She was lying on the sofa in the breakfast-room, with the Venetian
blinds down to darken the morning sunshine. Her eyes wore closed, though
she held in her hands the prayer-hook, from which she had been reading
as usual the Psalms for the day. I had time to take note of the extreme
fragility of her appearance, which, doubtless I noticed the more plainly
for my short absence. Her hands were very thin, and her cheeks hollow. A
few silver threads were growing among her brown hair, and a line or two
between her eyebrows were becoming deeper. But while I was looking at
her, though I made no sort of sound or movement, she seemed to feel that
I was there; and after looking up she started from her sofa, and flung
her arms about me, pressing closer and closer to me.
"O Martin, my boy! my darling!" she sobbed, "thank God you are come back
safe! Oh, I have been very rebellious, very unbelieving. I ought to have
known that you would be safe. Oh, I am thankful!"
"So am I, mother," I said, kissing her, "and very hungry into the
bargain."
I knew that would check her hysterical excitement. She looked up at me
with smiles and tears on her face; but the smiles won the day.
"That is so like you, Martin," she said; "I believe your ghost would say
those very words. You are always hungry when you come home. Well, my
boy shall have the best breakfast in Guernsey. Sit down, then, and let
me wait upon you."
That was just what pleased her most whenever I came in from some ride
into the country. She was a woman with fondling, caressing little ways,
such as Julia could no more perform gracefully than an elephant could
waltz. My mother enjoyed fetching my slippers, and warming them herself
by the fire, and carrying away my boots when I took them off. No servant
was permitted to do any of these little offices for me--that is, when my
father was out of the way. If he was there, my mother sat still, and
left me to wait on myself, or ring for a servant, Never in my
recollection had she done any thing of the kind for my father. Had she
watched and waited upon him thus in the early days of their married
life, until some neglect or unfaithfulness of his had cooled her love
for him? I sat down as she bade me, and had my slippers brought, and
felt her fingers passed fondly through my hair.
"You have come back like a barbarian," she said, "rougher than Tardif
himself. How have you managed, my boy? You must tell me all about it as
soon as your hunger is satisfied."
"As soon as I have had my breakfast, mother, I must put up a few things
in a hamper to go back by the Sark cutter," I answered.
"What sort of things?" she asked. "Tell me, and I will be getting them
ready for you."
"Well, there will be some physic, of course," I said; "you cannot help
me in that. But you can find things suitable for a delicate appetite;
jelly, you know, and jams, and marmalade; any thing nice that comes to
hand. And some good port-wine, and a few amusing books."
"Books!" echoed my mother.
I recollected at once that the books she might select, as being suited
to a Sark peasant, would hardly prove interesting to my patient. I could
not do better than go down to Barbet's circulating library, and look out
some good works there.
"Well, no," I said; "never mind the books. If you will look out the
other things, those can wait."
"Whom are they for?" asked my mother.
"For my patient," I replied, devoting myself to the breakfast before me.
"What sort of a patient, Martin?" she inquired again.
"Her name is Ollivier," I said. "A common name. Our postmaster's name
is Ollivier."
"Oh, yes," she answered; "I know several families of Olliviers. I dare
say I should know this person if you could tell me her Christian name.
Is it Jane, or Martha, or Rachel?"
"I don't know," I said; "I did not ask."
Should I tell my mother about my mysterious patient? I hesitated for a
minute or two. But to what good? It was not my habit to talk about my
patients and their ailments. I left them all behind me when I crossed
the threshold of home. My mother's brief curiosity had been satisfied
with the name of Ollivier, and she made no further inquiries about her.
But to expedite me in my purpose, she rang, and gave orders for old
Pellet, our only man-servant, to find a strong hamper, and told the cook
to look out some jars of preserve.
The packing of that hamper interested me wonderfully; and my mother,
rather amazed at my taking the superintendence of it in person, stood by
me in her store-closet, letting me help myself liberally. There was a
good space left after I had taken sufficient to supply Miss Ollivier
with good things for some weeks to come. If my mother had not been by, I
should have filled it up with books.
"Give me a loaf or two of white bread," I said; "the bread at Tardif's
is coarse and hard, as I know after eating it for a week. A loaf, if you
please, dear mother."
