MRS. RAYBURN'S LETTER.
FROM the time of Betty Giles' death, Fred lived altogether with the
Wentworths, and they eventually became so fond of him that he was like
a son to them both. He studied under Dr. Wentworth, at first only
with a view to becoming his assistant in the dispensary, but after a
time with the intention of becoming a doctor himself. Mr. Hewson, the
curate, who had been a very distinguished man in college, gave him
lessons in various branches of learning; in fact, Dr. Wentworth gave
him every advantage that he would have given to his own son had he
lived.
Of course, as he grew up, the preparations for his profession took him
away frequently from what was now his home, and no one missed him more
than did Mrs. Wentworth, who had at one time quite shrunk from the idea
of having him to live with her.
With his studies and all concerning his profession we have nothing to
do, except with one event which took place in London.
Fred was now engaged in what is called "walking the hospitals" in
London, and was a very ardent and industrious student. One day, he
heard that there was to be a wonderful operation performed at a certain
hospital by one of the first surgeons of the day, and he was fortunate
enough to get leave to be present, though it was not one of the
hospitals he generally attended. When the affair was over, one of the
junior doctors, who knew him, took him through the wards.
In one of these, there was a woman who had come up from the country to
take a place as cook in an hotel, but had fallen ill, and been sent to
this hospital. Her name was Rayburn, and she came from Hemsborough.
The arrangements of this hospital were supposed to be almost perfect,
and the system of ventilation was quite new. Young Dr. Vernon was
explaining it to Fred, and consequently their progress through the ward
was slow. And if they had looked at the old woman in the corner of the
room, they would have seen that for some reason she was frightened—or,
at least, greatly excited—at the appearance of Fred Giles.
Fred, however, saw nothing of this; neither did Dr. Vernon; but when
the latter was going his rounds in the evening, No. 24 in the first
ward was found in a rather excited state.
"She's been quite odd all the afternoon, Dr. Vernon," said the nurse,
"and she was going on nicely before."
"I'm not worse," the woman said, "but I want to know, doctor, who was
the tall young man that went through the ward with you this morning?"
"A dark-haired fellow? His name is Giles, and he's the son—adopted
son, I believe—of a Dr. Giles—no, his name is not Giles—but a doctor
somewhere in the country. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I have no reason, sir; only I'm a curious woman—always was. Thank
you, sir."
"Did you think you knew him?"
"Oh no; but he's like some one I knew once. I'm sleepy now—I'm much
better."
"Well, good night. Nurse, I don't think she's so well. Watch her
carefully."
"Is the young man going to be a doctor, Dr. Vernon?" inquired the
patient, suddenly.
"Yes, and a very promising student he is."
"Has he—has he—a brother?" she asked in a low voice.
"I don't know. What interests you so much in this particular student,
may I ask?"
She laughed in an odd, constrained manner, and replied—
"Indeed, sir, you may ask much easier than I can answer. I have no
reason at all."
"Except that he is like some one you knew?"
"Just so, sir."
Mr. Vernon went away, this being the last bed he had to visit. Next
day, the patient was very much worse, and it was some days before she
again began to mend. When she was really recovering, Dr. Vernon spoke
to her about Fred Giles, but she declared that she remembered nothing
about him, and that she must have been dreaming. And in a day or two
more, she left the hospital.
Her history since the loss of the children can be told in a few words.
She was a long time under medical care, her mind not having recovered
completely from the effects of the attack she had at Kelmersdale. When
at last she was herself again, she went to Hemsborough, and found an
asylum with her sister-in-law. She heard from Lord Beaucourt of her
stepson's visit to England, and she guessed that he had discovered
that she had not been kind to the children. So she never wrote to him,
though in her misery—for she was a very miserable woman—she would
have given much to beg for his and Janet's forgiveness. She had lived
principally with her sister-in-law, who was not unkind; but sometimes
she quarrelled with her nieces, and then she would leave them and take
a place somewhere. But her health and her nerves were shattered, and
she always broke down before long, and returned to Hemsborough. She did
so now, when she left the hospital.
