THE MEDICAL MAN.
In the morning, when Ellen awoke at about eight o'clock, the first news
she heard from Marian's lips was the return of Richard Markham.
The first sentiment which this announcement excited in the mind of the
young lady, was one of extreme joy and thankfulness that her
accouchement should have occurred so prematurely, and thus have happened
during his absence; but this feeling was succeeded by one of vague alarm
and undefined dread, lest by some means or other her secret should
transpire.
This fear she expressed to Marian.
"No, Miss--that is impossible," said the faithful attendant. "The child
is provided for; and the surgeon is totally ignorant of the house to
which he was brought the night the poor infant was born. How could Mr.
Markham discover your secret?"
"It is perhaps my conscience, Marian, that alarms me," returned Ellen;
"but I confess that I tremble. Do you think that Mr. Wentworth is to be
relied upon, even if he should suspect or should ever discover--"
"Mr. Greenwood has purchased his silence, Miss. Do not be down-hearted.
I declare you are quite white in the face--and you seem to tremble so,
the bed shakes. Pray--dear Miss--don't give way to these idle alarms!"
"I shall be more composed presently, Marian."
"And I will just step down stairs and get up your breakfast."
When Ellen was alone, she buried her face in the pillow and wept
bitterly; and from time to time her voice, almost choked with sobs, gave
utterance to the words--"My child! my child!"
Oh! how happy would she have been, could she have proclaimed herself a
mother without shame, and have spoken of her child to her father and her
friend without a blush.
In a few minutes Marian returned to the room; and Ellen hastened to
assume an air of composure. She wiped away her tears, and sate up in the
bed, supported by pillows--for she was yet very weak and sickly--to
partake of some refreshment.
"Mr. Markham is up and has already gone out," said Marian, as she
attended upon her lovely young patient. "He left word with Whittingham
to tell me that he should come up, and see you on his return in half an
hour."
"I would that this first interview were over, Marian," exclaimed Ellen.
"So you said, Miss, in the morning after your accouchement, when your
father was coming up to see you; and yet all passed off well enough."
"Yes--but I felt that I blushed, and then grew deadly pale again, at
least ten times in a minute," observed Ellen.
Marian said all she could to re-assure the young mother; and when the
invalid had partaken of some tea, the kind-hearted servant left her, in
order to attend to her own domestic duties down stairs.
Ellen than fell into a mournful reverie, during which she reviewed all
the events of the last two years and a half of her life. She pondered
upon the hideous poverty in which she and her father had been plunged in
the court leading out of Golden Lane; she retrospected upon the strange
services she had rendered the statuary, the artist, the sculptor, and
the photographer; she thought of the old hag who had induced her to
enter upon that career;--and then she fixed her thoughts upon Greenwood
and her child.
She was thus mentally occupied when she heard footsteps ascending the
staircase; and immediately afterwards some one knocked at her door.
In a faint voice she said, "Come in."
The door opened, and Richard Markham entered the apartment; but, as he
crossed the threshold, he turned and said to some one who remained upon
the landing, "Have the kindness to wait here one moment."
He then advanced towards the bed, and took the young lady's thin white
hand.
"Ellen," he exclaimed, "you have been very ill."
"Yes--very ill, Richard," returned the invalid, casting down her eyes;
"but I am better--oh! much, very much better now; and, in a day or two,
shall be quite well."
"And yet you are very pale, and sadly altered," said Markham.
"I can assure you that I am recovering fast. Indeed, I should have risen
to-day; but Marian persuaded me to keep my bed a short time longer."
"And you have had no medical advice, Ellen. I told your father that he
had done wrong--"
"Oh! no, Richard," interrupted Ellen eagerly; "he was anxious to call in
the aid of a physician; but I was not so ill as he thought."
"Not ill!" ejaculated Markham. "You must have been very--very ill."
"But Marian was so kind to me."
"No doubt! Nevertheless I have no confidence in the nostrums and
prescriptions of old servants and nurses; and human existence is too
serious a thing to be tampered with."
