ACCIDENT DISARRANGES DR. WINTHROP’S PLANS.
While Mrs. Rochester and her daughter were absorbed in the contents of
Dr. Winthrop’s letter, the young physician and his friend, Mr.
Tillinghast, were rolling rapidly through the streets of Paris,
intending to have a long day in the suburbs.
It was a fine, bracing day near the last of October; the country was in
its glory, the roads as smooth as a floor, and Dr. Winthrop, feeling
finally released from the Rochester-Hamilton contract and
proportionately relieved, seemed more like himself than he had since his
great trouble.
The two gentlemen enjoyed their excursion exceedingly; they visited
several points of interest, drove over many miles of beautiful country,
and finally returned to the city just as the sun was setting.
As they were passing through one of the crowded thoroughfares to their
hotel, they came upon a carriage that had just been overturned.
A number of people were gathered about it, and they could see some one
assisting a woman from the _débris_.
Mr. Tillinghast put his head out of the window and told the driver to
ascertain what the trouble was.
The coachman made the inquiry and replied that two American ladies had
been driving; their carriage had been struck by a heavy team and been
overturned. One lady had been injured and was now lying unconscious, and
the other one was badly frightened.
The sympathies of both men were at once enlisted. They sprang to the
ground and made their way through the crowd to see if they could be of
any assistance to their unfortunate countrywomen, and the next moment
Dr. Winthrop found himself face to face with Miss Rochester.
For an instant a feeling of annoyance and dismay came over him; then his
native chivalry, as well as his professional instinct, was aroused, the
more so as he caught sight of a middle-aged woman of fine appearance
lying unconscious upon some cushions, the sleeve and front of her dress
saturated with blood.
“Miss Rochester! can I be of any assistance?” he inquired, in a grave,
courteous tone, for he would not force his services upon her even in an
emergency like this.
The girl shot a quick, startled look at him, for she had not seen him
until he spoke her name; then a faint smile broke over her pale face,
and she cried eagerly:
“O Dr. Winthrop! if you will be so kind as to see how seriously mamma is
injured I shall be very grateful.”
He was on his knees before the unconscious woman, making an examination
before she had ceased speaking. He found that Mrs. Rochester’s left arm
had been broken, and was also badly cut by the glass from a shattered
window, while he feared there might be some internal injury, the nature
of which he could not determine without a more thorough examination.
“Tillinghast,” he said to his friend, “lend a hand here; we will put her
in our carriage—that is, if Miss Rochester approves,” he added, glancing
at the anxious girl.
“Certainly. Please do just what you think is best, and believe me I am
very thankful to have you come so opportunely to our aid,” she returned
earnestly.
Dr. Winthrop tied a ligature about the bleeding arm, and then Mrs.
Rochester was borne to the carriage, the daughter following, while,
having given the driver the street and number, the young physician
sprang upon the box beside him, telling him to drive with all possible
speed to their destination.
They had not far to go, and fifteen minutes later the injured woman was
lying upon her own bed, and Dr. Winthrop was making a careful
examination of the case.
He found nothing more serious than the broken bone and the cut, which
was an ugly one, although there was also quite a severe bruise upon her
shoulder.
The broken bone was soon skilfully set, a few stitches taken in the
gaping wound, and then the woman was restored to consciousness and made
as comfortable as circumstances would permit, after which Dr. Winthrop
turned to Miss Rochester and gave certain directions about the treatment
to be pursued during the night.
These matters settled, he quietly inquired:
“Do you know of any skilful surgeon whom you would like to have for Mrs.
Rochester?”
Miss Rochester looked up at him surprised.
“I am sure no one could do better than you. Why should I not leave her
in your care?”
“Thank you for the confidence you manifest,” he replied, “but I leave
Paris to-morrow morning, and would like to place Mrs. Rochester in good
hands before I go.”
She understood; she knew that he was hurrying away from Paris because he
felt that it would be awkward to meet her, and she flushed at the
thought.
But beautiful Sadie Rochester was an accomplished woman of the world,
young as she was. It was her delight to conquer the hearts of men—the
more difficult the conquest the greater her pleasure in the victory—and
now she felt an uncontrollable desire to bring this man also to her
feet.
She had been very much prepossessed with Dr. Winthrop when she was first
presented to him by her friend; she had rarely met any one who made so
strong an impression upon her, and as she had stood before him looking
into his fathomless eyes and reading his grand face, she had
congratulated herself that he, with his great fortune, was the man who
was destined to be her husband.
She had therefore been terribly disappointed when, that very morning,
she had learned the story of his marriage, of his disinclination to
fulfil the conditions of his uncle’s will, and of his intention of
leaving Paris without even the courtesy of paying her a call.
Now accident had thrown him again in her way. Men did not grieve always
over the loss of their wives; they were often consoled by taking
another; and why should she not set her wits at work to win him from his
sorrow, and thus secure for herself the position and fortune she so much
coveted?
Such thoughts as these had been busy in her brain ever since he had come
so opportunely to her aid, and now she suddenly resolved to make the
most of her opportunity.
