Doctor Luttrell's First Patient
by Rosa Nouchette Carey
CHAPTER I. AT
CHAPTER II. THE
CHAPTER IV. DR.
CHAPTER V. A
CHAPTER VI. “I
REMIND YOU OF
“'TIS A LOVE
CHAPTER IX. THE
CHAPTER X. A
CHAPTER XI. THE
CHAPTER XIV. AN
“THEY WERE BOTH
AUNT MADGE GIVES
“YOU MUST NOT
“I HAVE COME TO
DOCTOR LUTTRELL'S FIRST PATIENT
ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY
Author of Little Miss Muffet, Cousin Mona,
The Mistress of Brae Farm, Esther, Etc.
[Frontispiece: I hope you do not think I was wrong?]
Philadelphia J. B. Lippincott Company 1900
Copyright, 1896, by J. B. Lippincott Company.
Doctor Luttrell's First Patient
CHAPTER I. AT THE CORNER HOUSE.
Seek not that the things which happen should happen as you wish.
There is an old adage, worn almost threadbare with continual use,
When poverty looks in at the door, love flies out at the window, and,
doubtless, there is an element of truth in the saying; nevertheless,
though there were lines of care on Marcus Luttrell's face, and in the
strong sunlight the seams of his wife's black gown looked a little
shiny, there was still peace, and the patience of a great and enduring
affection in the corner house at Galvaston Terrace.
When the brass plate, glittering with newness, had been first
affixed to the door, Marcus Luttrell's heart had been sanguine with
hope, and he had brought his young fiancée to see it. The small,
narrow house, with its dark, square entry, its double parlours
communicating with folding-doors, and the corner room, that would do
for a surgery, had seemed to them both a most desirable abode.
Olivia, who prided herself on being unusually practical, pointed out
its numerous advantages with great satisfaction. The side entrance in
Harbut Street, for instance, and the front room where patients would be
interviewed, and which had a window in Galvaston Terrace.
It is so conspicuous, Marcus, she said, with legitimate pride in
her voice. No one can overlook it, it is worth paying a few pounds
more rent, instead of being jammed in between two terrace houses.
Harbut Street is ever so much nicer than Galvaston Terrace, and the
houses are larger, and it is so convenient having those shops
Olivia was disposed to see everything in couleur de rose, but
to most people Galvaston Terrace would have appeared woefully dingy.
Two or three of the houses had cards in the sitting-room windows, with
Desirable apartments for a single gentleman affixed thereon, and at
the farther end a French dressmaker eked out a slender income.
The Terrace had by no means a prosperous look, a little fresh paint
and cleaner blinds would have been improvements. Nevertheless, people
lived out harmless lives there, and on the whole were tolerably
contented with their lot.
When Marcus Luttrell made that fatal mistake of marrying in haste
and repenting at leisure, things had not looked so badly with him. He
had bought his partnership and had a little money in hand, and Olivia
had had sufficient for her modest trousseau. How could either of them
have suspected that the partnership was a deceit and a fraudthat old
Dr. Slade had let Marcus in for a rotten concernthat no paying
patients would crowd the small dining-roomand that two years of
professional profits would be represented in shillings? Now and then
when he was tired and discouraged Dr. Luttrell would accuse himself of
rashness and folly in no measured terms.
Your Aunt Madge is right, Olive, he would say, we have been a
couple of fools; but I was the biggest. What business had I to tempt
Providence in this way? I do believe when a man is in love he loses his
judgment; look at the life to which my selfishness has condemned you.
You will be an old woman before your time, with the effort to make a
sixpence go as far as a shilling! And there is Dot And here the
young doctor sighed and frowned, but Olivia, who had plenty of spirit,
refused to be depressed.
You took me from such a luxurious home, did you not, Marcus? she
would say, with a genial laugh. A hard-working daily governess leads
such an enjoyable life, and it was so exhilarating and refreshing to
sit in one's lodgings of an evening, with no one to care if one were
tired and dull. Yes, dear old boy, of course I was ever so much happier
without you and Dot to worry me And, somehow, at these cheering
words the harassed frown on Marcus's brow relaxed.
Had he been so wrong after all. How could he know that old Slade
would prove a rogue and a humbug; it would have been wiser to wait a
little, but then human nature is liable to make mistakes, and in spite
of it all, they had been so happy. Olive was such a splendid companion,
she had brains as well as heart. Yes, he had been a fool, but he knew
that under like circumstances many a man would have done the same.
He remembered the events that had led to their hasty marriage.
Olivia had not long lost her mother, the widow's annuity had died with
her, and Olivia, who had only her salary as a daily governess in a
large family, had just moved into humbler lodgings.
He had gone round with some flowers and a book that he thought would
interest her, and as she came forward to greet him, he could see her
eyes were red and swollen.
What is it, dear? he had asked, kindly, and then the poor girl had
utterly broken down.
Oh, Marcus, what shall I do? she said, when her sobs would allow
her to speak. I cannot bear it; it is all so dull and miserable. I am
missing mother and I am so tired, and the children have been so cross
all day. And Olivia, whose nerves were on edge with the strain of
grief and worry, looked so pallid and woebegone that Marcus had been
filled with consternation. Never had he seen his sweetheart in such
distress, and then it was that the suggestion came to him.
Why should they both be lonely? Olivia could marry him and do her
work as well, and there need be no more dull evenings for either of
You will trust me to make you as happy as I can, dearest, he said,
tenderly, as he pleaded for an early marriage. And as Olivia listened
to him the sad burden seemed lifted from her heart.
Are you quite sure we ought to do this, Marcus? she had asked, a
little dubiously, for in spite of her youth she had plenty of good
sense, and then Marcus had been very ready with his arguments.
A doctor ought to be a married man, his house was too large for a
bachelor, and needed a mistress. What was the use of Olivia paying for
lodgings when he wanted a wife to make him comfortable? And if she
liked she could still go on with her teaching.
It was this last proviso that overcame Olivia's objections. If she
could keep her situation she would be no expense to Marcus. Her salary
was good, and until paying patients came she could subscribe towards
It was just one of those arrangements that look so promising and
plausible until fairly tried, but before many months had passed there
was a hitchsomething out of gear in the daily machinery.
It was a dry summer, and Brompton is not exactly a bracing place.
Olivia began to flag a little, the long hours of teaching, the hurried
walks to and fro, tried her vigorous young frame. The little maids who
followed each other in quick succession were all equally inefficient
and unreliable. Marcus began to complain that such ill-cooked,
tasteless meals would in time impair their digestion. The Marthas and
Annes and Sallies, who clumped heavily about the corner house, with
smudges on their round faces and bare red arms, had never heard of the
School of Cookery at South Kensington. Olivia, fagged and weary, looked
ready to cry when she saw the blackened steak and unwholesome chips set
before Marcus. Not one man in a thousand, she thought, would have borne
it all so patiently.
Then one hot oppressive evening the climax came. Olivia, who had
never fainted in her life, found herself to her great astonishment
lying on the little couch by the open window with her face very wet,
and Marcus looking at her with grave professional eyes.
That night he spoke very plainly. There must be no more teaching.
Olivia was simply killing herself, and he refused to sanction such
madness any longer. In future he must be the only breadwinner. Until
patients were obliging enough to send for him, they must just live on
their little capital. Olivia must stay at home, and see after things
and take care of herself, or he would not answer for the consequences.
You have your husband to consider, he said, in a masterful tone,
but how absurdly boyish he looked, as he stood on the rug, tossing back
a loose wave of fair hair from his forehead. People always thought Dr.
Luttrell younger than he was in reality. He was eight-and-twenty, and
Olivia was six years younger. She was rather taller than her husband,
and had a slim erect figure. She had no claims to beauty; her features
were too irregular, but her clear, honest eyes and sweet smile and a
certain effective dimple redeemed her from plainness, and the soft
brown hair waving naturally over the temples had a sunny gleam in it.
When baby Dot made her appearanceDorothy Maud Luttrell, as she was
inscribed in the registerthe young parents forgot their anxieties for
a time in their joy in watching their first-born.
Marcus left his books to devote himself to nursing his pale wife
back to health. And as Olivia lay on the couch with her baby near her,
and feasted on the delicacies that Aunt Madge's thoughtfulness had
provided, or listened to Marcus as he read to her, it seemed to her, as
though the cup of her blessing were full.
Oh, Marcus, how happy we are! she would whisper, and Marcus would
stifle a sigh bravely.
[Illustration: Oh, Marcus, how happy we are!]
Alas! he knew the little capital was dwindling sadlyrent and
taxes, bread and cheese, and even the modest wages of a second Martha
were draining his purse too heavily. He had plenty of poor patients,
but no one but the French dressmaker had yet sent for the late Dr.
Slade's partner. It was then that those careworn lines came to the
young doctor's brow.
It was bitterly hard, for Marcus loved his profession, and had
studied hard. The poor people whom he attended were devoted to him.
He allus tells a body the truth, said old Widow Bates. I do hate
a fellow who truckles and minces his words like that Sparks. Do you
suppose Jem Arkwright would have let his leg be cut off in that
lamb-like manner if it had been Benjamin Sparks to do it?
I was down at their place, and I heard when Dr. Luttrell said,
'Now, my man, you must just make up your mind, and be quick about it.
Will you be a brave chap and part with this poor useless limb, or will
you leave your poor wife to bring up six fatherless children? I am
telling you the truth, Jem. If you will not consent to part with your
leg, there is no chance for you.' Laws' sakes, you would have thought
he was a grey-headed old fellow to hear him; it kind of made one jump
to see his young, beardless face; but there, he was good to Jem
Arkwright, that he was. Polly can't say enough for him. She fairly
cries if one mentions his name.
'I should have been Jem's widow but for Dr. Luttrell,' she said one
day. 'Why, before he came in Jem was lying there vowing that he had
sooner die than part with his leg. It was the thought of the little
uns that broke him. My Jem always had a feeling heart.'
And other folks, although they had not Widow Bates's garrulous
tongue, were ready enough to sing the doctor's praises.
When Dot was a year old and able to pull herself up by the help of
her mother's hand, things were no better at the corner house. Olivia
had even consulted her Aunt Madge about the advisability of sending
Martha away and doing the work of the house herself.
Martha is the best girl we have had yet, she said. Marcus owned
that yesterday. She is rough, but her ways are nicer than Anne's or
Sally's, and she keeps herself clean; but then, Aunt Madge, she has
such a good appetite, and one cannot stint growing girls.
I should keep her a little longer, was Aunt Madge's reply to this.
It will only take the heart out of Marcus, knowing that you have to
scrub and black-lead stoves, and he is discouraged enough already. When
Dot is able to run about, you may be able to dispense with Martha's
services, and Olivia returned a reluctant assent to this.
But her conscience was not quite satisfied. Even Aunt Madge, she
thought, hardly knew how bad things really were.
Mrs. Broderick was a chronic invalid, and never went beyond the two
rooms that made her little world. Most people would have considered it
a dull, narrow life, and one hardly worth living; but the invalid would
have contradicted this.
Madge Broderick had learned the secret of contentment; she had lived
through great troublesthe loss of the husband she had idolised, and
her only little child. Since then acute suffering that the doctors had
been unable to relieve had wasted her strength. Nevertheless, there was
a peaceful atmosphere in the sunshiny room, where she lay hour after
hour reading and working with her faithful companion Zoe beside her.
Zoe was a beautiful brown-and-white spaniel, with eyes that were
almost human in their soft beseechingness, and Mrs. Broderick often
lamented that she could not eulogise his doggish virtues as Mrs.
Browning had immortalised her Flush.
Olivia was devoted to her Aunt Madge; they had a mutual admiration
for each other's character, and her sister's child was dear to Mrs.
Broderick's heart, and perhaps the saddest hours she ever spent now
were passed in thinking over the young couple's future.
I was wrong, she would say to herself, with a painful contraction
of the brow. I said too little at the time to discourage their
marriage; if I had been firm and reasoned with the child, she would
have listened to me. Livy is always so manageable, but I was a romantic
old goose! And then she was in love, poor dear! And nowoh, it breaks
one's heart to see their young anxious faces! I know so well what
Marcus feels; he is ready to go out into the roads and break stones if
he can only keep a roof over his wife's head. And there were tears in
Madge Broderick's eyes as she took up her work.
CHAPTER II. THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.
I at least will do my duty.Caesar.
Young Mrs. Luttrell stood at the window one November afternoon,
buttoning her gloves in an absent and perfunctory manner, as she looked
out at the slushy road and greasy pavement. There was a crinkle on her
smooth broad forehead, and an uneasy expression in her eyesas though
some troublesome thought had obtruded itselfpresently the crinkle
deepened and widened into a frown, and she walked impatiently to the
fireplace, where a black, uninviting fire smouldered in a cheerless
sort of way, and took up the poker in rather an aggressive manner, then
shook her head, as she glanced at the half-empty coal-scuttle.
She was cold, and the clinging damp peculiar to November made her
shiver; but a cheery blaze would be too great a self-indulgence; left
to itself the fire would last until tea-timeshe would be back in
plenty of time for Marcus's late teahe should have a warm clear fire
to welcome him and a plate of smoking French toast, because it was so
economical and only took half the amount of butter. It had been a
favourite delicacy in her nursery days, and the revival had given her
Yes, he should have his tea first, and then she would bring in the
vexed subject for argument; in spite of Aunt Madge's well-meant advice,
it was a foregone conclusion in Olivia's mind that Martha must go. Of
course it was a pity. She liked the girl, she was so willing and
good-tempered; and her round childish face was always well washed and
free from smudges, and she was so good to Dot, caring for her as if she
were a baby sister of her own. Nevertheless, stern in her youthful
integrity, Olivia had already decided that Martha's hours at the corner
house were numbered.
And then there was the stuff for Dot's new winter pelisse. Marcus
would give her the few shillings without a murmur, she was sure of
that, but he would sigh furtively as he counted out the coins. Whatever
deprivations they might be called upon to endure their little one must
be warmly clad.
She must do without her new pair of gloves, that was all, and here
Olivia looked disconsolately at her worn finger-tips; she could ink the
seams and use her old muff, and no one would notice; what was the use
of buying new gloves, when her hands would soon be as red and rough as
Martha's. Olivia was just a little vain of her hands; they were not
small, but the long slender fingers with almond-shaped nails were full
of character, and Marcus had often praised them.
For his sake she would try to take care of them, but black-leading
stoves and washing Dot's little garments would not help to beautify
them. Of course, it was nonsense to care about such trifles, she must
be strong-minded and live above such sublunary things. Marcus would
only honour her the more for her self-forgetfulness and labours of
love. Here the pucker vanished from Olivia's brow, and a sweet, earnest
look came to her face.
The next moment her attention was distracted; a tall old man in a
great-coat with a fur-lined collar passed the window; he was a little
bent and walked feebly, leaning on a gold-headed stick.
Olivia watched him until he was out of sight; for some occult
reason, not comprehensible even to her, she felt interested in the old
man, although she had never spoken to him; but he looked old and ill
and lonely; three decided claims on Olivia's bountiful and sympathetic
She knew his nameMr. Gaythornehe was a neighbour of theirs, and
he lived at Galvaston House, the dull-looking red brick house, with two
stone lions on the gate-posts.
Olivia had amused her husband more than once with imaginary stories
about their neighbour. He was a misera reclusea misanthropehe
had a wife in a lunatic asylumhe had known some great trouble that
had embittered his life; he had made a vow never to let a human being
cross his threshold; he was a Roman Catholic priest in disguise, an
Agnostic, a Nihilist. There was no end to Olivia's quaint surmises,
but she could only be certain of two factsthat the mysterious Mr.
Gaythorne was methodical by nature, and whatever might be the weather
always took his exercise at the same hour, and also that only
tradespeople entered the lion-guarded portals of Galvaston House.
Olivia had only once come face to face with him. She was hurrying
along one afternoon, when in turning a corner she almost ran against
him, and pulled herself up with a confused word of apology.
A suppressed grunt answered her, a singular old face, with bright,
deeply-sunken eyes, and a white, peaked beard and moustache seemed to
rise stiffly from the fur-lined collar; then the old man's hand touched
his slouched hat mechanically, and he walked on. It was that night that
Olivia was convinced that Mr. Gaythorne was a Nihilist and an Agnostic,
and hinted darkly at the storage of dynamite and infernal machines in
the cellars of Galvaston House.
My dear child, you might write a novel, had been her husband's
remark on this. Your imagination is really immense, but in spite of
sarcasm and gibes on Marcus's part, Olivia chose to indulge in these
harmless fancies. She had always enjoyed making up stories about her
neighbours, and it did no one any harm.
When Mr. Gaythorne was out of sight she went to the kitchen to take
a last look at Dot, who was slumbering peacefully in her cot; the
kitchen was the warmest place, and Martha could clean her knives and
wash her plates and keep an eye on her.
Martha gave her usual broad grin when her mistress entered; the
little handmaid adored her master and mistress and Dot. During her rare
holiday she always entertained her mother and brothers and sisters with
wonderful descriptions of her mistress's cleverness and Miss Baby's
Martha had eleven brothers and sisters, and the house in Somers Row
was not a luxurious abode. Her mother took in washing, and eleven
brothers and sisters of all ages, and of every variety of snub-nose,
made any sort of privacy impossible. Nevertheless, on her previous
holiday, as Martha, or Patty, as they called her at home, sat in her
best blue merino frock, with her youngest sister on her lap and a
paper-bag of sugar-sticks for distribution to the family, there were
few happier girls to be found anywhere.
And I have brought you half-a-pound of really good tea, mother,
observed Martha, proudly. I knew what a treat that would be to you and
You are a good girl, Patty, returned her mother, winking away the
moisture in her eyes, as she went on with her ironing. Amabel, don't
you be trampling on Patty's best dress, there's a good little lass.
Well, as I was saying, Patty, only the children do interrupt so. There,
Joe and Ben, just take your sugar-sticks and be off to play. I think I
have found a nice little place for Susan. She is to sleep at home, but
will have all her meals and half-a-crown a week, and the lady will
teach her everything; that is pretty fair for a beginning, and as
father says, the money will just find her in shoe-leather and aprons.
Father's looking out for a place for Joe now.
I wish Susan could have a place like mine, mother, returned
Martha, proudly. They are real gentlefolks, that is what they are.
'Will you be so good as to clean my boots, Martha?' or 'Thank you,
Martha,' when I dry the paper of a morning. Oh, it is like play living
at the corner house, and as for that darling Miss Baby but here
words failed Martha.
It could not be denied that Olivia was unusually depressed that
afternoon, fog and damp always had this effect on her. Her nature
needed sunshine and crisp, bracing air.
There was no buoyancy and elasticity in her tread. When people
looked at her, as they often did, for her pliant, slim figure rather
attracted notice, she thought they were only commenting on her old
black hat and jacket. Only one article of her dress satisfied her; her
boots were neat and strong. Marcus had found her one wet day warming
her feet at the fire and had gone off to examine her boots without a
word. Olivia had flushed up and looked uncomfortable when he came back
with the boots in his hand.
Do you want to be laid up with bronchitis or congestion of the
lungs? he asked, rather sadly, as he showed her the thin, worn soles;
do you think that will make things easier for me, Livy? The next day
he had taken her himself to the bootmaker's and had had her fitted with
a serviceable stout pair.
Somehow in spite of her pleasure in the boots and Marcus's
thoughtfulness she had felt rather like a scolded child.
Her unusual pessimism had a moment's distraction, for as she passed
the print-shop, at the corner of Harbut Street, she saw her mysterious
old gentleman standing still on the pavement fixedly regarding a small
Olivia had a good view of the lean, cadaverous face and peaked white
beard; the heavy grey eyebrows seemed to beetle over the dark sunken
After all he looks more like a Spaniard than a Russian, she
thought, and again her theory of the Roman Catholic priest came into
her mind. If I could only see him without his hat, I should know if he
had a tonsure, and then with youthful curiosity she looked to see what
picture had interested him.
It was a small painting of the Prodigal Son, but was evidently by no
amateur, the face of both father and son were admirably portrayed. The
strong Syrian faces were mellowed by the ruddy gleams of sunset. A tame
kid was gambolling behind them, and two women were grinding corn, with
the millstone between them. On the flat white roof of the house,
another woman had just laid aside her distaff in a hurry. The father's
arms with their gold bracelets were clasping the gaunt, sharp shoulders
of the starving youth.
Olivia knew the picture well. Marcus had been very much struck with
it, it was good work, he said; the Syrian faces were perfect types, and
he had made Olivia notice the strong resemblance between father and
That is the mother, I suppose? had been her comment; she has just
caught sight of them, there is a puzzled look in her eyes as she lays
aside her distaff, as though she is not quite sure that that
wild-looking figure in sheep-skin is her own long-lost son.
It must be a grand thing to be an artist, was Marcus's reply to
this. Goddard, I do not know the name; the picture is cheap, too, only
25 pounds, but I would wager any money that it was painted in Syria.
Olivia stole a second glance at the old man, but he never moved;
then she shivered, and walked faster. It was bitterly cold, a miserable
afternoon for Marcus, who was visiting his poor patients in the squalid
back streets and slums that fringed Brompton.
Mayfield Villas were about ten minutes' walk from Galvaston Terrace;
the villas had verandahs and long, narrow gardens, but most of them had
lodgings to let.
Mrs. Broderick and her maid occupied the first floor at number six,
the drawing-room and back bedroom belonged to the invalid, and Deborah
had a tiny room close by her mistress, the other room had been
converted into a kitchen; none of the rooms were large, but they were
well-furnished, and thoroughly comfortable. During her husband's
lifetime Mrs. Broderick had been comfortably off, and had had a good
housethe carved book-cases, Turkey-carpet, and deep easy-chairs, and
a few proof-engravings handsomely framed, all spoke of better days.
When Olivia's foot sounded on the stairs, a tall, hard-featured
woman came out of the kitchen.
I knew it was you, she said. Come in. My mistress is just
wearying for you. She never sleeps in daylight, and it is ill-reading
and working in the fading light. I will soon have the tea ready. I have
been baking some scones.
Olivia sniffed the warm perfume delightedly. She was hungry, oh, so
hungry! although two hours had not elapsed since dinner-time, and Deb's
scones, with sweet, fresh country butter, was ambrosial food.
Don't let Deb keep you with her chatter, come ben, my woman, as my
poor Fergus would have said.
The voice was peculiarly youthful and melodious, the timbre
exquisite in modulation and volume, but the face belonged to a woman
aged more by pain and trouble than years.
Madge Broderick had never been a handsome woman, her nose was too
long, and her skin too sallow for beauty, but her bright eyes and a
certain gracefulness of figure, and her beautiful voice had been her
charms. Fergus Broderick, a rough Scotchman, with a tongue as uncouth
as his native dales, had fallen in love with her at their first
meeting; he had been invited to dine at the house of the senior
partner, in whose employ he was, and as the awkward, bashful young
Scotchman entered the firelit room, a clear laugh from amongst a group
of girls gathered round the hearth penetrated like music to his ear.
Parting is such sweet sorrow, said the voice, with much pathos,
that I could say good-bye until the morrow; those are your sentiments,
Katie, are they not?
Hush, Madge! here is Mr. Broderick waiting for us to speak to him,
and the daughter of the house rose with a laugh to greet him.
When the lamps were lighted Fergus Broderick had scanned all the
girlish faces with furtive eagerness. He had felt a shock of
disappointment when the owner of the exquisite voice had revealed her
identity. Madge's long nose and sallow skin were no beauties certainly;
nevertheless, before the evening was over, Fergus Broderick knew he had
found his mate; and for eight blissful years Madge dwelt in her woman's
kingdom, and gathered more roses than thorns.
Her first trouble had been the loss of her boy; he had succumbed to
some childish ailment; her husband's deaththe result of an
accidenthad followed a few months later.
The strain of the long nursing and excessive grief had broken down
Madge Broderick's strength. The seeds of an unsuspected disease latent
in her system now showed itself, and for some two or three years her
sufferings, both mental and physical, would have killed most women.
Then came alleviation and the lull that resembles peace; the pain
was no longer so acute; the disease had reached a stage when there
would be days and even weeks of tolerable comfort; then Madge
courageously set herself to make the most of her life.
With a courage that was almost heroic, she divided and subdivided
the hours of each dayso many duties, so many hours of recreation. She
had her charity work, her fancy work, her heavy and light reading;
books and flowers were her luxuries; the newest books, the sweetest
flowers, were always to be found on the table beside her couch.
Madge often said laughingly that she lived in a world of her own.
But I have very good society, she would add; the best and wisest of
all ages give me their company. This morning I was listening to Plato's
Dialogues, and this afternoon Sir Edwin Arnold was entertaining me at
the Maple Club in Tokio. This eveningwell, please do not think me
frivolous, but affairs at Rome and a certain Prince Saracinesca claim
A good novel puts me in a better humour and disposes me to sleep,
you know, she would finish, brightly, that I always read aloud to
Fergus in the evening; we were going through a course of Thackeraywe
were in the middle of 'Philip on his way through the world' when the
accident happened. After that he could only bear a few verses or a
CHAPTER III. AUNT MADGE.
It is more delightful and more honourable to give than receive.
Most people thought it a strange thing that Mrs. Broderick spoke so
constantly of her husband. Mrs. Tolman, the Vicar's wife, who was a
frequent visitor, had been scandalised more than once, and had
expressed herself rather strongly on the subject to her husband.
I know you think very highly of poor Mrs. Broderick, Stephen, and
so do I, she remarked one day. Very few women would bear things in
that quiet, uncomplaining way, and the amount of work she gets through
is astonishing; but that perpetual dragging in of her husband's name
seems to me such bad taste.
Upon my word, Isabella, I cannot say that I agree with you. And
the Vicar straightened himself on the rug in his favourite attitude. He
was a heavy, ponderous man, with an expression of shrewd good sense on
his face that won people's confidence. I wish other women were as
faithful to their husband's memory, that flighty little Mrs. Martin,
My dear Stephen, what an absurd idea! Fancy talking of Lydia
Martin, every one knows she is making a dead set at Mr. Germaine,
although poor Jack Martin has hardly been dead a year. She is Mrs.
Broderick's exact opposite. Please do not misunderstand me in this
tiresome way, and here Mrs. Tolman frowned slightly. It is the manner
in which Mrs. Broderick speaks of her husband that offends my tastes.
In my opinioncompressing her lips as she spokeour departed dear
ones are sacred, and should not be mentioned in a secular manner.
At the word secular there was a twinkle in the Vicar's eyes,
though he held his peace. And to tell the truth, Mrs. Tolman had been
unable to find the expression she needed.
But with Mrs. Broderick it is 'Fergus here' and 'Fergus there,'
just as though he were alive and in the next room, and she was
expecting him in every moment. Sometimes in the twilight it makes me
quite creepy to hear her speaking in that sprightly voice, just as
though she were making believe that he heard her.
Poor soul! was the Vicar's answer to this; but he was used to
keeping his thoughts to himselfhe and Mrs. Broderick understood each
other perfectly. She had not a firmer friend in the world, unless it
was her kind physician, Dr. Randolph. Poor soul! he repeated when his
wife in silent dudgeon had retired from the room.
It is not likely that Isabella would understand her; Mrs. Broderick
is the bravest and the brightest woman I know, and yet the furnace was
heated sevenfold for her. Make believe that he is alive! Why, he has
never been dead to her! It is her vivid faith and her vivid imagination
that has helped her to live all these years instead of lying there a
crushed wreck for people to patronise and pity.
And here again there was a wicked little twinkle in the Vicar's
eyes. Did he not know his Isabella, and how good she was to those who
would allow her to advise and lecture them.
Mrs. Broderick has just laughed and put her foot down, that is why
Isabella is always complaining of her. They have not exactly hit it
off. And here the Vicar laughed softly as he sat down to consider his
Aunt Madge, how cosy you look! exclaimed Olivia, as she stood on
the threshold of the warm firelit room; and then a swift transition of
thought carried her back to the dismal little dining-room at Galvaston
Terrace, with its black smouldering fire, and the damp clinging to the
window-panes, and an involuntary shiver crossed her as she knelt down
beside her aunt's couch.
My dear Livy, you are a perfect iceberg! exclaimed Mrs. Broderick.
No, you shall not kiss me again until you are warmer. Sit down in that
easy-chair close to the fire where I can see you, and take that
handscreen for the good of your complexion.Now, Deb, bring the
tea-things, like a good soul, for Mrs. Luttrell has made a poor
How could you guess that, Aunt Madge? Are you a witch or a
magician? asked Olivia, in her astonished voice. It was pure
guess-work on Mrs. Broderick's part, but as usual her keen wits had
grazed the truth.
Olivia, who had a healthy girlish appetite, had risen from the
midday meal almost as hungry as when she had sat down. The dish of
hashed mutton had been small, and if Olivia had eaten her share, Martha
would have fared badly. A convenient flower-pot, a gift from Aunt
Madge, had prevented Marcus from seeing his wife's plate. Olivia, who
had dined off potatoes and gravy, was already faint from exhaustion. As
usual, she confessed the truth.
It was my fault, Aunt Madge, she said, basking like a blissful
salamander in the warm glow. I ought to have known the meat would not
go round properly; but happily Marcus did not notice, or else there
would have been a fuss. He and Martha dined properly, and I mean to
enjoy my tea.
But Mrs. Broderick's only answer was to ring her handbell.
Deb, boil two of those nice new-laid eggs that Mrs. Broughton sent
me. Mrs. Luttrell has had no dinner; if the scones are ready we will
have tea at once. And as Deborah nodded and vanished, she shook her
head a little sadly. Olive dear, it won't pay; you are not the sort of
person who can safely starve. I thought there was something wrong about
you when you came in; you had a peaky, under-fed look. Oh, I thought
so! as the tears rose to Olivia's eyes. Now, I am not going to say
another word until you have had your tea. Look at Zoe; she thinks you
are in trouble about something, and wants to lick your face. Is not the
sympathy of a dumb creature touching? They don't understand what is
wrong, but they see plainly that their human friend is unhappy. Come to
me, Zoe, and I will explain matters. It is not much of a trouble. Olive
is not really miserable; she is only cold and hungry and weak, and
wants petting and cosseting.
I think I am rather unhappy, Aunt Madge, returned Olivia, in a sad
voice. Things are getting worse, and Marcus looks so careworn; he was
talking in his sleep last night. We have so little money leftonly
just enough for six months' rent and the coals, and ever so little for
housekeeping, and no patients come, and now I have made up my mind to
tell him to-night that Martha must go.
My dear Olivia, we talked that over a few weeks ago, and we decided
then that you had better keep her.
Yes, Aunt Madge, I know; but indeed, indeed we cannot afford her
foodthese growing girls must be properly fed, and the amount of bread
and butter she eats would astonish Deb and here Olivia heaved a
Well, well, we will talk it over againand then Deb brought in
the tea-things, and the scones, and the new-laid eggs, and as Mrs.
Broderick sipped her tea it did her kind heart good to see how her
niece enjoyed the good things before her.
There now, you feel ever so much better, she said, when the meal
was finished. Now we can talk comfortably. I have been thinking over
what you have said, and I suppose you are right from your point of
view, and that if you cannot afford Martha's food she must go, but I
have been thinking of Marcus. He is at the turning-point of his career.
Everything depends on his making a practice. When patients send for
him, and they will send for him by-and-by, do you think it will look
well for his wife to open the door to them.
