It came to pass on the following Sunday, two days after their arrival,
that Tom and his friend went to church along with the dowager, as
befitted respectable people, and a family of state in the county. Not
to the parish church, where the Rev. Jabez Heavieman preached his
ponderous sermons, and warned his congregation of their approaching
perdition, and the damnation of their souls, in his cus
omary evangelical style. Oh, no! but to the
altogether-of-a-different-sort-of-a-doctrine little edifice in Hartwood
village, which specially belonged to the Sussex Dowager. Indeed she
regarded not only the church as her own peculiar property, but also its
officiating clergyman, clerk, school children, nay, even the very future
hopes of salvation of the worshippers who frequented it.
Hartwood Church was as unpretending a building as to its style as The
Poplars.
It was a small ungainly-looking, low-roofed structure, oblong with a
stone cross at one end, and a short square tower at the other. It was
built of rough stone, and had apparently been constructed with a
deficient supply of mortar; and a small abutment, which it had on one
side for the requirements of the porch and vestry-room, had more the
semblance of a shed attached to a farmhouse than anything else. It was
an old church, too, probably much older than the one belonging to the
parish; and its little churchyard, encircled by rude wooden palings,
contained some monuments and tombstones, which were grey with age and as
rough as when they were first hewn from the quarry, telling how "John
Giles, aetat 95," and "Richard Chawbacon, aetat 104," both of whom
departed this life Anno Domini 16 hundred and something, were there
entombed. All the Hartshorne family, too, from Geoffrey Hartshorne, who
founded the race and belonged to the Roundhead party in the days of
Cromwell, down to the last old squire, there rested their bones in
peace. One peculiarity of the churchyard, however, consisted in the
great age to which its inhabitants had attained before shaking off this
mortal coil. Ninety years was a comparatively early time for any of the
former citizens of Hartwood to dream of sleeping with his fathers; and
although you occasionally came across an inscription sacred to the
memory of a young man of seventy or thereabouts, the majority of the
departed were mostly centenarians.
The interior of the church was very different to what you might have
expected from the outside view. The dowager, to do her justice, was not
mean in all things; and, although she would screw her tenants down and
pinch her household, she could occasionally--very occasionally it must
be confessed--be not only liberal but grand in her views, that is when
it suited her book. She had had the church newly fitted up some short
time before, when her High Church fever and devotion to Ritualism had
first begun; and all its columns and crossbeams and rough rafters, which
could be seen within, were newly varnished and resplendent in their
graining. The chancel, too, was a wonder of blue and gold, and she had
also presented a novel reading-desk or _lectern_, consisting of a brass
eagle with outstretched wings, which stood in the centre of the aisle,
and presented quite a grand appearance.
The pews were not what one generally calls pews at all: they were a
series of high-backed benches, armed at each end, and placed in rows
down the middle of the aisle facing the pulpit and chancel, those at the
side being arranged at right angles, so that the lateral pews faced each
other; this position must be borne in mind, as it accounts for a
trifling circumstance which led to the origin of the present chapter.
Slowly and majestically Mrs Hartshorne marched into the church, and
slowly and majestically Tom marched after her, carrying her large
prayer-book and Bible of the size originally distributed by the
Religious Tract Society--a service generally performed by the henchman
"Jarge," as he pronounced his own name--while Markworth brought up the
rear of the procession.
The dowager's pew was immediately opposite the pulpit, and, of course,
facing the side pews on the other side behind the reading-desk, the
front one of which was devoted to the use of the incumbent for the time
being and his family, in case he had any.
Up the aisle in its onward and solemn progress the procession passed,
and the dowager was soon ensconced in the extreme upper corner of the
pew, with her devotional exercises arranged before her on the
_prie-Dieu_, and her hands folded on her lap, now deprived of their
customary woollen envelopes, as prim as you please. "Primness was no
name for it, sir," as Markworth said afterwards to Tom; "her position
was--yes, sir, statuesque, by Jove!" The guest sat bodkin between the
two, while Tom occupied the corner--by the place where the door should
have been if there had been one--from which point he could command a
portion of the clerical pew, otherwise obscured from general
observation, at least on this side of the house, by the reading-desk.
