OUR GUEST.
The first thing I heard of the stranger in the morning was that he had
sent off early to the proprietor of the "Verney Arms" a messenger with a
note for two large boxes which he had left there, when the yacht Foam
Bell was at Cardyllion about a fortnight before. The note was signed
with the letters R. M.
The Foam Bell had lain at anchor off the pier of Cardyllion for only two
hours, so no one in the town knew much about her. Two or three of her
men, with Foam Bell across the breasts of their blue shirts and on the
ribbons of their flat glazed hats, had walked about the quaint town, and
drunk their beer at the "George and Garter." But there had not been time
to make acquaintance with the townspeople. It was only known that the
yacht belonged to Sir Dives Wharton, and that the gentleman who left the
boxes in charge of the proprietor of the "Verney Arms," was not that
baronet.
The handwriting was the same as that in the memorandum he had left with
the hotel-keeper, and which simply told him that the big black boxes
were left to be called or written for by Edward Hathaway, and mentioned
no person whose initials were R. M. So Mr. Hughes, of the "Verney Arms,"
drove to Malory to see the gentleman at the steward's house, and having
there recognised him as the very gentleman who left the boxes in his
charge, he sent them to him as directed.
Shortly after, Doctor Mervyn, our old friend walked up the avenue, and
saw me and Laura at the window.
It was a calm, bright morning; the storm had done its awful work, and
was at rest, and sea and sky looked glad and gentle in the brilliant
sun. Already about fifty drowned persons had been carried up and laid
upon the turf in the churchyard in rows, with their faces upward. I was
glad it was upon the slope that was hid from us.
How murderous the dancing waves looked in the sunlight! And the black
saw-edged reef I beheld with a start and a shudder. The churchyard, too,
had a changed expression. What a spectacle lay behind that familiar
grassy curve! I did not see the incongruous muster of death. Here a
Liverpool dandy; there a white-whiskered City man; sharp bag-men; little
children--strange companions in the churchyard--hard-handed sailors;
women, too, in silk or serge--no distinction now.
I and Laura could not walk in that direction till all this direful
seeking and finding were over.
The doctor, seeing us at the open window, raised his hat. The autumn sun
through the thin leaves touched his bald head as he walked over to the
window-stool, and placing his knee on the bench on which Mr. Carmel used
sometimes to sit, he told us all he knew of the ship and the disaster.
It was a Liverpool steamer called the Conway Castle, bound for Bristol.
One of her paddles was disabled early in the gale, and thus she drove to
leeward, and was wrecked.
"And now," said the doctor, "I'm going to look in upon the luckiest man
in the kingdom, the one human being who escaped alive out of that ship.
He must have been either the best or the worst man on board--either too
good to be drowned or too bad, by Jove! He is the gentleman you were so
kind as to afford shelter to last night in the steward's house there,
round the corner, and he sent for me an hour ago. I daresay he feels
queer this morning; and from what Thomas Jones says, I should not be
surprised if he had broken a bone somewhere. Nothing of any great
consequence, of course; but he must have got a thund'ring fling on those
rocks. When I've seen him--if I find you here--I'll tell you what I
think of him."
After this promise, you may be sure we did wait where we were, and he
kept his word. We were in a fever of curiosity; my first question was,
"Who is he?"
"I guessed you'd ask that the first moment you could," said the doctor,
a little pettishly.
"Why?" said I.
"Because it is the very question I can't answer," he replied. "But I'll
tell you all I do know," he continued, taking up his old position at the
window, and leaning forward with his head in the room.
Every word the oracle spoke we devoured. I won't tell his story in his
language, nor with our interruptions. I will give its substance, and in
part its details, as I received them. The doctor was at least as curious
as we were.
His patient was up, sitting by the fire, in dressing-gown and slippers,
which he had taken with other articles of dress from the box which stood
open on the floor. The window-curtain was partly drawn, the room rather
dark. He saw the young man with his feet on the fender, seated by the
wood fire. His features, as they struck the doctor, were handsome and
spirited; he looked ill, with pale cheek and lips, speaking low and
smiling.
"I'm Doctor Mervyn," said the doctor, making his bow, and eyeing the
stranger curiously.
"Oh! Thanks, Doctor Mervyn! I hope it is not a long way from your house,
I am here very ridiculously circumstanced. I should not have had any
clothes, if it had not been for a very lucky accident, and for a day or
two I shall be totally without money--a mere Robinson Crusoe."
"Oh, that don't matter; I shall be very happy to see after you in the
meantime, if there should be anything in my way," answered the doctor,
bluntly.
"You are very kind, thanks. This place, they tell me, is called Malory.
What Mr. Ware is that to whom it belongs?"
"The Honourable Mr. Ware, brother of Lord H----. He is travelling on the
Continent at present with his wife, a great beauty some fifteen years
since; and his daughter, his only child, is at present here with her
governess."
"Oh, I thought some one said he had two?"
The doctor re-asserted the fact, and for some seconds the stranger
looked on the floor abstractedly.