But, Aunt Madge
Olive, you were always a good, honest little girl, and you have
grown up an honest woman; you want to do your duty and slave for Marcus
and Dot, and you have begun nobly by starving yourself until you are on
the verge of an hysterical attack, but we must think of Marcus. Martha
must not go, at least, not until the winter is over. I have been saving
a few pounds for your Christmas present I meant you to have had a new
dress and jacket, and a few other little things you needed; but if you
like to pay Martha's wages with it until Easter you can please
yourselfonly take it and say no morewhat, crying again! What
nonsense, as though I may not give my own niece a little present.
It is the goodness and the kindness, returned Olivia, with a low
sob. Aunt Madge, why are you so good to me? You have saved all this,
and you have so little to spareas though I do not know what a small
income you really have.
It is a very respectable income, and my dear Fergus worked hard to
make it. I never professed to be a rich woman, but I have everything I
want. If people would only cut their coat by their cloth, as Fergus
used to say, there would be less distress in the world; well, my wants
are few; I have no milliner's bills; here there was a gleam of fun in
the invalid's eyes. No smart bonnets or fashionable mantles needed at
this establishment; only just a cosy tea-gown now and then when the old
one is too shabby. Come, Olive, are you not going to count your money?
And then Olivia emptied the contents of the little purse on her lap.
Well? as the slim fingers sorted the gold and silver; will there
be enough for Martha's wages until Easter?
Yes, indeed, Aunt Madge, and there will be some over. I can buy the
stuff for baby's winter pelisse without troubling Marcus, and do you
know, knitting her brows in careful calculation, I do believe that
with a little contrivance and management I can get some new trimming
for my Sunday hat, and a pair of chevrette gloves; good chevrette
gloves are dear, but they wear splendidly, and a pair would last me
most of the winteryes, her eyes brightening, I am sure I could do
it; it does fret Marcus so to see me shabby.
Mrs. Broderick nodded in a sympathising wayshe knew the joy of
these small economies and contrivances; the little purse of savings had
not been gathered together without some self-denial; but as she saw the
lovely rainbow smile on Olivia's face, she felt that she had her
This is my red-letter day, she said, quaintly; it is always a
red-letter day when I can really help someone. I have my black-letter
days when I can do nothing special, when it is all noughts and crosses
in my diary, I have had my Christmas treat beforehand, and I shall be
quite happy till bed-time thinking about Dot's pelisse and the new
hat-trimming; by-the-bye, what colour is the pelisse to be?
Blue, baby is so fair, and blue suits her best; I think I shall get
some cotton-backed velvet just to trim it;I must not dream of fur.
How would miniver look round the cape and neck? I have two or three
yards in very good condition. Deb picked it off my wadded satin mantle
years ago. I was keeping it for some special occasion. If you buy a
really good cashmere, and trim it with my old miniver, Dot will have a
grand pelisse, and then Mrs. Broderick hunted in her key-basket for a
certain key, and instructed her niece to unlock a drawer in her
It was growing late by this time, and Olivia was obliged to take her
leave. Marcus had promised to be back by seven, and it was six o'clock
now; but as she walked briskly through the quiet streets she felt as
light-hearted as a child.
What a happy evening she and Marcus would spend! There would be no
need now to tell him about Martha, or to beg him to give her the few
shillings for Dot's pelisse; he should have a nice tea. Aunt Madge had
made her take a couple of the new-laid eggs and a pot of Deb's
delicious marmalade home with her, and she knew how Marcus would enjoy
the little treat.
Dear Aunt Madge, how I love her? I think she is the very best woman
in the world; but here Olivia gave a surprised start. She had reached
the print-shop at the corner of Harbut Street, and in the strong glare
of the gas-lamp she distinctly saw the tall, bent form of her
He was coming out of the shop, and walking stiffly and with
difficulty in the direction of his house. She had never known him out
so late before. His afternoon walk was always timed for him to be back
by four. She glanced at the shop window, but there was no picture of
The Prodigal Son to be seen.
Had he bought it? Was this the reason why he was out so late? Olivia
felt a little anxious as she noticed how feebly he walked; the greasy
pavements were rather slippery, and Galvaston Terrace was not a
well-lighted thoroughfare. Perhaps it was nonsense, but she would not
enter her house until she had seen him safely across the road, and
within the lion-guarded portals.
It was just kindly womanly instinct, but all her life long Olivia
was glad that she had yielded to that impulse. She was still standing
upon the step, and the old man was nearly across the road, when she saw
him slip. A piece of orange-peel on the curb had escaped him in the
darkness, and he had put his foot on the slippery substance. Olivia
gave a quick exclamation as she saw him try to recover his balance, and
then fall forward rather heavily. No one was passing just then, and
happily the road was clear of vehicles. Olivia ran across and picked up
his stick, then she took him by the arm and helped him to rise.
I trust you have not hurt yourself, she said, anxiously. Please
do not be afraid of leaning on me, I am very strong. Ah, as the old
man uttered a groan, you have injured yourself in some way. The curb
is rather steep just here.
It is my ankle, but I must get home somehow. You are very good,
madam; if you will allow me to take your arm, I think I can manage
those few yards. I live there, pointing to the grim doorway.
Yes, I know: Mr. Gaythorne, of Galvaston House; we are neighbours
of yours, and I have seen you come out of the house frequently. Shall I
ring the bell for you, and perhapshesitating a little, as though she
were taking a libertyyou will allow me to go as far as the hall-door
But to her alarm the old man suddenly stood still. It was pitchy
dark under the overhanging trees, and only a faint gleam from a large
bow window showed her the length of the garden-path that they would
have to traverse.
I can do no more, he said, faintly; I believe I have broken my
ankle. Mrs. Crampton and the maids must find some way of getting me in.
Perhaps, madam, you will be so good as to explain the matter to them. I
see the door is open, and Olivia at once left him and went up to the
Your master has met with a slight accident, she said to the
astonished maid. He has fallen and hurt his foot, and it is quite
impossible for him to walk up to the house. He mentioned Mrs. Crampton;
perhaps you will ask her what is to be done, and the girl, a
good-natured, buxom country lass, at once ran off.
Olivia stood patiently for a few minutes. The hall with its handsome
rugs and blazing fire looked delightfully inviting. A lean, old hound,
stretched on a tiger skin, turned its head and then rose stiffly and
came towards her. As its slender nose touched her dress, she saw the
poor thing was blind. The next moment a cheerful-looking, grey-haired
woman hurried towards her, followed by two maids.
What is it that Phoebe tells me, ma'am; Mr. Gaythorne has met with
an accident? Times out of number I have begged and prayed him not to go
out alone; but he was not to be persuaded.
He is down there by the gate, the trees hide him, returned Olivia,
hastily. I think it would be best to take an arm-chair, if you think
we could carry him in. He is in dreadful pain and cannot walk a step
Phoebe, tell cook to light the lantern, and then you two girls
bring one of the study chairsthe lantern first, mind.
Now, ma'am, perhaps we had better find my master, and the lasses
will follow us. There are four of us, and Mr. Gaythorne is not so very
heavy, and we will have him on the library couch in no time.
CHAPTER IV. DR. LUTTRELL'S FIRST
Sudden the worst, turns the best to the brave,Browning.
Olivia felt as if she were dreaming as she followed the little
procession down the dark garden-path. Once she pinched her wrist
slightly to assure herself that she was awake. Mrs. Crampton held the
lantern, and the cook and the two maids carried the arm-chair, with
jolting uneven footsteps, that brought a suppressed groan to Mr.
Gaythorne's lips. As they lifted him on the couch he looked so white
that Olivia thought he was going to faint, and begged the housekeeper
to give him some wine; he was evidently in severe pain.
It would be better not to touch the foot until the doctor comes,
she observed. And then Mrs. Crampton looked perplexed.
My master does not hold with doctors, ma'am. I don't remember one
ever crossing the threshold since poor Miriam had typhoid fever. The
foot is swelling already, and it will be a job to get the boot off. Ah,
I thought soas Mr. Gaythorne winced and motioned her awayhe will
be afraid of one touching it!
My husband lives just oppositethe corner house with the red lamp
in Harbut Street. He is a doctor and very clever, and I am nearly sure
that he is in just now. Olivia spoke a little breathlessly and
anxiously; then she bent over the old man.
If Mrs. Crampton does not know of another doctor would you mind one
of the maids running across the road for Dr. Luttrell? You are
suffering so much, and your foot ought to be treated at once. It is
impossible for any one to know if it be only a sprain until the boot is
removed. You fell so heavily that perhaps a small bone might be
Yessendsend, returned the invalid, irritably. Clear the room,
Crampton. You know that I hate to have a parcel of women round
me.There is no need for you to go, madamwith an attempt at
civility as Olivia was about to withdraw at this plain speaking. Give
the lady a chair, Phoebe.
But Olivia, who had excellent tact, only smiled pleasantly, and
shook her head.
I think it will be best for me to send the doctor across, there is
nothing that I can do for you until he comes.
She took the old man's hand as she spoke and pressed it gently.
I am so sorry to leave you in such pain, but I hope you will soon
be relieved. Perhaps you will not mind my inquiring another day, but a
stranger is only in the way to-night.
Olivia's soft, well-modulated voice was so full of kindly sympathy,
that Mr. Gaythorne opened his weary eyes again.
Thank you, was all he said; but he watched her keenly as she
crossed the long room.
Olivia walked so quickly that she was almost out of breath when she
reached her own door. The dining-room looked cold and comfortless.
Martha was on her knees before the fireplace trying to revive the
blackened embers with the help of the kitchen bellows, and Dr.
Luttrell, with a tired face and puckered brow, was watching the
proceedings somewhat impatiently. A tallow candle was guttering
uncomfortably on the table.
Is the fire out? Oh, Marcus, I am so sorry, but Martha and I will
soon put things to rights. Will you go across to Galvaston House at
once, please?and here Olivia's voice was full of suppressed
excitement. Mr. Gaythorne has slipped against the curb and hurt his
foot; he is in great pain. I have been helping him, and then I said I
would send you. I have left the gate open so you can just go up to the
Marcus listened to these details with an astonished face; then he
caught up his black bag and nodded acquiescence. The tired frown left
his face, and he moved away with his quiet, professional step.
Olivia watched him from the doorstep. As she closed the door after
him, she could have clapped her hands with sheer delight and
excitement. It was her doing that Marcus had his first patient. Those
foolish maids would never have thought of sending for him. Dot was
awake and singing to herself in her usual chuckling fashion in the
firelight, but Olivia had no time to play with her pet.
The bellows are no good, Martha, she said, quickly. You must just
fetch a bundle of sticks and a newspaper, and relay the fire, while I
kindle the lamp and set the table for tea; the room feels like a
There is a good fire in the kitchen, ma'am, if you want to make
toast, observed Martha, rising reluctantly from her knees; I have
been ironing Miss Baby's pinnys. Olivia, who was drawing the heavy
curtain across the window, was relieved to hear this.
In another quarter of an hour the little room wore a more cheerful
aspect. The sticks crackled and blazed lustily; the green-shaded lamp
diffused a mellow light. The tea-tray was set and the plate of French
toast was frizzling gently on a brass trivet. At the sound of her
master's footstep Martha had orders to fill up the teapot and boil the
After this Olivia played with Dot, and undressed her, and then
brought her in to say good-night to her father. But she waxed sleepy
long before he let himself in with his latch-key.
Marcus paused on the threshold a moment as though something struck
him. Olivia's face looked fair and sweet as she sat in her low chair
with the sleepy child in her arms. She put back her head with a soft
questioning smile as he bent down to kiss her face.
Dot is nearly asleep, but I had not the heart to put her in her cot
until you had seen her; tea is quite ready, and Martha is boiling some
new-laid eggs. Aunt Madge has sent you, too, a pot of her home-made
marmalade, because she knows how fond you are of it. Sit down and
begin, I shall not be a moment, and Olivia's voice was so full of
suppressed excitement, that Marcus laughed as he drew his chair to the
table; he was tired and hungry, but he no longer felt impatient and
Now tell me everything, she exclaimed, when she came back. What
have you done? Was the foot very bad? Will you have to go to Galvaston
Rather! returned Marcus; it is a pretty bad sprain, I can tell
you. Why, I should not be surprised if Mr. Gaythorne is laid up for the
next two or three weeks; he is not in good condition and the shaking
and fright have upset him. He will want good nursing and plenty of
attention, as I told his housekeeper. I am going again early in the
And was he civil to you? Mrs. Crampton says he hates doctors, and
Olivia's tone was a trifle anxious.
Well, he was a bit grumpy at first, but I had my work to do, and
took no notice, but when I had helped him upstairs and put him
comfortable for the night, he waxed a shade more gracious and thanked
me quite civilly. I fancy he is a character and has lived so long alone
that he has grown morose and unsociable. That blind hound of his
followed us upstairs and would not leave him. Did you notice him,
Yes; and is it not a nice house, Marcus? That library is a
beautiful room. All those hundreds of well-bound books, and the massive
oak furniture. I had not time to notice things, but I could not help
feeling how deliciously soft and warm the carpets felt to one's feet,
and then those lovely rugs and skins in the hall.
His bedroom was just as luxurious. Mr. Gaythorne is evidently a
rich man, though he keeps no carriage. Mrs. Crampton told me so. He is
very fond of flowers; there is a sort of conservatory on the first
floor full of beautiful plants, and an alcove where he can sit and
enjoy them. I could not help stopping a moment to admire them, but Mrs.
Crampton did not invite me to go in. You may depend upon it the old
gentleman is a strict martinet, and rules his household with a rod of
iron. Mrs. Crampton seems a good creature, but he spoke pretty sharply
to her once or twice.
But he was in such pain, Marcus.
Yes, my dear, I know that. Oh, by-the-bye, he sent his compliments
to you. 'I am greatly indebted to Mrs. Luttrell, and I trust that I
shall soon have an opportunity of thanking her properly for her kind
helpfulness.' There, Livy, now we shall hear no more of the Nihilist or
the Roman priest.
Dr. Luttrell was in spirits; it was easy to see that. The first
patient, the first brief, the first bookaye, and the first love. What
a halo remains round them!
Our first-fruits may be immature, unripe, but to us they have a
goodly flavour, a subtle, sweet aroma of their own. All through his
successful life Dr. Luttrell will look back to this evening as the
turning-point of his career, when; he stood cold and tired watching
Martha's bellows, and his wife's voice with a triumphant ring in it had
called to him from the threshold.
Marcus's first piece of good luck had so absorbed them that it was
some time before Olivia remembered to tell him about Aunt Madge's
present. Marcus forgot to go on with his tea when he saw the little
heap of coins in his wife's hand. Martha's wages, Dot's pelisse, and
even the gloves and new hat-trimming were all duly canvassed. When
Marcus said, abruptly, Aunt Madge is a trump, his glistening eyes
were eloquent enough. They had so much to discuss that it was nearly
bedtime before he offered to go on with the book he was reading aloud,
but after all they were neither in the mood for other people's stories.
In youth life is so interesting. No chapters of past memories, no
wide experiences are so beguiling and absorbing. Oh, we lived then.
How often we hear that phrase, as the old man looks back over a long
life, to the time when lad's love filled his days with sunshine.
When Marcus lay awake that night there was no deadly coldness at his
heart, no lurking demon of despondency, waiting for the small dark
hours to assail him. On the contrary, hope with seraph wings fanned him
blissfully. Marcus Luttrell was young, but he was no coward. For two
years he had waited patiently until the tide should turn. Wait till
the clouds roll by, he used to say, cheerily, but only his wife
guessed how he was really losing heart, as day after day and month
after month passed and no paying patients presented themselves at the
corner house at Galvaston Terrace.
Olivia was at the window the following morning with Dot in her arms.
As Dr. Luttrell, with his shabby black bag crossed the road, he looked
back once, and Dot kissed her dimpled hand to him. Olivia, who admired
her husband with all her honest girlish heart, watched eagerly until
the slight, well-built figure passed between the stone lions.
If he were only a little older-looking, she thought, regretfully,
but his smooth face and fair hair gave him a boyish look.
It was absurd, of course, but she could settle to nothing until he
came back; but Marcus, who had a bad accident case on his mind, was in
too great a hurry to satisfy his wife's curiosity. The foot was going
on as well as he expected, but Mr. Gaythorne was unable to leave his
bed. He was going again in the evening, and now he must be off to the
model lodging-house to see if the poor fellow had pulled through the
Olivia had planned out her morning. She had her marketing to do, and
her purchases to make. Then it was only right to go round and tell Aunt
Madge of the wonderful piece of good fortune that had befallen them.
Mrs. Broderick was unfeignedly pleased. Still, Olive, she
remarked, with commendable prudence, one swallow does not make a
No, Aunt Madge, of course not; but, as Marcus says, one patient
brings others. Galvaston House is a big place, and when the neighbours
see him going in and out, it will be a sort of testimonial; besides, I
shall quote Deb's favourite proverb, 'Every mickle makes a muckle.' Now
I really must go, for I want to cut out Dot's pelisse.
And the dinner, Olive; are you sure it will go round to-day?
Then Olivia laughed in a shamefaced way.
Yes, indeed; I have been dreadfully extravagant, and we are going
to have steaks and chips because it is Marcus's favourite dish, and
Martha does it so well. There is a whole pound of steak and just a
little over. I saw it cut myself, and it was such good weight. And
hesitating a little, There are currant dumplings too.
Comethis is feasting indeed!
But Aunt Madge smiled a little sadly when she found herself alone.
Does Olive half realise how happy she is! she said to herself.
She is a rich woman in spite of all her poverty and cares. When one
has youth and love and health and a good conscience, every day is a
feast and a delight. One day Marcus will drive in his carriage and
pair. He is a clever fellow and there is real grit in him, and people
will find it out, they always do. And Olive will wear silk dresses, and
get stout with prosperity and good living; but I doubt if she will be
quite as happy as she is to-daycutting out Dot's pelisse, and
enjoying her day-dreams.
And very probably Mrs. Broderick was right. Marcus was more
communicative that evening when he returned from his second visit to
Galvaston House. Mr. Gaythorne was not exactly an ideal patient; he had
a will and a temper of his own, and already his opinion clashed with
Marcus had laid great stress on perfect rest. He wished his patient
to remain in bed for the next two or three days, but Mr. Gaythorne
perversely refused to do anything of the kind; he would put on his
dressing-gown and lie on the couch. He hated bed in the daytimeit
made him nervous, and spoilt his night's sleep.
I shall have to give in to him, went on Marcus, a little
irritably. If I were in good practice I should just throw up the case.
'My good sir,' I should say, 'if you will not follow my directions it
will be useless for me to prescribe for you. My professional reputation
is at stake, and I cannot stand by and see you retard your cure.' Can't
you fancy me saying it, Livy?and Marcus tossed back his wave of hair
in his old boyish way.
Yes, dear; but people will soon find out what a splendid doctor you
are; and so that poor glazier in the Models will recover, you think?
Yes, I hope so; the chances are in his favour, poor chap; it was
hard lines crashing through the roof of that conservatory. If I had not
been on the spot he would have bled to death before they could have got
him to a hospital. You might go and see them, Livy; they are decent
people. She is a pleasant, hard-working young woman, and they have two
little children, and the place is as clean as possible. I told Mr.
Gaythorne about them just to amuse him, but he only grunted and looked
bored. By-the-way, you are right in one of your surmiseshe has bought
your favourite picture of the Prodigal Son. It was on a chair beside
his bed, and he consulted me as to where he could have it hung. I was
going to suggest over the mantel-piece, but then I saw there was a
large picture there with a silk curtain over it.
That must be his wife's picture, Marcus. How nice of him to have
curtains over it!
Very nice if we could be sure that Mr. Gaythorne has been married
and had a wife, he returned, a little dryly; but I should not be
surprised to find that he was an old bachelor; he is far too fussy and
precise for a widower. But, my dear child, we are getting into very
gossiping ways, and I must really get on with that book Aunt Madge lent
us. And then Olivia consented to hold her tongue and let him read
aloud to her as usual.
CHAPTER V. A VISIT TO GALVASTON
He who knows how to speak knows also when to speak.Plutarch.
The next morning as Olivia sat at work with Dot on the rug at her
feet, playing with a limp furry monkey, over which she was gurgling and
cooing like a baby dove, Dr. Luttrell entered the room; there was a
pleased look on his face.
Olive, he said, look what Mr. Gaythorne has given me for poor
Jack Travers, and he held a five-pound note before his wife's eyes.
Don't you think we owe him a handsome apology for calling him a miser?
it does not do to judge by appearances in this world; Mr. Gaythorne is
eccentric, and a trifle cantankerous, but he is not stingy.
[Illustration: Olive, look what Mr. Gaythorne has given me.]
Jack Travers! is that the poor man in the Models? Oh, Marcus, how
splendid of him to give all that; it will be quite a fortune to the
Yes, it will pay their rent until Travers gets about again; he is
not going to die this journey. Was it not liberal of the old fellow?
but if you had only seen the way he gave it to me, as though he were
ashamed of the whole thing.
'That is for the man you told me about last night,' he said, in
quite a grumpy voice; and he had hardly seemed as though he had
listened yesterday; and he would not let me thank him, he turned testy
at once; by-the-bye, Livy, he wants you to go and see him; you have
evidently won his heart, my dear. 'If Mrs. Luttrell has half an hour's
leisure I shall be pleased to see her,' those were his very words.
I hope you told him that it would be rather difficult to find
leisure with all my numerous engagements, returned Olivia, saucily,
but that I would do my best for him. How many callers have we had
since we were married, Marcus? let me see, the Vicar and Mrs. Tolman,
oh, and one day Mrs. Tolman brought a friend. I remember how excited I
was that afternoon, and that horrid little Sarah Jane had her sleeves
rolled up to her elbows when she opened the door, and I dared not offer
them tea because I knew she would never have had boiling water. Oh,
yes, continued Olivia, merrily, I will look over my visiting list,
and see how I am to squeeze in a call at Galvaston House. What hour do
you think would suit him best, Marcus?
Then Dr. Luttrell, who had been much amused by his wife's drollery,
gravely considered the point.
About three o'clock, I should say; I think he wants to show you his
flowers; he is going to have his couch wheeled into the conservatory,
or his winter garden, as he calls it. Why should you not go across this
afternoon? Now I must be off to the Models; and as Olivia took up her
work again there was a soft flush on her cheek, and a happy look in her
eyes as she listened to his light springing tread.
Dear Marcus, she said to herself; how pleased he is about this,
it has done him good already. Oh, how I hope Mr. Gaythorne will take a
fancy to him; he is rich and liberal, I am sure of that; he will pay
Marcus well, and perhaps before long someone else will send for him.
What, Dot, my sweet, must I love Jacko too? as Dot laid her treasure
on her mother's lap.
When Olivia rang at the bell of Galvaston House that afternoon the
same rosy-cheeked maid admitted her.
If you will step into the library a minute, ma'am, she observed,
I will tell Mrs. Crampton, and Olivia was left alone in the beautiful
room she remembered so well.
A bright fire burned cheerily on the hearth and the blind hound lay
on the rug; he came up to Olivia and thrust his slender nose into her
hand in a friendly fashion. It was in this room that Mr. Gaythorne
evidently passed his days; the tables bore signs of his numerous
occupations; one table seemed loaded with books of reference. A pile of
neatly written manuscripts were on the escritoire. Portfolios of
engravings and a microscope on a pedestal stand occupied one corner,
and a small inner room seemed full of cabinets and cases of stuffed
birds and butterflies.
Mr. Gaythorne was evidently a collector and a man of culture; the
volumes in the carved oak book-cases were mostly bound in Russian calf.
Olivia had only time to read a few titles when Mrs. Crampton appeared;
her comely face had a pleased smile on it.
Mr. Gaythorne will be extremely obliged if you will step upstairs
and see him, ma'am, she said, civilly; he has been wheeled into the
conservatory; my master thinks a deal of his flowersbooks and
flowersthey are his main amusements when his cough keeps him from
going out Oh! you must come too, Eros, of course, as the hound
followed them closely.
Galvaston House had been built in rather an unusual fashion; a
conservatory had been thrown out at the back of the first floor landing
and ran along one side of the house, forming a sort of verandah to the
As Mrs. Crampton opened the glass door, the warm fragrant air met
them deliciously. At the farther end Mr. Gaythorne lay on a couch under
a tall palm, with an oriental quilt thrown over him; his dark crimson
dressing-gown, and black velvet cap gave him a picturesque appearance;
with his white peaked beard and moustache, and his dark sunken eyes, he
would have passed for a Venetian Doge; the mass of brilliant bloom, and
the warm flower-scented air made Olivia slightly giddy.
This is very kind of you, Mrs. Luttrell, observed Mr. Gaythorne,
in a slow, precise voice, as she stooped over him and took his hand.
Crampton, bring a chair for the lady. I have been wanting to thank you
for your kind assistance that unlucky evening. I told the doctor so,
and he has been good enough to give you my message.
Indeed, I did very little, returned Olivia, in her mellow voice.
You seemed so feeble that I could not help watching you cross the
road; and then you slipped, and I felt you had hurt yourself. I fear
from what my husband tells me that it will be some little time before
you will be able to get out again.
So he says, and he threatens me with crutches, returned the old
man, grimly; but, as I seldom cross the threshold in winter, I need
not trouble myself about that. Are you fond of flowers, Mrs. Luttrell?
as Olivia's eyes wandered to the splendid exotics round her. Crampton
shall cut you some presently. My library and my winter garden form my
entire world now.
And you live among all these lovely things! observed Olivia,
almost in a tone of awe. Oh, if only Aunt Madge could see these
She spoke impulsively without considering her words, and blushed a
little when she saw Mr. Gaythorne lift his eyebrows cynically.
I was only thinking of my aunt, Mrs. Broderick, she said,
apologetically. She is such a sad invalid; she has never been out once
since Uncle Fergus died, and that is ever so many years ago, and she
suffers such dreadful pain sometimes. The doctors say her complaint is
incurable, and she is not at all old. She lives all alone with her
maid, and never goes beyond her two rooms, and yet no one hears her
Mrs. Broderick must be a wonderful person. She beats Job, returned
Mr. Gaythorne, with a cynical curl of his lip; but Olivia was too much
engrossed with her subject to notice it.
Oh, she is wonderful! she returned, earnestly. I never met any
one like her. She is the bravest woman I know. Even the Vicar says so.
Don't you love pluck, Mr. Gaythorne? So few people are plucky in that
sense. Aunt Madge has lost everything she cares forhusband and child
and health; but she bears it all so beautifully, and makes the best of
things. I could not help thinking of her when I saw all those lovely
flowers; she simply dotes on flowers! There are always some on her
little table; flowers and books, those are her sole pleasures.
What on earth made you hold forth on Aunt Madge's virtues, you
absurd child? was Marcus's comment when Olivia repeated this portion
of her conversation. Fancy entertaining Mr. Gaythorne with an account
of your relations!and Olivia blushed guiltily.
It does sound odd if you put it in that way, Marcus, she returned;
but when I saw all those beautiful flowers, Aunt Madge just jumped
into my head, and I always do speak out my thoughts so. But I could see
he was interested. He said little sharp sneering things at first, but
afterwards he questioned me a good deal. Oh, we got on splendidly! He
began asking me about ourselves, and if you had much of a practice. Oh,
he said it quite nicely! as Marcus dropped the loaf he was cutting and
frowned anxiously. He was quite gentlemanly, and only hinted at
things; but I understood him, of course.
And you told him, I suppose, that he was my first patient, in an
annoyed tone. You may as well own it, Livy; you are honest enough even
for that, and there was no denying that Marcus's voice was decidedly
sarcastic. With all her virtues Olivia never did know when to hold her
Oh, Marcus dear, how could I help it, replied Olivia, nervously.
Of course I had to tell him that we were just beginners, and how Dr.
Slade had deceived us; that there was no redress, as he was dead. But I
told him, too, how hard you worked among the poor He did not say
much. I don't think he is a great talker, but he stroked that funny
beard of his and nodded his head. Then when Mrs. Crampton came up he
told her to bring coffee, and he made me stay and pour it out for him.
There was such a lovely chased coffee-pot and cream-jug, and such
delicious cakes, and when I said at last that I must go he thanked me
quite pleasantly. 'It is long since I have been so well amused, and I
hope you will come and see me again.' Yes, he said that, Marcus, so I
am sure he did not mind my frankness. But oh, dear! he quite forgot to
tell Mrs. Crampton to cut me some flowers.
You need not expect any flowers now, returned her husband,
impatiently. You have done for yourself and me too I expect. A
beginner you said, Livy, and you a sensible woman! When I go this
evening, I have no doubt I shall be civilly told that a second opinion
will be desirable. My dear girl, don't you know that a modest
reticence, a judicious silence, is sometimes the safest policy. A
professional beggar may whine and show his sores, but a needy doctor
out at elbows must wear a good appearance; but Olivia, who was on the
verge of tears from sheer vexation at her own impulsiveness, did not
seek to defend herself.
If she had imperilled Marcus's professional reputation by her
carelessness, she felt she should never hold up her head again, but
Marcus, who was tired and a little out of humour, was not disposed to
He had had a worrying day among his poor patients, the one bright
spot had been his visit to the Models, when Jack Travers had sobbed and
broken down in the attempt to speak his gratitude. And now just as they
were getting on so well, Olivia's want of tact and that terribly honest
tongue of hers had spoilt everything. Was it likelywas it within the
bounds of possibilitythat a man of the worlda rich man toowould
be content with the services of an unknown practitioner? If he put
himself in Mr. Gaythorne's place, he knew that he should be disposed to
request Dr. Bevan to call. It was not only a sprained ankle. Mr.
Gaythorne was an ailing man, and needed medical care. Marcus, who was
clever and quick-witted, had already formed a pretty correct diagnosis
of the case. There is mental as well as physical trouble, he had said
to himself the previous evening, and with professional reticence he had
kept this opinion to himself, but he was already deeply interested in
his patient. So much was at stake, and their fortunes were at so low an
ebb, that Marcus might be pardoned for his unusual touchiness. Yet when
he left the room without further remark, Olivia's heart sank within
Why could I not have held my tongue, she thought, with tardy
repentance. What could have induced me to talk so much, but Mr.
Gaythorne really seemed interested, and somehow he encouraged me to go
on. If he had appeared bored or tired I should have stopped at once,
but he seemed so curious about Aunt Madge, he even asked if she had a
good doctor. Oh, dear, surely that is not Marcus going out! as the
street door opened; and now there were actual tears in Olivia's eyes.
In all the two years of their happy married life they had never had
more than a momentary misunderstanding. If a hasty word had been
uttered by one of them, the other had always an eager protest or a
smooth answer ready. When Olivia had been impatient and captious,
Marcus had only laughed and coaxed her into good humour again. And even
when he had indulged in a few sarcastic speeches, Olivia's soft voice
and ready acquiescence had avoided friction.
Marcus often told her that they were a model couple, and had earned
the Dunmow Flitch over and over again, but in reality their mutual
respect and thorough understanding of each other's salient points had
conduced to this harmony.
That Marcus should leave the house therefore without speaking to her
alarmed Olivia excessively. She must have vexed him, indeed, if he
could do such a thing as that, and here one or two bright drops ran
down on the blue pelisse.
She was actually crying like a scolded child, when two or three
minutes later the parlour-door opened and Marcus entered. His face wore
a queer expression, and in each hand he held an exquisite bunch of
hot-house flowers; their perfume reached Olivia before he laid them
There, Olive, he said, I take back my words; then, as he caught
sight of her tear-stained face: Oh, you foolish little woman, you
absurd child, but his hand rested affectionately on her soft, brown
hair, as she put back her head against him.
Oh, Marcus, I could not help crying to think I had vexed you so.
