BUSY DAYS.
"Rely upon it, the spiritual life is not knowing or learning, but
doing. We only know so far as we can do; we learn to do by doing; and
we learn to know by doing; what we do truly, rightly, in the way of
duty, that and only that we are."--_Rev. Frederick Robertson_.
When Alwyn heard that Greta was downstairs, he brightened perceptibly.
"She is a dear creature," he said; "except in looks she has not changed
a bit. She used to be rather a pretty girl,--interesting-looking, that
was the word for Greta; but she is very graceful still. Will you give
my love to her, Mrs. Luttrell? I shall hope to see her to-morrow or
the next day," and then he turned wearily on his pillow, as though
talking were too great an effort.
The following afternoon Greta came earlier; but, as she was unable to
stay long, Olivia found an opportunity of going round to Mayfield
Villas.
It was just in the gloaming,--Aunt Madge's rest hour, as she called
it,--and there was unmistakable gladness in her voice, when Olivia's
tall figure appeared on the threshold. "Welcome, welcome, little
stranger," she said, merrily; "do you know, Livy, that you have played
truant for four whole days. I was just thinking of sending Deb round
this evening to know if anything were the matter. Oh, I see," as her
bright, penetrating glance read her niece's face. "You have something
wonderful to tell me. Draw up your chair and I will be as quiet as a
mouse. I am a splendid listener, as my dear Fergus used to say."
"Something wonderful," repeated Olivia, breathlessly. "Why, Aunt
Madge, I feel as though I were in the third volume of a sensational
novel. What do you think? Robert Barton, whom Marcus found starving
on a doorstep, is Mr. Gaythorne's long-lost son, Alwyn."
It was evident that Mrs. Broderick was intensely surprised, for she
quite flushed up with excitement.
"Go on. Tell me everything from the beginning. I will not interrupt,"
she said, quickly, and Olivia, nothing loath, gave a graphic account of
the afternoon at Galvaston House.
"Is it not grand, Aunt Madge?" she finished, but Mrs. Broderick's voice
was not so steady as usual as she answered,--
"So the blessing has come to him, and he will have his heart's desire;
but there is a heavy load laid on him, too, poor, stricken man. Oh,
Livy, we must just pray for him until he is able to pray for himself."
"His brain is really much clearer to-day," returned Olivia; "he spoke
quite sensibly to Marcus, only his speech is a little affected. He
asked why his son had left the house, and then Marcus told him that he
was weak and needed rest, and that I was taking care of him.
"'Crampton will see that he has all he requires,' he said, and Mrs.
Crampton came over of her own accord last night. Do you know, Aunt
Madge, I felt so ashamed of her seeing him in that bare little room,
and I tried to explain to her that it was only a sort of disused lumber
room, but she soon made plenty of suggestions for his comfort. She has
sent a pair of thick curtains for the window, and a big rug that nearly
covers the floor, and a softer mattress and another pillow. And now
the room looks so cosy. Marcus quite stared when he went up this
morning. It was quite touching to see Mr. Alwyn with her. He actually
kissed her and called her his dear old 'Goody.' I find she has lived
with them ever since they were quite children. I think she was Olive's
nurse. And the fuss she made over him, calling him her 'poor, ill-used
lamb.' It almost made me cry to hear her."
"Poor fellow, he has certainly had his fill of husks."
"Yes, indeed; but Mrs. Crampton is determined to kill the fatted calf
now. The things she sends over would feed half a dozen prodigal
sons,--game and soups, and jellies and fruit. She says her master has
given her _carte blanche_, and that the doctor has laid a great stress
on nourishment, so of course we can say nothing."
"Well, Livy, your life is not exactly stagnant just now."
"No, indeed; but, oh, there is one thing I forgot to tell you. Marcus
has another patient,--that is number five. Actually the surgery bell
rang twice yesterday."
Mrs. Broderick clapped her hands. Then she said, in a teasing voice,
"Are you not glad that you kept Martha?" and Olivia laughed.
"Why, Aunt Madge," she said in an amused tone, "Marcus actually
proposed this morning that we should get an older and more capable
servant, but I told him I would rather work twice as hard than part
with Martha; she is such a good, willing little soul."