"You wished a word or two of advice, I understand?" interrupted the
doctor at length. "You have had a narrow escape, sir--a tremendous
escape! You must have been awfully shaken. I don't know how you escaped
being smashed on those nasty rocks."
"I am pretty well smashed, I fancy," said the young man.
"That's just what I wanted to ascertain."
"From head to foot, I'm covered with bruises," continued the stranger;
"I got off with very few cuts. I have one over my temple, and
half-a-dozen here and there, and one here on my wrist; but you need not
take any trouble about them--a cut, when I get one, heals almost of
itself. A bit of court-plaster is all I require for them, and Mrs.
Something, the housekeeper here, has given me some; but I'm rather
seedy. I must have swallowed a lot of salt water, I fancy. I've got off
very well, though, if it's true all the other people were drowned. It
was a devil of a fluke; you'd say I was the luckiest fellow alive, ha,
ha, ha! I wish I could think so."
He laughed, a little bitterly.
"There are very few men glad to meet death when it comes," said Doctor
Mervyn. "Some think they are fit to die, and some know they are not. You
know best, sir, what reason you have to be thankful."
"I'm nothing but bruises and aches all over my body. I'm by no means
well, and I've lost all my luggage, and papers, and money, since one
o'clock yesterday, when I was flourishing. Two or three such reasons for
thankfulness would inevitably finish me."
"All except you were drowned, sir," said the doctor, who was known in
Cardyllion as a serious-minded man, a little severely.
"Like so many rats in a trap, poor devils," acquiesced the stranger.
"They were hatched down. I was the only passenger on deck. I must have
been drowned if I had been among them."
"All those poor fellow-passengers of yours," said Doctor Mervyn, in
disgust, "had souls, sir, to be saved."
"I suppose so; but I never saw such an assemblage of snobs in my life. I
really think that, except poor Haworth--he insisted it would be ever so
much pleasanter than the railway; I did not find it so; he's drowned of
course--I assure you, except ourselves, there was not a gentleman among
them. And Sparks, he's drowned too, and I've lost the best servant I
ever had in my life. But I beg your pardon, I'm wasting your time. Do
you think I'm ill?"
He extended his wrist, languidly, to enable the doctor to feel his
pulse. The physician suppressed his rising answer with an effort, and
made his examination.
"Well, sir, you have had a shock."
"By Jove! I should not wonder," acquiesced the young man, with a sneer.
"And you are a good deal upset, and your contusions are more serious
than you seem to fancy. I'll make up a liniment here, and I'll send you
down something else that will prevent any tendency to fever; and I
suppose you would like to be supplied from the 'Verney Arms.' You must
not take any wine stronger than claret for the present, and a light
dinner, and if you give me a line, or tell me what name----"
"Oh, they know me there, thanks. I got these boxes from there this
morning, and they are to send me everything I require."
The doctor wanted his name. The town of Cardyllion, which was in a
ferment, wanted it. Of course he must have the name; a medical
practitioner who kept a ledger and sent out accounts, it was part of his
business to know his patients' names. How could he stand before the wags
of the news-room, if he did not know the name of his own patients--of
this one, of all others.
"Oh! put me down as R. M. simply," said the young man.
"But wouldn't it be more--more usual, if you had no objections--a little
more at length?" insinuated the doctor.
"Well, yes; put it down a little more at length--say R. R. M. Three
letters instead of two."
The doctor, with his head inclined, laughed patiently, and the
stranger, seeing him about to return to the attack, said a little
petulantly: "You see, doctor, I'm not going to give my very
insignificant name here to any one. If your book-keeper had it, every
one in the town would know it; and Cardyllion is a place at which idle
people turn up, and I have no wish to have my stray friends come up to
this place to bother me for the two or three days I must stay here. You
may suppose me an escaped convict, or anything else you please that will
amuse the good people; but I'm hanged if I give my name, thank you!"
After this little interruption, the strictly professional conversation
was resumed, and the doctor ended by directing him to stay quiet that
day, and not to walk out out until he had seen him again next morning.
The doctor then began to mix the ingredients of his liniment. The young
man in the silk dressing-gown limped to the window, and leaned his arm
upon the sash, looking out, and the doctor observed him, in his
ruminations, smiling darkly on the ivy that nodded from the opposite
wall, as if he saw a confederate eyeing him from its shadow.
"He didn't think I was looking at him," said the doctor; "but I have
great faith in a man's smile when he thinks he is all to himself; and
that smile I did not like; it was, in my mind, enough to damn him."
All this, when his interview was over, the doctor came round and told
us. He was by no means pleased with his patient, and being a religious
man, of a quick temper, would very likely have declined the office of
physician in this particular case, if he had not thought, judging by his
"properties," which were in a certain style that impressed Doctor
Mervyn, and his air, and his refined features, and a sort of
indescribable superiority which both irritated and awed the doctor, that
he might be a "swell."
He went the length, notwithstanding, of calling him, in his conversation
with us, an "inhuman puppy," but he remarked that there were certain
duties which no Christian could shirk, among which that of visiting the
sick held, of course, in the doctor's mind, due rank.