"I assure you, Richard, that Marian has treated me most judiciously; and
I am now very nearly quite well."
"Ah! Ellen," cried Markham, "I can read your heart!"
"You, Richard!" exclaimed the young lady, with a cold shudder that
seemed to terminate in a death-chill at the heart.
"Yes," continued Markham, his voice assuming a tone of melancholy
interest; "I can well appreciate your motives in combating the desire of
your father to procure medical aid. You were afraid of burdening me with
an expense which you feared my restricted means would not permit me to
afford;--Oh! I understand your good feeling! But this was wrong, Ellen;
for I did not invite you to my house to deny to either yourself or
father the common attentions which I would bestow upon a stranger who
fell sick under my roof. No--thank God! I have yet enough left to meet
casualties like these."
"Ah! Richard, how kind--how generous you are," said Ellen; "but I am now
really much better;--and to-morrow--to-morrow I shall be quite well."
"No--Ellen, you are very far from well," returned Markham; "but you
shall be well soon. I have been myself this morning to procure you
proper advice."
"Advice?" repeated Ellen, mechanically.
"Yes: there is a medical gentleman now waiting to see you."
With these words Richard hastened to the door, and said, "Miss Monroe,
sir, is now ready to receive you. I will leave you with her."
The medical man then entered the chamber; and Markham immediately
retired.
The votary of Æsculapius was a man of apparently five-and-twenty years
of age--pale, but good-looking, with light hair, and a somewhat
melancholy expression of countenance. He was attired in deep black. His
manners were soft and pleasing; but his voice was mournful; and his
utterance slow, precise, and solemn.
Approaching the couch, he took the hand of the invalid, and, placing his
fingers upon the pulse, said, "How long have you been ill, Miss?"
"Oh! sir--I am not ill now--I am nearly well--I shall rise
presently--the fresh air will do me good," exclaimed Ellen, speaking
with a rapidity, and almost an incoherence, which somewhat surprised the
medical man.
"No, Miss," he said calmly, after a pause, "you cannot leave your bed
yet: you are in a state of fever. How long have you been confined to
your couch?"
"How long? Oh! only a few days--but, I repeat, I am better now."
"How many days, Miss?" asked the medical man.
"Ten or twelve, sir; and, therefore, you see that I have kept my bed
long enough."
"What do you feel?" demanded the surgeon, seating himself by the side of
the invalid with the air of a man who is determined to obtain answers to
his questions.
"I did feel unwell a few days ago, sir," said Ellen; "but now--oh! now I
am quite recovered."
"Perhaps, miss, you will allow me to be the judge of that. You are very
feverish--your pulse is rapid. Have you been taking any medicine?"
"No--that is, a little cooling medicine which the servant who attends
upon me purchased. But why all these questions, since I shall soon be
well?"
"Pardon me, Miss: you must have the kindness to answer all my queries.
If, however, you would prefer any other medical adviser, I will at once
acquaint Mr. Markham with your desire, and will relieve you of my
presence."
"No, sir--as well you as another," cried Ellen, scarcely knowing what
she said, and shrinking beneath the glance of mingled curiosity and
surprise which the surgeon cast upon her.
"During your illness were you at all delirious?" inquired the medical
adviser.
"Oh! no--I have not been so ill as you are led to suppose. All I require
is repose--rest--tranquillity----"
"And professional aid," added the surgeon. "Now, I beg of you, Miss
Monroe, to tell me without reserve what you feel. How did your illness
commence?"
"Ah! sir, I scarcely know," replied Ellen. "I have experienced great
mental affliction; and that operated upon my constitution, I suppose."
"And you say that you have been confined to your bed nearly a
fortnight?"
"Oh! no--not so long as that," said Ellen fearful of confirming the
surgeon's impression that she had been very ill, and consequently stood
greatly in need of professional assistance: "not so long as that! Ten
days exactly."