Somehow it is the one thing I cannot bear, to think my foolish tongue
should have harmed you.
I was in an awful funk, certainly, returned Marcus, frankly, but
I never meant to bother you like that. Cheer up, Livy, I daresay it is
all right, and I know you will be a model of discretion for the future.
Aren't you going to look at your flowers? and then Olivia did permit
herself to be consoled.
Think of his cutting all those lovely flowers for me, she cried,
ecstatically. Is he not an old dear, Marcus? But why two bouquets?
knitting her brows in a puzzled fashion.
You had better open that folded slip of paper, suggested her
husband, sensibly, it may explain matters, and Olivia took his
Mrs. Luttrell, with Mr. Gaythorne's compliments, was pencilled in
a shaky hand, and on the second slip, almost illegibly, For Mrs.
Oh, Marcus, how sweet of him! and Olivia looked almost lovely in
her excitement, and Marcus agreed that he was a good old sort.
If you are going to write a note of thanks, you must just hurry up,
as it is nearly time for me to go across, and then Olivia put the
flowers in water, and got out her writing-case.
CHAPTER VI. I REMIND YOU OF
The fire in the flint
Shows not till it be struck.Timon of Athens.
Although Marcus had other visits to pay, and would not be back until
quite late, Olivia sat up for him on pretence of finishing Dot's
pelisse, but to her disappointment he had very little to tell her on
Mr. Gaythorne had been tired and out of spirits, and he had had no
inducement to prolong his visit; he had not read Olivia's note, only
placed it beside him.
Perhaps he was a shade more civil than usual, observed Marcus,
dryly, but his manners certainly want mending. Could you not
illuminate that motto, Livy, 'Manners makyth man?' and we would frame
it, and give it him as a Christmas present. But Olivia could not be
induced to see the joke; Mr. Gaythorne was still an old dear, and the
perfume of his flowers was sweet to her.
Marcus would have wondered if he had intercepted one of the
searching glances that were reading him so acutely; those deep-set,
melancholy eyes could pierce like a gimlet; sometimes a vivid blue
light seemed to dart from them. When master has one of his awful looks
on, I dare not face him, Phoebe would say, and Mrs. Crampton,
conscious as she was of rectitude and the claim of long and faithful
service, felt there were limitations to her intercourse with her
Once, and once only, had she ventured on a tabooed subject, and had
retired from the room with her comely face quite pale with fear.
I thought he would have struck me, she said to her confidante, the
middle-aged housemaid, or that he would have had a fit; I should have
one myself if I ever tried it on again; but I never will, Rebecca, I
will take my oath of that.
Master has an awful temper when he is drove wrong, returned
Rebecca, primly; I don't wonder at Mr. Alwyn myself. I don't hold with
keeping too tight a hand over a young man, it fairly throttles all the
goodness out of them. He was none so bad that he would not have done
better, if only he had had a word of encouragement instead of all those
flouts and jibes.
Those are exactly my sentiments, Becky, returned Mrs. Crampton,
wiping her eyes with her snowy-frilled apron, and having a boy of my
own, bless him, I am a pretty fair judge. Tom was a pickle before he
went to sea, but neither his poor father nor me ever cast it at him. He
ran away and took the Queen's shilling, though it nigh broke our
hearts. Well, he is a sergeant now, and Polly makes him a good wife,
and all's well that ends well. But I must be looking after master's
supper, and Mrs. Crampton bustled away to her duties.
Olivia took her flowers round to Aunt Madge as soon as her household
duties were done in the morning. Mrs. Broderick, who had had a
sleepless night of pain, looked more worn and languid than usual, but
she brightened up at the sight of the flowers, and poked her long nose
into the heart of a rose with an air of rapt enjoyment, but the next
moment she frowned.
Livy, she said, severely, I am extremely angry! how dare you be
guilty of such extravagance, even if it be my birthday! Don't I know
what these exquisite flowers must have cost! then Olivia's face fell a
Oh, Aunt Madge, I had no idea it was your birthday, and I have
brought you nothing, nothing at all. Do let me explain, and then Mrs.
Broderick listened with much interest to Olivia's recital.
The flowers are even sweeter than I thought them, she said,
presently, and her face flushed a little. I thought the day would be
so blank, and that I should just lie here missing Fergus. He always
made such a fuss on my birthdays; they were red-letter days to him, and
now this friendly message has come to me. Give me my writing-case,
Livy. I must scrawl a few lines to your old gentleman, and she refused
to dictate the note to Olivia.
MY DEAR SIR, she wrote, do you know what you have done? You have
given a poor invalid a very happy day. Your beautiful flowers have come
to me like a lovely message of sympathy and goodwill from an unknown
If you were ever sad and lonely, if life has not always been easy
to you, it will sweeten your solitary hours to know that you have given
enjoyment to a crippled sufferer.
To-day is my birthday, the forty-sixth milestone on my life's
journey. During a long, wakeful night of pain I have been counting up
past blessings, and the new day seemed a blank to me, and then your
flowers came, and I thanked God and took courage.
Dear sir, I remain,
MARGARET BRODERICK (widow).
That was one of Aunt Madge's fads, one of her harmless little
peculiarities, to sign herself in that fashion. There is so much in
the word widow, she would say; if it were not for seeming odd or
making people smile, I would always sign myself 'Fergus's widow,'
instead of my proper name, but nothing could induce her to send even a
note without that curious signature.
Olivia could not quite get over her grievance of forgetting Aunt
It was so horrid of me, she said, with a long face, but, anyhow,
I will come to tea.
No, dear, not to-day, returned Mrs. Broderick, quietly. To-morrow
Deb and I will be delighted to welcome you. And Deb shall bake some
shortbread and scones. Marcus might come too, it is long since I saw
But why not to-day, dear Aunt Madge? persisted Olivia, rather
Fergus and I always spent the day alone together, and I keep up the
custom still, returned Mrs. Broderick, in a dreamy voice. He never
gave me his present until the evening, and it was always such a grand
surprise. His last present to me was that revolving book-table. How
splendid I thought it, and what a comfort it has been to me all these
years. Don't look so serious, Livy, I don't mean to be dull, I never
am, but I like to fancy that on my birthday I have Fergus near me
still, and nothing that Olivia could say would shake her resolution.
Olivia hesitated to repeat her visit to Galvaston House, and when
she consulted Marcus he advised her to wait a little.
We must not be too pushing. I daresay one of these days Mr.
Gaythorne will send you another message. He is rather ailing and out of
sorts just now, and inclined to bristle up at a word, but, though
Marcus laughed in this way, he had not found his berth an easy one.
Mr. Gaythorne was often irritable, and the least contradictioneven
the assertion of an opinionwould ruffle him. Once, when Marcus had
proposed discontinuing his evening visits, Mr. Gaythorne had appeared
If I can afford to pay for medical advice, I suppose I may be
allowed to have it, he had returned, testily. Of course, if your time
is too valuable
But Marcus, flushing at the covert sneer, answered, in his quick,
I wish it were more valuable; but as I have no wish to pick your
pocket, I thought it would be only honest to tell you that the evening
visit is no longer necessary.
Very well, then we will regard it in the light of a luxury,
returned Mr. Gaythorne, a little less grimly. By-the-bye, Dr.
Luttrell, I want to ask you if you will kindly let me have your account
at the end of the month. Monthly payments are my rule, if it will not
Marcus assured him he was quite ready to meet his wishes.
Olivia, who had few amusements, often thought longingly of that
beautiful winter garden, and wished to revisit it. She had described it
so vividly and graphically to Aunt Madge, that Mrs. Broderick declared
she could picture it exactly. She was never weary of hearing her
I feel as though my world were enlarged, and that I had got a new
friend, she said one day, and Olivia was amused to hear that the faded
flowers had been carefully pressed.
She was much delighted then when one raw, foggy November morning
Marcus brought her a message. Mr. Gaythorne felt himself better, and
would be very pleased if Mrs. Luttrell would give him an hour that
Her visit was a very pleasant one. The yellow fog outside had been
extremely depressing, but as she stepped into the hall, the whole house
seemed brightly illuminated. Mr. Gaythorne, who was on crutches, met
her at the head of the staircase. He had discarded his dressing-gown,
and wore a black velvet coat that became him still better.
The conservatory, lighted up by lamps cunningly concealed among the
foliage, looked more like fairyland than ever. And the deep
easy-chairs, with their crimson cushions, were deliciously inviting.
Her admiration seemed to gratify Mr. Gaythorne, and as he pointed
out his favourite flowers, and descanted on their habits and peculiar
beauties, Olivia listened with such intelligent interest, and asked
such sensible and pertinent questions, that he was drawn insensibly
into giving her a botanical lesson.
They were so engrossed with their subject that it was almost an
effort to break off when coffee was brought.
Mrs. Crampton had sent up a profusion of dainty cakes, and as Olivia
drank her coffee and feasted on the various delicacies, the one
drawback to her pleasure was that Marcus was not there to share it. At
this present moment he was in some slum or other supplementing the
labours of the overworked parish doctor.
How surprised Dr. Luttrell would have been if he could have seen the
transformation in his patient's appearancethe lean, cadaverous face
had lost its fretful look, the melancholy dark eyes had grown bright
and vivid, the slow precise voice had waxed animated and even eloquent
as he discoursed learnedly on his floral treasures.
Flowers, butterflies, and birds were his great hobbies, and his
magnificent collections had been gathered from all parts of the world;
he had been a great traveller in his early manhood.
I have been everywhere and seen everything, he said once. Towards
the end of the afternoon Olivia had been much touched by a little
incident; she had asked him a question about a curious cactus. If you
will come with me, my dear, he had answered, I could show you a
better specimenand then a dull red had risen to his forehead.
Excuse me, Mrs. Luttrell. I forgot whom I was
addressingandandyou but here he checked himself.
Oh, do finish your sentence! she said, in her bright persuasive
voice. You were going to say that I remind you of someone?and as he
met her kind friendly glance, his shy stiffness relaxed.
Yes, he said, simply, and a great sadness came into his eyes, you
remind me of my daughter. That first evening when you spoke to me you
reminded me of her then.
And you have lost her! Oh, I am so sorry! Does it pain you to speak
of her? I should so like to know her name!
Her name was Olivia, he returned, slowly, but we always called
her Olive. She was born at Beyrout, under the Syrian sun, and in the
land of grey olive-trees.
How strange! What a curious coincidence! returned young Mrs.
Luttrell, softly. That is my name too, and Marcus often calls me
Olive; and I remind you of her?
Yes, Olive spoke in just that brisk, cheerful manner. She was so
full of life and energy. She died of fever at Romewe were staying
there. She was only two-and-twenty, and she was to have been married
that summer. Her poor mother never got over the shock; before the
autumn she had followed her.
Oh, how sadhow dreadfully sad! observed Olivia, with tears in
her eyes. What a tragedy to live through. And her poor lover too!
Oh, yes, Arbuthnot; he was bitterly cut up. He is a judge now, and
has a good wife, but I doubt if he has ever forgotten Olive. She was no
beauty, but she had a way with her. StayI will show you her picture.
Poor man! No wonder he looks melancholy, thought Olivia, as he
slowly hobbled away on his crutches. How strange that I should remind
him of her, and that she should be Olive too! but when Mr. Gaythorne
returned and placed a beautiful miniature before her, she could see no
resemblance to herself in the dark sweet face of Olive Gaythorne.
No, she was not beautiful, but there was something wonderfully
attractive and winning in her expression; the eyes, deep-set like her
father's, had a frank soft look.
Your only childand you lost her, murmured Olivia,
My only daughter, corrected Mr. Gaythorne, in a tone so peculiar,
that Olivia raised her eyes, and then she felt a little frightened.
There was a curious pallor on Mr. Gaythorne's face, which made it look
like old ivory, and his bushy eyebrows were drawn closely together.
It is a sweet facea dear face, returned Olivia, hurriedly. She
was a little nervous over her mistake. It is kind of you to show me
this, and I like to think her name was Olive. And then she closed the
case reverently and put it back in his hands. I must go now, she
said; it has been such a lovely time, and you have taught me so much.
Will you send for me again when you want to see me? I think that is
best; it would be such a pity for me to disturb you when you felt tired
or disinclined for visitors.
You are my only visitor, returned Mr. Gaythorne, in his old grim
manner. The Vicar's wifewhat is the woman's name?forced her way in
one day, but I do not think her reception pleased her. The Vicar
himself is an honest man. I have given him a hint that he will be
welcome if he comes alone, but no bustling prying vicaress for me.
Oh, poor Mrs. Tolman; well, she is a little officious, as Marcus
calls her, and I know she often sets Aunt Madge's nerves on edge.
Oh, by the way, I intend to send Mrs. Broderick some more flowers;
will it be a trouble to you to take them, or shall one of the lasses
carry them straight to her house?
Oh, no; please let me have the pleasure of taking them. If you had
only seen Aunt Madge's delight
She wrote me a pretty sort of note, returned Mr. Gaythorne; but
tell her not to do that again, gratitude is for favours to come; you
may remind her of that. Does she always sign her name in that
fashionMargaret Broderick, widow?
Yes, always; it is one of Aunt Madge's whimsies; but you will never
get her to alter.
It does not sound badly, but it is certainly unique. How would it
answer if one were to follow her example. John Alwyn Gaythorne,
widower, and here Mr. Gaythorne gave a short sardonic laugh.
Marcus! oh, Marcus! exclaimed Olivia, coming into the room in her
breezy fashion. I have so much to tell you. Mr. Gaythorne is a
widowerand he has lost his only daughter, and her name was Olivia,
and that is why he has taken to me, because I remind him of her;
butchecking herself as she caught sight of her husband's faceyou
have something to tell me too.
Only that they sent for me from Fairfax Lodge, that is that
ivy-covered house next to Galvaston House. A child taken suddenly with
croup. I have been there most of the afternoon.
Then Olivia clapped her hands with a little exclamation of delight.
Marcus's tone had been quite cool and matter-of-fact, but there was a
glint of satisfaction in his eyes. The tide had turned at last.
CHAPTER VII. BLOWING BUBBLES.
How pleasant it is to be acquainted with new and clever things.
Marcus certainly carried his head a little higher than usual that
evening; as for Olivia, she trod on air. As she sat at her needlework
later on, waiting until Marcus returned from his second visit to
Galvaston House, her thoughts were busy about the future.
Marcus would soon have a large practice; it was all very well for
Aunt Madge to be sententious, and say that one swallow does not make a
spring; but already the second harbinger of good luck had put in an
There was no fear of parting with Martha now; before long Olivia was
building magnificent castles. The house next door to Galvaston House
was to let, it had a garden and a small conservatory, and Marcus had
once remarked that it was just the house for a medical man; the
reception-rooms were good and there was a capital stable.
Supposing we were ever rich enough to take Kempton Lodge, she said
Marcus threw back his head and indulged in a hearty laugh, when he
heard where his wife's imagination had landed her.
Kempton Lodgemy dear childwhy do you not suggest Prince's Gate,
or Belgravia? My own thoughts had not gone further than a new greatcoat
this winter. I am afraid my old one is getting a little seedy. And at
this remark, Olivia's airily constructed fabric dissolved into
To blow bubbles is an enchanting pastime even with grown-up
children. The big bright-coloured bubbles soar into the air and look so
beautiful before they burst. One is gone, but another takes its place,
just as rainbow-tinted, and gorgeous. There are people who blow endless
bubbles until their life's end, who cannot be induced to discontinue
the harmless pursuit.
Life is so hard and dreary, they say. The wheels of drudgery are
for ever turning and grinding; let us sit in the sun a little and float
our fairy balls. What if they are dreams and never come to anything;
the dreams and the sunlight have made us happy; there is plenty of time
in which to do our work.
Marcus laughed at his wife's fancies; but he never crushed them
ruthlessly. Poor little Livy, he thought, why should she not build
her air castles if they make her happy, and perhaps, after all, who
knows but Marcus did not finish his sentence even to himself.
But the next day when he went to Maybrick Villas to fetch his wife
home, he had a good deal to say about his new patients.
I am in luck, he said, as he stood warming himself before the
fire, while the two women watched him. I thought of course when they
sent for me that it was because I was the nearest doctor, and that
perhaps their own medical man was engagedin an imminent case like
that it is impossible to waitbut no, it was nothing of the kind. Mrs.
Stanwell told me herselfshe is such a nice little person, Livythat
they have only been a few months at Fairfax Lodge, and that before that
they had lived in Yorkshire.
Being strangers in the place they were sadly perplexed on the
subject of doctors, until the nurse told her mistress that she had seen
me going in and out of Galvaston House. And this decided Mrs. Stanwell
to send for me. As I was able to do the child good, they are
ridiculously grateful. I am likely to have another patient there; Mrs.
Stanwell has an aunt living with her, and she is ailing. I have only
taken a hasty diagnosis of the case, but I am going again to-morrow. I
am half afraid the poor old lady is in a bad way.
It is a long lane that has no turning, Marcus, observed Aunt
Madge. There, you must take Olive away, she has been wearying the past
half-hour to get back to Dot! but as they left her alone in the
firelight she said to herself:
Dear things, how happy they look! at their age life is so
dreadfully exciting. I believe myself Marcus will get on; he is really
clever, and never spares himself, but I doubt if Livy or I will ever be
so interested in anyone as we are in Marcus's first patient.
Olivia would have indorsed this sentiment readily; before long Mr.
Gaythorne became an important factor in her daily life, the friendship
between them ripened rapidly.
Olivia kept to her resolution of never going to Galvaston House
unless she were specially invited; but every three or four days a
message from the old man reached her.
Olivia, whose only dissipation had been a weekly tea with Aunt
Madge, and a biannual call at the Vicarage, with or without tea,
according to Mrs. Tolman's mood, found these afternoons at Galvaston
House very stimulating.
At first she was sorry when Mr. Gaythorne gave up sitting in the
winter garden, and ensconced himself in the library, but she soon
changed her opinion when he began to show her his curiosities and rare
prints. He had so much to tell her about the birds and butterflies in
the museum as he called the inner room, that the hours flew past as she
listened to him, and it was always with real regret that she took her
leave when the time came for her to go home.
Aunt Madge and Marcus find me so much more interesting ever since
you have taken me in hand, she said once. I try and repeat all you
tell me, but, of course, I forget half. Very often Marcus helps me to
rememberhe has read so much on these subjects, you see.
Perhaps it was this artless speech that led to Mr. Gaythorne showing
Marcus a case of curious insects, and Dr. Luttrell had been so
fascinated, so utterly engrossed, that the old man, much flattered, had
cordially invited him into the museum. Marcus, who had still much time
on his hands, often spent a pleasant hour or two with his patient. Mr.
Gaythorne lent him books, and gave him choice brands of cigars.
Olivia was highly delighted at these evident marks of favour, but it
troubled her that Mr. Gaythorne never liked them to come together.
Olivia was always invited pointedly when Marcus's visit had been paid,
and now and then he would ask Dr. Luttrell to have a chat with him
after dinner. Once when Olivia had ventured to hint her disapproval of
this he had answered with unwonted irritability.
I like to take my pleasures singly, Mrs. Luttrell. I am sorry if I
keep you from your husband. I am a selfish old misanthrope, I am
afraid; but Olivia, alarmed by this decided acerbity, hastened to
assure him that her remark had meant nothing.
It is so natural of me to want Marcus to share my pleasure, she
said so sweetly that Mr. Gaythorne was mollified.
Even Marcus noticed a decided improvement in his patient's manner.
He was less irritable and contradictory, and was evidently grateful for
the relief he had derived from his doctor's treatment. The bare
civility with which he had at first tolerated Marcus soon changed into
greater cordiality. Dr. Luttrell's intelligence could appreciate Mr.
Gaythorne's culture and learning. Before long they were on the best of
terms, but it was Olivia who was the prime favourite.
When Olivia's face appeared on the threshold Mr. Gaythorne's eyes
brightened under their rugged brows, and his voice insensibly softened.
To her, and her only, he showed his real self.
He has a strange complex nature, she said once to her husband. He
is very reserved, there are some things of which he never speaks. He
has not once mentioned his son. I should not have known he had one,
only I saw the name of Alwyn Gaythorne in a book. 'I thought your first
name was John?' I said rather heedlessly.
'So it is, John Alwyn,' he returned; 'that book belonged to my
son,' but his voice was so constrained that I did not venture to say
more. Depend upon it there is a mystery there, Marcus.
'Perhaps Alwyn the younger is a Nihilist, returned Marcus, in a
teasing voice. Probably he is at Portland at the present moment,
undergoing his sentence. No wonder poor Mr. Gaythorne is such a
recluse; but Olivia refused to be entertained by this badinage.
I am quite in earnest, she returned, with a grave air. So you
need not trouble yourself to be ridiculous, Marcus. Why should he talk
so much of his daughter and never mention his only son?
According to you he is almost as silent on the subject of his
Oh, that is different, she answered, hastily. He once said to me
that he could never bear even to hear her name mentioned, that it upset
him so. 'I was a happy man as long as she lived,' he said, so sadly,
'but it was all up with me when I lost her. She was a peacemaker, she
always kept things smooth; her name was Olivia too.'
Poor old boy, was Marcus's irrelevant remark at this.
Yes, he is a strange mixture, went on Olivia, thoughtfully. He
has an affectionate nature, but he is hard too; he could be terribly
hard, I am sure of that. And then see how good he is to those poor
Traverses and to Aunt Madge. Could anyone be more generous. And yet he
is not liberal by nature. That very day that he sent Mrs. Crampton to
the Models with all those good thingsjellies and beef-tea and chicken
and actually two bottles of port winehe was as angry as possible with
Phoebe, because she had broken his medicine glass. Mrs. Crampton had
orders to deduct the price of the glass from her wages. 'I always do
that,' he said to me, 'it teaches them to be careful,' but poor Phoebe
cried about it afterwards.
'I call it real mean of master,' Phoebe had said; 'it is the first
thing that ever I broke in this house, and it was all through Eros
getting between my feet. It is not the few pence I mind, for we have
good wages paid down on the day, but I call it shabby of master to be
down on a poor servant-girl like that.'
His servants don't seem to love him, went on Olivia. They serve
him well, because it is their interest to do so, but even Mrs.
Crampton, who has been with him twenty years, does not dare to
Anyhow, he is liberal to us, returned Marcus, patting his
waistcoat pocket, for he had that morning received his first cheque.
Marcus's first act had been to go to the coal merchant and order in
a ton of excellent coal, then he had gone home and told his wife in a
peremptory tone to put on her hat and jacket.
I am going to take you to Harvey and Phelps to get a new dress and
jacket, he said, severely. I am not going to put up with that rusty
old serge any longer, and Olivia had remonstrated in vain against such
It was all very well to blow bubbles and furnish Kempton Lodge from
garret to basement, but when it came to spending Marcus's first
Marcus, dear, she said, imploringly, my old dress is quite tidy.
I put new braid round it yesterday, and I would so much rather you got
a new great-coat. Even Aunt Madge noticed that your present one was
Of course I shall get a new coat too, returned Dr. Luttrell,
coolly. Then at the thought of this lavishness Olivia was stricken
Marcus made his purchases with great discretion; the grey tweed and
warm jacket to match suited Olivia's tall supple figure perfectlyhe
had a momentary debate with himself before he ventured on a modest
black straw hat with velvet trimmings, but in the end the order was
Oh, Marcus, how could you! exclaimed Olivia, who was at fever
point by this time.
Hold your tongue, Livy! returned Marcus, good-humouredly. I mean
my wife to be well-dressed for once in her life. Now I must go to the
tailor's for that great-coat. There won't be much of Mr. Gaythorne's
cheque left by the time I get home. We shall want the balance for
Olivia groaned in spirit over Marcus's recklessness, but she could
not bear to damp his enjoyment. She unburdened her mind to Mrs.
Broderick the next day.
Don't you think it would have been wiser to have put it by for a
rainy day? she said, anxiously. But Aunt Madge did not seem quite to
share this opinion.
My dear, she said, shrewdly, I think Marcus knows what he is
about; it would never do for him to go to those good houses in a shabby
greatcoat. A little outlay is sometimes a good investment.
Oh, yes, but I was thinking of the dress and jacket and that hat,
Ah, well, we must forgive Marcus that extravagance! It hurt his
pride to see you calling at Galvaston House in that old serge dress. He
is not really improvident, Livy. You have enough in hand for present
necessities, and there will be something coming in next month.
Oh, dear, yes; and do you know, Aunt Madge, they have sent for
Marcus to attend the lodger at number seventeen. He is a music-teacher
and very respectable, and can afford to pay his doctor, so that is
swallow number three.
Then I am sure you can wear your new dress with an easy
conscience, and then Olivia's last scruples vanished.
Olivia looked so distinguished in her grey tweed that Marcus made
her blush by telling her that she had never looked so handsome.
Mr. Gaythorne gave her an odd penetrating glance when she entered
I hardly knew you, Mrs. Luttrell, he said, dryly, and then his
manner changed and softened. That was her favourite colour, he said.
Olive was always a grey bird; she liked soft, subdued tints; she was a
bit of a Puritan. I often told her so.
I am glad you like my new dress, returned Olivia, simply. My
husband chose it for me, he has such good taste.
You need not tell me that, Mrs. Luttrell. And again Olivia blushed
like a girl at the implied compliment.
Mr. Gaythorne was looking over a portfolio of water-colour
paintings. Olivia had not yet seen them, and she was full of outspoken
admiration, as Mr. Gaythorne placed one after another before her.
They are all the work of a young artist who died at Rome, he said.
I bought them of his widow. They are very well done; he had great
promise, poor fellow. If he had lived, he would have done good work.
These were merely pot-boilers, as he called themlittle things he
painted on the spur of the moment.
To me they are perfectly beautiful, returned Olivia. Those two
are so lovely that I could not choose between them. Please let me look
at them a little longer, Mr. Gaythorne, I want to tell Aunt Madge about
them. And Olivia, who was always charmingly natural in her movements,
propped her chin on her hands, and looked long and earnestly at the
Their beauty lay in the soft rich colouring and a certain
suggestiveness in the subject.
One was a little grey church on a hill-side; the church was ruinous
and out of repair, the churchyard full of weeds and thistles; a storm
had just broken, and an old shepherd in a ragged smock had taken refuge
in the porch, his rough-looking dog at his feet. The bowed figure and
knotted hands, and the peaceful look in the wrinkled face were
wonderfully striking, the patient eyes turned upwards were gazing at
the rainbow. 'Tis a love token, I reckon, were the words written
underneath the sketch.
Olivia could almost hear them through the parted lips; ruins and
thistles and weeds and a broken storm, and beyond them the message of
peace, written on the bright tints of the rainbow, for one simple heart
Aunt Madge would understand that, she said to herself; she would
like that picture best, but this is just as beautiful to my mind.
The second sketch was equally suggestive; it was a cornfield with
poppies growing in it; under the hedge in the cool shade lay a brown
baby asleep. A dish tied up in a blue handkerchief and a stone bottle
lay beside the infant; an old terrier kept watch over them both.
Keeping watch and ward was the title of this picture; it was
certainly very well painted. A breeze seemed rippling through the corn
in the nook where the child lay; there were festoons of honeysuckle and
dog-roses, and long sprays of traveller's joy. The stumpy grey terrier
sitting erect at his post of duty was full of significance and
individuality. The mother was evidently among the reapers in the far
One would never be tired of looking at that cornfield, observed
Olivia, and though Mr. Gaythorne smiled at her enthusiasm, he would not
spoil her enjoyment by pointing out to her one or two defects that he
had already noticed.
By-and-by he called her to pour out the coffeeMr. Gaythorne never
indulged in afternoon tea.
This is not much like Christmas weather, he said, looking out at
the cold mizzling rain; the forecasts promise a change, however. I
suppose I must not ask if you dislike Christmas, it would not be a fair
question at your age.
No, indeed; I love it dearly. I have only had one sad
Christmasthe year dear mother diedit is my birthday too, that makes
it doubly festive. I am so glad I was born on such a beautiful day;
that is why my second name is Noel.
And you hold high festival on it?
Well, we cannot do much. Marcus and I always go to the early
service, that is how we begin the day, and then he always has some
little present on the breakfast table. It is the one day in the year we
always dine with Aunt Madge; she is such an invalid, you see, that very
little tires her; but on Christmas Day, we first dine with her quietly,
and have an early tea, then come home; we are generally back by six
o'clock, and have a long evening by ourselves. Do you spend Christmas
Day quite alone, Mr. Gaythorne?
Yes, quite alone, he returned, gloomily; but I have plenty of
ghosts to visit me, and his face twitched, and he stooped over the
pictures as he spoke.
CHAPTER VIII. 'TIS A LOVE TOKEN, I
It is in men as in soilswhere sometimes there is a vein of gold
which the owner knows not of.Dean Swift.
Marcus, I have an idea.
Olivia had been sitting for some time in a brown study, staring into
the red caverns, where the yellow fire-elves were beating out their
rainbow gold on their glowing, hissing anvils.
It was in the gloaming, and the little sitting-room was warm and
cosy. Dot was on her mother's lap, toasting her pink toes gleefully,
and chuckling over them in baby fashion. And Marcus, who had finished
his day's work, had left off trying to read by the light of the
flickering flame, and was indulging in a furtive doze. He roused up
when Olivia's clear voice broke the silence.
Marcus, do you hear me? I have such a nice plan.
Is it a riddle? he returned, lazily. I give it up. Then he
contemplated his small daughter with much satisfaction. I wonder none
of you advanced women have ever turned your attention to
baby-language, he observed presently; we are studying the
ape-vocabulary, you know. Dot has got quite a little language of her
own. As far as I can make out each sentence is finished off with a
'gurgle-doe.' Something between the 'gobble, gobble' of a turkey and
the coo of the ring-dove. I suppose it all means something.
Means something! and Olivia kissed the little rings of curly hair
with passionate fondness. Of course my girlie means something! I
understand her as well as possible. She is scolding the fire, because
it has burnt her dear little toes. Look, she is showing them to me.
Naughty fire, to burn my baby. And thereupon followed one of those
maternal and infantine duets, which appear such hopeless jargon to the
To Marcus it had a lulling effect, his eyes began to blink drowsily
again, but Olivia, who had passed a solitary day, was not disposed for
You are not a bit curious about my plan, dear, she said presently.
I have been thinking so much of that sad, sad speech of Mr.
Gaythorne's yesterday. I cannot bear to think of him alone all
Christmas Day, with only the ghosts of happier years to haunt him.
There is no need for him to be alone, returned Marcus, coolly. He
could invite us to supper. Why don't you propose it, Livy? You seem to
say anything that comes into your head. A good bowl of steaming punch
would drive all the grey and black spirits away. I would undertake to
amuse him. But Olivia only looked at him rebukingly.
Marcus, it is so tiresome that you will always joke when I want to
be serious. Now, do give me a straightforward answer, if you can. Shall
you have any visits to pay on Christmas Day?
My dear child, how can you expect me to answer in that off-hand
way, and without consulting my visiting list? Well, if you must know,
as Olivia uttered an impatient exclamation, I shall have to go up to
the Models after tea, to see that poor woman who was confined
yesterday. The baby is not likely to live; and then I shall look in on
Travers. I don't suppose I shall be out more than an hour.
Oh, that will do nicely, returned his wife, in a satisfied tone.
Marcus, do you know, I have made up my mind to pay Mr. Gaythorne a
surprise visit on Christmas evening. We are always back by six, and I
know he does not dine until half-past seven. Do you think I dare
venture? You see, I have never been without an invitation yet.