“O Dr. Winthrop, must you go to-morrow? Is it absolutely necessary?” she
cried appealingly, while she glanced anxiously toward the room where her
mother lay.
It was not absolutely necessary; his time was his own, and he had
intended to stay longer in Paris before his meeting with her.
He flushed slightly with the consciousness of this, and evaded a direct
reply.
“I had arranged to leave for Italy in the morning,” he said.
“I am very sorry,” Miss Rochester returned, with a slight tremor in her
voice; “because, although you are a stranger to us, the fact that you
are one of our countrymen makes me have more confidence in you than I
could have in a native surgeon, however skilful he might be.”
She was very beautiful. She had exchanged her street dress, which had
been torn and soiled in the overturning of the carriage, for a white
cashmere tea-gown, that was simply trimmed with black watered ribbons,
and was very becoming to her, while the appealing expression in her
glance and that pathetic little quiver in her tone touched the young
physician to the heart.
“It is not as if we had papa to depend upon now,” she added, with a
sigh, and then suddenly stopped.
Dr. Winthrop started, and glanced sharply over her black and white
dress, a sudden light breaking upon him.
“Do you mean——” he began, interpreting her emotions rightly.
“Yes, that papa died in Berlin last fall; of course you did not hear of
it,” she said, remembering the letter received that morning.
“No,” and instantly his mind also reverted to the epistle that he had
written to Mr. Rochester. “I am surprised; I had heard nothing of it. It
was very sudden, was it not?”
“Yes, and it left mamma and me quite dependent upon ourselves. So it
seemed almost like a special providence to me when you appeared this
evening to help us in our trouble. Perhaps, however,” she added, with
another sigh, as if she was trying to be resigned to what she could not
help, “you may know of some surgeon whom you could recommend to us—some
one whom you know to be reliable. Mamma is quite delicate, and I should
not like to trust her with one who was not both skilful and
conscientious.”
How tenderly she spoke of Mrs. Rochester, and Dr. Winthrop, knowing that
the lady was Mr. Rochester’s second wife, and consequently Sadie’s
step-mother, was impressed by this apparent goodness of heart.
Why should he not remain and do what he could for these two lonely
women? He might at least postpone his departure for a few days, or until
he could be sure that Mrs. Rochester had suffered no internal injury;
then after her arm began to knit she would not need very close
attention, and he could be spared.
“I will stay,” he said gently, “at least until Mrs. Rochester recovers
somewhat from the shock of her accident.”
Miss Rochester lifted her expressive eyes with a thrilling, grateful
glance.
“You are very good,” she responded simply. Then after a moment, as if
she had suddenly resolved upon the performance of some difficult duty,
she continued, speaking rapidly, though she flushed a vivid crimson.
“And, Dr. Winthrop, if you will forgive me for speaking very freely,
though I know it will set us both more at ease, I would like to tell you
that mamma read the letter you sent to papa this morning, and, as we
have no secrets from each other, I also know its contents. Nay, I beg
you will not allow the fact to make you uncomfortable,” she interposed,
as he flushed and winced, “it is far better that we should clearly
understand each other. It was a foolish and arbitrary thing for two men
to make such a contract as papa and your uncle made years ago; as if a
couple of young people who had never seen each other could assume such
sacred relations to gratify a mere whim. Let me thank you for being so
frank in your letter, and—and may I not number you among my friends?
unless,” she concluded, with a silvery little laugh, that rang like
music through the room, “you regard me as an object to be dreaded and
shunned.”
Dr. Winthrop saw that she understood why he had planned to leave Paris
so suddenly, and he thought her charming in her frankness and in so
courageously attacking the subject of the contract. Probably she had
dreaded the union as much as he, and had gladly welcomed the release
which he had been so tardy in tendering her; perhaps she even loved some
one else, and would now be free to follow the inclination of her heart.
This view of the matter hurt and irritated him a little, and yet he
admired her for being so outspoken, and for trying to put him at his
ease, when she could not fail to understand the embarrassment of his
position.
“You are very good, Miss Rochester, to meet me so openly upon this
subject, and you do me honor in requesting my friendship, which I assure
you is most heartily accorded. I am free to confess that when I met you
yesterday, I almost felt myself a cumberer of the ground, as if I was a
blot upon the otherwise fair sky of your life,” the young physician
concluded, with a deprecatory smile.
Again his companion laughed sweetly.
“There was no need of such self-condemnation as that, I assure you,” she
said, “for you were not to blame—neither of us is to blame because our
natures recoil from obedience to the arbitrary wishes of our friends.
But,” with a roguish glance, “if you feel uncomfortable about remaining
to treat mamma, on my account, I promise you you shall not once set eyes
upon me—you shall not have cause to know that I am in Paris.”
He knew that she did not mean it, yet it told him how cleverly she had
read his feelings.
“Pray, Miss Rochester, do not imagine that I am so unreasonable as that.
