shadow, eyed him curiously.
"You are not a common man," he said nervously.
"That depends upon what you call common, sir. I certainly don't swear
or get drunk, or wear my hat while in the house, or----"
"Yes, yes! I understand all that. But you are travelling for
pleasure?"
"That's so, sir."
"An American?" asked the doctor, noting the last reply.
Dan laughed. "No," he said; "but I have been in the States. No doubt I
have picked up a few flowers of American speech."
"In short, you are a gentleman masquerading under the name of Dan?"
"I don't think I am bound to answer that question," replied the other,
with marked significance.
Merle apologized at once. "Forgive me for being so curious. I do not
seek to know your secret, but my daughter Margaret was talking about
you, and I wondered who you were."
"I hope Miss Merle is well," said Dan, evading a direct reply.
"She is never ill. Strong as a young colt. That comes of her open-air
life."
"Do you think it is quite safe for her to wander on these moors
alone?"
"Of course I do! Every one knows her. I should be sorry for the man
who insulted Meg. She can hold her own. Why do you laugh?"
"It seems such a strange up-bringing for a young lady."
"True, true!" muttered the little doctor, with a frown; "but what
can I do? I am very poor. I make barely enough to live. I can do
nothing--nothing."
"But Miss Linisfarne might; she is a rich old maid with no relatives."
"Miss Linisfarne!" said Merle, in tones of deep sorrow.
"Yes, she might adopt her."
Dan said the words carelessly enough, and was quite unprepared for
their effect on his host. Merle sprang out of his seat. He had grown
deadly white, and he seized Dan's arm with a shaking hand. He looked
like a man thoroughly terrified, and could hardly articulate a word.
"Did--did Tim the Tinker--say--say--anything?"
"What do you mean?" asked Dan, with surprise.
Merle looked at him steadily for a moment, and then turned away,
wiping his forehead with a hankerchief.
"It's all right," Dan overheard him mutter; "he knows
nothing--nothing."
The visitor began to think his host mad or drunk, and arose smartly to
his feet for the second time. Again Merle stopped him.
"No, no! Don't go yet. I am subject to these--these attacks." Then,
with a sudden burst of hospitality, "Won't you have a glass of wine?"
Dan's eyes wandered towards the writing-table, on which stood a
decanter apparently containing wine.
"Not that--not that," muttered Merle, hastily putting it in a
cupboard; "that is medicine for my attacks."
He averted his face from Dan, but the young man had already guessed
his secret. Shaking hand, glazed eye, retiring manner,--the inference
to be drawn from these was only too plain. Dr. Merle was a
laudanum-drinker, and the decanter so hurriedly removed contained the
fatal drug.
"No, thank you, doctor; I will not take any wine," he said, disgusted
with this discovery. "I must be off at once. Give my respects and the
necklace to Miss Merle."
"You'll come again?"
"Certainly, in a day or so. Goodbye for the present."
With a sigh of relief, he found himself again in the open air, and
looked back at the dismal house with a shudder.
"Poor girl!" he sighed, thinking of Meg; "what can she do with a
father like that? A laudanum-drinker--a dreamer of dreams--a nervous
fool. How, in the name of Nature, did he ever come to have that
splendid creature as his child? I don't wonder she wanders about the
hills. Anything would be better than that dark room and its
unwholesome occupant."