And you actually mean 'to beard the lion in his den, and Douglas in
his hall,' spouted Marcus. And then, in his ordinary voice, Well, you
might try it, if you like; but I should not be surprised if you got
snubbed. Christmas ghosts have a ghastly effect, and rub a man up the
Oh, I will take my chance of that, returned Olivia, cheerfully.
Now I will put Dot to bed, and leave you to finish your nap in peace.
Thank goodness! was on the tip of Marcus's tongue, but he
refrained and only curled himself up afresh in his easy-chair. He had
sat up late over his books the previous night, wasting lamp-oil and
coals, as his wife had remarked, rather severely, and the cold air,
with a touch of frost in it, had made him sleepy.
Olivia had been bristling all day, like a blissful porcupine, with
little plans and surprises: first, she had actually saved out of Aunt
Madge's Christmas gift enough money to buy Marcus another of
Thackeray's novels; last Christmas she had given him The Newcomes, and this year she had fixed on Esmond.
Marcus was devoted to Thackeray, and thirsted for a complete set of
his works, but at present only Vanity Fair and The Newcomes
were on his modest bookshelves. Neither the husband nor wife thought it
right to spend even those few shillings on the purchase of books, when
they could make use of the Free Library.
The new copy of Esmond looked decidedly inviting, with its
clean, uncut pages, and then there was really a handsome work-bag for
Aunt Madge, fashioned by Olivia's skilful fingers out of a yard of
cretonne. Olivia had already received her Christmas presents, and had
nothing to expect. Her new outfit, and Dot's pelisse, and Martha's
wages were all birthday and Christmas gifts. Nevertheless when Marcus
came on Christmas Eve to hang up their scanty store of holly, he was
met by his wife's excited face.
Oh, Marcus! she exclaimed, I thought you would never come home;
there is such a hamper from Galvaston House, and I am waiting for you
to open it. And oh! do you know, dear, Aunt Madge has sent us some of
her delicious mince pies, and a Christmas cake!
She is a good old soul, returned Marcus, fervently. By-the-bye,
Olive, could not we have supper earlier? for this sharp airand it is
freezing hard, let me tell youhas made me as hungry as a hunter. And
as Olivia conceded this point graciously, he was induced to follow her
to the small kitchen, where Martha, all smiles and excitement, awaited
Martha had her best dress on, for she was going round to her
mother's presently, with her little store of Christmas gifts: a red
knitted shawl for her mother and half a pound of tea, a comforter for
her father, and some warm cuffs for the boys, and gingerbread-nuts and
some oranges for the children, to which Olivia had added a bag of mixed
Martha's round eyes widened with amazement when the hamper was
opened, and a plump turkey, and a fine York ham came to view; there
were also half a dozen bottles of old port-wine for Dr. Luttrell, with
Mr. Gaythorne's compliments, and a box of candied fruit and a jar of
preserved ginger for his wife.
Oh, Marcus! is not this kind? Olivia's voice was almost
awe-struck; her acquaintance with turkeys had hitherto been strictly
limited to a partial view of their limp bodies as they dangled above
her in the poulterers' shops; now her little larder would be filled to
Shall I step across and thank him, while you put those things
away? suggested Marcus. And as Olivia agreed to this, he caught up his
hat and vanished.
When everything was safely stowed away, and Martha had been made
supremely happy by the gift of two mince pies for her mother, and had
trotted off red in the face with excitement, Olivia busied herself in
getting the supper ready. The unsightly remains of a cold shoulder of
mutton had been transformed into tempting rissoles. Olivia always
treated her husband to a hot supper on Christmas Eve. Potatoes cooked
in their coats, and a couple of Deborah's mince pies, finished off the
menu, to which Marcus did ample justice. Afterwards he hung up
their holly, and then Olivia fetched her work-basket, and Marcus went
on with the novel that he was reading aloud, and both of them looked at
the clock in amazement when Martha's modest ring told them the evening
When Marcus put on his new great-coat the next morning, he shrugged
his shoulders as he opened the front-door. Instead of the frost he had
expected, the icy coldness of the air and the heavy aspect of the
wintry sky were premonitory signs of a snow-storm.
It is hardly fit for you to go out, he said, as Olivia joined him,
but she only smiled at him, her vigorous young strength was proof
against the cold.
We must hurry, Marcus, she said, briskly, or we shall be late,
and I want to enjoy my Christmas service, for she had already arranged
to take care of Dot during the morning, while Martha went to church.
Marcus had his rounds, and would fetch her in time for the early dinner
at Maybrick Villas.
The quiet service in the warm, well-lighted church was very soothing
and refreshing. As Olivia knelt beside her husband, her heart swelled
with thankfulness for countless blessings. I have not deserved to be
so happy, she said to herself, as she thought of her two treasures.
Martha had breakfast ready for them on their return, and Olivia
hurried upstairs to take off her hat. She was just stepping into the
dining-room, when Marcus caught hold of her, and blindfolded her
No, you are not to look yet! he said, teasingly. There is a
surprise in store for you. But as he took his hands from her eyes, she
uttered a little cry of ecstasy.
On the breakfast-table, propped up with books, was a small framed
picture, the very cornfield, with the brown baby asleep under the
hedge, and the old terrier guarding it, that she had so admired. A
card, with Mr. Gaythorne's compliments and Christmas greeting, was
What do you think of your friend now, Livy?
But Olivia seemed to have no answer ready, her lips trembled, and
the tears gathered in her bright eyes. Marcus, who was almost as
pleased as she was, patted her on the shoulder kindly, and bade her
pour out the coffee, but for a long time Olivia could not be induced to
go on with her breakfast.
If only I could take it to show Aunt Madge! she said at last. But
Marcus negatived this at once; the picture was heavy, and the damp,
cold air might injure it.
That was a happy morning to Olivia, as she played with Dot, and then
sang her to sleep. When Marcus came home he told her to wrap up as
warmly as possible. The damp quite gets into one's bones, he said;
and even Olivia owned that it was disagreeably cold.
Aunt Madge received them with her usual kind welcome, but she looked
at her niece with a queer expression.
Livy, she said, I feel as though I were living in the days of
Aladdin and his wonderful lamp. I had to pinch myself this morning, to
be sure I was not dreaming. What do you think our dear old magician has
done now? And as she pointed to the table beside her, Olivia saw the
picture of the ruined church, and the old shepherd in his tattered
smock. 'Tis a love token, I reckon, repeated Aunt Madge, but her
voice was not quite steady. As for Olivia, the tears were fairly
running down her face.
Dear Aunt Madge, I do love him for this. What do you think, he has
sent me the picture of the cornfield that I described to you, and such
a hamper of good things!
Yes, and a brace of pheasants have come to me. Livy, do you know
what that picture means to me? I have just been feasting my eyes on it
all the morning. I mean to get an easel and stand it at the foot of my
couch, with that Indian scarf of mine just draped over it; won't it
cheer me up on one of my bad days when I can't read or work, and even
thinking is too hard for my poor head? ''Tis a love token, I reckon,' I
shall just say that to myself.
Marcus, I shall have to pay that visit, observed Olivia,
desperately. Oh, dear, if only we could do something in return for
him! Don't laugh at me, you tiresome boy; it is all very well for you,
you are doing him a good turn every day, that is why it is so grand to
be a doctor, but Aunt Madge and I want to have our share too.
Take off your hat, Livy, interrupted Aunt Madge, for I hear Deb
dishing up the dinner, and Marcus looks blue in the face with cold and
hunger. And at this reminder Olivia hurried.
Mrs. Broderick always gave them the same dinner, a roast fowl and a
piece of boiled ham, with plum pudding and mince pies to follow, but
Deborah's cookery always gave it a different and most delicious
When dinner was over they sat by the fire and roasted chestnuts, and
talked softly to each other, while Aunt Madge dozed. She roused up when
Deb brought in the tea-things, and chatted in her old bright way, but
Marcus's professional eyes detected lassitude, and in spite of her
entreaties took his wife away rather earlier than usual.
Livy, observed Aunt Madge, as her niece stooped over her to kiss
her, I have not been able to write a note of thanks to Mr. Gaythorne
yet, but will you tell him that I have not had such a Christmas gift as
that since my husband left me, and that I have been praying for him off
and on all day, that he may have his heart's desirethere, tell him
that And then she sank back wearily on her pillows.
CHAPTER IX. THE CHRISTMAS GUEST.
This life of ours is a wild Aeolian harp of many a joyous strain;
But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, as of souls
Olivia felt a little nervous as she sent in her name by Phoebe; the
girl had looked at her dubiously.
I am not sure whether master will see you, ma'am, she said. He
never sees anyone on Christmas Day; and Mrs. Crampton says he is but
poorly; nevertheless, at Olivia's request, she had taken the message.
After a brief delay she returned. Her master would see Mrs.
Luttrell; but Olivia's heart beat a little quickly as she entered the
library. For the first time she was not sure of her welcome.
The grand old room looked unusually gloomy. The tall standard lamps
were unlighted, and only the blazing fire and a small green
reading-lamp made a spot of brightness. Deep shadows lurked in the
corners, and the heavy book-cases and window recesses only seemed to
add to the gloom.
Mr. Gaythorne sat in his great ebony chairwith its crimson
cushions. His face looked more cadaverous and sunken than usual; the
fine features looked as if they were carved in old ivory, they were so
fixed and rigid; as he held out his hand to Olivia there was no smile
of welcome on his facethe melancholy deep-set eyes were sombre and
[Illustration: Mr. Gaythorne sat in his great ebony chair.]
This is indeed a surprise, Mrs. Luttrell.
I hope you will not think it an intrusion, she returned, a little
breathlessly. I wanted so much to see you and give you Aunt Madge's
message. Somehow I could not bear to think that we were so happy and
that you were sitting alone and feeling sad. Are you vexed with me for
coming? she continued, in her winning way; I can see you are not a
bit pleased to see me.
My dear Mrs. Luttrell, he said, in his harsh, grating voice, it
is one of my bad days, and nothing on earth would yield me pleasure. I
gave you warning, did I not? You are visiting a haunted man! The
Christmas ghosts have been holding high revel this evening; one of them
has been pointing and gibing at me for ever so long: 'You are reaping
what you have sown,' that was what it said. 'Why do you grumble at your
harvestthere is no ripening without sunshine? Young hearts must be
won by love and not severity; it is your own fault, your own obstinacy,
your own blindness'that is what it has been saying over and over
He shivered slightly as he said this, and held out his thin hands to
the blaze. He had not asked her to sit down, but Olivia drew a small
chair forward and seated herself.
Do not listen to them any longer, she said, gently. You are ill
and sad, and so everything looks black and hopelesslet me talk to you
instead; I want to tell you how we have spent our day.
Olivia had a charming voice. As she went on with her simple
narrative the muscles of Mr. Gaythorne's face insensibly relaxed;
hesitation, nervousness, a touch of self-consciousness even, would have
repelled him; but her gentleness and childlike directness seemed to
soothe him in spite of himself. And as she repeated Mrs. Broderick's
message, though he shrugged his shoulders and muttered Pshaw, she
could see that he was gratified; and even his remarkthat Mrs.
Broderick must be a very emotional persondid not daunt her.
If Aunt Madge is emotional, I am too, she said, softly. Do you
know what I said when I saw that picture of the old shepherd looking at
the rainbow? 'I love him for this,' and, dear Mr. Gaythorne, I meant
Tut, nonsense! but as Olivia took his hand and held it in her firm
grasp, there was a sudden moisture in the old man's eyes.
No one has loved me since my two Olives left me, he muttered. If
only one had been spared to me, only one; but I am left here alone with
my sorrow and remorse.
You are not really alone, she returned, soothingly. Why do you
speak as if your wife and daughter had ceased to love you? Do you
imagine for one moment that they forget you? It would do you good to
talk to Aunt Madge; she has such wonderful ideas about all that. Some
peoplepeople like Mrs. Tolman, our vicar's wifelaugh at her and
call her fanciful, but to me she is so real. Why should it not be
true? she went on, with gathering excitement, nothing that is good
can die! Love is eternal, and it is only pain and grief and sin that
can come to an end. That is what Aunt Madge says, and she does more
than say it, she lives it. Of course she misses her husband
dreadfullythey were everything to each otherbut he never seems dead
like other women's husbands, if you know what I mean by that. She seems
to keep step with him somehow, and think his thoughts. I have heard her
say once that it is just as though a high wall separated them. 'I
cannot see him or hear him, but I know he is just the other side of the
wall; only he has all the sunshine, and I have to grope alone in the
Oh, she is right there; I know what it is to grope among shadows.
My dear young lady, laying his hand heavily on her arm, Mrs.
Broderick must be a wonderful woman, and I hope to see her some day;
and I am not above caring for a good woman's prayers, but our cases are
not exactly similar.
I daresay not, returned Olivia, hesitatingly.
No, indeedand Mr. Gaythorne's heavy eyebrows drew
togetherlook here, Mrs. Luttrell, what sort of comfort do you
suppose a man can have in thinking of his wife, when he knows he has
acted contrary to her desires, when he has failed to carry out even the
wishes expressed on her deathbed. What would you say to that man?
I would say that he must be very unhappy, and that no doubt
circumstances were too hard for him. Perhaps he did his best; but it is
not always possible for dying people to judge rightly, they may make
No, it was I who made all the mistakes, and there was such anguish
in the old man's eyes as he said this, that Olivia almost started; but
God help me, if it were to come over again I should do the same. Mrs.
Luttrell, you do not know me; it is my whim to be generous now and
then. I like to give and it costs me nothing, but I am a hard,
domineering man; when people oppose and anger me, I can be relentless;
it is not easy for me to forgive, even when the offender is my own
flesh and blood, and I am no hypocrite. I must speak the truth at all
And yet we expect our Father to forgive us, returned Olivia,
almost to herself, but Mr. Gaythorne heard her, and a strange
expression crossed his face.
That is what she always saidmy Olive, but it never seemed to make
any difference to me. Ah, well, it is no use talking, some spirits
refuse to be laid, but this is poor entertainment, my dear, and on your
Please do not say that. I should love to stay, but I must not; it
is late now, and Marcus will be waiting for me, and Olivia rose as she
spoke. And now before I go may I ring for the lamps to be lighted?
there is something uncanny in this darkness, and the fire is getting
Well, well, do as you like, was the abrupt answer. I am going to
have my dinner here tonight, it is warmer, and so Olivia had her way.
As she bade him good-night, he said, a little wistfully, You can come
to-morrow afternoon if you like. I have those views of Venice and
Florence to show you. I had an old Florentine palace for six months,
the year before my little Olive died; that was our last happy year.
Of course I will come, she replied, smiling at him. But as she
left the room she sighed; had she really exorcised those evil spirits?
or would they return again, with tenfold force? remorse; that was the
word he used, this was the canker-worm that was robbing him of peace.
It is not easy for me to forgive even if the offender is my own flesh
and blood. How sad it was to hear him say that.
I think, after all, I did him some little good, she thought, as
she groped her way cautiously through the dark shrubbery. That hard,
rigid look had quite disappeared before I left. I have a feeling
somehow that one day he will open his heart to me and tell me his
trouble. Every now and then he drops a word or two; perhaps this
evening, if I had not been so hurried, he would have spoken out.
Olivia's warm heart was full of pity for the lonely man sitting
beside his desolate hearth, but she was young, and as the heavy gate
closed after her, and she hurried across the road, a sudden vision of
her own bright little parlour with Marcus waiting for her rose
blissfully before her.
Marcus would have returned long ago and would be wondering at her
delay. She knew what he was doingcutting the pages of Esmond
for their evening reading. How charmed he had been with her gift,
although he had pretended to be angry at her extravagance.
A few particles of snow powdered her as she rang the bell. Marcus
answered it himself.
Livy, my dear child, he said, quickly, what an age you have been!
Come into the kitchen a moment, I want to speak to you, and Martha is
upstairs. No, not there, catching hold of her arm as she absently
turned the handle of the parlour door. I said the kitchen.
Oh, Marcus, what is it? in an alarmed voice, as she suddenly
perceived his grave, preoccupied look, there is something wrongwith
baby, but his smile reassured her.
Nothing is wrong, I am only a little perplexed. Dot's all right,
and the house is not on fire, and Martha is enjoying her usual health,
but we have got a Christmas guest, that's all.
Marcus, what can you mean, when we know no one here? Is it one of
your old hospital friends? And why may I not go in and see him?
So you shall, but I must explain matters first. I have a poor
fellow in there whom I picked up off a door-step. At first I thought he
was drunk, and I meant to call a policeman, but I very soon found out
my mistake. The poor wretch had fainted from cold and exhaustion, he
was simply starving.
Oh, how dreadful! exclaimed Olivia, much shocked at this. Have
you given him some food? But why is he not here instead of in the
sitting-room? Martha has a capital fire.
Yes, she has been making him some tea, and luckily there was some
cold bacon. He has had nothing but a penny roll and some coffee since
yesterday morning. Another night of exposure and want would have killed
him. I took him into the parlour because the couch was handy, but
directly he spoke I saw he was a gentlemanat least an educated man,
but his clothes are threadbare. He has parted with his waistcoat for
food. Now you know why I brought you in here, to save you a shock.
But, Marcus, what are we to do with him?
Ah, that is what puzzles me. I have fed and warmed him, and could
give him money for a night's lodging, but he is not fit to move. When
he tried to sit up just now, he nearly fell back from exhaustion. I
should say from the look of him that he has been ill, perhaps in some
hospital, and has not got up his strength. And he is quite young
toonot more than five-and-twenty, I should say.
May I go and look at him first, and then we will think what is to
Yes, dear, that will be best. But, Livy, I really cannot wait just
now. All this has hindered me so that I have not been to the
Traverses'. I shall not be longnot more than half an hour.
Olivia looked rather troubled at this, but it was no use making a
fuss. Marcus must do his work, but her vision of a cosy evening was
sadly marred. Instead of listening to Esmond she had to
interview a strange man.
Directly Marcus had gone she went into the sitting-room; the couch
had been drawn near the fire and Marcus's easy chair was pushed back,
and there in the warmth and firelight, with an old plaid thrown over
him, the forlorn wanderer lay sleeping as placidly as a child.
Olivia trod on tiptoe as she crossed the room and stood beside the
couch, and studied him attentively.
Marcus was right; of course he was a gentleman; in spite of his
emaciated appearance and poor, threadbare garments, this was evident;
the features were well-cut and refined; the wasted hands bore no signs
of manual labour, and the filbert nails were carefully attended.
Some poor prodigal fallen to low estate lay before her, and yet he
looked so boyish and innocent in his sleep, that Olivia's heart grew
very pitiful over him.
Turn him out in the winter's cold, and on Christmas night, too; when
all the merciful angels were moving betwixt heaven and earth. When the
bond of brotherhood that linked human beings together was drawn closer,
and the rich man's gift and the widow's mite were paid into the same
treasury of love, it was impossible!
How soundly he was sleeping, poor fellow, lulled by the very fulness
of comfort, his sick hunger appeased, and his bones no longer aching
with cold. A fair moustache covered his mouth, but Olivia, who prided
herself on reading character, soon decided that the chin and lower part
of the face showed signs of weakness, but as the thought passed through
her mind a pair of deep blue eyes opened full on her face, and gazed at
her in bewilderment.
Where am I? he said, feebly; oh, I remember, I fainted on a
doorstep, and some good Samaritan carried me in; then in the same weak
voice, Forgive me, madam, but I am afraid to rise.
Lie stillplease lie still until my husband comes back, returned
Olivia, a little nervously. How ill he lookedthe eyes looked
preternaturally large in the wasted face. It is sad to see anyone in
such distress, she continued, gently, and on Christmas night, too.
Yes, I am down on my luck, returned the stranger; but even in his
feebleness he spoke a little recklessly; I was always 'Murad the
Unlucky;' it would have been all over with me in a few hours if the
doctor had not found me. I was just at the end of my tether,but here
a hard cough seemed to tear him to pieces.
Lie still and try to sleep again, returned Olivia, hurriedly; then
she went out of the room and summoned Martha.
When Marcus returned and went in search of her, he found her airing
some sheets at the kitchen fire.
Marcus, she said, Martha has been lighting a fire in that little
empty room, where the iron bedstead is; there are the mattress and the
two blankets Aunt Madge lent me when I was ill; I am going to make up a
bed there for to-night.
You think we ought to keep him, then, returned her husband,
looking at her questioningly. To be sure, I hardly know how we are to
turn him out; but if he falls ill on our hands, eh, Livy?
If he be very ill, you would have to take him to a hospital, she
returned, quickly. We have not got the cruise of oil, remember, and,
as Aunt Madge says, we must be just before we are generousbut he has
such a terrible cough, Marcus.
Oh, that is from cold and exhaustion, and, as I told you before, he
has evidently recovered from some severe illness, probably pleurisy or
pneumonia. Well, Livy, I think you are about right; we must do our best
for the poor beggar; now and then one must help 'lame dogs over
stiles,' and Marcus, whose bump of benevolence was largely developed,
and who believed in practical religion, was sincerely grateful that his
wife had fallen in with his views.
I think you were sent to him to help him, returned Olivia, softly.
'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren.' Oh,
Marcus, you know how that finishes, and Marcus smiled back at her as
he left the room.
CHAPTER X. A GENTLEMANLY TRAMP.
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after.Timon of Athens.
When Olivia had finished her preparations she summoned Marcus
upstairs, and with an air of housewifely pride showed him all the
arrangements she had made.
In his bachelor days Dr. Luttrell had been in the habit of picking
up all sorts of miscellaneous articles at sales, that he thought might
be useful some day, and though Olivia had often laughed at his
purchases and called them old lumber, they had often proved
The strip of faded carpet and shabby little shut up washstand
intended for the surgery, and a couple of chairs, had been put into the
empty room, and though it looked bare enough to Marcus's eyes, and in
spite of the bright little fire terribly chilly, it would doubtless be
a haven of refuge to their miserable guest.
He says it is just heaven, observed Marcus, when he came
downstairs to his wife; the night before last, poor beggar, he was in
the casual ward, and last night he had a few hours in some refuge.
'Fancy the casual ward for a gentleman's son,' he said to me so
bitterly, 'and there was actually a barrister there too, and we
fraternised.' It is just as I thought, Livy, he was discharged from the
hospital about three weeks ago, and has been roughing it ever since.
Did you ask him his name, Marcus?
Yes, and he hesitated; I don't believe Robert Barton is his real
name; the way he gave it looked a bit shady; he is a good-looking
fellow, and I can't think he is vicious, but he is one of those weak
fellows who get led away. If we are to help him, he must tell us more
Olivia found her hands full the next day; when Marcus went up to see
Barton, he found him flushed and feverish, and complained of aching in
It is only a bad chill, he said, when Olivia looked grave at this
report; but unless we take care of him well for a day or two, it will
be pneumonia or congestion of the lungs. I shall be pretty busy for the
next two or three hours, and am afraid I must leave him to you and
Martha. Don't let him talk, and keep the fire up, that room is still
like an ice-house. Are you sure you don't mind the bother, Livy?
And though Olivia was too truthful to answer in the negative, she
promised to do her best for Marcus's protégé.
Robert Barton looked more to advantage lying in bed in Dr.
Luttrell's old red striped blazer than he had done in his threadbare
shabby clothes the previous night; indeed, Olivia quite started when
she saw him; he was certainly what Marcus called him, a good-looking
fellow, the dark blue eyes were beautiful and full of expression; he
flushed as Olivia asked him kindly how he felt.
I feel pretty bad, he returned, and the doctor says I must lie
here. I used not to think much of the story of the Good Samaritan, but
I believe in it now. Oh, if you knew what it was to feel clean linen
about me again.
My husband says you are not to talk, replied Olivia, gently, so I
must carry out his orders; there is some medicine you are to take, and
by-and-by I shall bring you some hot broth; if only your cough were
easier you would be able to sleep, but perhaps the drops will do you
Thanks awfully; if you will put them down by me, I will take them,
but please, please do not trouble about me, I am not worth it. I never
was worth anything; he sighed and there were tears in his eyes; but
Olivia took no notice, she put things straight and then went about her
business. On her next visit she found him sleeping; but as she put down
the cup of hot broth beside him he half woke.
Mother, he said, in a hoarse voice, I never did it, I swear to
you on my honour; I was never as bad as that; ask Olive, she believes
in me, she knows I could not be such a low cad.
Mr. Barton, I have brought you your broth; will you please take it
before it gets cold? and Olivia's clear voice roused Robert Barton
I was dreaming, he said, looking at her rather confusedly. I
thought I was at Medhurst, in the old library; oh, what a fool I am!
and there was almost a despairing look in his eyes.
You are weak, or you would not dream so, and yet it must be natural
to dream about your own people. I am so glad you have someone belonging
to you; last night we were afraid that you were quite friendless, then
she stopped as she remembered Marcus's injunctions.
No, I am not friendless, he returned, raising himself with
difficulty, and coughing as he spoke. Even the prodigal son had
relatives, you knowa father and an elder brother; but he was better
off than I, for he knew where to find thembut here such a terrible
fit of coughing came on, that Olivia forbade him to say another word.
You shall tell us all about it when you are better, she said,
kindly; perhaps, who knows, we may be able to help you find your
friends; we are poor people ourselves, my husband is only just
beginning to make a practice, so there is not much that we can do.
Then as she stooped over him and wiped his brow, she was almost
startled by the sweetness of the smile that crossed the young man's
Not much, he reiterated; but Olivia shook her head at him to
inculcate silence, and carried away the empty cup.
When Marcus came home at dinner-time, she proposed sending a note
across to Galvaston House to tell Mr. Gaythorne that she could not
leave home that afternoon, but to her surprise Dr. Luttrell objected to
You know how crotchety Mr. Gaythorne is, he said, quickly, and it
will never do to disappoint him; he might be a bit touchy. Barton will
be all right, and I shall be in myself the greater part of the
afternoon. And then Olivia's scruples vanished.
She felt Marcus had been wise when she entered the library. Mr.
Gaythorne was evidently expecting her; he had a large portfolio open
before him. As he held out his hand to her without risingfor he had
still great difficulty in movingthere was a brighter look on his
We must make the most of the daylight, he said, and the next
moment Olivia found herself in Venice.
The views were so beautiful and Mr. Gaythorne's descriptions so
interesting, that, as usual, the time passed quickly. It was not until
they were drinking their coffee in the pleasant firelight that Olivia
found an opportunity of narrating her husband's strange adventure of
the previous evening.
Mr. Gaythorne listened with his usual air of half contemptuous
amusement; but before she came to the end of the recital he turned upon
Do you mean that the tramp is actually in your house at this
moment? he asked, indignantly.
Oh, please don't call him that; he is a gentleman, he speaks in
quite an educated manner, and his ways are so refined. Marcus saw that
Pooh, nonsense! My dear Mrs. Luttrell, a gentlemanly tramp is the
worst kind; it is generally drink and profligacy that have dragged them
down. You will be robbed or burnt in your beds!
Olivia could not conceal her amusement. A vivid remembrance of the
flushed, weary young face of the wanderer rose before her; it was so
boyish-looking with the fair hair and golden brown moustache.
I am sure he does not drink, she returned, trying vainly to
suppress a smile; but this contradiction did not please Mr. Gaythorne.
How can you know anything about it? he asked, testily; from your
own account he has told you nothing except that he has been in a
hospital and a casual wardthey have plenty of cases of delirium
tremens in both places. Good heavens! and I thought Dr. Luttrell was a
sensible man. This is the way he takes care of his wife and child,
harbouring a frozen-out tramp.
Dear Mr. Gaythorne, returned Olivia, pleadingly, just put
yourself in my husband's place. Marcus found the poor young fellow on a
doorstep in Harbut Road not a dozen yards from his own door. Being a
doctor, he saw at once that he must be warmed and fed or life would be
endangered, and Christmas night of all nights. How could he forbear in
sheer humanity to take in the poor creature, and then when he found how
weak he was, how was he to turn him out into the streets again?
He might have sent for a cab and had him driven to a hospital.
NoMarcus said it was no case for a hospital, at least at present;
they would not have admitted him; indeedindeed he could not have done
otherwiseI told him so at once. What is the use of going to church
and saying one's prayers if one shrinks from such a clear duty as that?
Why, we should never dare to read St. James again!
And why not, may I ask?
Because we should have set our faces against his teaching. Oh, you
know what I mean, Mr. Gaythorne, and Olivia repeated the text
reverently: 'If a brother or sister be naked and in lack of daily
food, and one of you say unto them go in peace, be ye clothed and fed,
and yet you give them not those things needful for the body, what doth
it profit?' Marcus does not only profess his religion. Ohfinished
Olivia, with sparkling eyesI did feel so proud of my husband last
Wellwell; if you choose to be Quixotic it is your own affair, not
mine, but Mr. Gaythorne spoke with less irritation. Now shall we go
on with the portfolio, or do you want to go back to your gentlemanly
tramp? Then Olivia begged to finish the pictures.
I have nearly half an hour before Dot's bedtime, she said,
cheerfully, and then I must go, and so harmony was restored.
When the half-hour had passed, Olivia took her leave, but before she
reached the door, Mr. Gaythorne called her back and thrust something
into her hand.
That will help you to provide for your tramp, he said, hurriedly,
and prevent him from eating you out of house and home. Mind you repay
yourself before you lay out any for him: do you suppose, in a cynical
tone, that your husband's income will bear the expense of such an
inmate as that? and Olivia, to her intense astonishment, found the two
crumpled bits of paper in her hand were five-pound notes.
Oh there is no need for this, she said, in distress; have you
forgotten the turkey and all those good things Aunt Madge sent us? but
Mr. Gaythorne waved her away.
Nonsense, he said, crossly; do you suppose a trifle like that
matters to me? Why, I am not spending half my income; if you want any
more you can just let me know; but if you take my advice you will get
rid of that fellow as soon as possible.
Marcus smiled when Olivia showed him the money. Put it away for the
present, he said, it will buy Barton some warm clothes; we can afford
to give him his bit and sup for a few days; he is stone broke, as they
call it, and a few pounds may be just what he requires, and put him on
his feet again.
When Mrs. Broderick heard of the strange guest at No. 1, Galvaston
Terrace, she was deeply interested, and warmly commended Marcus's
I wonder, she said, thoughtfully, after a few minutes' silence,
whether any of Fergus's things would fit him; you know what a foolish
body I have been, Livy, to keep them all this time, and it gives Deb so
much trouble to preserve them from moth; but there, we all have our
I have been meaning to part with them for a long time, and this
seems a good opportunity; it does seem such a pity to touch that money;
it would set him up to have a few pounds in hand.
Olivia could not deny this, and in her secret heart she thought Aunt
Madge could not do better with her dead husband's things.
It will be a real act of charity, she said, frankly. Oh, Aunt
Madge, if you could only see his clothes, they are so worn and
threadbare, and when Martha washed his shirt and socks she almost cried
over the holes; and then his boots!
Say no more, my child, it shall be done, and at once, and Mrs.
Broderick's mouth looked unusually firm.
The very next day Marcus carried a big parcel upstairs and opened it
before Robert Barton's astonished eyes.
Mrs. Broderick, who did nothing grudgingly, had put up all she
thought requisitea warm suit, and a great coat, a pair of boots, some
coloured flannel shirts and warm underclothing.
It has upset him a bit, Marcus said, when he re-entered the
parlour, he is still so weak, you see. He fairly broke down when I
showed him the things. He is very grateful; by-the-bye, Livy, sitting
down beside her as he spoke, he has been telling me more about himself
to-night; not much, certainly, he does not seem to like speaking of
himself, but he gave me a brief outline.