I will gladly remain to look after Mrs. Rochester, but you must not
allow my presence to banish you from attendance upon her for a single
moment. You have treated me with too much candor to-day for me to
entertain any other than the most friendly sentiments,” Dr. Winthrop
earnestly replied.
“Thank you for the assurance,” Miss Rochester answered, with a charming
smile. Then she added gently, and with visible feeling: “Mamma and I
were both deeply touched by the sad story in your letter, and I want to
tell you how sorry I am for your great bereavement; you perceive I am
assuming the prerogative of a friend in expressing my sympathy.”
Her voice faltered, and there were tears in her eyes as she held out her
hand to him.
He clasped it, and seemed greatly affected by the feeling which she
manifested.
He could not speak, but he looked the appreciation of her sympathy which
he could not express.
With great tact she changed the subject, and kept him talking for some
time upon topics of mutual interest, and when he finally took his
departure he found, to his surprise, that he had spent more than half an
hour in her society, and enjoyed every moment.
The next morning he felt a strange impatience to learn how his patient
passed the night, and wondered if his former interest in his profession
was not returning to him.
He found Mrs. Rochester much more comfortable than he expected. She was
bright and smiling, and he saw at once that she was a woman possessing
more than ordinary character, with great energy and natural ability.
She greeted him with charming cordiality and thanked him heartily for
having promised to remain in Paris on her account for a few days longer.
“Though,” she remarked, with a resolute nod of her head, “I am not going
to be ill; I believe I should have got up this morning, before this,
only I feared a reprimand from you.”
It would be better, he told her, to lie quietly in bed, for two or three
days at least, until she should fully recover from the nervous shock to
her system.
“But I am in no pain. I am only a trifle weak and a little lame in this
shoulder from the hard knocks I received, and I warn you, Dr. Winthrop,
that I cannot consent to lie inactive here for any length of time. Poor
Sadie is worse off, I believe, than I am this morning,” she concluded,
with a sigh.
“Is Miss Rochester ill?” Dr. Winthrop questioned, with a look of
concern.
He had missed her when he first entered, but kept hoping that she would
make her appearance before he left.
“I cannot say that she is really ill; but she, too, is quite lame from a
wrench which she received in yesterday’s accident,” Mrs. Rochester
replied.
“I am sorry; can I do anything for her?” Dr. Winthrop eagerly asked.
“Thank you, I do not imagine that she needs any special treatment. She
thought that complete rest would do as much for her as anything,” the
invalid returned, a little gleam of amusement in her dark eyes, as she
observed the grave interest that the young physician manifested in her
daughter.
He had confidently expected to meet Miss Rochester, and had looked
forward to the frank, pleasant greeting which he felt sure he should
receive from her.
But Mrs. Rochester had no intention of allowing him to go away moping,
and adroitly started a conversation that kept him chatting for some time
by her bedside. She was a fluent and intelligent talker and a woman who
always made the most of her opportunities, especially when she had any
particular object in view.
She referred, in a casual and delicate way, to what she termed the
foolish whim of his uncle and her husband; seemed to assume that it was
perfectly natural that two young people should revolt against any such
unnatural arrangement, and did not once hint at any personal regret for
the pecuniary loss which the non-conformance to the contract would
entail upon herself or her daughter. She touched upon his peculiar
sorrow in a feeling way, mentioned some of the particulars regarding her
husband’s death, and then passed, easily and gracefully, to more
cheerful topics. She was altogether so genial and entertaining that she
seemed less a stranger than an old friend when the young doctor finally
rose to go.
Mrs. Rochester laughingly remarked, as he shook hands with her, that if
he did not think she needed professional attendance every day he must
intersperse such visits with social calls, for she found it very
refreshing to meet one so recently from America, notwithstanding they
were comparative strangers.
He did not see Miss Rochester the next time he came, nor even the next,
and he grew quite impatient and half-suspicious of the “wrench” which
confined her to her own room.
But when he made his fourth visit he found her sitting in their pretty
parlor, and Mrs. Rochester with her.
Both ladies looked a trifle pale, but exceedingly interesting in their
simple but elegant morning robes.
Both greeted him cordially, and after he had given his attention for a
few moments to his patient he made some inquiry of the younger lady
regarding her own mishap.
“It was not much,” she carelessly replied, a slight tinge of color
suffusing her face; “just a little strain, perhaps, caused by the
overturning of the carriage.”
Then she began to talk of something else, and an hour passed in
delightful conversation, before Dr. Winthrop realized that he was making
an exceedingly unprofessional call.
The few days during which Dr. Winthrop had consented to remain in Paris
lengthened into a fortnight before it occurred to him that he was no
longer really needed by his patient—that any one else, with even
ordinary skill, could now attend to the injured arm as well as he.
Then he excused his disinclination to leave by telling himself that
perhaps it would be as well for him to remain until it was time to
remove the splints and bandages, and besides, he really did not like to
go on without Tillinghast, who was such a pleasant travelling companion,
but who seemed to be especially devoted to Miss Savage and strangely
indifferent to the attractions of Italy.