"Whatever are you doing here, Martin?" exclaimed Julia's unwelcome voice
behind me. Her bilious attack had not quite passed away, and her tones
were somewhat sharp and raspy.
"He has been living on Tardif's coarse fare for a week," answered my
mother; "so now he has compassion enough for his Sark patient to pack up
some dainties for her. If you could only give him one or two of your bad
headaches, he would have more sympathy for you."
"Have you had one of your headaches, Julia?" I inquired.
"The worst I ever had," she answered. "It was partly your going off in
that rash way, and the storm that came on after, and the fright we were
in. You must not think of going again, Martin. I shall take care you
don't go after we are married."
Julia had been used to speak out as calmly about our marriage as if it
was no more than going to a picnic. It grated upon me just then; though
it had been much the same with myself. There was no delightful agitation
about the future that lay before us. We were going to set up
housekeeping by ourselves, and that was all. There was no mystery in it;
no problem to be solved; no discovery to be made on either side. There
would be no Blue Beard's chamber in our dwelling. We had grown up
together; now we had agreed to grow old together. That was the sum total
of marriage to Julia and me.
I finished packing the hamper, and sent Pellet with it to the Sark
office, having addressed it to Tardif, who had engaged to be down at the
Creux Harbor to receive it when the cutter returned. Then I made a short
and hurried toilet, which by this time had become essential to my
reappearance in civilized society. But I was in haste to secure a parcel
of books before the cutter should start home again, with its courageous
little knot of market-people. I ran down to Barbet's, scarcely heeding
the greetings which were flung after mo by every passer-by. I looked
through the library-shelves with growing dissatisfaction, until I hit
upon two of Mrs. Gaskell's novels, "Pride and Prejudice," by Jane
Austin, and "David Copperfield." Besides these, I chose a book for
Sunday reading, as my observations upon my mother and Julia had taught
me that my patient could not read a novel on a Sunday with a quiet
conscience.
Barbet brought half a sheet of an old _Times_ to form the first cover of
my parcel. The shop was crowded with market-people, and, as he was busy,
I undertook to pack them myself, the more willingly as I had no wish for
him to know what direction I wrote upon them. I was about to fold the
newspaper round them, when my eye was caught by an advertisement at the
top of one of the columns, the first line of which was printed in
capitals. I recollected in an instant that I had seen it and read it
before. This was what I had tried in vain to recall while Tardif was
describing Miss Ollivier to me. "Strayed from her home in London, on the
20th inst., a young lady with bright-brown hair, gray eyes, and delicate
features; age twenty one. She is believed to have been alone. Was
dressed in a blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat. Fifty pounds
reward is offered to any person giving such information as will lead to
her restoration to her friends. Apply to Messrs. Scott and Brown, Gray's
Inn Road, E.C."
I stood perfectly still for some seconds, staring blankly at the very
simple, direct advertisement under my eyes. There was not the slightest
doubt in my mind that it had a direct reference to my pretty patient in
Sark. I had a reason for recollecting the date of Tardif's return from
London, the very day after the mournful disaster off the Havre Gosselin,
when four gentlemen and a boatman had been lost during a squall. But I
had no time for deliberation then, and I tore off a large corner of the
_Times_ containing that and other advertisements, and thrust it unseen
into my pocket. After that I went on with my work, and succeeded in
turning out a creditable-looking parcel, which I carried down to the
Sark cutter.
Before I returned home I made two or three half-professional calls upon
patients whom my father had visited during my absence. Everywhere I had
to submit to numerous questions as to my adventures and pursuits during
my week's exile. At each place curiosity seemed to be quite satisfied
with the information that the young woman who had been hurt by a fall
from the cliffs was an Ollivier. With that freedom and familiarity which
exists among us, I was rallied for my evident absence and preoccupation
of mind, which were pleasantly ascribed to the well-known fact that a
large quantity of furniture for our new house had arrived from England
while I was away. These friends of mine could tell me the colors of the
curtains, and the patterns of the carpets, and the style of my chairs
and tables; so engrossingly interesting to all our circle was our
approaching marriage.
In the mean time, I had no leisure to study and ponder over the
advertisement, which by so odd a chance had come into my hands. That
must be reserved till I was alone at night.