He has relations, only he has not seen them for some years; it
appeared he quarrelled with them or got wrong somehow; in fact, he
owned he had been a bit wild, and then things went from bad to worse
with him, and he had a run of ill-luck.
It seems he is an artist and rather fond of his profession, but he
hurt his hand, and blood-poisoning came on, and for some time he was
afraid he would lose his right arm; for months he could paint no
pictures, and so all his little capital was swallowed up.
But why did he not write to his people, Marcus, and make it up with
So he did, but his letters never got answered, and he got sick of
it at last. When he was pretty nearly at the end of his tether he came
back to England. I think he said he was in Paris then, or was it
Beyrout? well, never mind, he went straight to his old home; but to his
horror the house was shut up, and to let, and the caretaker told him
that no one had lived there for years, and that she believed the party
who had owned it was abroad; he could get nothing more than that out of
He put up at a little wayside inn that night, meaning to make
inquiries in the neighbourhood, but the next day he fell ill, and after
a bit they took him to the hospital, and since then he drifted up to
London, hoping to see his father's old lawyer and glean intelligence
from him, but he found he was dead. His fixed intention was to go down
again to the place and see the vicar and prosecute his inquiries in
person, but ill-luck pursued him; he was robbed in some wretched
lodging, and soon found himself in actual want; 'but I mean, if I die
for it, to get to Medhurst somehow,' he said to me. 'I could have found
someone to identify me there; not that we had been there long, for my
people mostly lived abroad, but there must be some friends who could
tell me about them.'
It is a queer story altogether, and yet not a wholly improbable
one; but there is a mystery somewhere, Livy, and I am sure of one
thing, that his name is not Barton. I hinted as much, but he only
flushed up and said nothing.
CHAPTER XI. THE NIGHT-BELL RINGS.
A bad beginning leads to a bad ending.Livy.
The next few days passed quietly. Dr. Luttrell professed himself
perfectly satisfied with his patient's progress. In spite of his
delicate aspect, and the terrible hardships he had experienced, Robert
Barton proved that he had a fair amount of recuperative power. Perhaps
his youth was in his favour, and it was soon evident that he had a
naturally sanguine temperament. His nature was singularly ill-balanced,
he was always in extremeseither in the depths of depression or else
unaccountably excited. Olivia would sometimes find him crouching over
the fire with his head between his hands in a state of morose misery.
And at other times she would hear him whistling a few bars from some
opera in quite a light-hearted way.
If you do not mind, Olive, I think that Barton had better come down
to-morrow afternoon, Marcus observed one evening. He will get on all
the faster. And as Olivia made no objection to this the matter was
Marcus secretly wondered how Robert Barton could take things quite
so coolly. Perhaps it might be partly owing to his enfeebled state, but
he certainly did not seem to trouble himself much about the future. I
feel as if I should pull through now, he said, once. I only wanted a
helping hand to lift me out of the slough of despond. When I am a bit
stronger, doctor, I must paint a pot-boiler or two, and Marcus had
quietly assented to this.
I have made up my mind what I must do, Livy, continued Dr.
Luttrell later on that same evening, when he had arranged that his
patient should come downstairs. You know that nice Mrs. Randall in the
Models; well, she has a lodger, but she expects that he will leave her
in a week or so, as he has work at a distance. I might take the room
for Barton, it is a clean, tidy little place. And Mrs. Randall is a
motherly sort of woman, and will look after him.
Oh, what a good idea, Marcus.
Yes, it came into my head when I was leaving the Models yesterday.
And I had half a mind to go back and ask the price of the room, but I
was in such a hurry. I would pay her a month in advance, and we would
use some of Mr. Gaythorne's money in buying him what he wants for his
painting. I have no idea what sort of an artist he is, but it seems the
only thing he can do.
Oh, how pleased he will be, poor fellow, exclaimed Olivia, but
surely he is not well enough to leave us just now, and in this
weather? for a hard frost had set in.
Not for another week, perhaps, but we must not let him think
himself a fixture here. We have had him ten days already.
Marcus had not repented of his philanthropy, he was too highly
principled for that, but though he would not have confessed it to his
wife for worlds, he was a little alarmed at the responsibility so
suddenly thrown on him.
Barton seemed such a happy-go-lucky, casual sort of person. The
gentlemanly tramp was not a bad name for him. He was not quite open,
either. In Dr. Luttrell's opinion he ought by this time to have
confided in them fully. He is a bit shifty and hazy about things, he
said to himself, and I shall be glad when Livy and I have the house to
Ten days, repeated Olivia, thoughtfully; is it so long as that,
Marcus? How time flies when one is busy! Do you know, dear, I have such
an odd feeling sometimes. I feel as though that poor fellow was sent to
us for some special purpose, that we had a sort of mission towards him.
It is not that I want him, for of course his being here makes so much
work for Martha, but all the same, I do not wish you to lose sight of
My dear child, returned Marcus, rather impatiently, am I likely
to lose sight of him when I am at the Models at least three times a
No, but we can see him so much better under our own roof, she
replied, quietly. We must not get tired of him too soon. Yes, you are
tired, dear, laying her hand affectionately on his. Do you think I do
not know that, although you are so good about it, and never grumble,
but it will be trying to us both when he comes downstairs.
Yes, and one hardly knows how to treat him, returned Marcus,
feeling it a relief to utter his thoughts. He is clever and refined,
and I suppose we must allow that he is a gentleman, but it is
impossible somehow to trust him, or to feel at one's ease with him.
There is something that fascinates and yet repels one.
I know what you mean, replied Olivia, thoughtfully, but somehow I
like him in spite of everything; Marcus, what a blessing it is to think
that I went to Galvaston House this afternoon, and so I shall be free
to-morrow, for Olivia's sunny, nature always looked on the bright side
That night a wonderful thing happened. The night-bell rang.
That sound so dreaded by the hard-worked doctor was like a triumphal
reveille in Marcus's ears. And Robert Barton's muttered poor
devil as he turned on his pillow would not have been endorsed.
Olivia indeed had been alarmed for a moment by the unaccustomed
sound, and thought drowsily that the house must be on fire, but she was
soon wide awake and hushing Dot.
Go to sleep, girlie, it is only someone come to see dada, she
said, rocking her little one. Dot had been startled and was cross in
consequence, and it was sometime before she could be pacified.
The next minute Marcus came back fully dressed. I must go round to
15, Brunswick Place, he said, hurriedly. Don't expect me back till
you see me, and then she heard him running downstairs.
He expects to be detained, so I suppose some poor baby is to enter
this wintry world, she thought, as she composed herself to sleep, but
she little guessed the terribly hard work that was before Marcus.
It was early morning and Martha had already crept softly past her
door in her stocking' feet, as she would have said, so as not to wake
Miss Baby, before Dr. Luttrell let himself in with his latchkey.
He looked sadly jaded, but utterly refused to lie down and have a
nap. I will have my tub and some breakfast instead, he observed.
They gave me some hot coffee a couple of hours ago. My word, it is
freezing hard still. Tell Martha to give us a good-sized rasher of
Is the poor thing all right, asked Olivia presently, when they
were seated at their breakfast, with Dot crawling between them. Then
for the moment Dr. Luttrell looked puzzled.
What poor thingoh, with a laugh, I see what you mean now, but
it was nothing of that sort. I have not had such a business since my
hospital days, he went on; poor Livy, you would not have slept so
comfortably if you had known. It was a case of delirium tremens; an
elderly man, too, and his poor daughter was frightened out of her wits;
but she behaved splendidly; you women have pluck; I must tell you that
she actually helped me when the man-servant was afraid to come near his
Oh, Marcus, he might have hurt you, and Olivia turned
paleperhaps it is as well that doctors' wives know so little about
their husbands' experiences.
Oh, we had plenty of that sort of business at Bart's, he returned,
coolly; but I shall have to get him a nurse. I must see after one at
once, or poor Miss Williams will be worn out; will you give me another
cup of tea, Livy?
Are they new people too, Marcus, like the Stanwell's? but Dr.
Luttrell shook his head.
No, they have lived in the place for years, but Mr. Williams
quarrelled with Dr. Bevan, and his daughter dared not send for him, and
as I was the nearest medical man, the servant came to me; it was just a
fluke, that's all.
Is there only one daughter, Marcus?
Well, my dear, it was not likely that I questioned Miss Williams
about her family, but I imagine she is the only daughter; poor girl, I
felt sorry for her; there have been plenty of briers besetting her
path, I should say; as the poet writes so feelingly, she has had more
kicks than halfpence, and as usual, when Marcus began to joke, Olivia
took the hint and left off questioning him.
The little parlour looked a haven of comfort to Robert Barton's eyes
as he entered it that afternoon, leaning on Dr. Luttrell's arm.
Olivia was sitting at needlework as usual, with Dot playing at her
feet, and sprawling on the rug in exact imitation of Jet the black
kitten; she rose at once with a bright, welcoming smile, and arranged
the cushions in the easy-chair.
I daresay you are glad to be down again, she said, kindly, as
Barton sank back in them rather heavily; but you must be careful, you
are far from strong yet.
Thanks, I am tolerably fit, but the weak, shaking hand rather
Oh, what a pretty child! I should like to make a sketch of her.
Will you come to me, little one? And Robert Barton's smile was so
winning that Dot crawled to him at once, and hauled herself up by the
help of one finger.
Olivia gave her husband a quick glance which he quite understood;
there cannot be much harm in him if he likes children, this was what
her look meant, and even Marcus was touched and surprised when he saw
his little daughter put up her round face to be kissed, and then make
playful dabs at him.
What a darling she israther like you, Mrs. Luttrell, but she has
a look of the doctor too. I have always been fond of children, they are
never afraid of me, and this speech completely won the young mother's
He is really very distinguished-looking, she said to herself, as
she watched him playing with Dot; he is dreadfully thin, and, of
course, Uncle Fergus's clothes are too big for him, but no one could
help seeing that he is a gentleman.
They began to talk presently in quite a friendly way, and after a
time Olivia said, quite simply:
Your name is not really Robert Barton, is it? She had blurted this
out almost without thinking.
Well, no, he returned, reddening a little, but I have been
calling myself by that name for the last month or two, it was handy,
and his face twitched. I did not care to carry my father's name into
the places I have been obliged to frequent lately.
You have a father then, Mr. Barton? in an interested tone.
Oh, yes, and a mother and a sister, though I have heard nothing of
them for half a dozen years.
Oh, not so long as that, surely, and then Olivia looked at him
with kindly gravity. Why, you could only have been a boy when you left
I am older than you think, Mrs. LuttrellI shall soon be
eight-and-twentybut I was young enough, certainly, when they shunted
me off. Confession may be good for the soul, he went on, with a
reckless laugh; but it is not particularly pleasant. As I told your
husband, I quarrelled with my people. It was my own fault in a great
measure; but I do not mean to take all the blame; if they had treated
me differently, things would not have come to this; but this is all
ancient history; if a man sows thistles he must expect a harvest of the
same. I have had my evil things certainly, and perhaps I deserved
And you wish now that you had acted differently; then such a look
of intense pain crossed Robert Barton's face that Olivia was quite
I would give my right hand if those months could be blotted out,
he said, vehemently. You know the proverb, Mrs. Luttrell'Give a dog
a bad name, and hang him'well, they were for hanging me, I mean
figuratively, so I took the bit between my teeth and bolted.
It seems to me, Mr. Barton, she said, thoughtfully, that your one
chance to retrieve the past is to find out your own people. I
supposehesitating a littlethat they are in a position to help
Most certainly they are; we lived mostly abroad, but always in good
style; the house we had at Medhurst was only taken on lease for a short
time; it was my father's fancy never to stay long in one place; he was
fond of travelling; when I am strong enough to brave the weather, I
will go down to Medhurst and hunt up an acquaintance or two; there must
be someone who knew him; but the doctor will not give me leave yet.
Did my husband say anything to you about the future? asked Olivia,
tentatively; then Robert Barton's face, that had grown suddenly old and
haggard, brightened up.
He told me some old gentleman, a friend of yours, had been awfully
kind, and that he would be able to take a room for me for a month, and
get me some canvas and colours. If I only had my tools, I could take a
sketch of your little girl at once, just as she is now with the kitten.
I could call it 'Play-fellows,' just a small thing, you know, but it
would be sure to take. I do not paint badly, although I have not made
my mark yet, but I have sold two or three small pictures besides
pot-boilers. I could begin to-morrow if only I had my easel and
palette, and his tone was so eager, that Olivia promised to consult
her husband, and, if he approved, to go herself for the necessary
When Marcus came in he told them at once that he had been round to
the Models. The room will be vacant next Tuesday, Barton, he said,
briskly, and I have settled with Mrs. Randall that you will take it
for a month. It is a poor place, of course, but in my opinion it is not
so bare as your present diggings, and it is very clean and comfortable,
so you may be sure of board and lodging for a month. You will have to
be careful, you know, he went on, as long as this weather lasts. You
must not think of moving about the country just yet or you will be laid
up again, and then Olivia chimed in, and after a little consultation
it was arranged that Olivia should go to the picture-shop at the corner
of Harbut Street the next morning.
Robert Barton made a list of things required. He was in such good
spirits all tea-time, and told such amusing stories of his life in
Paris, that even Marcus, tired as he was, was much entertained.
He is really a well-informed fellow, he observed, when Barton had
retired. I am not so sure that we shall find him in the way, after
all. He told us that story about the artist's model in quite a racy
fashion. He seems to be up to date in his notions. I am a bit curious
to find out if he can paint or if it is only tall talk, but he
certainly seems bent on it. Now I must turn in, for I am dead beat. Oh,
by-the-bye, Livy, I told Miss Williams that you would go round and see
her to-morrow afternoon. It would really be a charity, as Olivia
seemed very much astonished at this. The poor girl is so lonely, she
has no brothers and sisters, and as far as I can find out no friends
No friends, Marcusand they live in one of those nice houses in
Brunswick Place, and keep a man-servant!
Oh, I daresay they have a few acquaintances, returned Dr.
Luttrell, with a yawn. Most likely it has been impossible for her to
have friends. When I proposed sending you to cheer her up, she looked
quite grateful. Poor soul, you will like her, Olive. She is just your
sort; no nonsense about her, plenty of feeling, but nothing
Marcus, observed Olivia, slipping her hand through his arm, and
speaking very deliberately, do you not think we had better have those
cards printed? our visiting acquaintance is so much increased, and
then Marcus laughed and turned down the lamp.
CHAPTER XII. GRETA.
For I am the only one of my friends that I can rely on.
Olivia set out in good spirits to pay her call the next afternoon.
It was a clear, frosty day, sunless and excessively cold, but Olivia
felt a certain exhilaration in the ring of the horses' hoofs on the
hard road, and the brisk exercise brought such a glow to her face, that
more than one passer-by looked at her approvingly.
There are no cosmetiques so beneficial as good health, happiness,
and an easy conscience. Olivia, who had never been handsome, looked so
fresh and comely, that many a languid beauty might have envied her.
Brunswick Place was considered rather a desirable spot; it was quiet
and retired, and the houses were well-built and substantial looking.
They were chiefly inhabited by solicitors in good practice, and retired
army men who had private means of their own. The very air was redolent
of respectability and prosperity. No one with a small income would have
thought of settling down in Brunswick Place.
The man-servant who admitted Olivia ushered her into a large,
handsomely furnished drawing-room with a conservatory opening out of
it, and the next moment Miss Williams joined her.
To her great surprise Olivia recognised her at once. She was the
tall girl in brown that she had so often noticed in church, who was
always alone, and who looked so sad. Yes, it was the same tired-looking
young face, she was certain of it.
I am sure I have often seen you, she said, as they shook hands,
and Miss Williams smiled.
I was just thinking the same of you. You attend St. Matthew's, do
you not? I have seen you with Dr. Luttrell. Please sit downno, not
that chair. Come a little closer to the fire, it is so bitterly cold,
and here she shivered a little.
I do not mind the cold as much as some people, replied Olivia,
sturdily. I am very strong and take plenty of exercise. Perhaps you
have not been out; it is so difficult to keep warm indoors.
No, I have not been out, returned Miss Williams, and then she
looked at Olivia. It is very kind of you to come and see meMrs.
She spoke slowly, almost deliberately, but her voice was pleasant.
In her light tweed, she looked even taller than Olivia had thought her,
and very thin.
In spite of her pale complexion and want of animation, Miss Williams
had some claims to good looks. She had soft grey eyes, with remarkably
long lashes, and the coils of fair hair set off a finely shaped head.
My husband thought that you seemed rather lonely, returned Olivia,
in her usual straightforward fashion. Then a faint colour rose to Miss
Yes, it was so kind of him to propose it, and I was very grateful.
I suppose he told you that I had no friendsno one, I mean, that I
could ask to come in and sit with me a little. I know the next-door
people slightly. We call at intervals, and they have invited me to a
party, but I have never got beyond that. It has been difficult for me
to make friends. I am rather shyand here she broke off rather
I think I know what you mean, replied Olivia. When one is in
trouble, one wants real friends, not chance acquaintances, and if one
has not made them
Just sothat is precisely my case. Circumstances have been to
blame, for I think I am sociable by nature. Dr. Luttrell was very
quick; he understood at once, and he said it was not good for me to be
so much alone. Oh, he was such a comfort to me. Even the first moment
he did not seem like a stranger. I felt before half-an-hour was over
that I could trust him implicitly. And when he suggested yesterday that
you should come and cheer me up, I said yes at once.
I was very glad to come, replied Olivia, quickly. Like yourself,
I have no friends here, with the exception of another patient of my
husband's, an old gentleman who lives opposite to us. So I hope you
will let me be of some use to you. You know, after a moment's
hesitation, Dr. Luttrell is not one to talk about his patients, but he
told me a little about your trouble.
So I imagined, and of course it makes it easier for me. And here
Miss Williams's lips trembled slightly. You could not help me or be
any comfort without knowing a little. Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, is it not
dreadful? My poor father, and such a good father, too. He is just
killing himself, I know that.
And you are all alone?
Yes, since my mother died. Things were bad enough then, but they
have been worse since. She used to be able to influence him and keep
him straight, but he will not listen to me.
Have you had this to bear long? and Olivia looked at her
pityingly. What a life for a young, sensitive girl!
For some years. Ever since Dacre, my brother, died. It was a
boating accident, and they brought him home quite dead. We thought it
was the shock, but Dr. Bevan, who attended him, then told us that it
was due also to hereditary disease. We dared not send for Dr. Bevan the
other night, though he understood him so thoroughly, and was so kind.
My father had quarrelled with him, but Dr. Luttrell saw him yesterday
and they had a long talk.
My husband always speaks so highly of Dr. Bevan.
Yes, and I liked him so much. He was such a comfort to me when poor
mother died, and I shall always be grateful to him, but I dared not run
the risk of exciting my father. He is a little better today; Dr.
Luttrell says so; but of course he is coming again to-night. We have a
good nurse, so things are more hopeful, but I shall have to get rid of
our man. He is no use. Dr. Luttrell says I must have someone older and
more reliable, who can help in an emergency. Roberts is far too young
to be any real good.
Olivia listened and assented. She was quick-witted enough to see
that it would be better to let Miss Williams talk and unburden herself
a little. The girl, in spite of a naturally shy temperament, seemed
ready to open her heart to her. Perhaps Olivia's winning personality
had already won her. Human nature is so strangely constitutedthe laws
of attraction and repulsion are so unaccountable.
Some natures seem magnetic; they attract and draw us almost without
our own volition. With others we make no way, months and years of
intercourse will not bind us more closely. We are not on the same
Olivia's sympathetic manner, the pitying kindness in her eyes,
appealed strongly to Greta Williams, the lonely girlisolated by the
worst curse that can affect humanitygrievous hereditary vicethe
innocent scape-goat of another's sin. Alas, how many homes even in our
favoured land are desolated as well as desecrated from this one cause.
What piteous waste of sweet young life, crushed under unnatural
burdens. The sin of England, we saythe shameful curse of diseased
Greta Williams seemed patient by nature; though it was a relief to
talk openly to another woman, she did not complain. In spite of her
father's faults, he was evidently very dear to her.
It is a diseasea madness, she said once, but it would never do
to have young people here; one could not be sure, and for his sake it
is better not, and in these few words there lay a world of tragedy.
To love, and yet not to be sure that the object of our love will not
disgrace us. What misery to a refined and sensitive nature, to have to
blush and grow pale from very shame and terror; to stretch out a
helping hand to some dear one who has sunk too low to reach it. Ah,
only One, the All-merciful, can rightly gauge the anguish of such a
sorrow. No wonder Greta Williams looked so worn and pale, and that her
eyes had grown sad.
He is worse than he has ever been, she whispered, presently. Dr.
Luttrell does not tell me, but I know he was alarmed for him that
night. He has been so much better lately, she went on, with a little
sob in her throat. I had felt almost comfortable; not quite
comfortable, you know, because it never really lasted, but he liked me
to read to him, and we played chess; but nowher voice dropped into
wearinessI shall never feel quite easy again.
Olivia had long ago outstayed an ordinary conventional visit; but
Marcus had sent her for a purpose: she was to try and cheer, and, if
possible, comfort, this poor girl, so, when Greta rang for tea, she
simply stayed on, and towards the end of her visit she thought her
young hostess looked a shade brighter.
You will come and see me, she said when she rose to take leave;
but Miss Williams hesitated.
Will you forgive me if I do not return your call just now? I simply
dare not leave the house. You understand, do you not, Mrs. Luttrell?
but if you would be so very kind as to come again.
Most certainly I will come again; did you think that I should not?
but, dear Miss Williams, you must not shut yourself up too closely, or
your health will suffer.
But Greta only smiled faintly at this.
I shall tell Dr. Luttrell that you have done me good, she said,
pressing Olivia's hand; how strange it seemsthere is no cure for
such a trouble as mine, and yet telling you about it has seemed to make
it more bearable. Oh, please come again soonvery soon, and of course
Olivia readily promised this.
It was rather a disappointment on her return to find Marcus had been
in for tea and had gone out again. Robert Barton, who was reading by
the fire, said that he would not be back for an hour or two.
Have you had a pleasant afternoon, Mrs. Luttrell? he asked,
putting down his book, and trying to stifle a yawn; but, though Olivia
replied in the affirmative, she did not vouchsafe any information about
When Marcus returned two hours later, he found their guest had
betaken himself to bed, and Olivia was able to give him a graphic
account of her afternoon.
I am very much interested in Miss Williams, she observed
presently; fancy her turning out to be the very tall girl in brown at
Did your ears burn just now, Livy, observed Marcus, mischievously.
I am glad to find someone appreciates my wife properly; you seem to
have got on like a house on fire; well, you will be doing good work
She said you were rather alarmed about her father that first
Did she? I never said so, he returned, dryly; in some cases it is
best to reserve one's opinion; but of course at Mr. Williams's age it
is a grave matter; then he drew his chair closer to the fire. Life's
an awful muddle, Livy, as that man said in Hard Times; fancy the
loneliness of a young creature like that; why, she cannot be more than
two-or three-and-twenty, and her lawful protector drinking himself to
Olivia shuddered, her own young life had been anxious and
hardworking; but compared with Greta Williams it had been strewn with
roses. Could any parents have been more honoured than hers had been?
And then had she not always had Aunt Madge's wise counsel and sympathy
to aid her? and, lastly, had not the sunshine of a happy love glorified
it? But Miss Williams apparently had none of these things.
Not more than others I deserve, but God has given me more, she
thought, with a swelling heart, as she made her thanksgiving that
In spite of outside weather, there was plenty of life and movement
in the corner house at Galvaston Terrace. The next day Mr. Barton began
his sketch of Dot, and he soon became so absorbed in it that he seemed
to forget his weakness and lassitude.
Olivia watched the progress of the picture with intense delight, and
carried a favourable report of it on her next visit to Galvaston House.
It is a striking likeness of my little girl, she said. Even my
husband, who is not easy to please in such matters, allows that. He
owned yesterday that Mr. Barton is certainly a good artist, and
understands his business. I like to watch him? he looks so happy when
he is painting, as though he has forgotten all his troubles; he is
staying with us a day or two longer on account of the picture, but he
will certainly leave us on Thursday.
Mr. Gaythorne did not answer; he seemed to be considering something;
at last he said, rather abruptly:
Yes, Dr. Luttrell has been telling me what a clever fellow he
seems, and I think I shall get him to do a little job for me.
That picture I bought at Stangrove's wants touching up; it has been
injured; I knew that when I bought it; but it was so slight that it did
not matter, and I meant to get it put to rights. If I send it over
to-morrow or the next day, do you think Mr. Barton will undertake the
job? it will only take him an hour or two.
He will gladly do so, I am sure of that. Is it the picture that my
husband admired so much?
Yes, the Prodigal Son; I bought it that day I sprained my ankle.
Very well, Mrs. Luttrell, it shall be sent to your house.
CHAPTER XIII. FRESH COMPLICATIONS.
It is best to be cautious and avoid extremes.Plutarch.
Greta Williams's pathetic little speech, Come soon, very soon,
please, rather haunted Olivia, and she very speedily found an excuse
for repeating her visit. This time she was welcomed so warmly, and Miss
Williams seemed so unfeignedly pleased to see her, that she felt she
had done the right thing, and after that she went frequently to
Circumstances certainly favoured the rapid growth of their intimacy.
Greta, who had caught a severe cold, was obliged to remain closely
confined to the house, and Dr. Luttrell, who was sincerely sorry for
the lonely girl, encouraged his wife to go as often as possible.
She has not a soul belonging to her, at least in England, he said
once, though she has relations in New Zealand, uncles and aunts and
cousins. There is a colony of Williamses in Christ-church. The worst of
it is people seemed to have left off calling, her father made himself
so disagreeable; it is hard lines for her, poor girl. I believe Mrs.
Tolman looks her up occasionally. Then Olivia, at the mention of the
vicar's wife, made a naughty little face.
Miss Williams rather dreads her visits, she replied. She calls
her an east-windy sort of person, and I know what she means. Mrs.
Tolman is an excellent woman, but she rubs one up the wrong way. I
always feel bristly all over after one of her parochial visits, and I
know Aunt Madge feels the same. When the vicar is with her he seems to
tone her down somehow, but the very swing of her gown as she enters the
room, and the way she sits down, as though she were taking possession
of one's chair, irritates my nerves, but though Marcus laughed he did
not contradict this.
The new friendship gave Olivia a great deal of pleasure. Since her
school-days she had never enjoyed the society of anyone of her own age.
The hard-working young governess had had scant leisure for cementing
It had always been a wonder to her how Marcus had managed his
courting, and she often told him so. She had met him at the house of
one of her pupils, and, it being a wet day, he had offered his
umbrella, and walked back with her to her lodgings.
She had a vague idea that he had detained her for such a long time
talking on the doorstep that her mother had come down and invited him
to wait until the rain was over, but Marcus always repudiated this, and
declared that she had talked so fast that he found it impossible to get
away; but after this he and her mother had seemed to play into each
Perhaps under other circumstances Olivia would hardly have found
Miss Williams so attractive and interesting, for, though amiable and
affectionate, she was by no means clever. Her accomplishments consisted
in a tolerable knowledge of French and Italian picked up abroad, but
she had no decided tastes. She read little, knew nothing of music, and
her chief pleasure seemed the care of her flowers and her beautiful
needlework, for some French nuns had taught her embroidery and
lace-making. Olivia, who was intellectual and well read, and who
thought deeply on most subjects, had soon reached the limits of Greta's
knowledge, but happily there is culture of the heart as well as of the
Greta had plenty of sweet, womanly virtues. She was patient by
nature and capable of much long-suffering and endurance. Her affections
were warm and deep, but she had hitherto found no fitting scope for
them. The sad grey eyes told their own story: her youthful bloom had
been wasted amid sterile surroundings. Greta Williams had one of those
strong womanly characters that are meant to be the prop of weaker
natures, that are veritable towers of strength in hours of adversity.
It was for this that Olivia grew to love her when she knew her better.
She is so patient, she said once when she was discussing her with
Mrs. Broderick. She has so much staying power, and then she never
quite loses her faith in anyone, however hopeless they seem. Even
Marcus has said more than once that her pluck is wonderful, but of
course it wears her out.
You must bring her to see me, Livy, returned Aunt Madge. We will
have a little tea party, and Deb shall distinguish herself, but Greta
only smiled faintly when Olivia repeated this.
Some day, perhaps, she said, quietly, and then her eyes had
suddenly filled with tears. Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, we have had such a
dreadful time. Nurse only left him a minute, and he managed to get to
the brandy. It must have been Roberts's fault that the cellarette was
unlocked, but ever since he has seemed quite mad; we were obliged to
send for Dr. Luttrell. And then at the thought of the grim shadows
brooding over that unhappy home, Olivia's little plans seemed out of
Mr. Gaythorne kept his promise, and before Robert Barton left them,
the picture was sent to the corner house.
Mr. Barton, who had just finished his sketch of Dot and the kitten,
had that moment invited Olivia to look at it.
I may touch it up a bit more, but I suppose it will do now, he
said, in a tone of complacency.
Do! it is beautifulit is perfectly charming. Oh, if we were only
rich enough to buy it for ourselves, but, looking at him severely,
you know what my husband said this morning, Mr. Barton, that he would
not allow me to accept it as a gift. You are to take it round to that
picture dealer's in Harbut Street, and see if they will not give you a
fair price for it, and then you must set about something bigger for the
Royal Academy. And though Robert Barton shook his head in a melancholy
dissenting fashion, he knew that Dr. Luttrell had been right.
[Illustration: It is beautifulit is perfectly charming.]
I should have liked you to have it, he said, with a sigh, but I
suppose beggars ought not to be generous. If I only get on, I will
paint Dot again; and then Martha had come in with the picture.
There is no light now. I shall have to wait till to-morrow, but of
course your old gentleman knows that.
Robert Barton always spoke of him as the old gentleman, but when
Olivia had first mentioned his name, he had seemed a little startled,
and had questioned her about him.
He lives alone, he said presently; it is rather an uncommon name.
There were some Gaythornes in Londona firm of solicitorsperhaps it
is one of those. They make plenty of money sometimes. And then the
subject had dropped.
Olivia, who had promised to spend an hour or two with Mr. Gaythorne
that evening, looked at the clock, and then folded up her work; but as
she put it away, a sudden quick exclamation from Robert Barton made her
look at him.
He was staring at the picture. Why, it is my own work, he said,
with a flush of pleasure. The picture I painted at Beyrout, and that I
sold for a mere song. Of course the fellow cheated me, he was a mean
sort of chap; but it is not so bad after all. And what's
this?'Goddard.' Well, of all the cads! He has put his own name to it,
but I swear I painted it. Abdul and his son Hassan were my models. Oh,
I see by your face that you like it, Mrs. Luttrell. I don't think
myself that I ever did anything better. Isn't it Carlyle that says
'Genius is the capacity for taking infinite pains.' Well, I took lots
of pains with that picture. I meant to get it into the Royal Academy,
but ill-luck obliged me to sell it.
You painted that picture of the Prodigal Son! exclaimed Olivia,
Oh, yes, I painted it all right. It was a nasty trick of Goddard's
putting his name to it. Look, that was Abdul's wife, the one with the
distaff; the other two were two women I saw sitting under a palm-tree
one evening. Well, your old gentleman has sent it to the right person
to touch it up. It shall be done to-morrow before I go.
Olivia was so full of this wonderful piece of intelligence that she
could hardly wait until Phoebe had closed the library door. Oh, Mr.
