I was neither in good spirits nor in good temper during the next few
days. My mother and Julia appeared astonished at this, for I was not
ordinarily as touchy and fractious as I showed myself immediately after
my sojourn in Sark.
I was ashamed of it myself. The new house, which occupied their time and
thoughts so agreeably, worried me as it had not done before. I made
every possible excuse not to be sent to it, or taken to it, several
times a day.
The discussions over Julia's wedding-dress also, which had by no means
been decided upon on Saturday afternoon, began to bore me beyond words.
Whenever I could, I made my patients a pretext for getting away from
them.
One of them, a cousin of my mother--as I have said, we were all cousins
of one degree or another--Captain Carey, met me on the quay, a day or
two after my return. He had been a commander in the Royal Navy, and,
after cruising about in all manner of unhealthy latitudes, had returned
to his native island for the recovery of his health. He and his sister
lived together in a very pleasant house of their own, in the Vale, about
two miles from St. Peter-Port.
He looked yellow enough to be on the verge of an attack of jaundice when
he came across me.
"Hallo, Martin!" he cried, "I am delighted to see you, my boy. I've been
a little out of sorts lately; but I would not let Johanna send for your
father. He does very well to go dawdling after women, and playing with
their pulses, but I don't want him dawdling after me. Tell me what you
have to say about me, my lad."
He went on to tell me his symptoms, while a sudden idea struck me almost
like a flash of genius.
I am nothing of a genius; but at that time new thoughts came into my
mind with wonderful rapidity. It was positively necessary that I should
run over to Sark this week--I had given my word to Miss Ollivier that I
would do so--but I dared not mention such a project at home. My mother
and Julia would be up in arms at the first syllable I uttered.
What if I could do two patients good at one stroke, kill two birds with
one stone? Captain Carey had a pretty little yacht lying idle in St.
Sampson's Harbor, and a day's cruising would do him all the good in the
world. Why should he not carry me over to Sark, when I could visit my
other patient, and nobody be made miserable by the trip?
"I will make you up some of your old medicine," I said, "but I strongly
recommend you to have a day out on the water; seven or eight hours at
any rate. If the weather keeps as fine as it is now, it will do you a
world of good."
"It is so dreary alone," he objected, "and Johanna would not care to go
out at this season, I know."
"If I could manage it," I said, deliberating, "I should be glad to have
a day with you."
"Ah! if you could do that!" he replied, eagerly.
"I'll see about it," I said. "Should you mind where you sailed to?"
"Not at all, not at all, my boy," he answered, "so that I get your
company. You shall be skipper, or helmsman, or both, if you like."
"Well, then," I replied, "you might take me over to the Havre Gosselin,
to see how my patient's broken arm is going on. It's a bore there being
no resident medical man there at this moment. The accident last autumn
was a great loss to the island."
"Ah! poor fellow!" said Captain Carey, "he was a sad loss to them. But
I'll take you over with pleasure, Martin; any day you fix upon."
"Get the yacht ship-shape, then," I said; "I think I can manage it on
Thursday."
I did not say at home whither I was bound on Thursday. I informed them
merely that Captain Carey and I were going out in his yacht for a few
hours. This was simply to prevent them from worrying themselves.
It was as delicious a spring morning as ever I remember. As I rode along
the flat shore between St. Peter-Port and St. Sampson's, the fresh air
from the sea played about my face, as if to drive dull care away, and
make me as buoyant and debonair as itself. The little waves were
glittering and dancing in the sunshine, and chiming with the merry
carols of the larks, outsinging one another in the blue sky overhead.
The numerous wind-mills, like children's toys, which were pumping water
out of the stone-quarries, whirled and spun busily in the brisk breeze.
Every person I met saluted me with a blithe and cheery greeting. My dull
spirits had been blown far away before I set foot on the deck of Captain
Carey's little yacht.
The run over was all that we could wish. The cockle-shell of a boat,
belonging to the yacht, bore me to the foot of the ladder hanging down
the rock at Havre Gosselin. A very few minutes took me to the top of the
cliff, and there lay the little thatched, nest-like home of my patient.
I hastened forward eagerly.