Tom, I am sorry to say, was not particularly devout in church. He would
keep his eyes straying from his book, and yet his attention did not
wander over the whole edifice, for he looked straight in front of him,
and none but a very curious observer could have detected his lack of
devotional zeal. His mother did not notice it, for she was apparently
plunged heart and soul into the liturgy, although really making up her
mind as to the feasibility of raising Farmer Grigg's rent upon having
seen the daughters of that unfortunate worthy, who were esteemed the
belles of the village, come into church with new bonnets and actually
silk dresses! "when I can not afford them, the brazen hussies." As for
Markworth he was wondering what a rum lot the Chawbacons were, and how
funny they all looked clean washed and scraped, and with their
elaborately-braided white smock-frocks on over their black trowsers,
looking as if they had donned surplices, or, as he hit upon a better
illustration, as if they had put on their night-shirts--I beg pardon,
_robes de chambre_--and come out by mistake instead of going to bed. So
Tom had it all his own way.
Tom was observant, but it was nothing so very noticeable that attracted
his attention. It was only a bonnet! only a little coquettish
arrangement of ribbons and lace, and very little crown to it, if any,--
only one of those tiny specimens of Madame Charles or Leroux, handiwork
which you can see any day in Leicester Square, and which though
apparently so trifling are worth far more than their weight in gold--as
poor Paterfamilias knew to his cost. It is a dainty, demure little
article enough, but nothing in it is there to warrant this wrapt
attention on Tom's part.
Can he be considering how two ribbons can be held together in that
artful mode by a mere straw? is he a disciple of the millinery art? No,
that would not make the gallant young officer gaze so entrancingly, and
cause the ruddy flush of excitement to colour his budding cheek! Master
Tom is not so simple as that, although he may be a most ingenuous youth.
The bonnet has a wearer who will keep her eyes bent down as earnestly
as Tom persists in raising his from his book, and fixing them over the
way, except now and then an occasional blushing little look across, and
then once more down deep into the service again. It is a pretty little
bonnet and has a pretty little owner, as Tom thinks. He "considers it a
shame," but he cannot help letting his enquiring optics travel over the
way. Young rogue! how he enjoys seeing the colour which his too-earnest
gaze calls up--the pink signal of maidenly reserve, pleasure, coyness,
consciousness.
There is no blame attached to Tom, those heavenly violet eyes have done
it all. He could not help it even if he would. Tom is hopelessly in
love--love at first sight--with pretty Lizzie Pringle, Mrs Hartshorne's
young incumbent's sister. He is thoroughly in for it, as much as if he
had known her for months or years.
It is all very well for you, Monsieur Cynic, or you, Madame Artless, to
say that there is no such thing as "love at first sight." Of course it
is foolish, but it is not impossible; Cupid, my dear sir or madam, is a
most erratic as well as _erotic_ young gentleman, and plays some strange
pranks sometimes. A glance from a pair of bright eyes will some times,
one glance, effect a wonderful metamorphosis in even the sternest
misogynists, create a revolution, ruin an empire. Look at history,
Monsieur Cynic, and answer me if you dare. Nay, my dear sir, it is not
impossible, not even improbable. A single word, one look between
sympathetic souls, often establishes that cordial affinity which years
of intercourse, and dictionaries of words, and oceans of sighs will not
create between others who have not met their mental kindred. Philosophy
cannot argue against Cupidon; he laughs Plato and his platitudes to
scorn. _Dixi_! I have spoken. Tom has fallen in love, and it was a
clear case of love at first sight, with Lizzie Pringle just the girl he
was ordained--in a non-clerical sense--to fall in love with.
She was as nice a little thing as you could conceive--slim, petite, with
dark brown hair nearly black, such heavenly violet eyes with liquid
depths, and the most ravishing little rosebud of a mouth and piquante
little nose possible for any one but a fairy to possess; she was so
winning, innocent, pretty a specimen of God's gift to man, that the fact
is Master Tom would have deserved being called an _eingebornen knarren_,
adopting the German text for fool, if he had _not_ fallen a victim
immediately to her violet eyes. And then she was dressed so
bewitchingly--not in gaudy contrasts, or in the extreme of the _mode_,
but so neatly and in such a ladylike manner that she must have attracted
even wiser heads than his.