"Ten days!" repeated the medical man, as if struck by the coincidence of
this statement with something which at that moment occurred to his
memory; then glancing rapidly round the room, he started from his chair,
and said, "Ten days ago, Miss Monroe! And at what hour were you taken
ill?"
"At what hour?" repeated the unhappy young lady, who trembled for her
secret.
"Yes--at what hour?" demanded the surgeon, the slow solemnity of his
tone changing to a strange rapidity of utterance: "was it not a little
before midnight?"
"Sir--what do you mean? why do you question me thus?"
"On that night," continued the surgeon, gazing fixedly upon Ellen's
countenance, "a man with his eyes blind-folded--"
"His eyes blindfolded?" repeated Ellen mechanically, while a fearful
shudder passed through her frame.
"Led by a servant wearing a black veil--"
"A black veil?"
"Entered this room--"
"Ah! my God--spare me!"
"And delivered a lady of a male child."
"How do you know it, sir? who told you?"
"That man was myself!" cried the surgeon emphatically.
"Oh! kill me--kill me!" exclaimed Ellen; and covering her face with her
hands, she burst into an agony of tears and heart-wrung sobs.
"Yes," continued the surgeon, pacing the room, and glancing rapidly on
all sides: "there is the chest of drawers against which I dashed my
foot--here stood the bed--here the table--I sate down in this chair--Oh!
now I remember all!"
And for some moments he walked up and down the room in profound silence.
Suddenly Ellen started up to a sitting posture in the bed, and
exclaimed, "My child, sir? Tell me--have you taken care of my child?"
"Yes--Miss--Madam," replied Mr. Wentworth; "the little boy thrives well,
although deprived of his natural nourishment."
"Thank you, sir--thank you at least for that assurance," said Ellen.
"Oh! sir--you cannot understand how deeply a mother feels to be
separated from her child!"
"Poor girl," said the surgeon, in a compassionate tone; "you have then
suffered very much?"
"God alone knows what I have endured for months past, mentally and
bodily!" cried Ellen, clasping her hands together. "And now you know
all, sir--will you betray me? say, sir--will you betray me?"
Mr. Wentworth appeared to reflect deeply for some moments.
Ellen awaited his reply in a state of the most agonising suspense.
"Miss Monroe," at length said Mr. Wentworth, speaking in his usual
solemn and grave tone, "you know your own affairs better than I; but
would it not be well to confide in those friends by whom you are
surrounded?"
"I would die first--die by my own hand!" answered Ellen emphatically.
"If you tell me that you will betray me--if you leave this room to
communicate my secret to Mr. Markham, who brought you hither, or to my
father--I will not hesitate a moment--I will throw myself from the
window--"
"Calm yourself, Miss Monroe. Your secret is safe in my hands."
"Oh! thank you, sir--a thousand times I thank you," exclaimed Ellen.
"There are circumstances which render it necessary that this secret
should not transpire--circumstances, not altogether connected with my
own shame, which I cannot, dare not reveal to you."
"Enough, Miss Monroe--I do not seek to penetrate into those mysteries.
Your child is with me--I will be a father to him!"
"And heaven will bless you!" said Ellen pressing the surgeon's hand with
the warmth of the most fervent gratitude.
"In time you will be able to call at my house," observed Mr. Wentworth;
"and you can see your son--you can watch his growth--mark his
progress--"
"How kind you are! Oh! now I am rejoiced that you know all!"
"And no one will ever suspect the real motive of your visits," continued
the surgeon. "Mrs. Wentworth shall call upon you in a few days; and thus
an acquaintance may be commenced. With reference to my visit of this
morning, I shall inform Mr. Markham that you will be convalescent in a
few days."
Ellen once more expressed her sincere and heartfelt thanks to the
surgeon, who shortly took his leave of her, after strictly recommending
her to take the medicaments which he should send in the course of the
day.
And now the recovery of the young invalid progressed rapidly; and her
own mind, relieved of many sources of anxiety and alarm, aided nature in
conducting her to convalescence; for she longed to behold and caress her
child!