THE DOCTOR'S VERDICT.
In her terrible anger and despair Charlotte had almost forgotten Uncle
Jasper; but when she came down to breakfast the following morning and
saw him there, for he had come to Prince's Gate early, and was standing
with her father on the hearthrug, she suddenly remembered that he too
must have been guilty; nay, worse, her father had never tried to deceive
her, and Uncle Jasper had. She remembered the lame story he had told
her about Mrs. Home; how fully she had believed that story, and how it
had comforted her heart at the time! Now she saw clearly its many flaws,
and wondered at her own blindness. Charlotte had always been considered
an open creature--one so frank, so ingenuous, that her secrets, had she
ever tried to have any, might be read like an open book; but last night
she had learned to dissemble. She was glad when she entered the cheerful
breakfast-room to find that she was able to put her hardly learned
lesson in practice. Knowing what she did, she could yet go up and kiss
her father, and allow her uncle to put his lips to her cheek. She
certainly looked badly, but that was accounted for by the headache which
she confessed still troubled her. She sat down opposite the tea-urn, and
breakfast was got through in such a manner that Mr. Harman noticed
nothing particular to be wrong. He always drove to the City now in his
own private carriage, and after he had gone Charlotte turned to Jasper.
"Uncle Jasper," she said, "you have deceived me."
"Good heavens! how, Charlotte?" said the old uncle.
"My father is _very_ ill. You have given me to understand that there was
nothing of serious consequence the matter with him."
Uncle Jasper heaved a slight but still audible sigh of relief. Was this
all? These fears he might even yet quiet.
"I have not deceived you, Charlotte," he said, "for I do not believe
your father to be seriously ill."
He fixed his keen gray eyes on her face as he spoke. She returned his
gaze without shrinking.
"Still you do think him ill?" she said.
"Well, any one to look at him must admit that he is not what he was."
"Just so, Uncle Jasper. So you have told me very many times, when you
have feared my troubling him on certain matters. Now it has come to me
from another source that he is very ill. My eyes have been opened, and I
see the fact myself. I wish to learn the simple and exact truth. I wish
to see the doctor he has consulted."
"How do you know he has consulted any?"
"Has he?"
Uncle Jasper was silent for a moment. He felt in a difficulty. Did
Charlotte know the worst, she might postpone her marriage, the last
thing to be desired just now; and yet where had she got her information?
It was awkward enough, though he felt a certain sense of relief in thus
accounting for the change in her appearance since yesterday morning. He
got up and approached her side softly.
"My dear, I do own that your father is ill. I own, too, that I have, by
his most express wish, made as light of the matter to you as I could.
The fact is, Charlotte, he is anxious, very anxious, about himself. He
thinks himself much worse than I believe him to be; but his strongest
desire is, that now, on the eve of your marriage, you should not be
alarmed on his account. I firmly believe you have no cause for any
special fear. Ought you not to respect his wishes, and rest satisfied
without seeking to know more than he and I tell you? I will swear,
Charlotte, if that is any consolation to you, that I am not immediately
anxious about your father."
"You need not swear, Uncle Jasper. Your not being anxious does not
prevent my being so. I am determined to find out the exact truth. If he
thinks himself very ill he has, of course, consulted some medical man.
If you will not tell me his name I will myself ask my father to do so
to-night."
"By so doing you will shock him, and the doctor does not wish him to be
shocked."
"Just so, Uncle Jasper, and you can spare him that by telling me what
you know."
"My dear niece, if you _will_ have it?"
"I certainly am quite resolved, uncle."
"Well, well, you approach this subject at your peril. If you _must_ see
the doctor you must. Wilful woman over again. Would you like me to go
with you?"
"No, thank you; I prefer to go alone. What is the doctor's name?"
"Sir George Anderson, of B---- Street."
"I will go to him at once," said Charlotte.
She left the room instantly, though she heard her uncle calling her
back. Yes, she would go to Sir George at once. She pulled out her watch,
ran upstairs, put on some out-door dress, and in ten minutes from the
time she had learned the name of the great physician was in a hansom
driving to his house. This rapid action was a relief to her. Presently
she arrived at her destination. Yes, the doctor was at home. He was
engaged for the present with another patient, but if Charlotte liked to
wait he would see her in her turn. Certainly she would wait. She gave
her card to the man who admitted her, and was shown into a room, very
dark and dismal, where three or four patients were already enduring a
time of suspense waiting for their interviews. Charlotte, knowing
nothing of illness, knew, if possible, still less of doctors' rooms. A
sense of added depression came over her as she seated herself on the
nearest chair, and glanced, from the weary and suffering faces of those
who waited anxiously for their doom, to the periodicals and newspapers
piled on the table. A gentleman seated not far off handed her the last
number of the _Illustrated London News_. She took it, turning the pages
mechanically. To her dying day she never got over the dislike to that
special paper which that half hour created.