Of course she saw him looking at her--of course she did! "What a rude
staring fellow he is to be sure!" she said to herself mentally, and
resolved not to look that way again but to fix her attention sternly on
the Thirty-nine Articles; still she would have just one peep
more.--"There he is again, the great rude creature! What nice blue eyes
he has, and such a little love of a moustache! and what on earth can he
find to look at so persistently over here?" And down would go the long
dark lashes again, and a little conscious blush would rise, and even the
tender little ears and supple white neck would be encrimsoned. "It must
be Mister Tom," she determined, "that dark ugly man that went in with
Mistress Hartshorne could not be him; but he is a very naughty fellow to
be staring at a young lady like that." Yet she would go on to excuse
him to herself. "Perhaps he does not know any better, poor fellow; he's
very young" (she was just seventeen mind you), "and when I know him I
will tell him what I think of his rudeness." And then she would wonder
to herself whether she ever would know him, and it sent a pang to her
little heart when she thought she might not, and then Master Tom would
catch her eye, and the tell-tale blush would hang out its pink flag
again, and there would be a little flush of happiness, and so _da capo_.
Just picture to yourself, Corydon, your little flirtation or _grande
passion_ with Phyllis, and you can easily fill up all the blanks and
imagine the rest.
The Reverend Herbert Pringle, B.A., Oxon, who now filled the living at
Hartwood, was a very young man; but a very great man in his own
estimation, and in that of some others also, as to family, talents, and
ritualistic attainments in the church. He was the cousin, twice
removed, of Sir Boanerges Todhunter the great anti-taxpayer and member
of the Opposition, belonged to the extensive High Church party at
Oxford, had gained some celebrity at the Union Debating Club; and here
he was now the regular incumbent (for a term of only five years be it
known, for the Sussex Dowager liked always to have a hold on her tenants
in the matter of leases, and stretched her authority to the livings she
had in her gift) of a respectable church in a good county, where he
could do as he pleased--at an age when the majority of his compeers
would be struggling along perhaps in their first curacies.
He had reason to be proud of himself; and really, putting aside a
certain priggishness of manner and affectation of style, he was not such
a very bad fellow. Take him out of the church, and he would have been a
regular jolly fellow, who would have got along capitally in a mess room
or in a hunting county, for he was dearly inclined to horseflesh, and
had kept his two hunters at Swain's before he had "gone in" for the High
Church party of "young Oxford." He was a short, well-built,
straw-whiskered man of some eight and twenty, although almost boyish in
manner and in face. He had pleased the dowager by the way in which he
had officiated as curate during the long illness of the late incumbent,
and she had determined to put him in the vacant pulpit, if only out of
opposition, as has been observed before, to the Reverend Jabez
Heavieman, whom she cordially detested.
Herbert Pringle had therefore tumbled upon a snug thing. "His lines had
fallen in pleasant places," so here he was inducted into the living of
Hartwood. His first step was to set up housekeeping, in order to do
which he had to bring his favourite little sister Lizzie from school to
"keep house" for him, and then he set about making further improvements
in his district, for which he had _carte blanche_ from the dowager, who,
whenever she heard of some fresh innovation, thought to herself, "I
wonder what that old hypocrite"--alluding to the Reverend Jabez--"thinks
of that now!"
The restoration of the church was effected at the new incumbent's
especial request; and the brass lectern was given by the old lady
because the young divine had munificently presented a huge painted
window, the subject of which was a large cross, erected just over the
chancel. Then a new harmonium was got in place of a wretched old
"spinet," which had previously done duty for an organ, and a choir was
regularly established from amongst the school children that sang the
responses in church now every Sunday, its members clad in little dirty
white surplices.
He was all in favour of ceremonials, was the Reverend Herbert Pringle;
and although he perhaps "meant well" according to his judgment, he was
very affected, and "High Church" all through the service--to the intense
astonishment of the farmers and poor labourers, who used to wonder at
the new style of worship adopted in their old church, and be perplexed
with all the bowings and genuflections, and especially with the
white-surpliced choir.
To give him his due, however, he did not preach a bad sermon, and had a
very effective way of appealing to the pockets of his hearers when any
charity required his aid; but he read always in a light, jocular,
hurried manner, as if he were under an engagement to get over a certain
portion of ground in a fixed time, and he always said, or intoned,
"Awe-men" instead of Amen at the end of the prayers.
He had now been in possession of his cure for more than six months, and
consequently felt at home in it. His improvements, too, had now been
got accustomed to; and although he was thought somewhat queer in his
notions by the heavy agriculturists around him, he was pretty well liked
on the whole. As for his sister Lizzie, she was idolised by poor and
rich around: to tell the truth, it is my opinion that a good deal of her
brother's popularity arose from his connection with the young lady with
the violet eyes.