When she was again comfortably settled in her sister-in-law's house,
she wrote the following letter to Janet:
"MY DEAR JANET,
"If this ever comes to your hand, try to think less bad of me
than I deserve of you. I have suffered for my unkindness, Heaven knows.
I have been a wretched woman. I hope you and Fred have not been as
wretched as I am, but I dare not think of what you must have felt.
"I would not venture to write now but for one thing. I have always
felt that there was a chance that the children were not drowned in the
Kelmer. And I think I saw one of them, a tall, handsome young man,
studying to be a doctor. I could not think any one could be so like
your husband but little Fred, who was always so like him. But he calls
himself Frederick Giles, and when I was well and left the hospital, I
found out where he was lodging, and made what inquiry I could. He comes
from a place near Cirencester, called Edgestone, and he had gone home.
I could do no more, having no money but what would take me home to my
sister's house in Hemsborough. I am weak and ill, more in mind than in
body, and so the best thing I can do is to tell you this, and if you
tell me what to do, I will do it. But I know that you and Fred will
come home to see for yourselves, if you can afford it.
"I am not long for this world. I suppose there is no use in asking
you two to forgive me; I cannot forgive myself. I am a wretched woman,
and have no hope. But if you find the boys, perhaps you might forgive
me. Fred Giles is the adopted son of a doctor in Edgestone. That is all
I know.
"LYDIA RAYBURN."
In the years that had passed since the loss of the boys, Fred Rayburn
had quite lived down the prejudice against him which had prevented
Gilbert Gray from making him the first manager of the Royal Victoria
Hotel in Gattigo. But when the first manager gave up the situation,
Fred was able to take it; and the hotel had been most successful under
him and Janet, and had made both Gilbert Gray and Fred Rayburn rich and
prosperous men. The Rayburns now lived in a pretty house two or three
miles from Old Man's Ferry Farm, where Janet and her daughter had no
more arduous work to do than to keep house and see after their garden.
Fred drove into Gattigo every day, and the hotel still flourished
without a rival.
The important letter was addressed to Old Man's Ferry Farm, and when it
arrived there, Gilbert and his wife, always glad to visit the Rayburns,
ordered their well-appointed phaeton, with its two pretty ponies, and
inquired if any of the young people would like to fill the back seat.
Several of the young people wanted to go, for cousin Lily was a general
favourite; and while the boys were arguing about their claims to the
seat, the two elder girls slipped quietly away to the stable and came
round to the door in possession of the places. Gil and Emile and the
rest were naturally very indignant, but the girls only smiled serenely,
and were soon bowling smoothly along the well-made road, very different
from the rough track by which Janet reached the farm on her first
arrival.
"The Gables," as the Rayburns called their home, certainly deserved its
name. It had been added to by many hands, and in many styles, and how
many gables there were I should be afraid to conjecture. Janet and her
daughter had made a pretty garden close to the house; to be sure, it
was only a corner of a field well fenced with high palisades and wire
netting, but it was full of flowers in summer, and afforded as much
pleasure to its owners as any walled garden in the dear "old country."
Lily and her mother were at work among their flowers when the Grays
drove up. Out ran Lily, followed by Janet, who, however, remembered to
shut the gate.
"You've come to stay all day, haven't you?" cried Lily, joyously.
She was a fair, bright-haired lassie, very like her mother and poor
little Frank.
"You must stay," she went on, "for father's in Gattigo, and won't be
home until dinner-time."
"Well, we can stay, Miss Apple-cheeks," said her uncle. "Janet, we've
brought you a letter. Who on earth can be so behind the times as to
write to you still at the Ferry Farm?"
"I don't know, but I'm glad of anything that brings you here. You and
Aimée don't take a holiday half often enough. Lily, call Karl to take
the ponies."