Gaythorne, she exclaimed, what do you think! Your beautiful picture
of the Prodigal Son is Mr. Barton's work. Goddard is only the name of
the man who bought it. Yes, as Mr. Gaythorne looked very much
astonished at this. You will not call him the gentlemanly tramp any
longer, now that he is a real artist.
Look here, Mrs. Luttrell, he said, abruptly, I don't believe all
this. You are being gulled. Goddard painted that picture, not Barton; I
hate imposition. I daresay the fellow can paint in a pretty amateurish
sort of way, and he will be able to do my job, but I am not going to
swallow this without proof. Tell him to bring the picture back himself,
and you can come too if you like. If he has been imposing on your
credulity I shall very soon detect him. But Olivia was indignant at
Of course he shall bring back the picture if you wish it, she
said, a little stiffly. And I shall ask him to bring the sketch of
Dot, too, and then you will see for yourself how well he paints, but he
is no impostor, I am certain of that; but as usual Mr. Gaythorne only
held obstinately to his opinion.
My dear young lady, he said, irritably, you have hardly enough
experience to judge in a case like this. If Mr. Barton really painted
that picture, which I deny, for Goddard painted it, he is a worse scamp
than I thought him. What business had he to be starving on a doorstep
or supping off dry bread and thin cocoa in a casual ward? My dear, we
old fellows know the world better than that. Robert Barton is a black
sheep, and not all your charity can wash him white.
Mr. Gaythorne was evidently in one of his obstinate moods, and
Olivia thought it prudent to say no more on this subject. Robert Barton
would be able to vindicate himself without difficulty. When Mr.
Gaythorne saw the sketch of Dot and the kitten he would be more lenient
in his judgment of the young artist.
During the remainder of her visit she chatted to him cheerfully
about a book he had lent her; but just before she took her leave she
unfortunately broached the subject of her new friend. At the mention of
her name Mr. Gaythorne started and changed color.
Greta Williams, he observed, with a sharp, almost displeased
intonation in his voice. That is not a common name. And she lives in
Yes; they have been living there for some years, but before that
they were in the country. But to her surprise Mr. Gaythorne
interrupted her impatiently.
Yes, yes, you said that before; go on with what you were telling me
about her father. He is a dipsomaniac, you say. And then Olivia
proceeded with her story.
Is it not sad for the poor girl? she observed when she had
finished, but Mr. Gaythorne made no reply. He was sitting in a stooping
attitude over the fire and seemed lost in thought.
His first remark took Olivia by surprise. Have you ever mentioned
my name to Miss Williams? he asked, with one of his keen searching
looks. You are very frank, Mrs. Luttrell. I daresay you have dropped a
word or two about me.
But Olivia shook her head.
I am quite sure that I have not done so. I have only seen Miss
Williams four or five times, and we have only talked about her own
troubles andoh yes, a little about Mr. Barton. No, I am certain that
your name has never been mentioned.
That is well, he returned, slowly. Perhaps you will be good
enough for the future to leave me out of your conversations when you go
to Brunswick Place.
The fact is, Mrs. Luttrell, he went on, slowly, the Williamses
were old neighbours of ours. And Greta and my Olive were dear friends,
but they left the neighbourhood long before we did. I never liked Mr.
Williams; he had a knack of quarrelling with all his friends, and we
soon came to loggerheads. He made himself obnoxious in many ways, and I
declared I would never enter his house again. I am sorry to hear we are
such close neighbours.
What a pity! observed Olivia, regretfully. And poor Miss Williams
is so nice.
Oh, I have no fault to find with her, he returned, in a softer
voice. She was a good creature, and my Olive was very fond of her. At
one time she was always in our house, and she and Alwynlet me see,
what was I saying? interrupting himself with a frown of vexation. No,
there is no harm in the girl, and I shall always wish her well, for my
little Olive's sake. But it would be painful for us both to meet. He
stopped, sighed heavily, and then, shading his eyes, sat for some
minutes without speaking.
Olivia rose at last. Her visit had not been a pleasant one; the
subjects of conversation had been unlucky. She was vexed with herself,
and yet it was no fault of hers. For once Mr. Gaythorne did not try to
detain her, but there was no want of cordiality in his manner as he bid
I shall see you to-morrow, he said; you had better come early, as
the afternoons are so short, but before she had closed the door he
seemed again lost in thought.
That evening Robert Barton was in high spirits, and talked in a most
sanguine manner of his future. He would set about a picture for the
Royal Academy at once. He had his subject ready. A group in the casual
ward that had greatly impressed him. He had sketched it roughly with an
old, battered lead-pencil he had picked up. He discussed it with
animation all tea-time.
It is just the sort of thing to take the fancy of the public, he
said. I shall take pains with it and work it up, patches and all. It
will be sure to sell. And Marcus applauded this resolution.
During the rest of the evening Robert Barton was excellent company.
He told storiespathetic stories and comical ones, until Olivia put
down her work to listen. And Marcus's laugh had more than once brought
Martha out of the kitchen.
But towards the end of the evening, when Olivia brought him a cup of
hot cocoa, his gaiety suddenly vanished, and he looked at her a little
To-morrow evening I shall be missing my kind nurse and hostess, he
said, gently, and shall be wishing myself back in this cosy parlour,
and then he added, abruptly, Look here, Mrs. Luttrell, I am not much
of a hand at making pretty speeches, but if ever I can do a good turn
for you and the doctor I shall be proud and happy to do it.
He is very grateful, Marcus, observed Olivia, as she lingered a
moment by her husband's side. There were tears in his eyes as he said
that. Poor fellow, I cannot help liking him. There is something
débonnaire and boyish about him, in spite of all he has been
through, and certainly he has been very amusing this evening, but,
with a little caressing touch, how nice it will be when we are alone
again! And Marcus smiled assent.
CHAPTER XIV. AN EVENTFUL DAY.
Forget not thy sins that thou mayest sorrow and repent.
When Olivia woke the next morning she was conscious of a curious
feeling; an indefinable presentiment that she could not put into words.
How I wish the day were over, she said to herself; and the thought of
her visit to Galvaston House, and Mr. Gaythorne's sharp, cynical
speeches, quite oppressed her.
I hope he will be civil to Mr. Barton, she observed later on to
her husband. Mr. Barton is very proud and touchy, and he will not
submit to a course of cross-examination from a stranger. I am quite
dreading the afternoon. But Marcus only laughed at her fears.
Barton can hold his own, was his reply. He is a bit peppery, but
he is not such a fool as to quarrel with his bread and butter. He knows
Mr. Gaythorne is a connoisseur, and he will put up with a few sarcastic
speeches in the hope of future profits. Mr. Gaythorne could make him
extremely useful; he hinted as much to me this morning. There are some
pictures he wants rehung, and one or two that need cleaning and
varnishing. Barton has only got to prove without doubt that he and not
Goddard painted that picture, and then they will get on all right. You
must just hold your tongue, Livy, and leave them to fight it out. And
Olivia resolved to abide by this prudent advice.
Robert Barton worked hard most of the morning, and then, as the sun
shone brightly, he went out for a stroll before the early dinner.
He came back looking so pale and tired that Olivia scolded him for
taking too long a walk.
I have not been far, he returned, sitting down in rather a weary
manner, and it was so warm and pleasant in the sunshine that I thought
it would do me good. Then he gave a short laugh, and said, abruptly,
The fact is, something has bowled me overI have seen a ghost. Then
Olivia, who was clearing the table for the early dinner, stared at him.
Oh, of course, I am only speaking figuratively, he went on. I
suppose it was really flesh and blood that I saw; but no ghost could
have been more startling. I wonderspeaking as though to himselfif
my sight deceived me; but it was certainly a singular likeness. If I
had only had the courage to stop and speak; but when I recollected
myself the opportunity had gonea passing omnibus hindered meand
then I was too late.
Did you think it was someone you knew?
Yes, very curtlya friend of my happier days. But he seemed
disinclined to say more. He was so silent and moody all dinner-time
that Dr. Luttrell looked at him in surprise more than once.
I suppose you will go straight to your lodgings from Galvaston
House, he said, presently; it will never do for you to be out late,
Barton. And Robert Barton assented to this.
I shall just fetch my bag and one or two things; I do not suppose
we shall be long. And then he rose from the table and began putting up
his brushes, and then took up a book, which he read upside down, until
Olivia was ready to accompany him.
As they crossed the road she said to him, gently:
I am sorry to see that you are a little out of spirits, and I am
afraid this visit may be rather tryingan elderly invalid has all
sorts of fads and cranksbut I hope you will be patient. Then Robert
Barton smiled pleasantly.
Oh, yes, I am quite prepared to be regarded as a fraud; but I shall
soon prove that Goddard is the cheat in this case. And then they rang
the bell, and Phoebe, telling them that her master was still in the
dining-room, ushered them into the library.
Please tell Mr. Gaythorne we are in no hurry, observed Olivia,
vexed that they had come so early; but Robert Barton, with one quick
glance round the beautiful room, busied himself with placing the
pictures in the best possible light.
There, he said, stepping back with a complacent smile, I think
your old gentleman will own that the same artist painted those two
pictures, when he sees them side by side.
But as he spoke the sound of footsteps made him look towards the
open door. As he did so, Olivia saw him suddenly recoil and turn deadly
white at the sight of Mr. Gaythorne standing rigid and motionless on
A stifled voice cried, Alwyn! Good Heavens! it is Alwyn!and the
next moment the heavy crutch-handled stick fell from the old man's
trembling hand with a sudden crash.
At the sound, Robert Barton shivered and shrank back against the
Olivia picked it up, and tried to place it in Mr. Gaythorne's hand
again, but he never noticed her. His eyes were fixed with a look of
agonised intensity on the white face of the young artist.
It is Alwyn, he said again, in the same suppressed voice, and yet
he does not speak or look at me! And at the anguish in his tone the
young man raised his head.
Father, I was not prepared for this, he stammered; what am I to
say to you? And then, without advancing a step, he looked round him
wildly. Father, what does this meanam I dreamingwhere are my
mother and Olive? Then a low moan of intense pain broke from Mr.
He does not know. Oh, this is too dreadful, Mrs. Luttrell! He
looked at her almost appealingly, as though his strength were gone, and
then she put her arm round him and guided him gently to a chair.
Sit quiet for a moment, she whispered; you are not fit for this.
And as she wiped the cold perspiration from his forehead, his ashen
look terrified her. Dear Mr. Gaythorne, try to compose yourself. Shall
I ring for Mrs. Crampton?perhaps she would know what to do. But he
shook his head vehemently.
No, noonly give me time. Ah, look there!for the blind hound
that had just come into the room was now whining and fawning upon
Robert Barton in the most excited way.
Eros knows him. Alwyn,trying to raise his voice, but it was
strangely feeblecome nearer to me. When I told you you were never to
see my face again, that you were no son of mine, I was labouring under
a grievous mistake. I know now who forged that chequeI have known it
for years. No, with all your faults you never did that. And as he said
this Mr. Gaythorne put out a shaking hand to his son, but the young man
did not take it. There was a fierce, angry light in his blue eyes and a
contemptuous smile on his lips.
I am glad you have done me this tardy justice, sir, he said, in a
firmer tone, and that I have heard from your own lips that I am no
criminal. When we parted, I remember you threatened me with penal
servitude. No, I have not disgraced your name to that extent. I have
starved, and nearly died of cold on a doorstep, but I have kept my
Alwyn, exclaimed Mr. Gaythorne, piteously, I was too hard, I will
confess that. All these years I have been longing to atone, and the
sorrow and remorse have made me an old man before my time. There was
much to forgivemuch that you made me bear. Surely you cannot deny
No, sir, I will not deny that I was a sad scapegrace, but you never
took the right way to keep me straight. But for my mother and Olive, I
should have run away long before. Fatherand here there was a
frightened look in his eyeswhere are they? Why are you alone? Then,
as Mr. Gaythorne raised his hand with a solemn gesture, the young man
laid his head down on the mantelpiece and his whole frame shook with
Dead! Oh, noimpossible! My own mother, who always believed in me,
and my little Olive! he gasped out more than once.
Mr. Alwyn, observed Olivia, putting her hand on his shoulder, but
the tears were running down her face as she spoke, your father cannot
bear much more. I am afraid he is ill. But even as she spoke, Mr.
Gaythorne, who had risen from his chair rather stiffly, suddenly fell
on the rug at his son's feet.
The next moment the pealing of the bell brought Mrs. Crampton and
the frightened servants to the room. They found Mrs. Luttrell and the
stranger kneeling by the side of the prostrate form; but as the
housekeeper caught sight of the young artist's face, she uttered a
sudden cry. It is Mr. Alwyn, she said, and the joy of seeing him has
killed my master. But Olivia hushed her.
Send for Dr. Luttrell, she said; we must do nothing till he
comes. Mr. Alwyn,for the unfortunate young man seemed on the verge
of fainting,I do not think he is dead; it is some sort of attack. We
must do the best we can for him, without moving him, until my husband
comes. But to her intense relief Marcus entered a moment afterwards.
One quick glance at the young artist's agitated face gave Dr.
Luttrell a vague clue to the mystery, but he was soon too deeply
engrossed with his patient to think of anything else. Under his
directions, a temporary bed was made in the library, and the invalid
was undressed and laid on it. Mrs. Crampton, who was a capable nurse,
carried out the doctor's instructions, and Olivia made herself useful.
After the first few minutes Alwyn had left the room, unable to
endure the sight any longer. An hour or two passed, then Dr. Luttrell
rose from his seat beside his patient, and beckoned his wife from the
Livy, he said, as they stood together by the hall fire, I feel a
little more sanguine now there is partial consciousness, but everything
depends on keeping him quiet. I shall remain with him tonight and Mrs.
Crampton will be with me. I want you to tell me what brought on this
attack. From all your faces I can see something has happened. Barton
looked as if he would have a stroke, too?
Oh, where is he, Marcus? I have not seen him for more than an hour.
Ah, you may well think that something has happened. I never was present
at such a scene. Mr. Barton is his son Alwyn. They recognised each
other in a moment. Poor Mr. Gaythorne accused himself of harshness and
made a sort of apology, but Mr. Alwyn looked so angry and contemptuous,
and would not shake hands. And then he asked after his mother and
sisterthey are dead, you know. And then, oh, he broke down and sobbed
so dreadfully that it quite upset me.
I am sure the poor old man was trying to get to him when he
suddenly fell down at his feet, and Mr. Alwyn screamed out, thinking he
Yes, I see, poor little Livy. What a sad scene; but you behaved
very well. Now, as there is nothing more you can do, suppose you take
BartonI mean Gaythorneback with you. We can't let him go to the
Models now, and it would not be safe to have him here. Give him some
food and talk to him. Mrs. Crampton will look after my comforts. I will
run across later on and tell you how he is. And then Olivia
reluctantly obeyed him. Marcus was right, and she would not venture to
contradict his orders, but how she longed to stay and share his watch.
Good child, he said, kissing her. You are a splendid doctor's
wife! No fuss and no arguing. And this little bit of praise went far
to console her.
Promise me that you will take care of yourself and I will do my
best for Mr. Alwyn, she said, nestling up to him for a moment. And
then the door-bell rang, and Phoebe, with rather a scared face, went to
Is Dr. Luttrell here? asked a clear voice that they both
recognised as Greta Williams's, and then she caught sight of them and
stepped into the hall.
They told me you were here, so I ventured to come across, she
said, in a low tone, as Marcus looked at her anxiously. Oh, there is
nothing wrong, only nurse forgot to ask you something, and as it was a
fine evening I said I would call.
I am coming round later on. I am sorry you have had your walk for
nothing, returned Marcus. And then they went apart and talked together
for a few minutes. Then Marcus went back to his patient and Greta
joined Olivia, who was sitting on the oaken settee by the blazing fire.
She was tired out with the strain of the last two hours, and felt in
need of a little rest before she went in search of Alwyn.
Sit down, Greta,, she whispered. How strange you should have come
to this house! But then everything is strange to-day But here she
stopped confusedly, as she remembered Mr. Gaythorne's injunction.
Why is it strange? asked Greta, innocently. There is someone
seriously ill here, is there not? But your servant did not tell me the
name. How pale and tired you look, Mrs. Luttrell! I suppose it is some
friend of yours who is ill? She glanced at Olivia questioningly, but
she only nodded in answer.
Yes; it was a sudden attackI think it must have been a stroke.
Oh, Greta, what is it?for Miss Williams had suddenly risen from her
seat with a startled exclamation and was gazing with wide, frightened
eyes and parted lips into the shadowy corner behind her.
The next moment Robert Barton came forward into the firelight, with
his pale face and fair, dishevelled hair. He looked almost like a ghost
of himself, but Greta, with a little cry, held out her hand to him.
Alwyn, it is you; but how you startled me! Why did you stand there
in that silent, ghostly fashion? But as he only looked at her in a
dazed way, and made no answer, she turned to Olivia.
Mrs. Luttrell, she said, piteously, what does it all mean? Why
does he not speak to me, and we are such old friends? Is he ill? He
looks dreadful. I should hardly have known himand yetand yetit
must be Alwyn.
Yes, I am Alwyn, returned the young man, in a hollow voice. But
you must not touch me, Greta. I am not worthy to take your hand. I have
killed my father!
CHAPTER XV. THEY WERE BOTH TO
It befits a son to be dutiful to his father.Plautus.
As Alwyn uttered these despairing words Greta shrank back in alarm,
but Olivia, with a reassuring smile, put her hand gently on his arm.
Do not talk so wildly, Mr. Alwyn, she said, soothingly; you are
frightening poor Miss Williams. How can you have killed your father
when he is not dead? My husband has only just left me. He seems hopeful
about him; he thinks consciousness is returning; but he must have
perfect quiet. Even our voices may disturb himthat is why I must beg
you to come back with me at once.
You are not deceiving me, Mrs. Luttrell? returned Alwyn,
suspiciously. You are sure that he is not dead?
Quite sure, she returned, quietly; and then again Greta put out
You will come with us, will you not, Alwyn? she said, with
sisterly tenderness; there is so much that I have to hear and that you
must tell me, and we must not talk here. To think that we should have
met like this, by accidentif there be such a thing as accident in
this life of ours. But no; it was Providence that brought me to this
house. And as Olivia followed them down the dark shrubbery she could
hear her quiet tones still talking, as though to a younger brother.
Olivia was too tired to do more than wonder vaguely as she listened;
the sight of her own little parlour and Martha's sturdy figure
arranging the tea-table gave her a pleasant revulsion of feeling. When
Martha whispered confidentially, as she brought in the lamp, The
seed-cake is nicely baked; hadn't I better bring it in, ma'am? Olivia
gave a little hysterical laugh. After all that tragedy it was so odd to
think of freshly baked cakes.
Yes, yes, and make the tea quickly, she said, waving off the
little handmaiden impatiently; and Martha, somewhat affronted and
vaguely alarmed, retreated to the kitchen.
What's come over the mistress? she said to herself. I have never
known her so huffy. But Olivia, with difficulty recovering her
calmness, busied herself in ministering to her guests.
Mr. Alwyn, she said, gently, you must rest on that couchyou are
just worn out; but a cup of tea will do you good. Greta, you must stop
and have some too. Do you know this is the first time you have entered
this house? Dot is asleep. I am going up to see her now. Would you like
to come too?for she guessed intuitively that the girl was longing to
question herand Greta, with a grateful look, followed her at once.
Olivia kissed the sleeping child with her usual tenderness. How she
longed to lie down beside Dot and sleep off her overpowering weariness;
but the day's work was not over.
Greta, who had only just glanced at the little one, put her arms
suddenly round Olivia and drew her down beside her.
Mrs. Luttrell, she said, breathlessly, tell me what it all means.
What has happened to Alwyn, and what makes him talk so strangely? Do
you know, for one moment, I believed him! In the old time they often
quarrelledbut of course it is paralysis. And then Olivia told her
all that had occurred that afternoon.
Greta listened with painful attention; then her eyes filled with
And he never knew that his mother and Olive were dead, she
observed. Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, how sadhow terribly sad it all is! No
wonder he looked bewildered, poor fellow; it must have been such an
awful shock to hear that, and then to see his poor father fall at his
Yes, and he had been ill too; think of all the hardships he has
been through. And Greta shivered as Olivia said this.
How little I thought, she said, that when you were telling me
about the poor young artist that Dr. Luttrell had found on the doorstep
on Christmas night, that it was Alwyn Gaythorne, my old playmate and
friend! Then she added, with a sigh, What would his poor mother have
said? She and Olive almost worshipped that boy.
We ought not to leave him too long alone, observed Olivia,
wearily. I promised my husband that I would look after him. We must
coax him to take some food, and then he must go to bed; he is very weak
still, and all this has exhausted him. And as Greta evidently shared
her anxiety, they went back to the parlour.
They found Alwyn pacing the room restlessly. He stopped and looked
relieved as Greta entered.
I was afraid you had gone, he said, abruptly. Do you know you
passed me in the street this morning? You had that thing ontouching
her sealskin mantlebut you were not looking at me. I thought it was
a ghost, and then I tried to follow you, but some vehicles got in my
way, and then you disappeared.
I wish I had seen you, she said, softly. And then Alwyn resumed
his restless walk.
It was with difficulty that Olivia could induce him to come to the
table, and then he could not eat; his eyes looked feverishly bright,
and his cough made Greta glance at him anxiously.
When tea was over Olivia left the room for a little. Alwyn had
utterly refused to go to bed until he had seen Dr. Luttrell; he was
evidently tormented by remorse for his hardness to his father, and
Olivia thought that he might unburden himself more freely to his old
friend; and she was right. On her return she found them talking
together, and the strained, hunted look had left Alwyn's eyes.
Greta's were swollen with weeping, but there was a smile on her
Alwyn has been telling me his troubles, she said, simply, and I
could not help crying over them, he has suffered so, and I felt so
sorry for him. If only we had not gone abroad! But when we came back
the Grange was empty, and no one knew what had become of Alwyn. He had
quarrelled with his father, and it was supposed he had enlisted and
gone to India; and he had talked so often of doing this that I thought
it was probably the truth. Now I must go, but I shall come again
to-morrow. And then she smiled at him and rose from her seat.
He has talked it all out and it has done him good, she observed,
as she and Olivia lingered a moment in the passage; but if his father
dies, Alwyn will never get over it.
Oh, he is much to blame, she went on; he has been very wild, very
imprudent, utterly mad and reckless; but his poor father was to blame,
too. A high-spirited lad like Alwyn would not be kept in
leading-strings. Mr. Gaythorne was far too strict with himhis own
mother said soand yet in his way he loved him. How often poor Olive
would cry about it to me.
Dear, dear Olive, how I loved her! And I was very fond of Mrs.
Gaythorne, too, she was so sweet and motherly; she always called us her
big and her little daughter. I was so much taller than Olive; but
thereinterrupting herselfif I begin talking about the old days at
the Grange I shall never finish.
But you will come to-morrow?
Yes; indeed, how could I keep away? Do you know that for years
Alwyn and I were just like brother and sisterI don't believe he cared
much more for Olive than he did for me. I think I understood him better
than she didhis mother always said so. Well, good-night, dear Mrs.
Luttrell; I shall come to-morrow as early as I can.
When Olivia went back to the parlour she found Alwyn lying back in
his chair looking utterly spent and exhausted.
I believe I shall have to take your advice and go to bed, he said.
All this has taken the starch out of me, and I feel dead beatand he
looked so ill that Olivia half thought of sending for her husband.
Fortunately he came in half an hour later, and went up at once to
He was some time with him, and then he came down and told Olivia
that she had better fill a hot-water bottle and heat some flannel.
It is a sort of nervous attack, he explained, and his teeth are
chattering with cold, and he is shaking as though he were in an ague
fit; but I am going to mix him a composing draught, and he will soon
quiet down. I have brought him a favourable report of Mr. Gaythorne,
but he is too weak to be cheered by it. This will have done him no end
of harm. We shall have him in bed for the next day or two.
Olivia gave a tired sigh, but she would not add to Marcus's burdens
by selfish complaints of her own fatigue. She would have taken the
eider-down off her own bed, but Marcus preferred borrowing a couple of
blankets from Mrs. Crampton. In a few minutes he returned again laden
with warm things that the housekeeper had sent for her young master's
use, and, soothed by the unaccustomed comfort and the powerful
narcotic, Alwyn sank into an exhausted sleep.
It was eleven o'clock before Olivia could lay her own head on her
pillow. As Dot nestled to her with a sleepy cry, the young mother
breathed her nightly thanksgiving for her two blessings, and then knew
no more until Martha came to pull up her blinds in the morning.
When Marcus came across for his breakfast he seemed in excellent
spirits. He had had three or four hours' rest, and, in his opinion, the
stroke was a slight one. Mr. Gaythorne had regained consciousness, and,
though the right arm and his speech were certainly affected, he
believed that it was only temporary mischief.
Of course one knows at his age that it is the danger signal, he
went on, but I hope with care that his life may be prolonged for
years. I shall get Dr. Bevan to look at him, as I do not care for such
undivided responsibility. And perhaps it will be well to have a nurse
for a week or two. Mrs. Crampton is not as young as she was, and it is
a pity to knock her up.
As the day wore on there were still more cheering reports. Mr.
Gaythorne had said a few words almost distinctlyat least, Dr.
Luttrell had understood him.
Where is Alwyn? He was quite sure those were his words; but he had
seemed quite satisfied when Marcus told him he was with his wife, and
had not spoken again.
Olivia had hoped for a talk with Aunt Madge, for it was quite three
days since she had been round to Mayfield Villas; but she found it
impossible to leave the house. Alwyn needed a great deal of attention;
he was very low and depressed.
Marcus had given orders that he was to have frequent nourishment,
and as Mrs. Crampton had sent Phoebe across with a store of good
thingssoup and jelly and grapesthere were no demands on Olivia's
simple larder. A ready-cooked pheasant would be sent for his dinner,
and anything else that he could fancy.
Mrs. Crampton says that she knows her master would approve, so I
suppose we need not be too scrupulous, observed Marcus; but at that
moment the surgery bell rang.
Dr. Luttrell's services were required at number seventeen, and with
an expressive look at his wife Marcus took up his hat and hastened out.
Olivia had expected Greta quite early, but she did not make her
appearance until late in the afternoon. She had been detained, she
saidnurse had asked her to take her place for a couple of hours. And
then she looked anxiously at Olivia.
I am afraid Alwyn is ill, she observed; but Olivia assured her
that it was only a temporary break-down. We have such good news of Mr.
Gaythorne that he cannot fail to be cheered, but of course he is
fretting about the loss of his mother and sister. It was such a shock,
you see, and, as my husband says, we must give him time to pull himself
together. But you do not look very well yourself, Greta; you are
Oh, that is nothing, she returned. I suppose I was too much
excited, for I could not sleep for hours. I seemed to be living through
my old life again. They were such happy days, Mrs. Luttrell; one's
existence was not meagre and colourless then.
I wish you would tell me a little about it all, observed Olivia as
she ensconced Greta in the most comfortable chair. You cannot imagine
how it interests me. And then Miss Williams smiled.
Oh, you are so sympatheticthat is your great charm; but indeed I
love to dwell on that part of my life. You know the Gaythornes lived at
Medlicott Grange. It was a quaint, picturesque, old house, covered with
ivy, and with a lovely garden. There was a lime-walk that was delicious
on hot summer afternoons; I can smell the limes now.
Mr. Gaythorne, who had been abroad a great many years, had taken a
fancy to the place and half thought of buying it, but he changed his
We lived at the Lodge, a much smaller house, looking over the
village green; it was rather an inconvenient house, full of small rooms
all opening out of each other, and long, rambling passages; but dear
mother and I were very fond of it. We liked the three-cornered little
drawing-room with its bay-window, where we could sit and work and watch
the old men in their grey smocks having a palaver under the big elm in
the centre of the green.
Mrs. Luttrellinterrupting herselfdo you know Ivy Dene Lodge
is to let now? I saw the advertisement in the Standard. Now, I
should love to live there again. If anything happened to poor father I
know I should go back there; it is the only place I ever called home.
Don't you love a village green, with geese waddling over it and a big
pond where little bare-legged urchins are always sailing their boats,
and then the church and the lich-gate and the vicarage smothered in
Why, Greta, what a charming description! You quite make me long to
But it is not as charming as it really is; even strangers allow
that Medlicott is a pretty village. It is true that Ivy Dene has not
much of a gardenjust a little patch of lawn and a mulberry tree and a
flower-bed or two; but as I spent most of my time in the Grange garden
that did not matter.
Dear mother was always so unselfish. She would never let me stay at
home with her. She thought it good for me to be with young people of my
own age, and so Olive and Alwyn and I were always together. Olive was
my friend, but I always looked upon Alwyn as a dear younger brother. He
is not really much youngeronly a few monthsbut I was always a
little older than my age.
He must have been very handsome, observed Olivia, and Greta
Yes; all the Gaythornes were handsome. Mr. Gaythorne himself was a
fine, stately-looking man, only a little foreign and unusual in his
dress. I was always a little afraid of him, and I never approved of the
way he treated Alwyn. He had been over-indulged and petted in his
boyhood, but later on his father thwarted him unnecessarily. He was
always calling him to account for some foolish imprudence. And though
his mother and Olive shielded him as much as possible, there were often
sad scenes at the Grange. Mr. Gaythorne had set his heart on Alwyn's
reading for the Bar. He thought he had sufficient money and influence
to warrant the hope that his only son might eventually enter
Parliament, but Alwyn had already secretly determined to be an artist.
He detested his law studies and could not be induced to work, and
spoilt all his father's plans.
As I told you last night, finished Greta, they were both to
blame. But at the time I could not help taking Alwyn's part. He was not
good to his father, and often lost his temper and said disrespectful
things. But Mr. Gaythorne had no right to be so tyrannical.
When my mother died father would not hear of our living at Ivy
Dene. He said he hated the place, and we went to America for a year or
two, and there I heard of Olive's death. Olive had told me in her
letters of Alwyn's disappearance.
'There has been an awful scene,' she wrote, 'poor dear mother has
been so ill. Father thinks that Alwyn has done something very wrong,
but of course neither mother nor I believe it for a moment, though it
cannot be denied that appearances are terribly against him. Forgive me,
dearest Greta, if I do not enlarge on this painful subject. We do not
know what has become of Alwyn; but we think he has enlisted.'
This was the last letter I received from Olive. Before many months
had passed she died at Rome, and her mother did not long survive her.
CHAPTER XVI. 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
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
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
Dear Aunt Madge! exclaimed Olivia, affectionately. If I could
only be as unselfish as you. I do believe you never think of yourself
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
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
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,
andwith a little burst of feelingthe 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
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
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
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
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,'
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.'
CHAPTER XVII. PRODIGAL SONS.
But by all thy nature's weakness,
Hidden faults and follies known,
Be thou in rebuking evil,
Conscious of thy own.Whittier.
It was some few weeks before Mr. Gaythorne was allowed to see any
one, and then Olivia was his first visitor. To her great surprise he
had asked for her.
I think I can trust you, Marcus said to her; but there was a trace
of anxiety in his manner that did not escape her. You must talk to
him, of course; but you must be very careful not to agitate him; he
wants all his strength for to-morrow; for on the following day father
and son were to meet again.
Olivia felt a little nervous. Marcus's professional gravity
Do you not think it would be better for me to wait a day or two,
she asked. It is very nice of him to want to see me, but it seems to
me that Mr. Alwyn ought to be his first visitor; but although Marcus
agreed with her, he said that Mr. Gaythorne had expressed such a strong
wish to see her first, that he dared not refuse him.