Tom's bad behaviour continued all through the service, and his eyes were
not still even during the eloquent discourse which the young divine
afterwards delivered, on the "Vanity of human wishes"--would that Tom
could have applied the text! In going out of the church, he allowed his
mother and Markworth to go on in front, and hung back in the rear. He
could see that his charmer had not yet stirred from her pew, although
nearly all the congregation were out, and he wondered what made her
linger.
Fortunately, he was not long kept in suspense. He passed our old friend
"Jarge" in the porch, and incontinently asked that individual "who was
the young lady in the rector's pew?"
"Lor sakes! Measter Tummus, don't you know un? Whoi, thet's the
porsun's seestur; that be Missy Pringle, Measter Tummus!"
"Thank you, George," answered our hero; and how overjoyed he felt as he
walked along after the others. He knew Pringle well, although he was
not aware that he had a sister; and "of course I can easily get
introduced," he thought very naturally.
The following Monday, strange to say, Tom begged Markworth to excuse him
for some little time, as he had to pay a visit, and he set off alone to
the parsonage.
Naturally he was "only going to pay a regular call;" it was only proper
that he should pay a visit to his friend Pringle, whom he had not seen
"since last year, by Jove!" and to congratulate him on his
ecclesiastical preferment. That was all! And so Master Tom rode up to
the parsonage on one of the old horses, which the dowager had retained
in the stables--probably on account of its not being fit for farm-work--
the very next morning after seeing Lizzie.
Pringle was glad to see him, and his sister was introduced to the "young
squire," who tried to make himself as agreeable as possible, but was
painfully embarrassed during his entire visit; and yet, before he had
gone away, Lizzie thought him "such a nice fellow," and she was "oh,
what a darling" to him.--The two young things were drinking deep
draughts of love which were intoxicating them and drawing them nearer
and nearer to each other in a sort of rose-coloured Paradise, which the
mere presence of the one conjured up to the other. And then he had to
go, and it was pleasant to go, merely to have those taper fingers in
his, which pressure sent a thrill of sweet electricity through his
frame, while even she trembled and blushed--and then came the pang of
parting.
On the morrow, he had to come and see "Pringle's new fishing rod," and
show him his own, for it would be so jolly to fish from the lawn at the
back of the parsonage, that ran down to the little river which contained
such capital perch! and of course he could not help meeting her again,
and she wanted to see the "poor little fish that were caught!"
Bless you, my darling, there were other fish caught that morning besides
perch! How hackneyed, and yet how novel are the windings and twistings
in the fairy land of Love's Young Dream!
It was all over with them.
Volume 1, Chapter VII.
"SOWING THE WIND."
The nominal week, which had been mentioned as the duration of
Markworth's stay at The Poplars, passed pleasantly enough for Tom at all
events. So pleasantly indeed, that he did not keep count of the days as
they glided by, for he was continually dropping in at the parsonage "to
see Pringle," and was, long before the following Friday arrived, over
head and ears in the little pit of love which Lizzie's bright eyes had
excavated in his heart. The dowager was still trotting about grinding
down her tenants, and laying up riches which she did not know who would
gather. Miss Kingscott had made the best use of her opportunities in
two short interviews which she had had with the somewhat amorous doctor,
and had yet contrived to cast sheep's eyes on the young squire, whom she
had hopes of captivating; while Markworth was steadily trying to gain
the confidence of the poor half-demented girl, around whom he had
already set his snares. All, all the members in fact of our drama, were
recklessly engaged in the vineyard of Aeolus, all were with lavish hand
sowing to the wind, never dreaming of the crop they should reap.
Susan Hartshorne's strong passion for music had early been taken
advantage of by Markworth as a means towards the end he had in view.
Music was, strange to say, for such a character, one of his fortes,
indeed it was a hobby with him; and he was not only a first-rate player
in the mere sense of mechanical dexterity, but was also a thorough
musician at heart.