The place seemed very solitary and deserted; and a sudden fear came
across me. Was it possible that she should be dead? It was possible. I
had left her six days ago only just over a terrible crisis. There might
have been a relapse, a failure of vital force. I might be come to find
those shining eyes hid beneath their lids forever, and the pale,
suffering face motionless in death.
Certainly the rhythmic motion of my heart was disturbed. I felt it
contract painfully, and its beating suspended for a moment or two. The
farmstead was intensely quiet, with the ominous stillness of death. All
the windows were shrouded with their check curtains. There was no
clatter of Suzanne's wooden clogs about the fold or the kitchen. If it
had been Sunday, this supernatural silence would have been easily
accounted for; but it was Thursday. I scarcely dared go on and learn the
cause of it.
All silent still as I crossed the stony causeway of the yard. Not a face
looked out from door or window. Mam'zelle's casement stood a little way
open, and the breeze played with the curtains, fluttering them like
banners in a procession. I dared not try to look in. The house-door was
ajar, and I approached it cautiously. "Thank God!" I cried within myself
as I gazed eagerly into the cottage.
She was lying there upon the fern-bed, half asleep, her head fallen back
upon the pillow, and the book she had been reading dropped from her
hand. Her dress was of some coarse, dark-green stuff, which made a
charming contrast to her delicate face and bright hair. The whole
interior of the cottage formed a picture. The old furniture of oak,
almost black with age, the neutral tints of the wall and ceiling, and
the deep tone of her green dress, threw out into strong relief the
graceful, shining head, and pale face.
I suppose she became subtly conscious, as women always are, that
somebody's eyes were fixed upon her, for she awoke fully, and looked up
as I lingered on the door-sill.
"O Dr. Martin!" she cried, "I am so glad!"
She looked pleased enough to be upon the point of trying to raise
herself up in order to welcome me, but I interposed quickly. It was more
difficult than I had expected to assume a grave, professional tone, but
by an effort I did so. I bade her lie still, and took a chair at some
little distance.
"Tardif is gone out fishing," she said, "and his mother is gone away
too, to a christening-feast somewhere; but Mrs. Renouf is to be here in
an hour or two. I told them I could manage very well as long as that."
"They ought not to have left you alone," I replied.
"And I shall not be left alone," she said, smiling, "for you are come,
you see. I am rather glad they are away; for I wanted to tell you how
much I felt your goodness to me all through that dreadful week. You are
the first doctor I ever had about me, the very first. Perhaps you
thought I did not know what care you were taking of me; but, somehow or
other, I knew every thing. My mind did not quite go. You were very, very
good to me."
"Never mind that," I said; "I am come to see how my work is going on.
How is the arm, first of all?"
I almost wished that Mother Renouf or Suzanne Tardif had been at hand.
But Miss Ollivier seemed perfectly composed, as much so as a child. She
looked like one with her cropped head of hair, and frank, open face. My
own momentary embarrassment passed away. The arm was going on all right,
and so was Mother Renouf's charge, the sprained ankle.
"We must take care you are not lame," I said, while I was feeling
carefully the complicated joint of her ankle.
"Lame!" she repeated, in an alarmed voice, "is there any fear of that?"
"Not much," I answered, "but we must be careful, mam'zelle. You must
promise me not to set your foot on the ground, or in any way rest your
weight upon it, till I give you leave."
"That means that you will have to come to see me again," she said; "is
it not very difficult to come over from Guernsey?"
"Not at all," I answered, "it is quite a treat to me."
Her face grew very grave, as if she was thinking of some unpleasant
topic. She looked at me earnestly and questioningly.
"May I speak to you with great plainness, Dr. Martin?" she asked.
"Speak precisely what is in your mind at this moment," I replied.
"You are very, very good to me," she said, holding out her hand to me,
"but I do not want you to come more often than is quite necessary,
because I am very poor. If I were rich," she went on hurriedly, "I
should like you to come every day--it is so pleasant--but I can never
pay you sufficiently for that long week you were here. So please do not
visit me oftener than is quite necessary."
My face felt hot, but I scarcely knew what to say. I bungled out an
answer:
"I would not take any money from you, and I shall come to see you as
often as I can."
I bound up her little foot again without another word, and then sat
down, pushing my chair farther from her.
"You are not offended with me, Dr. Martin?" she asked, in a pleading
tone.
