JOHN HUNGERFORD BEGINS LIFE ANEW.
John was not as well the following day, and the new impulse with which
Helen's visit of the previous day had inspired him seemed to have lost
its grip upon him, while all his former listlessness and indifference
to life returned.
Previous to her call, Helen had interviewed Doctor Wing regarding the
condition of his patient, and he had told her that, while the crisis
appeared to have been well passed, and there were indications that he
might rally for a time, he had grave doubts regarding his ultimate
recovery; for, aside from certain threatening conditions, the man was
laboring under great mental depression, and appeared to have no desire
to live, which, of itself, was by no means an encouraging phase.
Consequently she had not been wholly unprepared for John's own
admission that he was glad he was not going to get well.
But since her acquaintance with Mrs. Everleigh, Helen's views regarding
many things pertaining to life had radically changed. She did not
believe that John's case was hopeless, notwithstanding the unfavorable
outlook, and she resolved that he should be saved--he should have
another chance to prove himself a man, and a great artist, if there was
any power that could save him; and she felt assured there was.
She went immediately to her friend, to whom she explained the
situation, and Mrs. Everleigh promised to go to see "Mr. Williams" the
following day.
She came late in the morning, when, refreshed by a good night's rest,
he was feeling much brighter and stronger than on the previous day.
And the moment he heard her speak, and looked into her eyes, he knew
that all Helen had said of her was true.
She was a brilliant as well as a beautiful woman, for, aside from
having been finely educated, she had always enjoyed rare social
advantages. There was also a merry vein in her nature, and she had not
been many minutes in his presence before John found himself laughing
out spontaneously over her vivid description of a ludicrous incident
that had occurred on her way to the Grenoble to see him. This set him
immediately at his ease with her, and they dropped into a free and
interesting discussion of various topics that lasted for nearly an hour.
When Mrs. Everleigh finally arose to go she observed, with charming
cordiality:
"I have enjoyed my call so much, Mr. Williams, I am coming again soon,
if you will allow me."
"You are very kind, Mrs. Everleigh, and I assure you it will give me
great pleasure to have you do so," he replied, with all the old-time
courtesy of the once elegant John Hungerford.
"And I will send my car around for you as soon as you feel strong
enough for a drive," the lady continued brightly. "You need to get out
into this crisp fall air, and before long you will feel like a new man;
the world will seem like a different place to you."
John's face fell suddenly. Until this moment he had not once thought
of himself since her coming.
"I fear that will never be," he said, in a spiritless tone. "There are
strong indications that before very long I may be in a different world
from this."
"Who has dared to pass such sentence upon you, Mr. Williams?" gravely
questioned his companion. "Put that thought away from you at once; it
is your rightful heritage to be a strong, well man, and--you still have
work to do here." Then she smiled cheerily into his face as she held
out her hand to take leave of him, adding: "But we will talk more of
that when I come again." And she went away, leaving John with a sense
of something new having been born into his consciousness.
He walked to a window, and stood looking thoughtfully out over the
roofs and chimney pots, while a voice within him, that seemed almost
audible, repeated over and over: "It is your rightful heritage to be a
strong, well man; and you still have work to do _here_."
That same evening, the duties of the day being over, Helen went in to
see him again, and to inform him that she had received a second letter
from his uncle, Mr. Young, who had sent her another check for fifty
dollars, which she laid before him as she spoke.
He pushed it almost rudely from him.
"Keep it," he said, flushing sensitively; "I cannot take it."
She appeared to heed neither his act nor his words, but casually
inquired, while she observed that he looked better and brighter than
when she last saw him:
"Where is your painting outfit, John?"
"Sold at auction, I imagine," he replied; then continued, with painful
embarrassment: "I may as well tell you exactly how matters stand with
me. Marie left me--that is, we had a final falling out--more than
three years ago. She immediately broke camp, sold off everything--even
my kit--and cleared out; went West and got her bill from me, and I've
drifted about ever since. We didn't have a very happy time together,
and I----"
"You need not tell me any more," Helen here abruptly interposed.
"Forget it, if you can."
"Oh, Helen," he burst forth, with exceeding bitterness, "I wish I
_could_ forget it! I wish I could wake up to find these last ten years
only a miserable nightmare!"
"I think you are waking up from a very bad dream, John," she returned,
in a friendly tone. "You are looking decidedly better, and it rests a
good deal with yourself whether you continue to improve."
"Marie is dead--was killed, or, rather, fatally injured, and died in
the Mercy Hospital a few months ago," resumed John, not to be diverted
from what he had been saying. "I did not learn of it until it was all
over, or I would have gone to----"
"Yes, I know; I read of the accident," Helen again broke in upon him,
and somewhat startled to learn that he had been in New York at that
time.
But she felt that she could not discuss that chapter of his life with
him. Her chief desire now was to start him upon the right road to
redeem his past, if that were possible; then leave him to work his own
way to a more prosperous future.
"Now, let there be no more looking back," she hastened to add; "do not
waste time in vain regrets over what is behind you, but keep your face
steadfastly toward the light of the new day that is dawning upon you.
