That keen, benevolent glance of Dr. Senior's was like a gleam of
sunlight piercing through the deepest recesses of my troubled spirit. I
felt that I was no longer fighting my fight out alone. A friendly eye
was upon me; a friendly voice was cheering me on. "The dead shall look
me through and through," says Tennyson. For my part I should wish for a
good, wise man to look me through and through; feel the pulse of my soul
from time to time, when it was ailing, and detect what was there
contrary to reason and to right. Dr. Senior's hearty "God bless you!"
brought strength and blessing with it.
I went straight from Fulham to Bellringer Street. A healthy impulse to
fulfil all my duty, however difficult, was in its first fervid moment of
action. Nevertheless there was a subtle hope within me founded upon one
chance that was left--it was just possible that Foster might refuse to
be made the subject of an experiment; for an experiment it was.
I found him not yet out of bed. Mrs. Foster was busy at her task of
engrossing in the sitting-room--- a task she performed so well that I
could not believe but that she had been long accustomed to it. I
followed her to Foster's bedroom, a small close attic at the back, with
a cheerless view of chimneys and the roofs of houses. There was no means
of ventilation, except by opening a window near the head of the bed,
when the draught of cold air would blow full upon him. He looked
exceedingly worn and wan. The doubt crossed me, whether the disease had
not made more progress than we supposed. His face fell as he saw the
expression upon mine.
"Worse, eh?" he said; "don't say I am worse."
I sat down beside him, and told him what I believed to be his chance of
life; not concealing from him that I proposed to try, if he gave his
consent, a mode of treatment which had never been practised before. His
eye, keen and sharp as that of a lynx, seemed to read my thoughts as Dr.
Senior's had done.
"Martin Dobrée," he said, in a voice so different from his ordinary
caustic tone that it almost startled me, "I can trust you. I put myself
with implicit confidence into your hands."
The last chance--dare I say the last hope?--was gone. I stood pledged on
my honor as a physician, to employ this discovery, which had been laid
open to me by my mother's fatal illness, for the benefit of the man
whose life was most harmful to Olivia and myself. I felt suffocated,
stifled. I opened the window for a minute or two, and leaned through it
to catch the fresh breath of the outer air.
"I must tell you," I said, when I drew my head in again, "that you must
not expect to regain your health and strength so completely as to be
able to return to your old dissipations. You must make up your mind to
lead a regular, quiet, abstemious life, avoiding all excitement. Nine
months out of the twelve at least, if not the whole year, you must spend
in the country for the sake of fresh air. A life in town would kill you
in six months. But if you are careful of yourself you may live to sixty
or seventy."
"Life at any price!" he answered, in his old accents, "yet you put it in
a dreary light before me. It hardly seems worth while to buy such an
existence, especially with that wife of mine downstairs, who cannot
endure the country, and is only a companion for a town-life. Now, if it
had been Olivia--you could imagine life in the country endurable with
Olivia?"
What could I answer to such a question, which ran through me like an
electric shock? A brilliant phantasmagoria flashed across my brain--a
house in Guernsey with Olivia in it--sunshine--flowers--the singing of
birds--the music of the sea--the pure, exhilarating atmosphere. It had
vanished into a dead blank before I opened my mouth, though probably a
moment's silence had not intervened. Foster's lips were curled into a
mocking smile.
"There would be more chance for you now," I said, "if you could have
better air than this."
"How can I?" he asked.
"Be frank with me," I answered, "and tell me what your means are. It
would be worth your while to spend your last farthing upon this chance."
"Is it not enough to make a man mad," he said, "to know there are
thousands lying in the bank in his wife's name, and he cannot touch a
penny of it? It is life itself to me; yet I may die like a dog in this
hole for the want of it. My death will lie at Olivia's door, curse her!"
He fell back upon his pillows, with a groan as heavy and deep as ever
came from the heart of a wretch perishing from sheer want. I could not
choose but feel some pity for him; but this was an opportunity I must
not miss.
"It is of no use to curse her," I said; "come, Foster, let us talk over
this matter quietly and reasonably. If Olivia be alive, as I cannot help
hoping she is, your wisest course would be to come to some mutual
agreement, which-would release you both from your present difficulties;
for you must recollect she is as penniless as yourself. Let me speak to
you as if I were her brother. Of this one thing you may be quite
certain, she will never consent to return to you; and in that I will aid
her to the utmost of my power. But there is no reason why you should not
have a good share of the property, which she would gladly relinquish on
condition that you left her alone. Now just listen carefully. I think
there would be small difficulty, if we set about it, in proving that you
were guilty against her with your present wife; and in that case she
could claim a divorce absolutely, and her property would remain her own.
