THAT second telegram might well trouble Andrew Crawford, for it brought
the tidings that his father was lying speechless and helpless through
an attack of paralysis.
"Come if possible. You can surely do something for him."
This was part of the message which came from his mother, and it would
be hard indeed for Dr. Crawford to refuse compliance. Yet how could
he go? He might leave his other patients, but there was Ida to be
considered. He had but just succeeded in soothing her wounded feelings
and bringing back a smile to her fair face. How would she endure the
thought of his leaving her?
Dr. Crawford decided to take counsel with Jean Graham, knowing that
the faithful woman might be relied upon to care tenderly for her young
mistress during his own enforced absence.
"Eh, Master Andrew, but I'm sorry for ye," said Jean. "This news is a
sore trial to ye, but a far-away worse one to your mother. Ye'll be
wanting to set off without loss o' time. The sight of ye will be her
best comfort, to say nothing of what ye may be able to do for your
father, poor man!"
"I want to go with as little delay as possible, and but for my wife, I
would start by the mail train to-night," said the doctor.
"And why should the mistress hinder ye, sir? Has she said ye must not
leave her?"
"I have not told her about the message yet, Jean. I feel half afraid
to carry bad news to her, for she has already been more excited than I
liked to see her about another matter."
"But the mistress is doing finely now, and looking bonnier than ever.
At the fortnight's end, ye may surely feel content to leave her for a
day or two. Ye may trust me, Master Andrew; I'll watch over her and
the baby whilst ye're away, and if there's the least thing amiss with
either of your treasures, I can send a message to bring ye back."
"I know how good and faithful you are, Jean, but your mistress is so
young and inexperienced, and seems to want me at this time more than
ever. If there were only some kind, motherly lady in the neighbourhood,
who would come in and out during my absence, I should feel more easy
about my wife."
A little pang of jealousy passed through Jean Graham's breast as she
heard the doctor's words. Could he not trust Mrs. Crawford to her
alone? Would any outsider, lady though she might be, care for her
bonnie young mistress as she would do, to say nothing of the nurse,
who was older still, and chosen by the doctor himself as exceptionally
qualified?
But the character of Jean Graham was far too noble to permit of her
harbouring petty jealousies. The thought was scouted almost as soon as
it was conceived, and she began to consider who could be found to fill
the mother's place to Mrs. Crawford whilst the doctor was away.
"Doctor, there's Mrs. Prattely," said Jean, as the result of her
cogitations. "She's very fond of the mistress, and a real kind body
too, though she talks a bit fast and enough for two ordinary ladies.
Still there's no harm in her. Ye cannot say of Mrs. Prattely that she's
o' the sort that carry the poison of asps under their lips, for she
advises folk for their good, and says ill things of nobody. There isn't
a sting in a twelvemonth of her talk. And, eh, Master Andrew, if ye set
her over the mistress, she'll be as proud as a hen with one chick. She
has been a mother, too, though she has no child living."
Dr. Crawford was very sensible of Jean's large-heartedness in making
such a suggestion, for if there was a human being who could rouse a
spirit of antagonism in her breast, it was Mrs. Prattely. But with Jean
Graham the question was not, "Whom should I like to have coming in
and out?" but "Who would act a mother's part to the girl-mistress of
Steynes-Cote?"
Very gently did the doctor tell Ida of the bad news he had received,
but it was with a mixture of thankfulness and disappointment that he
saw how little she was stirred by the intelligence. He did not want to
see her beautiful face flushed with renewed excitement, but he did long
for sympathy with his own sorrow and anxiety on account of his parents.
It is true that Ida said, "I am very sorry about your father, Andrew,"
but the words had a matter-of-fact ring with them, and immediately
afterwards she spoke of some trifling matter, as if the trouble were
already dismissed from her mind.
"I am afraid I must leave you for a day or two, Ida darling," said the
doctor gently. "I am the eldest son within reach, and my professional
knowledge may be of some use to my poor father."
"Leave me! No, Andrew, you must not think of it; I cannot bear you to
go now. Why, my birthday even is not yet over, though I wish it were,
for it has brought nothing but trouble, and I had reckoned on its being
so bright."
Just what the doctor feared had come to pass. His wife had received the
tidings of his father's illness with calmness, but at the first mention
of his leaving her, she had broken down utterly, and was now sobbing on
his shoulder.
Ida might be indifferent about many things, but never as to the
presence or absence of her husband. The faults of this girl-wife were
the results of wrong training, for her nature was essentially sweet and
tender, and with her to love once was to be true always.
Dr. Crawford held her to his breast, and strove by quiet words to show
her how impossible it would be for him to disobey such a summons as
that of his mother.