You are really better--you are going to get well; you will take up your
art again, and you will do something worth while."
"Upon my soul, I wish I might!" he said, in a low, eager tone, and
secretly encouraged by her positive assertions.
"Then if you really wish it, suppose you begin at once," Helen
proposed, with inspiring energy. "Take some of this money your uncle
has sent, get what materials you need, and go to work, doing a
little--what you are able--every day. Make out a list of what you
require, and I will place the order for you; here are pencil and paper.
I will come for the memorandum directly after breakfast to-morrow
morning, take it to Bronson's, have the things sent up immediately, and
you can make a beginning before the day is out."
She pushed some writing materials across the cable to him, and then
arose to go.
The man lifted a wondering glance to her.
"Helen, you are a marvel to me! You have put new life into me," he
said, with deep emotion. "I am simply overwhelmed by your goodness--I
wonder that your heart is not filled with bitter hatred for me."
Helen flushed consciously at his words, and moved away to the mantel,
where she stood musing for a few minutes as she gazed down upon the
glowing logs in the fireplace below.
How she had struggled with the demon of hate no one save herself would
ever know. But she had finally conquered her foe. She knew she had,
from the simple fact that she experienced only the feeling of
satisfaction in knowing that John would get well--that she wanted him
to get well; while she firmly believed that he would be a better man in
the future for the helping hand she had given him and the interest she
had manifested in him. No, she no longer bore him the slightest ill
will; instead of cherishing antagonism and resentment, she had come to
regard him as her "neighbor," a brother man, for whom she would do only
as she would be done by; and, having once attained this attitude, a
great burden of self-condemnation had rolled from her heart and left
her at peace with him and the world.
"No, John, I have no hatred for you," she at length gravely observed,
but without turning toward him. "Once I--I could not have said this,
but I have learned, through bitter experience, that hate harms the
hater rather than the object of his hatred; that it corrodes, corrupts,
and destroys him mentally, morally, and spiritually; and to-day I can
truly say that I only wish you well--wish that you may grow strong, not
only physically, but in every other higher and better sense of the
word, and make for yourself a name and place in the world, that will
compel all men to respect you. I know you can do it, if you will."
As she ceased she turned abruptly, and, with a low-voiced good night,
slipped from the room before he could detain her.
The man sat motionless and absorbed in thought for a long time after
she had gone. Every word she had spoken had sunk deep into his
consciousness, and had shown him, directly and indirectly, not only
what she had overcome and suffered in her struggles with adverse
circumstances, but how she had won the greatest battle of all--the
conquest over self. At last he lifted his bowed head, and revealed a
face all aglow with a new and inspiring purpose; at the same time there
was a look of keenest pain in his eyes.
"I will do it!" he breathed hoarsely. "But, good God, what a royal
heart I have trampled beneath my feet!"
* * * * * * *
Three weeks later John Hungerford left the Grenoble apartments, a
comparatively well man.
Meantime, having, through Helen's energetic efforts, obtained the
necessary materials, he had labored industriously, and with a
constantly growing interest, at his easel, gaining flesh and strength
each day, while something seemed to be burning within him that he had
never been conscious of before.
What was it? he wondered, with almost a feeling of awe--this
ever-increasing energy of purpose, this resistless zeal, that was
pushing him forward and lifting him above anything he had ever aspired
to in the years long gone by?
Was it the soul of the great artist, in embryo, that at last was really
beginning to expand in its effort to burst its long-imprisoning
shackles and plume its wings for a lofty flight?
Mrs. Everleigh came to see him every few days, and her talks with him
opened up broader vistas of life and its obligations, and imbued him
with higher ideals and desires. She insisted upon his going out every
day, and frequently sent her car to take him out of the city for an
invigorating drive in the country.
All this--the cheerful thought, the better purpose and outlook,
together with the kind attentions of those interested in him--could not
fail to develop faith and hope, with better physical conditions, also,
and his improvement was rapid.
During this time he had completed two very attractive paintings, which,
through the influence of his physician, were placed in a leading art
store, and sold at a fair valuation--enough to enable him to begin
business for himself, in a couple of inexpensive rooms in another part
of the city, which, however, he intended only to be a stepping-stone to
something better.
On the morning of his departure for his modest studio he did not look
like the same man who, bowed and broken, had come to Helen's door a few
weeks previous. His form was erect, and had taken on a good coat of
flesh; his eyes were clear and bright; his face, tinged with the glow
of health, was full of hope, and his bearing characterized by a quiet
dignity, and also by an unaccustomed energy that bespoke a definite
purpose for the future.
An expressman had already taken away his boxes, and he had just sealed
and was addressing a letter, when Doctor Wing dropped in to give him a
friendly handshake and wish him all success in his new undertaking.
"May only prosperity attend you, my friend," he said, when, after
chatting a few minutes, he arose to leave and begin his daily round of
visits; "and, by the way, I have been sorry I didn't take one of those
pictures that were sold at Arlington's the other day. Duplicate that
autumnal scene for me, will you? Or make me something after the same
style."