The pathology of the human mind is a wonderful and intricate study, and
it is a remarkable fact, with all our spread of knowledge and science,
with the vast new fields of thought which are freshly opened every day
in the educated world, what trifling advance we have made in the
analysis of the mainspring and moving power that sets in motion the
train of thought itself! Medical jurisprudence has only of late become
a special study, and the psychology of the human mind, one of its most
important branches--more than a mere ramification as it is often held--
is at best only a dead letter as yet to those who affect any
acquaintance with the subject. Mental insanity is one of those topics,
like the physiology of dreams, which embraces a large area for research
and investigation; and even the best and latest of the physicians who
have made this division of medical knowledge their especial field for
enquiry, confess to what a very short distance their knowledge carries
them. Hence, until very lately, not only was there no remedial
treatment pursued, but arbitrary incarceration, strait-waistcoats, and
chains, comprised all medical procedure towards our lunatics. Thank
goodness, however, the broad light of science, reason, and common sense,
has tended to dispel the black ignorance displayed by our forefathers
towards our mental as well as bodily ills. Formerly drastics and
phlebotomy, adopted alternately, were supposed to cure every disease and
ailment of the human body, but that day is past now; and, so as in
surgery and physic, a new path has been opened for the treatment of
insanity. It is yet in its infancy; but many species of mania now
deemed hopeless will before long, probably, succumb before judicious and
efficacious ministering.
One of the most hopeless forms of insanity, according to eminent
authorities on the subject, is melancholia, but even this gives way
under proper treatment. In cases of this kind, patients are but too
often neglected, and the cure is left, ignorantly, to work out itself,
which generally ends unsuccessfully; whereas, if the patient under
treatment were led out of themselves as it were, their affliction
ignored, and treated to just the company and influences which appear to
affect them most, I believe in nine cases out of ten of so called
settled melancholia, the unfortunate sufferer would be turned out cured
after a time.
Susan Hartshorne was suffering from this species of mental infliction.
Her case certainly was not a very extreme one; and if she had been
removed from her home at the time she first lost her wits, and been
under gentle treatment and care (as Doctor Jolly recommended) instead of
being kept at the place where all her surroundings, and especially her
mother's presence, kept the great fright she had undergone continually
before her, she would have been cured long since. Even as it was, she
was every month gaining fresh mental stamina from the outside influences
at work upon her: now that Markworth specially devoted himself to her,
as he did, and gradually caused her budding intellect and intelligence
to expand instead of warping them, she changed more and more for the
better every day. Markworth told Tom that he was interested in the
case--as indeed he was on more accounts than one--and if left to himself
he would cure her completely. The mother, too, seemed interested, as
she could not but perceive the change in Susan, and thanked Markworth in
her way, by dropping some of her brusquerie, and also by avoiding her
daughter so as not to frighten her, and make her shrink back within
herself by her presence and appearance--Markworth had drawn her
attention to the point. As for Miss Kingscott, of course in fulfilment
of her compact, she did not interfere with him at all, and allowed him
to mould her charge as he pleased, although she watched him narrowly,
and bided her time.
Allynne Markworth had now become domesticated to a certain extent at The
Poplars. The first week flew away rapidly, even with him, he had so
much to plan, and to take such pains to get his plot _en train_; while
with Tom the time had disappeared since he knew Lizzie as one day. Mrs
Hartshorne, too, was so glad to have her son at home, although she
seemed rather unsympathetic mother, that she tolerated Markworth at
first for his sake; and he had played his cards so well, and studied her
little weaknesses so fully, and kept himself so much out of the way,
that she at length looked upon it as a matter of course that he should
remain when Tom hinted at stopping. "It is such nice weather,"
explained that young deceiver, "and so jolly down here, Markworth, and
the Inskips are coming down this week, that I wish you would stay on--
that is, if you are not fearfully bored with us all." It was very
strange, was it not, that Tom had not remembered the fact of the Inskips
coming down before?
"Not at all, my dear fellow," answered Markworth; "I like this place
very much; and your mother and I get on very well now, although she did
not certainly like me at first;" he could not help laughing over the
recollection of his first meeting and introduction to the dowager, Tom
sharing in his merriment.
"Well, I am glad you will stop. It is much better here than being in
town, and I begin to like a country life," observed Tom, thinking of
violet eyes and pastoral rusticity.
"So do I, Tom; it is far better than all the racket we could have up in
London. I am very glad I came down, but we'll, no doubt, have lots of
gaiety when the Inskips come--not that I care about it, for I am really
interested in the case of your sister."
"Thank you, old fellow; I am sure you are very kind to take all that
trouble about Susan. Well, it's agreed that we stay on now that we are
here, at least for a week or two. My leave won't be up until September,
and even then I daresay I could get an extension, for the colonel's an
old trump."
"Agreed," responded Markworth; "when you are tired of me you can turn me
out, you know, but I daresay the old lady would take that trouble off
your hands." And they both laughed again at such a possibility, which
without joking the dowager was fully capable of doing by herself. And
so their stay at The Poplars was decided upon, and Markworth had plenty
of time in which to perfect his plans.