"Of course, as long as Mr. Alwyn keeps his room we shall have plenty of
running about, and Dot is cutting some more teeth, and is rather
fretful, so our hands are full; but the only thing that troubles me is
that I see so little of Marcus. He is out most of the evening, either
at Galvaston House or in Brunswick Place. Alas, things are no better
there, and if this influenza epidemic comes on, as the doctors predict,
he will have a busy spring."
"No doubt, but as we have only to live one day at a time, we will not
trouble our heads about that. Well, you have given me food enough for
some days. I shall send Deb round to-morrow evening to inquire after
the invalids, but you must not come again until you are more at
leisure. Teething troubles and the care of a sick man are enough for
any woman."
"Dear Aunt Madge!" exclaimed Olivia, affectionately. "If I could only
be as unselfish as you. I do believe you never think of yourself at
all."
"Nonsense," returned Mrs. Broderick, "I am an old bundle of
selfishness. Well, I shall be thinking of those two poor things. My
heart aches for that young man, but I pity his father, too. I was
reading about the deaf man with an impediment in his speech this
morning; it is the lesson for to-day, you know, and I could not help
pondering for some time on those words, 'Jesus took him apart from the
multitude.' Just as though quiet and stillness were needed for the
healing. I think that is the lesson that sickness teaches us; the poor
sufferer is led apart to wait for the word of healing; sometimes he
waits long, but the time has not been lost. 'Lord, it is good for us
to be here;' I think some of us will say that when our painful
sojourning at the Mount of Suffering is over. Yes, it is good for us
to have drunk of His cup without complaining."
Aunt Madge's eyes had a dreamy look in them; the beautiful voice
vibrated in Olive's ear like music; but as she stooped to kiss her,
somewhat awed by her unusual solemnity, the old kind smile returned to
her lips.
"Good-bye, Livy darling, my love, and congratulations to Marcus."
Olivia was putting a good face on things, but Marcus, oppressed with
the heavy responsibility of three serious cases, hardly knew how hard
she worked from morning to night. Dot, feverish and fretful, was
always wanting to be in her mother's arms. Martha, with all her
willingness, was too young and inexperienced to be a very efficient
help; so, although Olivia always wore a bright expression when Marcus
came in for his meals, and chatted to him in her old cheerful way, she
was often too weary to sleep.
It was a relief, therefore, when Alwyn was able to leave his room and
lie on the couch downstairs. Greta's afternoon visits were then a real
boon; she could leave them together while she went out and did her
business.
Olivia's healthy, robust constitution always needed fresh air and
regular exercise. Confinement to the house tried her, and the small
rooms and low ceilings at No. 1, Galvaston Terrace, were certainly
rather cramping. Half an hour's brisk walk always refreshed her and
acted like a tonic. She would look in at Mayfield Villas for ten
minutes and give her report of the invalids, and then come back to tea
looking so fresh and invigorated that Alwyn once told her that she was
as good as a whiff of moorland air.
Alwyn was slow in recovering from that terrible shock. His nerves had
suffered severely, and at times his restlessness and depression were
sad to see.
"If he could only be reconciled to his father," Greta would sigh; "but
the thought of another interview seems to terrify him. He is so
painfully morbid," she went on, "and distrusts himself. He is afraid
of saying and doing the wrong thing; somehow he seems to have lost all
faith in his father's love."
"'I long for his forgiveness. I know that I have been a bad son,' he
said, yesterday. 'But he will never believe in my penitence.' Oh, it
is dreadful the way he talks and works himself up."
"Marcus says it is a good deal owing to nervous exhaustion," returned
Olivia; "but he is very sorry for him. Mr. Gaythorne has begged more
than once to see him; he is evidently craving for a sight of him, but
Marcus dare not bring them together yet. Mr. Gaythorne is only just
able to sit up, and he is very weak. And then while Mr. Alwyn is in
this nervous state he is hardly to be trusted."
"Yes, we must be patient, I suppose. I have perfect faith in Dr.
Luttrell's opinion," and then her manner changed, and she said,
mournfully, "Do you know how badly he thinks of father? He is afraid
he will never leave his bed again."
"Yes, I know; and Dr. Bevan agrees with him. Poor Greta, I am so sorry
for you," and she laid her hand affectionately on her shoulder.
