Who could possibly be up and about in our quiet village at the second hour
of the morning?
The person who opened the door appeared within range of the light of the
candle. To complete our amazement, the person proved to be a woman! She
walked up to the counter, and standing side by side with me, lifted her
veil. At the moment when she showed her face, I heard the church clock
strike two. She was a stranger to me, and a stranger to the doctor. She
was also, beyond all comparison, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen
in my life.
"I saw the light under the door," she said. "I want some medicine."
She spoke quite composedly, as if there was nothing at all extraordinary
in her being out in the village at two in the morning, and following me
into the surgery to ask for medicine! The doctor stared at her as if he
suspected his own eyes of deceiving him. "Who are you?" he asked. "How do
you come to be wandering about at this time in the morning?"
She paid no heed to his questions. She only told him coolly what she
wanted. "I have got a bad toothache. I want a bottle of laudanum."
The doctor recovered himself when she asked for the laudanum. He was on
his own ground, you know, when it came to a matter of laudanum; and he
spoke to her smartly enough this time.
"Oh, you have got the toothache, have you? Let me look at the tooth."
She shook her head, and laid a two-shilling piece on the counter. "I won't
trouble you to look at the tooth," she said. "There is the money. Let me
have the laudanum, if you please."
The doctor put the two-shilling piece back again in her hand. "I don't
sell laudanum to strangers," he answered. "If you are in any distress of
body or mind, that is another matter. I shall be glad to help you."
She put the money back in her pocket. "_You_ can't help me," she said, as
quietly as ever. "Good morning."
With that, she opened the surgery door to go out again into the street. So
far, I had not spoken a word on my side. I had stood with the candle in my
hand (not knowing I was holding it)--with my eyes fixed on her, with my
mind fixed on her like a man bewitched. Her looks betrayed, even more
plainly than her words, her resolution, in one way or another, to destroy
herself. When she opened the door, in my alarm at what might happen I
found the use of my tongue.
"Stop!" I cried out. "Wait for me. I want to speak to you before you go
away." She lifted her eyes with a look of careless surprise and a mocking
smile on her lips.
"What can _you_ have to say to me?" She stopped, and laughed to herself.
"Why not?" she said. "I have got nothing to do, and nowhere to go." She
turned back a step, and nodded to me. "You're a strange man--I think I'll
humor you--I'll wait outside." The door of the surgery closed on her. She
was gone.
I am ashamed to own what happened next. The only excuse for me is that I
was really and truly a man bewitched. I turned me round to follow her out,
without once thinking of my mother. The doctor stopped me.
"Don't forget the medicine," he said. "And if you will take my advice,
don't trouble yourself about that woman. Rouse up the constable. It's his
business to look after her--not yours."
I held out my hand for the medicine in silence: I was afraid I should fail
in respect if I trusted myself to answer him. He must have seen, as I saw,
that she wanted the laudanum to poison herself. He had, to my mind, taken
a very heartless view of the matter. I just thanked him when he gave me
the medicine--and went out.
She was waiting for me as she had promised; walking slowly to and fro--a
tall, graceful, solitary figure in the bright moonbeams. They shed over
her fair complexion, her bright golden hair, her large gray eyes, just the
light that suited them best. She looked hardly mortal when she first
turned to speak to me.
"Well?" she said. "And what do you want?"
In spite of my pride, or my shyness, or my better sense--whichever it
might me--all my heart went out to her in a moment. I caught hold of her
by the hands, and owned what was in my thoughts, as freely as if I had
known her for half a lifetime.
"You mean to destroy yourself," I said. "And I mean to prevent you from
doing it. If I follow you about all night, I'll prevent you from doing
it."
She laughed. "You saw yourself that he wouldn't sell me the laudanum. Do
you really care whether I live or die?" She squeezed my hands gently as
she put the question: her eyes searched mine with a languid, lingering
look in them that ran through me like fire. My voice died away on my lips;
I couldn't answer her.
She understood, without my answering. "You have given me a fancy for
living, by speaking kindly to me," she said. "Kindness has a wonderful
effect on women, and dogs, and other domestic animals. It is only men who
are superior to kindness. Make your mind easy--I promise to take as much
care of myself as if I was the happiest woman living! Don't let me keep
you here, out of your bed. Which way are you going?"
Miserable wretch that I was, I had forgotten my mother--with the medicine
in my hand! "I am going home," I said. "Where are you staying? At the
inn?"
She laughed her bitter laugh, and pointed to the stone quarry. "There is
my inn for to-night," she said. "When I got tired of walking about, I
rested there."
We walked on together, on my way home. I took the liberty of asking her if
she had any friends.
"I thought I had one friend left," she said, "or you would never have met
me in this place. It turns out I was wrong. My friend's door was closed in
my face some hours since; my friend's servants threatened me with the
police. I had nowhere else to go, after trying my luck in your
neighborhood; and nothing left but my two-shilling piece and these rags on
my back. What respectable innkeeper would take _me_ into his house? I
walked about, wondering how I could find my way out of the world without
disfiguring myself, and without suffering much pain. You have no river in
these parts. I didn't see my way out of the world, till I heard you
ringing at the doctor's house. I got a glimpse at the bottles in the
surgery, when he let you in, and I thought of the laudanum directly. What
were you doing there? Who is that medicine for? Your wife?"
"I am not married!"
She laughed again. "Not married! If I was a little better dressed there
might be a chance for ME. Where do you live? Here?"
We had arrived, by this time, at my mother's door. She held out her hand
to say good-by. Houseless and homeless as she was, she never asked me to
give her a shelter for the night. It was my proposal that she should rest,
under my roof, unknown to my mother and my aunt. Our kitchen was built out
at the back of the cottage: she might remain there unseen and unheard
until the household was astir in the morning. I led her into the kitchen,
and set a chair for her by the dying embers of the fire. I dare say I was
to blame--shamefully to blame, if you like. I only wonder what _you_ would
have done in my place. On your word of honor as a man, would _you_ have
let that beautiful creature wander back to the shelter of the stone quarry
like a stray dog? God help the woman who is foolish enough to trust and
love you, if you would have done that!