He was never fond of contradiction, he returned. And we should
only excite him if we opposed his wish. Although he is quite himself,
little things irritate him; don't make yourself nervous beforehand; you
will say the right thing when the time comes for saying it; and,
though Olivia could not be sure of this, she felt that it was sensible
But when the moment came and she saw how shrunken and aged the
invalid looked, and heard the slight hesitation in his speech as he
held out his hands to her with a pathetic smile, Olivia's warm womanly
nature was not at fault, for she bent over him and kissed his cheek as
a daughter might have done.
Dear Mr. Gaythorne, she said, earnestly, if you knew how thankful
we all are that you are better.
Thank you, thank you, he said, with a faint flush of pleasure.
You speak kindly and as though you meant it. Sit down, my dear, we
must have a little talk together, you and I. If I ever get my boy back,
if the breach between us is ever healed, it will be owing to you and
Oh, please do not say that, we were only the means under
Yes, yes, with a touch of impatienceI am not forgetting that.
In some ways I am a civilised heathen; but I have never omitted my
prayers, thank God. 'He loveth best who prayeth best.' Who said that,
Mrs. Luttrell? Perhaps I never prayed enough, or my boy would not have
wandered so far. Ah, well, do you remember how hard I was on you for
sheltering tramps, and now I can only say, God bless you for your
Olivia's eyes glistened, but she only pressed his hand in
acknowledgment of this. And to-morrow you are to see him, she said,
Yes, to-morrow, he repeated slowly, that is why I must not talk
much to-day; but I wanted to thank you for bringing Alwyn, and to tell
you how grateful I am to you both.
I am an old man, he continued, old in sorrows more than in years;
for, with Jacob, I can truly say that 'few and evil have been my
years.' Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, my dear, take warning by me; you have a
little one of your own, and perhap in future years you may have sons
growing up beside you, never for one instant let anything come between
you and them.
He paused for a moment and then went on: When Alwyn was a little
child, I simply worshipped him; his own mother begged me with tears in
her eyes not to set my heart so much on him. He was delicate, and I
knew what she meant, that she feared whether we should rear him; and I
remember, as she said this, that I struck my hand passionately against
his little cot, 'if that boy dies I shall never hold up my head again;'
how well I remember that speech. Oh, my dear, the time came when I
wished that I had no son, when the sharpness of the serpent's tooth
entered my very vitals. God grant that you and Dr. Luttrell may never
have to blush for a son's misdoings.
Dear friend, remember you are not to agitate yourself.
No, no, I will take care; but I think it does me good to talk a
little; the steam must have vent, you know, and I have kept silence for
so many years. All these weeks they have kept my boy from me; but they
were right, his voice trembling with weakness. I could not have borne
it, neither could Alwyn. Ah, how changed and ill he looked.
Dear Mr. Gaythorne, returned Olivia, beseechingly, indeed I must
go away now, unless you will consent to rest and let me read to you a
Well, well, do as you like, he replied, closing his eyes, you all
tyrannise over the sick man, but perhaps I am a bit tired, and then
Olivia found a book and soon had the satisfaction of seeing him sink
into a peaceful sleep. What a grand face it looked with its fine
chiselled features and grey peaked beard lying against the dark red
cushions. Alwyn would never be such a handsome man as his father,
Olivia thought. There was power and intellect on the broad forehead,
the thin lips and obstinate chin were hidden under the drooping grey
Olivia sat by him for some time, and then softly left the room. When
Marcus had paid his evening visit he was able to assure her that her
little visit had done his patient no harm.
Mr. Gaythorne had stipulated that he should see his son alone, but
Dr. Luttrell, who was keenly alive to the danger of any strong
excitement, had decided to remain in the house during the interview.
Alwyn seemed so unnerved and miserable that it was impossible to do
more than give him a word of warning.
Say as little as possible, Gaythorne, he had observed as they
walked across together; if you take my advice, you will just let
bygones be bygones. Don't be more emotional than you can help; remember
how ill he has been, very little excites him.
And though Alwyn only nodded in answer to this, Marcus was sure that
he understood him; but as he stood by the hall fire caressing Eros he
could not help feeling very anxious.
They are neither of them to be trusted, he thought, and he
determined that if the talk were too prolonged he would make some
excuse to go in and interrupt them; then he raised his head uneasily
and listened as the sound of a man's stifled sobs reached his ear.
It was what he had feared, that Alwyn, weak and unstrung, would
break down utterly, and the next moment Dr. Luttrell had opened the
door of the library.
Neither of them perceived him as he stood for a moment, watching
them with keen professional eyes. Alwyn was kneeling with his face
hidden on his father's knees, and Mr. Gaythorne's clasped hands were
resting on his head. My boy, we must both say it, he whispered.
Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive thembut Marcus heard no
more, he closed the door again softlythe scene was too sacrednot
even to his dearer selfhis wifedid he ever speak of what he had
The Prodigal had eaten his fill of husks and had returned to his
father's roof and his father's love. But in this case the father had
also sinned, for surely undue severity and exacting hardness and
failure of sympathy are sins to be bitterly repented. No one can gather
grapes of thorns, or glean corn from a harvest of tares. And no parent
who has first unwisely indulged his son, and then ruled him with a rod
of iron, can well claim the glad obedience of a free son.
If Alwyn Gaythorne, trammelled and embittered by his father's
tyranny, had dashed recklessly down the path that leads to destruction,
his father had first driven him to the verge of frenzy.
Young limbs will not always adjust themselves to the Procrustean
bed. Alwyn, who had inherited his father's strong will, refused to bear
the yoke of his despotism.
I would rather starve, and have room to breathe, he had once said
to Greta. There is no room here.
Another half-hour passed before Dr. Luttrell ventured into the room
again. He found Mr. Gaythorne leaning back in his chair looking very
white and exhausted, but with a peaceful expression on his face. Alwyn
had just left his side and was standing by the window with a miniature
in his hand.
Dr. Luttrell, observed the old man feebly, as he gave him some
restorative, my son will stay with me to-night. And then Alwyn
flushed as he met the doctor's eyes.
He wishes it very much, and perhaps it will be better, he said in
a low voice. Will you explain how it is to Mrs. Luttrell? I will see
Very well, but there must be no more talking to-night. If you will
go into the next room I will see you presently, and Alwyn nodded.
It is all right, happiness never kills, observed Mr. Gaythorne,
and for the matter of that, grief, either. We must just bide our
time. Then with a flash of strong feeling in the deeply-set eyes, he
held out his hand to the young doctor.
God bless you, Luttrell. He says you have been like a brother to
him. And as for your wife, he has no words for her goodness. May Heaven
repay you both for what you have done for me and my boy.
When Marcus returned home he found Greta sitting with his wife; they
both looked at him anxiously.
Mr. Gaythorne will not part with his son, he informed them. Mrs.
Crampton is getting a room ready for him, so your labours will be
lightened, Livy. She looks tired, does she not, Miss Williams? though
she will not confess it. Well, it has all passed off well. Mr.
Gaythorne is very much exhausted, but nurse is getting him to bed, and
I have told Alwyn to rest. I left Mrs. Crampton fussing round him, so
he will be all right, and then Olivia smiled as though she were
But more than once that evening she observed to Marcus how quiet the
house seemed without their guest.
Do you know I quite miss him, she said. I suppose one always get
attached to any one for whom one takes trouble. He was the sort of
person who was always wanting something; you could never forget him for
a moment. I wonder what Martha will say when I tell her he is gone away
for good. He gave her plenty to do, but I expect she will be sorry to
And Olivia was right. Martha burst out crying in quite a lamentable
Oh, ma'am, she sobbed, and he was such a kind young gentleman. I
am sorry, that I am, that he won't live with us no more. And he painted
Miss Baby and the kitten so beautiful too; and he thought such a deal
of you and master. But though Olivia smiled at Martha's lugubrious
speeches, she could not help being rather sorry herself.
Alwyn was not a perfect character by any means, but somehow he had
such nice ways with him,little caressing ways that go to a woman's
heart. His nature was affectionate and emotional, and all his troubles
had not hardened him. Even Marcus had observed more than once lately
that he could not help liking the fellow.
He was not cut out for a black sheep, he said once, and the
character does not suit him. He has the makings of a good man, only he
has let himself drift so terribly. Well, he has pulled himself up in
time. He could not have roughed it much longer.
When Olivia returned from her next visit to Galvaston House she went
straight to Marcus.
I just felt I must come and tell you all about it, she said in her
enthusiastic manner. I have had such a happy afternoon. Mr. Alwyn was
reading to his father when I went in, and they both looked so
comfortable and contented. They made me stay and pour out their coffee
for them. At first Mr. Alwyn wanted to leave us; he declared that two
was company and three none, and that he was only in the way; but of
course I would not hear of that, and I was so glad to see him too.
[Illustration: They both looked so comfortable and contented.]
He is his father's right hand already, and does all sorts of things
for him. It is so lovely to see them together. When he went out of the
room for a moment, Mr. Gaythorne told me that he could scarcely realise
sometimes that it was Alwyn.
He has just Olive's ways, had been Mr. Gaythorne's words. I could
almost fancy it was my little Olive near me. If he were only stronger I
should not have a wish ungratified, but I cannot help troubling about
his cough. Dr. Luttrell thinks a sea voyage would do him good, but I do
not know how I am to bring myself to part with him.
Oh, by-the-bye, did Alwyn tell you that Greta Williams is coming to
see us? She was my Olive's friend, so of course she will be welcome,
and then, in rather a meaning voice, I rather think she is Alwyn's
Olivia made no answer to this remark, but more than once lately she
had noticed that Greta and Alwyn seemed very much engrossed with each
other, and she was almost sure that Marcus had noticed it too.
Surely Greta would never consent to marry him, she thought. With
her sad experience she would never venture to link her life with a man
whom she could not wholly respect.
Greta's nature was a noble one. She had lofty aims and a high sense
of duty. In spite of her gentleness she had plenty of firmness and
It was one thing to be sorry for her old friend and playmate, and to
show him a sister's tenderness, but quite another to give herself to
him, and more than once Olivia had felt uneasy, but delicacy had led
her to keep her thoughts to herself.
I do hope she would not carry self-sacrifice to such a length as
that, said the young wife to herself. Alwyn may be lovable, but he
would never satisfy a girl like Greta. A woman ought to be able to look
up to her husband, as I look up to my dear Marcus, and not be always
trying to drag him up to her level.
I do want Greta to be married. When her father dies she will be so
utterly alone, but I cannot reconcile myself to her marrying Alwyn
Gaythorne. For one thing, his health is so unsatisfactory that his wife
would never be easy about him. Eyen Marcus owned the other day that he
feared he would never be fit for much. But there is no use in trying to
manage other people's lives. As Aunt Madge says, it takes all our
strength and cleverness to manage our own. 'A meddler is always a
muddler;' how well I remember her saying that. We did not make the
world, and we cannot rule the world. When I see grown-up folk trying to
arrange for other people, I always think of children playing at
snap-dragon. One gets one's fingers burnt so badly when we try to pull
out our neighbour's plum. No, no; bearing other people's burdens never
CHAPTER XVIII. AUNT MADGE GIVES HER
Death is a black camel that kneels at the gate of all.
After all, the dreaded influenza epidemic did not make its
appearance, and, though people still talked learnedly of germs and
microbes, and put meddling fingers into the medical pie, it was decided
by the legitimate authorities that the mischief had blown over for the
It is a curious fact that there is a fashion even in talk. A subject
is discussed until it is worn thread-bare. When the germ theory was
exhausted the bicycle craze took its place. Perhaps future students of
hieroglyphics may yet discover in some palimpsest that in old days the
Egyptian maidens had quaint iron machines that carried them swiftly
through the desert.
In the early March days, when the winds were keen and blusterous,
Mr. Williams died; his end was very sudden.
Greta had just retired to her room for the night when the nurse
noticed a change in him and hastily summoned her. A messenger was sent
for Dr. Luttrell, but before he could reach the house Mr. Williams was
He could have done nothing if he had been there. That was the sole
comfort Marcus could give to the stricken daughter, and she knew that
he spoke the truth.
The bow of the king of terrors is never drawn at a venture. The
arrow goes deep and true, but to Greta and Olivia he was only the angel
of sorrow, who did his master's bidding. Alwyn in after years worked
out this idea in a noble picture called the House of Mourning.
The little one, evidently the sole child and heir of a goodly
heritage, lay panting out his feeble life on the pillow. The
broken-hearted parents bent over him hand in hand. The filmy look of
unshed tears in the mother's eyes was wonderfully rendered. On the
threshold stood a kingly presence, in dark trailing robes of majesty
and a starry crown on his head. The face, solemn and beautiful, wore an
expression of infinite pity; the arms were stretched out to the child
with a gesture of tenderness.
Underneath was written those striking words: Is it well with the
child? and the answer, It is well. It was that picture that made
Alwyn Gaythorne's name.
Olivia hurried round to Brunswick Place as soon as her husband broke
the news to her, and spent the greater part of each day there for the
next week or two.
It was touching to see how the poor girl clung to her friends; she
would do nothing without their advice.
Dr. Luttrell saved her as much as possible. He and Alwyn did the
necessary business, and Olivia brought her work and Dot, and strove in
every way to cheer and console her.
It was a very quiet funeral. Only Marcus and his wife and Alwyn and
the lawyer were present. When they went back to the house the will was
read. The provisions were perfectly simple. Everything, with the
exception of a few minor legacies, was left to Greta,the house in
Brunswick Place and an income of nearly three thousand a year.
Olivia opened her eyes a little widely when she heard this. She had
no idea that Greta would be such a rich woman. But Greta herself seemed
How am I to live on here alone? she said, with an outburst of
grief, when she found herself left with Olivia. Dear Mrs. Luttrell,
you must both help me. All my friends must help me to some decision,
but to live alone in this house just because it belongs to me; oh, I
cannot do it, with a sudden shiver of repulsion. I would sooner go
into a hospital and learn nursing. But when Olivia repeated this
speech to Marcus he only smiled.
An attractive young woman with three thousand a year will soon
discover some object of interest, he said, a little dryly. But it
would hardly do to hint at this just now. Nursing in a hospital is a
fine work, no doubt, for anyone who has a vocation, but you may as well
tell Miss Williams not to ask my advice. She has not the physical
strength; besides, in her position, the idea is absurd.
Why take the bread out of other women's mouths? No, no; just
counsel her to patience, and in a few months we shall see which way the
wind blows, for, though no word had yet passed between them, Marcus
was quite aware of Alwyn Gaythorne's penchant for his old
playfellow, though the idea was hardly more pleasing to him than it was
There is not enough of him, he said to himself. He does not come
up to her mark. It is not her money, for Mr. Gaythorne is a rich man
and his son will have plenty, but she stands on a higher plane than
his, and, in my humble opinion, Miss Williams could do better for
Strange to say, Mrs. Broderick differed from them. She had already
made Greta's acquaintance, and they had mutually taken to each other.
Greta had been charmed with Mrs. Broderick's cheerfulness and quaint
speeches, and Aunt Madge, in her turn, had declared herself fascinated
by Greta's gentleness. She is exactly my idea of a young English
gentlewoman, she had said after her first visit. I thought the
article had gone out of fashion. Oh, as Olivia looked shocked at this,
I grant you there are hundreds and thousands of good, honest girls,
I'm thankful to say, but they are so terribly outspoken and up to date.
Of course, I am only an old-fashioned frump and sadly behind the times,
but though slang may not be sinful and a little outward roughness is
only the husk, and there is plenty of sweet, sound kernel inside, yet I
must own, Livy, I like gentleness as well.
Alwyn and Aunt Madge were already firm friends. She shared his
artistic tastes and could talk intelligently to him on the subjects he
liked best, and from the first she refused to see any defects in him.
My dear Livy, she once said when Olivia had made a somewhat
disparaging remark about his want of steadiness, you are far too
critical. You judge men by Marcus's standard, but you must remember
every one is not a moral son of Anak.
Now Mr. Alwyn is a great favourite of mine, and I think highly of
him. Few young men would be so good-natured as to come two or three
times a week to chat with an elderly invalid. And yet that is what Mr.
Alwyn does, and he knows I enjoy his visits.
Yesterday when he came in he found Miss Williams sitting with me,
and they both looked as pleased as though they had not met for years.
And it made me feel quite young to look at them. Oh! in an exasperated
tone, as Olivia shook her head, I know what that means,that you and
Marcus forbid the banns,but you might just as well try to stop an
express train with a penny whistle, so you may as well save your
Those two mean to take each other for better or worse. They don't
know it themselves yet, but it is written already in the book of fate.
Oh, Aunt Madge, how can you say such things? You have not seen
Greta more than three or four times.
All the same, the oracle has spoken, with a wise nod of her head.
My dear, Greta Williams was born into this world to be someone's
crutch. A strong, healthy-minded man could not utilise her best
qualities. She would be simply wasted on him. She has got to mother her
husband, you see, and that is what Mr. Alwyn wants his wife to do.
Leave them alone, they will soon find out their need of each other. And
then they will settle matters. And for pity's sake, Olive, don't you
try and put a spoke in their wheel. But Olivia, who was a little huffy
on the subject, refused to say another word.
It was no business of hers or anyone's, she said, pointedly, whom
Alwyn Gaythorne chose to marry, but in her opinion it was always a pity
to couple names together beforehand, and with this virtuous snub she
rose to take her leave, but Mrs. Broderick only indulged in one of her
Livy, I do declare you are actually cross with me,well, there, I
will not say another word; don't look as though I have been talking
treason. I quite allow your Greta is too good for any ordinary faulty
man, and that even my young friend is not worthy of her, and at this
admission Olivia's brow cleared.
Thank you for saying that, Aunt Madge. I know we do not really
differ, onlyonly, with a little laugh, you are always so ready for
Yes, I love a lover, returned Mrs. Broderick, playfully, and then
her manner changed. No, I will not jest about it; life and death and
love are no subjects for jests,they are three splendid realities.
Yes, my dear Olive, you are right, and love-stories, even the poorest,
interest me. Haven't I lived mine? Do I not know how it glorifies life?
but we can only read the first chapters here,there is eternity for us
presently. 'The many mansions,' I think I love those words more than
any in the Bible; they always make me think that even there there will
be a special home for Fergus and me and our boy.
Olivia certainly found it difficult to satisfy the various claims on
her; her household tasks occupied most of the morning; as long as
Martha remained their sole domestic, it was necessary for the mistress
to superintend the cooking. To look after Marcus's comfort was her
first and paramount duty, and it was seldom that she found herself at
leisure until the afternoon, and then she and Greta were generally
together, either at Brunswick Place or Galvaston Terrace.
Sometimes she would combine her duties by taking Greta with her when
she went to Mayfield Villas, but she never ventured to take her to
Galvaston House after her first visit, as she found that Mr. Gaythorne
preferred her to come alone.
Miss Williams is all very well, he said once, and we are always
pleased to see her, but I like my pleasures singly; besides, Alwyn
always monopolizes her. Invalids are allowed to be exacting, so I may
tell you plainly that I like to have you to myself, and after that
Olivia went alone.
It was always a pleasure to her to go there, she had such a warm
welcome from the father and son, and it did her heart good to see the
light of happiness in the old man's eyes, he seemed hardly able to bear
his son out of his sight. Alwyn's health, his comforts and his tastes
were his chief topics of conversation. One day he made Alwyn take her
upstairs and show her the new studio that had been planned; two rooms
were to be thrown into one, and a fresh window put in.
Directly the work was commenced he and Alwyn were going to
Bournemouth for a few weeks. The sea-voyage had been postponed for the
present. Mr. Gaythorne fretted himself at the idea of parting so soon
with his boy, and he hated the thought of his going alone.
If there were someone to look after him, he would say to Dr.
Luttrell; but I feel as though I could never trust him to take care of
himself again; look at him, he is a perfect wreck. And though Marcus
still held to his opinion that a long voyage would be his best remedy,
he thought it more prudent to wait a little, and on his side Alwyn
seemed reluctant to go.
I have been too much my ain lane already, he said; I should
prefer to stay at home a little longer, and then Bournemouth was
selected as a compromise. Mrs. Crampton would go with them, and, at Mr.
Gaythorne's request, Marcus went down first and chose their rooms.
Why not go from Saturday to Monday, and take your wife down? I will
frank your expenses, he said, and the little trip will do you both
good. And though Marcus hesitated over this, as Martha was too young
to be trusted with the care of Dot, Greta came to the rescue by
undertaking to look after the child.
Olivia could scarcely believe her ears when this magnificent project
was unfolded to her. Two whole days with Marcus by the sea! And they
had neither of them had an outing since their modest wedding-trip,a
week at St. Leonards.
It will be another honeymoon, she said, flushing with pleasure.
And as they sat together in the hotel garden that Saturday evening, she
thought of the humble lodging to which Marcus had taken her, and what
fun they had got out of their first attempt at housekeeping.
The little change did them both good, but, though neither of them
would have owned it for the world, No. 1, Galvaston Terrace, certainly
looked a little dreary on their return.
The bright spring weather only made the dinginess more apparent, but
nothing would induce the landlord to treat them to a fresh coat of
paint. Marcus whitewashed one or two of the rooms in the intervals of
his work, and Olivia put up clean curtains and purchased a plant or
two. As far as scrupulous cleanliness could avail, the little house was
in first-rate order. Nevertheless Marcus gave vent to an impatient sigh
now and then as he looked round the small, low room. The side windows
had been blocked up in the days of the window-tax, and the one small
window lighted the room imperfectly.
If we could only move, he said once. I want you and Dot to have
more light and air. We are too near the cemetery, too. We should do
much better in Compton Street or Norfolk Terrace. And then, as Olivia
looked at him in surprise, he said a little impatiently:
Oh, I know it is not to be done yet. We shall have to want a little
longer. I believe it was that insufferable woman, Mrs. Tolman, put it
into my head. She actually told me that we ought to move, as no good
class of patients would ever come to Galvaston Terrace. It was just
like her impudenceeh, Livy?
Oh, Marcus, I am so sorry, and Olivia put down her work and looked
at him sympathetically. I thought something had annoyed you the moment
you came in. It is too bad of Mrs. Tolman always to tread upon people's
corns in this fashion. She might wait until one asks her advice.
Oh, but it is true, all the same, he returned, with a tinge of
despondency in his voice.
A good house in a good neighbourhood would make all the difference
to the practice. A house in Brunswick Place, for example.
But Olivia only laughed. Someone besides myself can build
air-castles, she said, archly. You might as well go on, Marcus. Why
not be Dr. Bevan's partner, too? Then Marcus started, and an odd
little smile played round his mouth. The very same thought had already
occurred to him.
CHAPTER XIX. DAME FORTUNE SMILES.
Of pleasures, those which occur most rarely give the greatest
Dr. Luttrell's fit of pessimism did not last long. The very next day
he had a sharp twinge of remorse, when he went round to Galvaston House
to take leave of his patient, and Mr. Gaythorne put a slip of folded
paper in his hand.
I am an old man, he said,and his thin fingers held the young
doctor's hand in a firm grasp,and I am using an old man's privilege.
I know what a hard, up-hill fight life is at present to you, and I
should like to ease the burden a little, and to Marcus's intense and
overwhelming surprise he found it was a cheque for five hundred pounds.
Marcus never could remember what he said, but his first attempt to
stammer a few words of gratitude for this unexpected and magnificent
gift was promptly checked.
It is all very well, observed Alwyn rather gloomily when Olivia
told him of his father's munificence. She had shed tears of joy when
Marcus had shown her the cheque.
My father has settled up accounts with Dr. Luttrell after his own
fashion, but he has not paid my debts. And then in a deeply moved
voice, There are some debts that cannot be paid. 'I was a stranger and
ye took me in.' How many doors do you suppose, Mrs. Luttrell, would
have opened to a starving outcast that Christmas night? and then his
blue eyes flashed with an expression of intense feeling that became him
I shall never be able to repay either of you. I shall never try,
he went on. Do you know, as I lay on that doorstep too weak and stiff
to move, and the doctor bent over me, it seemed to me, in my dazed
condition, as though it were the face of a beneficent angel. God bless
you both, for you have made a man of me. And then he lifted the kind,
womanly hand to his lips.
Olivia missed her friends at Galvaston House, sorely, but she had
more time to devote to Greta.
One day they had a pleasant outing together. Greta, who still
hankered after her old home, had proposed that she and Olivia should go
down to Medhurst together.
It is only an hour's journey, she observed, And there is a dear
old inn where we could have tea. And just now it will be at its best.
The horse-chestnuts will be out in the Grange garden, and the pink and
white may at Ivy Dene. And Olivia consented readily. But though she
thoroughly enjoyed the little expedition, and fell in love with
Medhurst and the old church, the longed-for visit was only productive
of disappointment to Greta.
Ivy Dene, in Olivia's eyes, was not a desirable abode. The rooms
were low and cramped, and had a mouldy, disused smell in them. Even the
little three-cornered drawing-room with the bay-window overlooking the
village green and the elm-tree did not please her. The solitary old man
in a smock-frock, with a red handkerchief knotted loosely round his
lean old throat, might be a picturesque object in the distance, but on
wet days she fancied even the green might be a dreary outlook. As they
sat over their tea in the little inn parlour she gave her opinion in
her usual downright fashion.
Dear Greta, she said, I do not advise your taking this step. Ivy
Dene Lodge would want a good deal of money spent on it to make it
decently habitable. And even if it were painted and papered from garret
to basement it would never be a really comfortable house. All those
small rooms opening into each other are so inconvenient. And then it is
damp. I am sure Marcus would say so; and then I am certain you would be
moped to death. There are no young people at the Grange. Only that
stout, middle-aged couple we met in the pony-carriage, and the vicar is
old and a widower. I do think it would be terribly dull for you. And
Greta owned rather regretfully that her friend was right.
Her poor little air-castles had crumbled into nothingness. Her
longings for the sweet country air and rustic quiet were doomed to be
frustrated. In her heart she felt that Olivia was wise. A solitary life
at Ivy Dene would hardly content her. And after all was she so ready to
leave Brompton? She had found friends therereal friendsthe
Luttrells and Mrs. Broderick and the Gaythornes, and though she still
felt terribly lonely in her big house, perhaps it would be better for
her to wait a little.
I suppose I should feel rather like a ghost if I tried to settle
here, she said, presently. I do not think so badly of poor little Ivy
Dene as you do. It would be quite large enough for me, but somehow
Medhurst itself seems changed.
After tea they walked to the Grange, and asked leave to go into the
garden, and Greta showed her friend the lime walk, and the orchard and
the big elm-tree where they had swung their hammock.
I think it looks just as lovely as it did in the old days, she
said as they paced down the smooth velvety lawn. And even Olivia
allowed that the Grange had not disappointed her. It was a fine,
picturesque-looking house, and as they passed to the front, she had a
glimpse of a handsome hall panelled in oak. If you could only live at
the Grange, she said, and Greta smiled.
Mrs. Broderick told her niece that she was growing very gay and
worldly. Actually Marcus had taken her and Greta to the Royal Academy
one afternoon, and they had sat in the Park afterwards. And Olivia in
her new spring dress and hat had looked the embodiment of youth and
freshness, and another afternoon they had gone to St. James's Hall to
Livy has had more work than play. I mean her to enjoy herself a
little, he said when Aunt Madge accused him playfully of spoiling his
wife, but Olivia refused to endorse this.
No one could be happier, she told herself day after day. Marcus's
practice was certainly improving, and he was getting very intimate,
too, with Dr. Bevan, and it was already settled between them that he
should look after Dr. Bevan's patients while he was away in August.
Dr. Bevan had an extensive practice and was not young, and Dr.
Luttrell suspected that he would soon take a partner. He had complained
more than once lately that he was sadly overworked, but Marcus never
could be sure if these hints were intentionally dropped. To be Dr.
Bevan's partner would be the acme of his ambition, but in that case a
good house would be absolutely necessary.
Olivia had only been joking when she had made the observation. She
had no idea that Marcus even entertained such an idea for a moment, but
Marcus, who had his foot on the first rung of the ladder, was eager to
climb. All his spare time was spent in study. He still went to the
Models, to gain experience he would say, but in reality because the
people loved to have him, and because it gratified his organ of
As the summer wore on the weather became exceedingly hot and
oppressive, and Greta, who had taken a small house at Eastbourne for
July and August, insisted on carrying off Olivia and Dot for the first
It would be doing me the greatest kindness, she said almost
tearfully as she gave the invitation, for how could I enjoy anything
alone? Dr. Luttrell has promised to run down from Saturday to Monday,
and perhaps we could even induce him to stay longer, and it would do
Dot so much good. And it was this last consideration that had the
greatest weight with Olivia.
But oh, Marcus! how am I to leave you? she began in rather a
dismal voice. But Marcus soon proved to her that he was only too
willing to part with her.
My good child, he said, the idea of your hesitating for a moment.
Miss Williams is behaving like a brick, and she had planned it all
beforehand, too. Do you suppose she would have taken a house, if she
had not meant you and Dot to go too?
But, Marcus, she pleaded, I do not really need the change; you
only said yourself the other day that I had never looked so well.
Yes, and Eastbourne will enable you to keep well, he returned,
cheerfully. Think of a month of sea breezes; does not your maternal
heart swell at the idea of Dot in a big sun-bonnet, stumping over the
beach with her spade and bucket? Why, you and Miss Williams will be as
happy as the day is long.
Oh, no; not without you, Marcus, returned Olivia, tenderly. Do
you think any enjoyment would be perfect without my husband? But as
Marcus quietly reasoned with her, she yielded at last with a good
I could not well refuse, Aunt Madge, could I? she said to her
usual confidante, when Greta wanted me so; and then it will do baby so
much good. Marcus declares that Martha will manage all right, and that
he will not be dull; and he has promised to spend a whole week with us
if he can. And really, it is so very, very kind of Greta, and she is so
happy about our coming.
You are a wise woman, Livy, replied Aunt Madge. And I am proud of
you, and so is Marcus, for we both of us know you are making a brave
effort. Deb shall give Martha a helping hand, now and then, when I can
spare her. And Marcus has promised to have a cup of tea and chat with
me sometimes on his way home from the Models. By-the-bye, when do Mr.
Gaythorne and Mr. Alwyn return? But Olivia could not answer this
Galvaston House would not be ready for them until the end of July.
She knew that in his last letter to Marcus, Alwyn had spoken of their
going on to Scarborough. He had given a good account of his father, he
was less feeble and walked better; but Bournemouth was too relaxing,
and they both felt the need of more bracing air.
I shall keep him away until September, unless he turns restless,
he had finished, and Marcus had strongly commended this.
Greta sometimes heard from Alwyn. He wrote to her from time to time,
and she would read his letters to Olivia.
The house that she had taken at Eastbourne was charmingly situated.
From the windows they had a view of the sea, and Beachy Head in the
distance. Marcus took them down and settled them in, and after the
first few days Olivia got over her homesickness and thoroughly enjoyed
In the mornings they were always on the beach with Dot, either
reading or working, or watching the happy groups of children.
In the afternoons and evenings they either drove or walked over the
downs. Greta, who was resolved to spare no expense, had hired a pretty
little victoria for the month.
When Marcus came down for his promised week, he spent most of his
time boating, and one or two days they went out in a sailing-boat and
carried their luncheon with them. Both Greta and Olive proved
themselves good sailors.
Greta had entreated her friend to prolong her visit, but Olivia
would not hear of this.
Martha had been left long enough, she said, decidedly, and she
could not remain away from Marcus any longer. And Marcus was too glad
to get his bright companion back to say a dissenting word.