"Think, darling," he said, "how terrible it would be for me in
after-life to look back upon this time, and to feel that I had refused
to go at my mother's call to what may be my father's death-bed. You are
doing so well that I have no fears for you, if you will only keep quiet
and avoid agitation. You will have our good Jean, and she has suggested
that I should ask Mrs. Prattely to act a mother's part, and spend as
much time as possible with you."
Mrs. Crawford was very fond of this kindly lady, and appeared to take
comfort from the very thought of having her at hand. But she would
not consent for the doctor to set out before the morning, and he
reluctantly yielded to his wife's wish, and remained with her, though
by doing this he lost time, the journey would be longer, and the early
morning train a comparatively slow one.
Whilst travelling northward, the doctor had ample time to think over
all that his father's illness might involve. The pastor might never be
able to mount the pulpit again, and if he were strong enough to resume
his duties, there would be constant danger of a second attack. Or he
might be spared, to be for years a helpless invalid, needing constant
care and nursing—he who had been so helpful, and made such a blessing
to his flock.
There were still two children at school, who would need years of
further training before they would be able partially to maintain
themselves, much less to assist their parents.
Hitherto, Dr. Crawford had been the staff on which his parents had
leaned, and found it never fail them. Their other children were willing
to help, but some were already married, and none had much to spare.
"I am still the rich man of the family," thought the doctor; "they will
look to me to supply all deficiencies. Thank God, I can do my part,
and He knows how willing I am to do all. But if my father's health
has utterly broken down, they must leave the Manse, and there will be
another home to find for them, and four to support entirely. I did not
trouble myself yesterday about Carnelly's neglect, but if the worst
come to the worst, Ida's little fortune would be of more importance
than I considered it to be a few hours ago. She must wonder that I have
never alluded to the income arising from it, and which Lord Carnelly
ought to have paid direct to herself, according to my request. My poor
Ida! I cannot bear to let her know the full extent of her brother's
neglect."
This was a mistake of the doctor's, kindly meant, but unfortunate in
its results, as everything but perfect confidence must always be where
husband and wife are concerned.
When Dr. Crawford stood by his father's bed, his worst fears were
confirmed. He could see that the pastor's earthly work was done.
To his mother's eager, pleading look, he replied, "I think he will
rally; most likely he will be spared for years." But he had not the
heart to add, "probably of helplessness."
Indeed, he took shame to himself for giving up hope so soon; he who
had so often striven to cheer others by telling them that none should
despair while life remained.
So Dr. Crawford strove to make the best of things, and to comfort his
mother and the two sorrowful-faced lads, whose looks of mute appeal
touched him deeply. They had profound faith in the skill of that
brother of whom they had heard so much and seen so little, and followed
the expression of his face as if it settled their future with unerring
certainty.
Two days passed, and brought no appreciable change in the patient, and
Dr. Crawford was beginning to think of returning to Steynes-Cote. On
the third, however, he was cheered by receiving a few pencilled lines
in his wife's handwriting.
"I have had a delightful letter from Lindsay," she wrote. "He expected
to reach home several days ago, but the yacht was delayed by contrary
winds. You will be as glad as I am to know that he did not neglect
me intentionally. He has sent me the loveliest opal and diamond
bracelet,—quite too handsome for country wear,—and Beatrice a pendant
to match. They say I shall find them useful when I pay them a visit
later on, and that I must take our baby with me, as they are so used to
a tribe of children that one more or less makes no difference. Beatrice
says that her present would have reached me sooner, but she waited for
Lindsay's return, in order that both articles might come together.
Lindsay says he is going to write to you about business matters, so all
will be made right. I am so glad, for I had felt terribly hurt at his
neglect. You need not be the least bit anxious about baby or me. I am
feeling quite well, and my wee darling is lovelier than ever. Do not
scold me for writing. It is better than medicine for me to send you
a few lines with my own hand, and I really take as much rest as you
could wish if you were here. Mrs. Prattely is staying at Steynes-Cote
altogether, her husband being away from home at present. She watches
over me with the most jealous care, and makes me feel as if I had a
mother. You see that you may be quite easy about me, dear Andrew; so if
you can be a comfort to your mother, by all means remain with her until
your Shelverton patients need you here."
Then there were loving, sympathetic messages to Dr. Crawford's mother
and the family, and lastly a postscript in which Ida wrote:
"I do think the coming of our dear baby will be the greatest possible
blessing to Mrs. Prattely, who seems positively enriched, as if Doris
were as much her property as ours. She is the kindest creature, and I
am very fortunate in having such a good motherly neighbour. You will
hardly believe it, Andrew dear, but she has actually talked less than
other people usually do ever since she came to look after me."