Karl having been found, the others all went into the house and had some
luncheon, after which Janet asked for her letter.
"I declare I had forgotten it!" said Gilbert. "Here it is."
"The Hemsborough postmark!" Janet said. "I don't know the hand. Who can
it be from? Oh, Gilbert, it is from Mrs. Rayburn!"
"Fred's mother—stepmother, I mean?"
They all crowded round Janet. Janet gave the letter to her brother.
"Somehow I can't see it," she said. "Read it aloud, Gilbert."
Which Gilbert did; and then they all looked at each other, not knowing
what to think.
Before any one spoke, a man appeared at the window, which opened like a
door, and, with a cry of "Gilbert and Aimée here! How lucky that I got
off so early!" He pushed the window wide and came in.
It was our old friend Fred Rayburn, and a very fine-looking man he had
become. And if ever a man had cause to give thanks for a good wife,
Fred Rayburn was that man. For, by the blessing of God, Janet's love
for him, and Janet's faith in him in spite of his follies, had made a
man of him.
"Fred, Fred!" cried Janet. "Our boys—she has seen Fred—Mrs.
Rayburn—here is her letter; read it, and tell me may I believe it?"
Fred took the letter and read it. He looked at Janet and began to
speak, but turned back to the letter and read it again.
"Janet, when I was in England, Mrs. Rayburn was not quite in her right
mind. It may be so still."
"Do you think the letter shows that she is out of her mind?" Janet
said. "No, Fred, I don't think so. She says she is weak in mind and
body, and I suppose she was unable to make a thorough inquiry, but we
must make it."
"Certainly—of that, there can be no doubt. But do not build too much
upon it, Janet, my darling; I fear it was but too plain that our boys
were lost in the Kelmer."
"I have never been able to believe it; and, you see, Mrs. Rayburn has
felt the same. But what do you think of doing, Fred?"
"I shall go to England as soon as I can be ready, and go direct to
this place, Edgestone, near Cirencester. The truth must be easily
ascertained on the spot. My fear is that her conscience, poor soul,
being so burthened, she was startled by an accidental likeness—and the
name being Frederick, and the young man an adopted son."
"Yes," Gilbert Gray said, "and if the boys were alive all this time,
why did they never let you know? Frank was seven years old; he surely
could have told his name, and where you had lived, and then you would
have heard. Take my advice, Rayburn, and write to this young Giles."
"No, no—we must go," Janet said. "Fred, I am not often unreasonable,
but I cannot rest till we are on our way home. Give me this
satisfaction, let us go, and find out the truth together. We will take
Lily too. Fred, you will take us?"
"I will indeed, Janet. I wish you could feel how unlikely it is that
there is anything in what this wretched woman says, but I can quite
understand your longing to see for yourself. I have a few arrangements
to make, of course. Gilbert, you and Emile will see after the hotel, I
am sure."
"I will do anything you like; but do remember how ill Janet was on the
voyage out. Even if you must go, rather than write—"
"No, no!" said Aimée. "They must go. It is but a poor little straw of a
hope, yet I feel that Janet must go. Only, dear, why take Lily? Leave
her with me."
"Ah, no! I cannot bear to part with her, Aimée. I never parted with my
boys but that once. Lily must come too."
Janet was ill enough on the voyage, but by no means as ill as she had
been when coming out. Fortunately, Lily proved a good sailor, and was
able to take care of her after the first day or so.
They had a good passage, and, on reaching England, at once went on to
Cirencester, where Janet was so worn out that Fred would not hear of
going on to Edgestone that evening.
Next day, she still seemed so weak that Fred proposed to go alone to
Edgestone, as she seemed unfit for any exertion. But for once Janet was
obstinate; she would go.
Edgestone was about fifteen miles from Cirencester, and no railways
went near it. Fred Rayburn hired a wagonette, and at about twelve
o'clock they set out.
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