Your second marriage with the same person would set her free from you
altogether."
"You could prove nothing." he replied, fiercely, "and my second marriage
is covered by the documents I could produce."
"Which are forged," I said, calmly; "we will find out by whom. You are
in a net of your own making. But we do not wish to push this question to
a legal issue. Let us come to some arrangement. Olivia will consent to
any terms I agree to."
Unconsciously I was speaking as if I knew where Olivia was, and could
communicate with her when I chose. I was merely anticipating the time
when Tardif felt sure of hearing from her. Foster lay still, watching me
with his cold, keen eyes.
"If those letters are forged," he said, uneasily, "it is Olivia who has
forged them. But I must consult my lawyers. I will let you know the
result in a few days."
But the same evening I received a note, desiring me to go and see him
immediately. I was myself in a fever of impatience, and glad at the
prospect of any settlement "of this subject, in the hope of setting
Olivia free, as far as she could be free during his lifetime. He was
looking brighter and better than in the morning, and an odd smile played
now and then about his face as he talked to me, after having desired
Mrs. Foster to leave us alone together.
"Mark!" he said, "I have not the slightest reason to doubt Olivia's
death, except your own opinion to the contrary, which is founded upon
reasons of which I know nothing. But, acting on the supposition that she
may be still alive, I am quite willing to enter into negotiations with
her, I suppose it must be through you."
"It must," I answered, "and it cannot be at present. You will have to
wait for some months, perhaps, while I pursue my search for her. I do
not know where she is any more than you do."
A vivid gleam crossed his face at these words, but whether of
incredulity or satisfaction I could not tell.
"But suppose I die in the mean time?" he objected.
That objection was a fair and obvious one. His malady would not pause in
its insidious attack while I was seeking Olivia. I deliberated for a few
minutes, endeavoring to look at a scheme which presented itself to me
from every point of view.
"I do not know that I might not leave you in your present position," I
said at last; "it may be I am acting from an over-strained sense of
duty. But if you will give me a formal deed protecting her from
yourself, I am willing to advance the funds necessary to remove you to
purer air, and more open quarters than these. A deed of separation,
which both of you must sign, can be drawn up, and receive your
signature. There will be no doubt as to getting hers, when we find her.
But that may be some months hence, as I said. Still I will run the
risk."
"For her sake?" he said, with a sneer.
"For her sake, simply," I answered; "I will employ a lawyer to draw up
the deed, and as soon as you sign it I will advance the money you
require. My treatment of your disease I shall begin at once; that falls,
under my duty as your doctor; but I warn you that fresh air and freedom
from agitation are almost, if not positively, essential to its success.
The sooner you secure these for yourself, the better your chance."
Some further conversation passed between us, as to the stipulations to
be insisted upon, and the division of the yearly income from Olivia's
property, for I would not agree to her alienating any portion of it.
Foster wished to drive a hard bargain, still with that odd smile on his
face; and it was after much discussion that we came to an agreement.
I had the deed drawn up by a lawyer, who warned me that, if Foster sued
for a restitution of his rights, they would be enforced. But I hoped
that when Olivia was found she would have some evidence in her own
favor, which would deter him from carrying the case into court. The deed
was signed by Foster, and left in my charge till Olivia's signature
could be obtained.
As soon as the deed was secured, I had my patient removed from
Bellringer Street to some apartments in Fulham, near to Dr. Senior,
whose interest in the case was now almost equal to my own. Here, if I
could not visit him every day, Dr. Senior did, while his great
professional skill enabled him to detect symptoms which might have
escaped my less experienced eye. Never had any sufferer, under the
highest and wealthiest ranks, greater care and science expended upon him
than Richard Foster.
The progress of his recovery was slow, but it was sure. I felt that it
would be so from the first. Day by day I watched the pallid hue of
sickness upon his face changing into a more natural tone. I saw his
strength coming back by slight but steady degrees. The malady was forced
to retreat into its most hidden citadel, where it might lurk as a
prisoner, but not dwell as a destroyer, for many years to come, if
Foster would yield himself to the _régime_ of life we prescribed. But
the malady lingered there, ready to break out again openly, if its
dungeon-door were set ajar. I had given life to him, but it was his part
to hold it fast.
There was no triumph to me in this, as there would have been had my
patient been any one else. The cure aroused much interest among my
colleagues, and made my name more known. But what was that to me? As
long as this man lived, Olivia was doomed to a lonely and friendless
life. I tried to look into the future for her, and saw it stretch out
into long, dreary years. I wondered where she would find a home. Could I
persuade Johanna to receive her into her pleasant dwelling, which would
become so lonely to her when Captain Carey had moved into Julia's house
in St. Peter-Port? That was the best plan I could form.