"No," I answered; "but you are mistaken in supposing that a medical man
has no love for his profession apart from its profits. To see that your
arm gets properly well is part of my duty, and I shall fulfil it without
any thought of whether I shall get paid for it or no."
"Now," she said, "I must let you know how poor I am. Will you please to
fetch me my box out of my room?"
I was only too glad to obey her. This seemed to be an opening to a
complete confidence between us. Now I came to think of it, Fortune had
favored me in thus throwing us together alone.
I lifted the small, light box very easily--there could not be many
treasures in it--and carried it back to her. She took a key out of her
pocket and unlocked it with some difficulty, but she could not raise the
lid without my help. I took care not to offer any assistance until she
asked it.
Yes, there were very few possessions in that light trunk, but the first
glance showed me a blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat. I
lifted them out for her, and after them a pair of velvet slippers,
soiled, as if they had been through muddy roads. I did not utter a
remark. Beneath these lay a handsome watch and chain, a fine diamond
ring, and five sovereigns lying loose in the box.
"That is all the money I have in the world," she said, sadly.
I laid the five sovereigns in her small, white hand, and she turned them
over, one after another, with a pitiful look on her face. I felt foolish
enough to cry over them myself.
"Dr. Martin," was her unexpected question after a long pause, "do you
know what became of my hair?"
"Why?" I asked, looking at her fingers running through the short curls
we had left her.
"Because that ought to be sold for something," she said. "I am almost
glad you had it cut off. My hair-dresser told me once he would give five
guineas for a head of hair like mine, it was so long and the color was
uncommon. Five guineas would not be half enough to pay you though, I
know."
She spoke so simply and quietly, that I did not attempt to remonstrate
with her about her anxiety to pay me.
"Tardif has it," I said; "but of course he will give it you back again.
Shall I sell it for you, mam'zelle?"
"Oh, that is just what I could not ask you!" she exclaimed. "You see
there is no one to buy it here, and I hope it may be a long time before
I go away. I don't know, though; that depends upon whether I can dispose
of my things. There is my seal-skin, it cost twenty-five guineas last
year, and it ought to be worth something. And my watch--see what a nice
one it is. I should like to sell them all, every one. Then I could stay
here as long as the money lasted."
"How much do you pay here?" I inquired, for she had taken me so far into
counsel that I felt justified in asking that question.
"A pound a week," she answered.
"A pound a week!" I repeated, in amazement. "Does Tardif know that?"
"I don't think he does," she said. "When I had been here a week I gave
Mrs. Tardif a sovereign, thinking perhaps she would give me a little out
of it. I am not used to being poor, and I did not know how much I ought
to pay. But she kept it all, and came to me every week for more. Was it
too much to pay?"
"Too much!" I said. "You should have spoken to Tardif about it, my poor
child."
"I could not talk to Tardif about his mother," she answered. "Besides,
it would not have been too much if I had only had plenty. But it has
made me so anxious. I did not know whatever I should do when it was all
gone. I do not know now."
Here was a capital opening for a question about her friends.
"You will be compelled to communicate with your family," I said. "You
have told me how poor you are; cannot you trust me about your friends?"
"I have no friends," she answered, sorrowfully. "If I had any, do you
suppose I should be here?"
"I am one," I said, "and Tardif is another."
"Ah, new friends," she replied; "but I mean real old friends who have
known you all your life, like your mother, Dr. Martin, or your cousin
Julia. I want somebody to go to who knows all about me, and say to them,
after telling them every thing, keeping nothing back at all, 'Have I
done right? What else ought I to have done?' No new friend could answer
questions like those."
Was there any reason I could bring forward to increase her confidence in
me? I thought there was, and her friendlessness and helplessness touched
me to the core of my heart. Yet it was with an indefinable reluctance
that I brought forward my argument.
"Miss Ollivier," I said, "I have no claim of old acquaintance or
friendship, yet it is possible I might answer those questions, if you
could prevail upon yourself to tell me the circumstances of your former
life. In a few weeks I shall be in a position to show you more
friendship than I can do now. I shall have a home of my own, and a wife
who will be your friend more fittingly, perhaps, than myself."
"I knew it," she answered, half shyly. "Tardif told me you were going to
marry your cousin Julia."
Just then we heard the fold-yard gate swing to behind some one who was
coming to the house.