"Yes, but I dare not murmur," returned the girl, in a low voice. "It
would be more merciful to let him die than linger on in suffering,
and"--with a little burst of feeling--"the disease that is killing him
has not been brought on by his own fault. Oh, the gratitude I felt
when Dr. Luttrell said that it has been latent in the system, and that
only lately Dr. Bevan suspected it. But, oh, dear Mrs. Luttrell, do
not wish him to live. No one who cared for him could wish it."
"Poor child. Yes, I know; Marcus explained things to me."
"He is quite himself," went on Greta, drying her eyes. "And so dear
and affectionate, but it hurt me so to hear him asking my pardon for
the life he had led me. 'I have not deserved such a good daughter,' he
said over and over again. 'Since your poor mother died you have been
my one blessing.'"
"Dear Greta, you will let these words comfort you?"
"Oh, yes; I was repeating them in my dreams all night. When he was
talking to me I felt that I had got the old father back. What do you
think, Mrs. Luttrell? he actually asked me if I should go on living at
Brunswick Place when he was gone, and then it came into my head to tell
him about Ivydene, and he was so interested. I am sure he was pleased
when I told him that I should like to go back there. He actually
wanted me to write to the lawyer about it. But when he saw how shocked
I was at the idea, he said perhaps we had better wait a little."
Olivia thought over this conversation when Greta left her; her heart
ached for the lonely girl. When Marcus came in a few minutes later, he
seemed struck with her unusual gravity.
"Is there anything wrong, Livy?" he asked. "You seem in the doldrums."
And as she smiled and shook her head, he continued cheerfully, "I am
glad to hear it. Do you know I have actually a free evening until ten?
I feel as though I was a schoolboy again, and had an unexpected
holiday. In my opinion, only busy people know how to enjoy a holiday
properly."
"And I am really to have you to myself for three whole hours," and
Olivia's face beamed with delight. As Marcus drew his chair to the
fire and took up the long-neglected book, Greta's troubles went into
the background.
"Oh don't read just now," she said, imploringly; "let us talk a little
first, Marcus, is it very naughty of me? but once or twice during the
last few days, when you have been too busy to stay with me, or to play
with Dot, I have thought that even prosperity will have its
limitations; that being a successful doctor means that I shall see far
too little of you."
Then Marcus drew back his head with one of his boyish laughs.
"Oh, Livy, what a child you are! have you just found out that? How
delightfully illogical a woman can be! It stands to reason that I
cannot be in two places at once."
"Oh, of course your patients will want you, and I am not really
grumbling. Do you suppose that I shall not be proud of your success?
I was only trying to tell you that, in spite of all our difficulties
and little petty troubles, I have been perfectly happy."
"Especially on Saturday evenings, when you totted up your little red
book, and the balance was always on the wrong side. I have seen you
pull an uncommonly long face on those occasions. I am not quite sure
about the perfect happiness then." Then, as Olivia looked
reproachfully at him, his teasing manner changed.
"Dear Olive," he said, tenderly, "I am not really laughing at you. I
understand quite well what you mean. I am not such an old married man
that I cannot appreciate a compliment like that, when my wife tells me
with her own lips that my society can sweeten even poverty and hardship.
"You are quite right, love; prosperity will have its limitations; these
pleasant evening hours will often have to be sacrificed. But in all
professions we must take the rough with the smooth. We must just put
our shoulder to the wheel, you and I, and 'Doe the nexte thinge,' eh,
Livy?"
"Oh, yes," she answered, eagerly, "and yours is such a grand work. I
have always been so thankful you are a doctor. When I was quite young
I used to tell mother that I wanted to marry a clergyman. But I think
a doctor comes next. Oh, Marcus, did you ever read Whittier's verses
on this subject? Greta brought me his poems and read them to me. I
think I know the last two verses by heart,--
"'Beside the unveiled mysteries
Of life and death go stand
With guarded lips and reverent eyes
And pure of heart and hand.
The good physician liveth yet
Thy friend and guide to be,
The Healer by Gennesaret
Shall walk thy rounds with thee.'"
And as Olivia repeated the lines in a voice tremulous with deep
feeling, Dr. Luttrell's firm lips unbent with a moved expression.
"That is beautiful," he said. "I think those words ought to be
illuminated and hung up in every doctor's waiting-room."
"'The Healer by Gennesaret
Shall walk thy rounds with thee.'"