Dr. Crawford read this postscript, he could not help laughing. For good
Mrs. Prattely to become such a quiet companion manifested an amount of
self-devotion which deserved to be appreciated. The whole letter, so
far as it concerned those at home, was very cheering to the doctor,
and he was so rejoiced to have it that he sank the professional man in
the husband, and did not scold Ida for writing in those early days of
motherhood. He was sure, from the tone of the letter, that it would
have done her more harm to stay her hand than to allow her to write.
Then, again, he was pleased at the consideration she manifested for
his mother, and reproached himself for having thought her indifferent.
Ida had really seen so little of his parents that they were almost
strangers, and it was perhaps hardly to be expected that she could
feel his father's illness very deeply, especially as she could not yet
understand all that it might involve.
The doctor read that paragraph in the letter which referred to the
costly presents sent by Lord and Lady Carnally, and the very thought of
them made him feel angry.
"Ida writes with almost childish pleasure about these baubles," said
Dr. Crawford to himself. "She does not value them as ornaments, but
because she regards them as tokens of affection from her brother and
his wife. I doubt very much whether they have even been paid for,
though no doubt they will cost me a sufficiently high price."
This conjecture of the doctor's came close to the truth.
Lord Carnelly had returned home in a rather desponding frame of mind,
and not in the least regretting that those contrary winds had rendered
postal communication with Dr. Crawford impossible. He would have been
thankful to defer it indefinitely, for to him Ida's birthday was the
"evil day," the dawn of which he so dreaded.
Lady Carnelly watched her husband as he opened and read one after
another the pile of communications which had arrived during his
absence. They were not of a character calculated to raise his spirits,
and, as he laid down the last, he said to his wife, "Beatrice, we
cannot go on spending at our present rate. Twice our income, would not
suffice to meet it, to say nothing of money now owing; and I see you
have purchased two costly articles of jewellery within the last few
days, though I positively forbade you buying anything of the kind."
"My dear Lindsay, they are not for my own wearing; I merely chose them
on your behalf to save time, and I hope you will think them suitable.
We could not possibly allow your sister's twenty-first birthday to pass
without some such recognition."
"She will be expecting its recognition after a different fashion,"
replied Lord Carnelly; "or Crawford will, which is the same thing. Has
he written lately?"
"He wrote soon after you left home, to announce the arrival of his
first-born, a girl, and this telegram came on his wife's birthday. It
seems your silence was too great a trial for Ida's sisterly affection
to endure." And Lady Carnelly laughed in a mocking way.
She touched a tender spot when she did this, for Lord Carnelly loved
his one sister, and was now more weighed down by the knowledge that he
had not acted rightly by her than by all the other worldly anxieties
which were pressing upon him. He did not tell his wife how much she
pained him by her mockery, but asked what reply she had sent to the
telegram.
"Oh, Morris answered it. I told him not to allude to my whereabouts in
any way, only just to tell Dr. Crawford that you were yachting, and
your return uncertain. That would relieve Ida's sisterly anxiety, you
know." And again Lady Carnelly laughed.
"She would be troubled, Beatrice. Ida is very tender-hearted, and cares
more for me than I deserve."
"And Dr. Crawford cares about the money, though he always professed to
be so disinterested. Of course it was that he wanted to hear about, but
he made Ida's anxiety the excuse for telegraphing."
"My dear, you wrong Crawford; he has never written one word to me about
Ida's money. We were friends, and he has trusted me implicitly, and I
owe him to-day the full five thousand pounds, with a year's interest
in addition. What I am to do, I know not. I never invested the money
separately from my own, and at this moment, I could not command five
hundred pounds to save my life. What shall I do?"
"In the first place, send a very penitent and affectionate letter, and
I will enclose a note along with the bracelet and pendant. Ida is,
after all, a bit of a simpleton, and will be so charmed with these
that she will forget the greater matter. You had better look at the
articles, Lindsay, and tell me whether they do credit."
Lord Carnelly scarcely glanced at the jewels, but replied, "I never
doubt your good taste, Beatrice, though I do feel ashamed to send these
things."
"Why? Are they not good enough?" asked Lady Carnelly.
"You know they are good enough for any one, but it seems so hateful to
make presents at the cost of a jeweller. I know not when they will be
paid for. However, I suppose the things must go, and I will tell Ida
that Crawford will hear from me on business matters in a day or two."
These were the circumstances attending the despatch of those costly
articles on which Mrs. Crawford had looked with glad eyes, as the
outcome of an only brother's love.
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