One by one the patients' names were called by the grave footman as he
came to summon them. One by one they went away, and at last, at last,
Charlotte's turn came. She had entered into conversation with a little
girl of about sixteen, who appeared to be in consumption, and the little
girl had praised the great physician in such terms that Charlotte felt
more than ever that against his opinion there could be no appeal. And
now at last she was in the great man's presence, and, healthy girl that
she was, her heart beat so loud, and her face grew so white, that the
practised eyes of the doctor might have been pardoned for mistaking her
for a _bona-fide_ patient.
"What are you suffering from?" he asked of her.
"It is not myself, Sir George," she said, then making a great effort to
control her voice--"I have come about my father--my father is one of
your patients. His name is Harman."
Sir George turned to a large book at his side, opened it at a certain
page, read quietly for a moment, then closing it, fixed his keen eyes on
the young lady.
"You are right," he said, "your father, Mr. Harman, is one of my
patients. He came to see me no later than last week."
"Sir," said Charlotte, and her voice grew steadier and braver as she
spoke, "I am in perfect health, and my father is ill. I have come here
to-day to learn from your lips the exact truth as to his case."
"The exact truth?" said the doctor. "Does your father know you have come
here, Miss--Miss Harman?"
"He does not, Sir George. My father is a widower, and I am his only
child. He has endeavored to keep this thing from me, and hitherto has
partially succeeded. Yesterday, through another source, I learned that
he is very seriously ill. I have come to you to know the truth. You will
tell it to me, will you not?"
"I certainly _can_ tell it to you."
"And you will?"
"Well, the fact is, Miss Harman, he is anxious that you should not know.
I am scarcely prepared to fathom your strength of character. Any shock
will be of serious consequence to him. How can I tell how you will act
when you know all?"
"You are preparing me for the worst now, Sir George. I solemnly promise
you in no way to use my knowledge so as to give my father the slightest
shock."
"I believe you," answered the doctor. "A brave woman can do wonders.
Women are unselfish; they can hide their own feelings to comfort and
succor another. Miss Harman, I am sorry for you, I have bad news for
you."
"I know it, Sir George. My father is very ill."
"Your father is as seriously ill as a man can be to be alive; in short,
he is--dying."
"Is there no hope?"
"None."
"Must he die soon?" asked Charlotte, after a brief pause.
"That depends. His malady is of such a nature that any sudden shock, any
sudden grief will probably kill him instantly. If his mind is kept
perfectly calm, and all shocks are kept from him, he may live for many
months."
"Oh! terrible!" cried Charlotte.
She covered her face. When she raised it at last it looked quite haggard
and old.
"Sir George," she said, "I do not doubt that in your position as a
doctor you have come across some secrets. I am going to confide in you,
to confide in you to a certain measure."
"Your confidence shall be sacred, my dear young lady."
"Yesterday, Sir George, I learned something, something which concerns my
father. It concerns him most nearly and most painfully. It relates to an
old and buried wrong. This wrong relates to others; it relates to those
now living most nearly and most painfully."
"Is it a money matter?" asked the doctor.
"It is a money matter. My father alone can set it right. I mean that
during his lifetime it cannot possibly in any way be set right without
his knowledge. Almost all my life, he has kept this thing a secret from
me and--and--from the world. For three and twenty years it has lain in a
grave. If he is told now, and the wrong cannot be repaired without his
knowledge, it will come on him as a--disgrace. The question I ask of you
is this: can he bear the disgrace?"
"And my answer to you, Miss Harman, is, that in his state of health the
knowledge you speak of will instantly kill him."
"Then--then--God help me! what am I to do? Can the wrong never be
righted?"
"My dear young lady, I am sincerely sorry for you. I cannot enter into
the moral question, I can only state a fact. As your father's physician
I forbid you to tell him."
"You forbid me to tell him?" said Charlotte. She got up and pulled down
her veil. "Thank you," she said, holding out her hand. "I have that to
go on--as my father's physician you forbid him to know?"
"I forbid it absolutely. Such a knowledge would cause instant death."