John's lips quivered slightly as he received this, his first, order,
and at the same time recognized the underlying motive that had prompted
it.
"With the greatest pleasure," he returned, his voice a trifle husky;
"and, doctor, I can only regard this as another kindness added to the
many favors I have already received from you and shall always
gratefully remember."
Mrs. Everleigh made her appearance just at this moment, and her breezy
greetings relieved the physician of the embarrassment he was beginning
to experience, in view of John's expressions of gratitude, and he was
glad to be saved the necessity of replying.
She had told John the previous day that she claimed the privilege of
taking him downtown and installing him in his studio; she would call
for him at eleven, and it was to keep this appointment that she now
presented herself.
The whole-souled doctor and the lady had become very good friends
during John's convalescence, for not infrequently they had met in his
rooms, and now and then enjoyed a pleasant tilt at each other's expense
regarding certain differences of opinion.
Upon this occasion her coming appeared to arouse afresh his spirit of
jocosity, and they exchanged several glittering lances that put them
all in a very merry frame of mind, which was a good thing, for John,
not having seen Helen that morning, was somewhat depressed at the
thought of going away without a few last words with her.
At length Doctor Wing broke off in the midst of a hearty laugh over a
bright repartee from Mrs. Everleigh, saying, as he caught up his hat
and gloves:
"Well, this will not do for me, much as I dislike to tear myself away
from such pleasant company; but I am culpably neglecting my duties.
Mrs. Everleigh"--extending a cordial hand to her--"it has been a great
pleasure to know you, and I am hoping that our acquaintance will not
end here, even though"--the old roguish look again dancing in his
eyes--"you certainly stole a very clever march upon me here."
"How so?" she questioned, with an assumed air of innocence, but with an
answering gleam of amusement, for she could not fail to understand what
he meant.
"Why, as you well know, I lost my patient the day you first appeared in
this apartment," he returned, with mock severity. Then he added, more
gravely, and much to his listeners' surprise: "And it is not my first
or second experience of the kind, either, with you people."
"Do you regret those experiences, Doctor Wing?" the lady gently
inquired.
He hesitated an instant; then met her eyes squarely.
"No, I do not," he frankly replied. "Honesty compels me to admit it,
to confess that I have been exceedingly grateful for them, especially
upon learning that the patient had been very quickly healed after
changing practitioners--that a precious life had thus been saved, and I
had escaped the most painful duty demanded of a physician. I do not
believe," he continued thoughtfully, "that any conscientious physician,
who had done his utmost to save life, has ever written the name of the
patient he has lost upon a death certificate, and appended his own
signature thereto, without experiencing a very depressing sense of the
inadequacy of materia medica."
Mrs. Everleigh had regarded the gentleman with mingled admiration and
wonder while he was speaking.
"Doctor Wing, you are a brave man!" she heartily exclaimed, as he
paused. "And allow me to add that I appreciate the very noble attitude
you have revealed more than I can express. I know of one other who,
like you, having exhausted his resources in certain complicated cases,
has even advised the patient to change the method of treatment, and
quick healing has resulted. I presume there are many more physicians
just as conscientious and broad-minded, and I say all honor to such
men."
"No doubt I would be severely censured by the majority of my profession
for giving expression to such convictions," Doctor Wing continued, with
a slight shrug of his shoulders; "but I believe human judgment is not
the highest tribunal to which man is answerable for either his deeds or
opinions, and one must be true to the voice within if he would preserve
his integrity and peace of mind, and not become a mere puppet. Please
do not misunderstand me," he interpolated, in lighter vein; "I am not
attempting to depreciate my own school, and I intend to stick to it
until I am convinced that there is a better. At the same time, there
are existing conditions against which I, together with some of my
colleagues, have the courage of my convictions, and am ready, if
occasion requires, to take a radical stand."
"Such as what, please?--if you have the time to spare to tell me," said
Mrs. Everleigh, who had listened to him with deep interest.
"Well, in my opinion there should be absolute medical freedom, as well
as absolute religious freedom," he replied. "No one school has any
moral right to persecute or seek to overthrow any other school, or
usurp authority to compel the public to submit to its method of
treatment, any more than any special religious denomination has the
right to wipe out other denominations, compel mankind to adopt its
tenets and submit to its mode of baptism. All men have equal
rights--the right to say whether they will or will not have this or
that remedy for their diseases; this or that doctrine to save their
souls. Any other attitude of class or government savors of bigotry and
tyranny; any law to enforce such conditions would be a criminal
infringement of man's moral and civil freedom, and a rank violation of
the boasted principles of our Constitution. I see by your shining
eyes, my dear lady, that you fully agree with me upon these points," he
concluded, with a chuckle of satisfaction, as he viewed her beaming
face.
"I certainly do, Doctor Wing--you are an advocate for justice after my
own heart," Mrs. Everleigh heartily asserted. "And let me echo your
words of a few moments ago: 'I hope our acquaintance will not end
here.'"
"Thank you, madam; and, since the desire appears to be mutual, we will
see to it that it does not," he smilingly replied, as he bowed himself
out.