Susan's love of music had done much, probably, to preserve her mind from
altogether closing up within itself: and her fondness for gardening and
flowers was also beneficial to her case.
The first, Markworth had perceived at once; and he quickly set to work
upon that foundation to gain a hold upon her, and draw her out of
herself.
He used to go up-stairs to the old room where the organ was, and play
some of those wonderful fugues of Beethoven, and saddening chords from
the "Lieder ohne Worte," that would nearly make angels weep; and the
affected girl used to follow him, and draw near, as if spell-bound,
whilst he was playing, and try and imitate him after he had left his
seat before the keys.
Then he began to speak gently to her, only, perhaps, a sentence now and
then, for she was fearfully timid and frightened of strangers, but after
a time she learned to know him, and would reply. No sort of
conversation, of course, could be carried on with her, for her intellect
was just like that of a young child's, although she had learned things
by wrote, like a parrot, and could imitate whatever she saw another do.
After a time she would voluntarily seek Markworth, and ask him to play
the organ in her pleading way; and she would sit quietly for hours to
hear him. If he smiled on her she looked happy: if he frowned, or
raised his voice, her face would wear a tearful and frightened aspect.
The garden used to be one of her favourite resorts. Here she would
wander up and down before Markworth came, speaking to herself, as if she
were carrying on a conversation with someone else. Here she had flowers
of which she was passionately fond, treating them as if they were living
things, and crying over them should a leaf be broken off, or a branch
blown down. Old George used to take especial pains over "Missy's"
garden, and she always used to go out and watch him at work, and be
continually inciting him to dig up the earth around her plants. When
Markworth began his care, however, Susan changed a great deal in her
habits. She at first gave up the garden, and only would go to the
organ-room; but when he brought a flute out and used to play an air of
which she was especially fond, in and about her favourite haunts in the
shrubbery, she got to come out again, ceased her imaginary dialogues,
and grew more expressive and brighter. Insane people always seem
affected by wind instruments.
Markworth took care, however, never to play the flute when the dowager
was about the premises, as she "hated that odious tooting thing even
worse than the jackass that played it"--she said.
Miss Kingscott used to accompany Susan, and consequently the three were
very much together, for Tom was nearly always out now by himself, as he
could not get Markworth to accompany him to the Pringles; and when he
was at home he used to flirt with the governess under his mother's very
nose, and leave Susan even more in Markworth's hands.
The devil, they say, is never so black as he is painted, and, perhaps,
Markworth was not altogether so selfish or so wicked in his motives as
one might suppose. He was really interested, deeply so, in the peculiar
case of Susan Hartshorne; and having read a great deal on insanity and
its cure, he had certain theories of his own on the subject which made
him glad of the opportunity for reducing them to practice. If he had
not known that the poor girl was the heiress to twenty thousand pounds,
and had not circumstances so strangely placed Clara Joyce--he could not
think of her even by her new name--in the house to assist him, he would
never have dreamt of his plot, nor have attempted to carry it out after
he saw the subject, or rather object, of it; and yet, perhaps, he would
still have tried to put her in the way of recovering her reason without
a thought of recompense. As it was, he was now working with a double
object, and the success which he met with startled him, while it
emboldened him to persevere in his design.
In a short time there was such a perceptible change in Susan that anyone
not in the habit of seeing her frequently would have noticed it at once;
and soon she was altogether different from what she had been. Her eyes
began to have some expression in them; how different they looked from
their former dull appearance; and she would now look anyone in the face
instead of hanging down her head as she formerly did. Dr Jolly was one
of the first to perceive the alteration, and complimented Miss Kingscott
on the change one day.
"Bless my soul, ma'am! why, nobody would recognise her again. It's
positively wonderful. By Gad! madam, you deserve a medal for it. I
would not have believed such a change could have taken place unless I
had seen it myself."
Whereupon Miss Kingscott half declined the credit of the cure, but in
such a way as to make the doctor repeat his compliments.
"Bless my soul, ma'am! it's no use telling me that, I know better. It's
wonderful, and you deserve every credit--yes, ma'am, by Gad! ma'am, you
do. Good-bye, Miss Kingscott; I shall call soon again to see your
patient, for she is yours now, you know, ma'am. Go-o-od-morning."
And the doctor took himself off, with an elaborate farewell adieu. He
would have kissed his hand, it is believed, only that the old dowager
was standing looking out at the window, and might have called him an old
fool as likely as not.
Volume 1, Chapter VIII.