Oh, Aunt Madge, I have had such a splendid time, were Olivia's
first words when she went round to Mayfield Villas on the morning after
her return. Greta has been such a dear, she has thoroughly spoilt me;
but the loveliest time of all was the week Marcus spent with us.
You look the very essence of a sunbeam, Livy, returned Mrs.
Broderick, with an admiring look; but what a nut-brown mayde you have
become. Well, was Marcus pleased to get his wife and child back? And
then Olivia smiled happily, for only she knew how she had been missed.
Dr. Bevan left town early in August and Dr. Luttrell took up his
position as locum tenens, and in spite of the emptiness of
London found plenty of work.
Sometimes, as Olivia walked in the direction of Brunswick Place with
Dot toddling beside her, the victoria with its bay horses would pass
her. How Olivia would dimple with amusement as Marcus gravely lifted
his hat to her.
Ever after a victoria with bay horses figured in Olivia's
Greta complained bitterly of her dullness when her friends had left.
Eastbourne has lost its charms, she wrote, and the crowds of people
on the Parade only make me feel more lonely. If it were not for fear of
Dr. Luttrell, I should come back to Brunswick Place at once, but I dare
not run the gauntlet of his sarcasms.
My one amusement is making smocks for Dot. I have finished the pale
blue one and it looks lovely, and now I have begun a cream-coloured
one; in spite of your stuck-up pride, Olive, you cannot prevent me from
working for my darling Dot.
This reproachful sentence was the outcome of a hot argument.
Greta had tried in her affectionate way to lavish gifts upon her
friend, but Olivia had steadily refused to allow this.
No, Greta, she had said, you do far too much for me already. I
have been treated like a princess for a whole month, but I will not
have presents heaped on me. Even poor people have their feelings, you
know, and rich people must respect them. But this dignified speech
made no impression on Greta.
You may call it proper pride, she said, contemptuously, but I
call it selfishness, for you are just depriving me of my greatest
pleasure. Well, if you choose to be stiff and obstinate you must have
your way, but you cannot hinder me from finishing those smocks. And
Olivia, who was full of admiration for Greta's exquisite smocking,
announced graciously that the smocks were to be the exception.
I was obliged to put my foot down, Marcus, she said afterwards,
or she would have bought everything I admired. Perhaps I am proud, but
no one but my husband or Aunt Madge shall buy my frocks. And as Olivia
said this she held up her head, and looked so dignified and handsome
that Marcus refrained from teasing her. Evidently such pride was no
fault in his eyes, and it was certain that he very much enjoyed
choosing his wife's gowns.
Greta was the first to return. The Gaythornes stayed away until the
middle of September.
When Alwyn paid his first visit, Olivia was rejoiced to see the
improvement in him. He had gained weight and flesh, and looked very
handsome; but Marcus was less satisfied with Mr. Gaythorne.
He is an old man before his time, he observed. I am afraid he
will never throw off his invalid habits now. He can just potter about
in the sunshine and amuse himself with his flowers and museum, but he
will never be capable of work again. The least effort to concentrate
his thoughts for more than a few minutes seems to irritate his brain.
Nothing pleases him better than to creep up to the grand new studio and
watch Alwyn at his work.
'I shall be proud of him yet,' he said that to me yesterday, and if
you had seen his face, Livy, when he said it!
CHAPTER XX. SOMEBODY'S CRUTCH.
Of all the paths that lead to a woman's love
Pity's the straightest.Beaumont and Fletcher.
One afternoon in October Olivia sat at her work in the front
parlour. She was expecting Greta to join her, and more than once she
had looked at the clock on the mantelpiece as though wondering at her
The folding-doors were open; the young couple had taken advantage of
their improved circumstances to add to their scanty stock of furniture.
The dining-table and mahogany chairs bought second-hand in Dr.
Luttrell's bachelor days and the small, ugly chiffonier had been moved
into the smaller and duller back room, and the front parlour had been
transformed into a dainty sitting-room. Greta's skilful fingers and
good taste had been placed at her friend's service. To gratify Marcus's
love of comfort two really handsome saddle-back chairs were beside the
fireplace, and a little round table occupied the centre of the room. A
second-hand writing-table with drawers had been picked up in the city
as a great bargain and appropriated for Marcus's use. Over it hung the
sketch of Dot and the kitten, long ago presented by the grateful
artist. The pretty blue carpet and curtains gave an air of finish.
By Marcus's desire the folding-doors were always kept open, and
Olivia no longer felt herself stifled for want of air. This afternoon
the little sitting-room looked at its best. A bowl of dark-red cactus
dahlias stood on the table, an offering from Alwyn, and a magnificent
Lilium auratum, a gift from Greta, blocked up the dining-room
When the door-bell rang Olivia laid down her work with a pleased
smile, and the next moment Greta entered the room.
How late you are, you naughty girl, she said, kissing her
affectionately. I have been sewing for the last hour.
Yes, I know; something unforeseen detained me, and then Greta
dropped her eyes in sudden embarrassment and blushed. Oh, Olive dear,
can you guess what I have to tell you this afternoon? and then Olivia
looked at her steadily.
Do you mean, she began, anxiouslybut Greta, blushing still more
rosily, interrupted her, Yes, I do mean it; and, Olive, dear friend,
truest of friends, you must congratulate me, for I am so happy.
You take my breath away, Greta. Are you and Alwyn actually
Yes, dear, we settled it this afternoon; but, of courseof course,
I have known for weeks what he meant and wished. He has gone round now
to tell his father, and will be here presently. Dear Olive, why are you
so silent? Are you not glad about this?
I am glad that anything should make you happy, returned Olivia,
gently. And you know how deeply interested I am in your and Alwyn's
welfare. But forgive me, Greta, if I ask one question. Are you sure,
are you perfectly sure, that this step will be for your happiness
Then Greta looked at her in surprise, and there was a reproachful
expression in her grey eyes.
Sure! when I have loved him all these months. My dear Olive, what
can you mean? Alwyn is the only man I could ever marry.
Oh, how it relieves me to hear you say that Dear Greta, I am so
fond of you both. Alwyn is charming; but until you said that I was
afraid to congratulate you. You know my views on this subject, dear. Do
you remember how we talked on the beach at Eastbourne? I am afraid that
more than once I made you a little sad; but I was thinking of this. I
knew then in my own mind that Alwyn had begun to care for you, and I
wanted you to have plenty of time for consideration.
Oh, yes; you made your meaning clear to me even then, returned
Greta, smiling; but, indeed, no consideration was necessary. When
Alwyn came to me and said quite simply that he loved me and wanted me
to be his wife, I just put my hand in his without a word. It almost
shocked me to see his gratitude. He kept saying over and over again
that he was not worthy of me; that he knew he had done nothing to win
my respect, and I should not be able to look up to him. Oh, Olive, he
quite broke down when he said this, but I soon comforted him. 'I only
remember two things,' I said to him,'that you love me, and that you
need me.' And after that we understood each other.
Dearest Greta. Aunt Madge was right when she told me that you were
born into the world to be somebody's crutch.
Did she say that? and Greta's eyes had a dreamy look in them; but
I tell Alwyn that I mean to lean on him. Indeed, Olive, you must not
undervalue him. Alwyn is stronger than you think. He has repented truly
and deeply of all his boyish mistakes, and those who love him should
utterly and for ever wipe out the record of his past. See how devotedly
his father loves him; his forgiveness was absolute.
Dear, you need not say any more; and Olivia embraced her with
tears in her eyes. I can only wish you all the happiness you deserve.
In that case my happiness would be little enough; but, of course, I
know what you mean. And, Olive, for the first time in my life I can say
with truth that I have found my vocation. It will be such a privilege
to be allowed to take care of Alwyn; he is far from strong, and he will
need care for a long time. I wonder if you know the feeling I have
about that? With Dr. Luttrell you cannot have had it. You have never
been anxious about him; and then he has always taken care of you. But I
shall always have to think for Alwyn.
Oh, you are right there!
We shall think for each other, she went on, fearing that she had
admitted too much. And there is one thing of which I am certain that I
shall have every right to be proud of him. Do you know what his father
says? that he has genius, unmistakable genius, and he is no mean judge.
'Mark my words, he will be an R.A. yet;' he only said that to me a few
Marcus thinks the same; but, Greta, there is one thing: if you
marry Alwyn, you will have to take his father too; you can never
Those were Alwyn's very words, returned Greta, with a soft flush
which made her look years younger; but, indeed, I love him already for
Alwyn's sake, and because he is so good to him. Oh, Olive dear, if you
knew the joy it will be to me to have someone for whom I can care
again. I do not want my life to be too easy or free from
responsibility; but I do want it to be real, actual life. Mrs.
Broderick and I were only talking about it yesterday. She says what
single women miss in their lives is some absorbing interest; a work
that shall fill up all the crannies.
Oh, Aunt Madge is very strong on that point. I remember, before I
knew Marcus, that we had wonderful talks on this subject. She used to
be so fond of quoting Carmen Sylva's speech, 'A woman does not become a
mother, she is a mother from her birth. A woman's family satisfies her
vocation, but does not create it.' And she used to tell me to mother my
pupils. 'You must love them hard,' she would say, 'and live their young
lives as well as your own;' but, thank God, we can always find objects
for our love. I should make you laugh, Greta, if I told you how I
mapped out my future as an old maid; but I am quite sure I should have
made a good one.
Just then the door-bell rang, and Alwyn entered; he looked eager and
Well, has she told you? were his first words, as Olivia met him
with outstretched hands; and then, as she warmly congratulated him, his
eyes glowed with feeling. I have not deserved such a prize, have I,
Mrs. Luttrell? but Greta has promised to make the best of me. Will you
forgive me if I take her away for a little? My father is most impatient
to welcome his new daughter, and he will only excite himself if we keep
Go with him, Greta, dear, returned Olivia; Mr. Alwyn will bring
you back to us. And then Greta rose at once, though she looked a
As Olivia stood at the door watching them as they crossed the road,
Marcus came up Harbut Street.
Where are those two going? he asked, curiously. I thought Miss
Williams was to spend the evening with us. Then Olivia linked her arm
in his and drew him into the passage.
Oh, do come in, Marcus, she said, breathlessly. I cannot talk at
the street-door, and I have such a lot to tell you. Then Marcus put
down his hat and drew off his gloves with exasperating slowness.
We have been married nearly three years, he said, flecking the
dust off his coat-collar, but I never remember the day when, as you so
elegantly express it, you had not a 'lot to tell me.'
Yes, but something has really happened, she returned, ignoring
this provoking speech.
Oh, indeed, was the cool answer; so they have settled it at last,
have they? Well, I have changed my opinion lately. Gaythorne may not be
quite up to the mark, but he will make a good husband. I suppose he is
taking her across for the parental blessing? And then Olivia admitted
that this was the case.
I am so glad that you really do not mind, she said, in a relieved
tone; but I fancied you would not approve. You almost said as much one
Oh, even great intellects change their opinions sometimes,
returned Marcus, dryly; Sir Robert Peel and Gladstone, for example.
And then most people know their own business best. Perhaps if you were
to cross-examine me severely I might own that Alwyn Gaythorne is not
the man I should have selected for your interesting friend, but as she
has chosen him, she is evidently of another opinion, and this is one
thing in his favour, he is thoroughly in love with her, and really,
take him all in all, he is not a bad fellow, and Olivia, who
understood her husband perfectly, was quite content with this opinion.
When Marcus went upstairs to wash his hands, whistling the air of
My old Dutch, she knew he was quite as much excited as she was.
When Greta came back she looked a little flushed and agitated, and,
at a sign from Alwyn, Olivia took her upstairs.
What is it, dear? she said, gently, as Greta shed a few tears;
was not Mr. Gaythorne nice to you?
Nice? repeated Greta, with a little sob; he was as dear as
possible. If I had been Olive he could not have been more gentle. I
tell Alwyn that I shall be quite spoiled between them, but somehow as
he talked to me I could not help thinking of poor father and of my
mother. How happy mother would have been, for she was always so fond of
Yes; dear, I understand.
Yes, and Alwyn understands, too. He told me so just now. He said
that though this was the happiest day of his life, he could not help
missing his mother and Olive. Olivia, do you know that Mr. Gaythorne
means us to live with him? I was just a little bit frightened when I
heard that, and I am afraid Alwyn saw it, for he spoke about it
Does he wish it himself? Olivia was careful to reserve her own
opinion. Both she and Marcus had their own views on this subject.
I do not know what he really wishes, and it was too soon to discuss
things, but he did say that he thought that his father ought not to be
left alone, and, of course, he is right, and it is for him to decide,
and then she gave an embarrassed little laugh.
Mr. Gaythorne was very good to me, but you know what an autocrat he
is. He wants it to be soon, very soon. Oh, he quite took my breath
away, and I could see Alwyn was sorry for me. He thinks it is the
impatience of the disease and that we must humour him a little. Alwyn
was so beautifully gentle with him and so considerate for me, but he
saw how overwhelmed I was.
Yes, one wants quiet at first to realise one's happiness, returned
Olivia, sympathetically. Now I am going to make the tea, and you shall
join us when you like.
But when she got downstairs she found Alwyn alone. He was pacing up
and down as though he were anxious.
Where is Marcus? she asked at once.
Oh, someone wanted him at No. 25, Sligo Street. I was to tell you
that, and then, with a change of tone, I hope my father did not
really upset Greta.
Oh, no; she was only a little overwhelmed.
No wonder! You know what my father is, Mrs. Luttrell. He never will
wait for anything. If a thing is to be done it must be done at once.
Only yesterday I was laughing at him, and telling him he would have
made an excellent slave-driver. He is immensely pleased and excited,
and he treated Greta as though she were a princess. He has fine
manners, you will allow that, but the dear girl looked dreadfully shy
and embarrassed. And then, to put her at her ease, he wanted her to
promise that she would marry me as soon as possible. It was no use
trying to hush him, for he would have his say. I got her away at last
by pretending you would be waiting tea for us. Oh, here she comes, and
his face brightened as he hurried to his fiancée's side. Greta
had recovered her tranquillity, and when Marcus entered she received
his congratulations as happily as possible.
Olivia went over to Galvaston House the next day.
Mr. Gaythorne was evidently expecting her.
Well, he said, holding her hand, I suppose you have come to
congratulate me on my new daughter. I tell Alwyn he is a lucky dog. A
sweet girl and three thousand a year. Not that either he or I care
about the money,there will be plenty for Alwyn, plenty. I was telling
them both last night, he went on, that there must be no delay and
nonsense. In my state of health any procrastination would be foolish. I
want to see him with a good wife. Crampton is all very well, but a wife
will understand him better. The house will hold us all. With the
exception of the library and my own bedroom, it will all belong to
them. Alwyn can refurnish the drawing-room, if he likes; and there is
that little room on the first floor, opening into the conservatory,
that would make a charming morning-room for Greta. He can have carte
blanche to do what he likes, and she and Crampton will manage the
house between them, so what is the use of waiting?
And as Olivia noted the old man's feverish excitement she could not
help thinking that a short engagement would be best, and when Alwyn
walked with her to Mayfield Villas she told him so.
I quite agree with you, was his answer. Dr. Luttrell and I had a
talk over things last night, but I do not mean Greta to be bothered
with plans and preparations until she has had a few days' quiet You do
not know her as well as I do, Mrs. Luttrell. Greta is so unselfish, so
absolutely self-less, that she will do anything for the good of those
she loves. In the old days she always yielded her wishes to Olive, and
she is just as ready to do so now, and, as Alwyn said this with his
bright, winning smile, Olivia was not quite so sure, after all, that
Greta had made a mistake.
CHAPTER XXI. SUNSHINE AND CLOUDS.
A friend who is both intelligent and well-affected is the most
valuable of all possessions.Herodotus.
About a fortnight after this eventful afternoon, Olivia received a
note from Greta begging her to bring her work and to spend a few hours
with her. The invitation was a pressing one. Please do not disappoint
me, she wrote, for I want to talk to you so much. I think I can
promise that we shall have no interruption. Alwyn is going up to town
for the afternoon, and will not pay his usual call. And then Olivia,
who had planned to have tea with Aunt Madge, put off her visit until
another day, and sent a verbal message of acceptance.
It was one of those late October days, when a touch of frost in the
air gives a hint of the approaching winter, and the bright little fire
in Greta's pretty morning-room was very welcome.
Greta was sitting at her embroidery frame as usual. Her deep
mourning was relieved by the little knot of white chrysanthemums and
red leaves that she wore, and her fair, serious face looked bright and
animated. Dear Olive, it was so good of you to come, she said, as she
ensconced her guest in a big easy-chair. I suppose you guessed that I
wanted you particularly, and Olivia nodded.
I could hardly sleep thinking about it all. Olive, we have settled
the day. Mr. Gaythorne gave Alwyn no peace, and so he was obliged to
speak to me. He said it was very soon to ask me, and that he would
willingly have given me more time, but that in his father's state of
health any delay would only harass him, so I said that I would be ready
by the middle of December. I hope you do not think I am wrong?
No, indeed. I think you are very wise.
Alwyn was so grateful, went on Greta; he knew my objection to a
winter wedding; but, as he says, it will be so nice to begin the new
year together; and, after all, what do these outward things matter? At
first I thought I would be married in my travelling-dress, and go
straight away from the church; and then I remembered how Alwyn once
said that brides ought always to wear white, that it was symbolical and
poetical, and that you agreed with him.
Marcus thought just the same! returned Olivia; and though I was
in mourning for dear mother, Aunt Madge bought me a lovely white
cashmere. Alas! I have never worn it since, but sometimes I take it out
and look at it. I remember how pleased Marcus was with it. Shall you
wear silk or satin, Greta? and then Greta owned that she had already
decided on a rich ivory-coloured silk.
But we will not discuss my trousseau just yet, she
observed, blushing. There is plenty of time for that. I shall have
seven weeks for my preparations. I want to tell you about yesterday,
Olive. You know I had promised to have luncheon at Galvaston House, and
that Alwyn was to fetch me, but before we left this house it was all
settled, and after luncheon Alwyn told his father. The dear old man was
so pleased; he made Alwyn bring down his mother's trinkets, a pearl
necklace and some diamond stars, and such splendid rings that he had
given her, and he told Alwyn that they were all for me; you know I
never cared much for jewelry, but Alwyn will always want me to be well
dressed, so I shall have to be smart. I think I liked best a little
cross set with diamonds, that Olive used to wear; he gave me that,
How pleased Alwyn must have been.
Yes, and, of course, I was pleased, too; and then Mr. Gaythorne
made Alwyn take me over the house. What a handsome house it is, Olive!
I like it ever so much better than Brunswick Place. I had no idea it
was so large, but Mr. Gaythorne said that Italian palaces had spoilt
him, and that he must always have plenty of space. There is a room on
the first floor opening into the conservatory that will make a charming
morning-room, and then the studio is so lovely. Alwyn has been buying
such beautiful things, and there is to be a corner fitted up for my
use, where my embroidery frame can stand. I shall so love to watch him
work; but oh, Olive, is it not absurd? Mr. Gaythorne talks of
refurnishing the drawing-room, but it is not the least necessary. I
want you to convince him of this, and to beg him not to spend money so
needlessly. I have so many nice things of my own; all this beautiful
china and those inlaid Japanese cabinets. A new carpet and a little
fresh cretonne is all that is needed. And I know Alwyn agrees with me.
Very well, then, we must bring Mr. Gaythorne to reason.
I took Mrs. Crampton into confidence, went on Greta, when she
showed me the kitchen and store-rooms. What a nice creature she is, and
how admirably she manages! There is to be another maid kept, so I asked
if I might bring Merton; she has been with us so many years that I
should dislike to part with her, and Alwyn has promised to speak to his
Olivia listened and approved; there was no mistaking Greta's
happiness; she looked on the bright side of everything, and would allow
of no drawbacks. When Olivia ventured to hint that Mr. Gaythorne might
be trying at times, Greta only smiled and said, That was very likely,
only Alwyn managed him so beautifully, and she hoped in time to do the
same. I know that he dislikes visitors, she went on, but, as you and
Dr. Luttrell are exceptions, I do not so much mind, and I shall be
quite happy with Alwyn.
Oh, no doubt, returned Olivia, in her quick, decided way; but you
must remember, Greta dear, that we owe a duty to our fellow-creatures,
and you must not allow Mr. Gaythorne to carry his misanthropical views
too far. There is no need for him to be troubled with visitors; he is
far too ailing for much fatigue and exertion; but surely you and Alwyn
can entertain your friends in your own rooms, and, though Greta
hesitated and looked rather alarmed at the idea of opposing her
formidable father-in-law-elect, she was soon brought to acknowledge
that society would be good for Alwyn.
There is no hurry, we can be quiet this first winter, she said;
but, of course, if people call upon me, I shall return their visits,
but we cannot settle beforehand. I shall first wait and see what Alwyn
wishes, and you must own, Olive, that I have not led a gay life here.
By-the-bye, observed Olivia, suddenly, what have you decided to
do with this house and furniture? but Greta had evidently not taken
these matters into consideration.
All the best things will go to Galvaston House, I suppose, she
replied, looking round her, but most of the furniture is old-fashioned
and not up-to-date. I suppose people would call it handsome, and, of
course, the oak in the dining-room is in thoroughly good taste. I must
talk to Alwyn about it; perhaps it might be let furnished. Dear father
used to say selling furniture was such a mistake,one never got the
I remember how grand I thought it the first day I called, returned
Olivia, smiling. The drawing-room with that beautiful conservatory
opening out of it, and the plush curtains, and those luxurious couches
made me feel so shabby. But I suppose the drawing-room at Galvaston
House is still better. The glass door opening on the garden is so
pleasant, and those Venetian cabinets and that carved settle are really
Yes, and it would be such a pity to modernise the room. Besides,
what does one want with a drawing-room at all? I am sure I never enter
mine. I shall live in the morning-room and the studio, and I suppose in
the evenings we shall be in the library. Ah, you are laughing, because
I have thought it all out in this matter-of-fact way, but I assure you
I hardly slept last night. And then by mutual consent they began on
the mysteries of the trousseau, and they had not half finished
when Olivia looked at the clock and declared that she had stayed too
The world goes up and the world goes down and the sunshine follows
the rain, says the old song, and human life is certainly made up of
passing clouds and gleams of sunshine.
While Alwyn superintended the decorations of the new rooms at
Galvaston House, and brought his artistic taste to bear on every petty
detail for the use of his lady-love, and while Greta busied herself
over her trousseau, Dr. Luttrell was engaged from morning to
night among his patients.
With the damp, foggy days of November had come the dreaded epidemic,
influenza. All the doctors were overworked, and more than one of them
succumbed to the malady,amongst them Dr. Bevan.
Marcus, who had been devoting himself to his poor patients, suddenly
found the charge of a large practice thrown on him, and had scarcely
time to take his meals. For a few days Dr. Bevan was extremely ill, and
even when a short change had recruited his health it was evident that
he would never be able to do the same amount of work again.
He has been overworking himself for years, Mrs. Bevan said to
Marcus, with tears in her eyes; but he would never spare himself, and
now Dr. Randolph says that this utter breakdown is the result. Oh, it
is all very well for him to say that it is better to wear out than rust
out, but if a man has a wife and children he has no right to risk his
life in this way. It might not hurt a younger man to rise from his bed
night after night in the depths of winter, but for my husband it is
simply suicidal. When he gets well he must and shall have a partner.
What is the use of waiting until Wilfred is ready to come into the
practice, for Wilfred Bevan, the eldest son, was at that time walking
the hospitals. And here Mrs. Bevan, with her comely face looking quite
worn and aged with anxiety, hurried away to sit with her husband.
Olivia had her own private anxieties. Those long solitary days were
very trying to her, but she never dared be long absent from home lest
she should miss one of Marcus's flying visits. His meals were taken at
any odd hour, but if he came in for a minute on his morning round there
was always a cup of good soup ready for him, or later in the day some
hot coffee. But perhaps the best cordial to the tired, harassed doctor
was the sight of his wife's bright face. He would drink the soup,
snatch up his little daughter for a kiss and go back to his work
refreshed, but even to him the strain was excessive.
Olivia, who was unwilling to damp Greta's cheerfulness, would pour
out her troubles to her Aunt Madge, and Mrs. Broderick would listen
with her usual sympathy.
I hope it is not wicked of me, Aunt Madge, she would say, but I
do feel so worried and anxious. Marcus declares he is quite well, but
he is so tired every night that he can hardly drag himself to bed, and
when morning comes he is not a bit rested. I think Dr. Bevan's illness
has made me nervous, for I am always dreading that Marcus will break
Women need lot of faith, don't they, Livy? Doctors' wives as well
as soldiers' wives, but I am not sure that you need fear for Marcus. He
is really strong, and at his age a little hard work will not hurt him.
He has his laurels to gather, you must remember that. 'It is an ill
wind that blows no one any good.' But Olivia, who was tired and
depressed, was not so ready to be comforted.
I would rather go on being poor than see my poor boy work so hard,
she said, mournfully. But it is not only that, Aunt Madge. Marcus is
very tender-hearted, and it makes him so unhappy when he loses a
patient. Of course I know why he looked so dull last night, that poor
young fellow Basil Greenwood is dead.
Yes, I know; Dr. Randolph was called in, returned Mrs. Broderick;
but a hundred physicians could not have saved him, the fever ran too
He was only eighteen and his poor mother doated on him, and now she
is ill too. They called Marcus up last night; he did not get back till
nearly five, but I had the fire lighted and some hot cocoa ready for
him. Marcus scolded me; he is always so afraid of my knocking up, but I
know he was glad of the cocoa. I tell Greta that I cannot be much with
her just now. I am so afraid of missing him when he comes in, and of
course she understands, but it is a little hard for her, poor child.
Greta is very good, returned Aunt Madge. She makes the best of
things. By-the-bye, what is this I hear of a grand new dress for the
wedding? And then Olivia did brighten up a little.
Greta had begged in the most loving way that Olivia's dress and
bonnet for the occasion should be her gift, and the dark heliotrope
silk and dainty bonnet to match were at that moment in Greta's
I tell Greta that it is far too handsome, replied Olivia, and
that Marcus will object to my being so smart, but she only laughs at
me. There is such a lovely cape to go with it, but somehow, in spite of
Greta's kindness, I shall not enjoy it one bit, unless Marcus has time
to go with me.
Oh, he will make time; don't be so lugubrious, Livy. You are just
out of heart about things, but we must have cloudy days some time.
Don't you remember what Longfellow says?
'Nothing that is can pause or stay,
The moon will wax, the moon will wane,
The mist and cloud will turn to rain,
The rain to mist and cloud again,
To-morrow be to-day.'
Yes, and November fogs will pass too. Well, dear Aunt Madge, I must
go, and as usual you have cheered me up. What should I do without you,
I am glad you find the old log useful, returned Mrs. Broderick,
so come and grumble as often as you like. Greta is coming to tea with
me to-morrow, and Mr. Alwyn has promised to fetch her. Why don't you
come too, and you shall have a real Scotch tea, bannocks and scones and
seed cake, but Olivia shook her head at this tempting invitation.
Marcus had asked her to go round to the model lodging houses, she
said, to see two families in trouble. And then it was that poor boy's
funeral. And then Mrs. Broderick said no more.
Poor Livy, she said to herself, as she lay alone in the twilight,
one may make light of her little troubles, but they are real to her.
And I do not wonder that she worries over Marcus. Dr. Randolph was only
speaking of him this morning. He told me what a splendid worker he was.
'Bevan may be thankful to have got hold of such a man,' those were
his very words. 'But he must be prudent and not burn the candle at both
ends as Bevan did. The foul fiend has got hold of Harris now, he is
Dr. Mordaunt's partner, and was married a few weeks ago. Apollyon, as
we call it at our house, does not spare doctors,' but I hope, I really
do hope, that Livy has not heard this.
CHAPTER XXII. YOU MUST NOT LOSE
Cherish those that love you; that if ye love, ye may be loved
When Greta woke on her wedding morning, she was greeted by the pale
wintry sunshine. The weather was unusually mild for December, the sky
blue and cloudless, and only the bare blackness of the trees and their
stripped branches testified that winter had come.
Happy the bride that the sun shines on, says the old proverb, and
as Olivia repeated the saying, she felt her old cheerfulness and
buoyancy return. Marcus had promised to meet them at the church, and to
return with them to Brunswick Place, and her finery would not be thrown
It would be of course a very quiet wedding, the only guests would be
the lawyer, Mr. Treherne, an old family friend, who had undertaken to
give the bride away, and Alwyn's best man, a young artist.
As soon as the young couple had partaken of refreshment and Greta
had changed her dress, they were to drive round to Galvaston House on
their way to the station. The brief fortnight's honeymoon was to be
spent at St. Leonards. Mr. Gaythorne had begged that they would not go
very far away, and Alwyn had been reluctant to leave his father for a
Olivia had promised to spend the remainder of the day with Mr.
Gaythorne, and, if possible, Marcus was to join them in the evening,
but she had another visit to pay on her way to Brunswick Place, so when
the brougham came round she drove over in solitary state to Maybrick
Mrs. Broderick regarded her niece with satisfied eyes. Why, Livy,
she said, admiringly, I have not seen you look so well since your own
wedding-day. Fine feathers make fine birds. You are quite a
striking-looking woman. Marcus will be proud of his wife.
You must not make me vain, returned Olivia, blushing. She was as
pleased as a child with her beautiful dress. Look what Alwyn has given
me, and she exhibited a pair of delicate gold bangles. You cannot
think how smart I feel, for that pretty brooch that Marcus gave me the
day before we were married was my sole piece of jewelry.
Mrs. Broderick smiled. I am not much richer than you in that
respect, Livy. I never would let Fergus spend his money on trinkets. I
told him I was far too ugly, and that I preferred books. There are only
two handsome rings to come to you, Livy, when I am gone, but Olivia
frowned at this speech. She never could endure to think of anything
happening to Aunt Madge.
Marcus was at the church door to meet her, and there was
unmistakable approval in his eyes as they stood together for a moment
in the porch. And as they walked up the empty church together each was
thinking of the day three years ago when they had plighted their troth
in this very church.
Greta made a sweet-looking bride, there was a chastened gravity on
her fair face, but no tremor as she repeated the solemn responses, but
Alwyn was painfully nervous, and looked so pale, that Olivia feared
more than once he was ill.
He looked more like himself when the service was over, but that he
realised his responsibilities intensely was evident from the few words
he said to Olivia while Greta was changing her dress.
I have not deserved all this, have I, Mrs. Luttrell? he said, in
his impulsive way. I feel as though coals of fire were heaped upon me.
Fancy a sweet girl like Greta consenting to link her lot with mine. How
am I to live up to it? but she believes in me, and God bless her. I
will try not to disappoint her, and there were tears in the young
man's eyes as he said this.
Good-bye, Olive darling, whispered Greta, as she put her arms
affectionately round her friend. I am glad that we are not to be long
away, the dear new home will be quite ready for us, and then she took
her husband's arm and the little group of friends watched them as they
When Olive went to Mr. Gaythorne an hour later she found him looking
pleased and excited. Alwyn is a happy man, he said, he has got a
good wife. Greta has tact as well as heart. She will let him have his
own way whenever it is possible, and he will not find out that he is
guided. That is what Alwyn's nature needs. I have found that out by
bitter experience. And the old man sighed heavily. In spite of his
contentment the memory of the past was still painful, and both he and
Alwyn would carry their scars to their dying day.
I am sure you will love Greta dearly, Olivia observed. She is a
little shy and quiet until she gets used to people, but she is so
Yes, and she was my little Olive's friend. I shall never forget
that, but as I told you just now, I have two daughters, and then he
laid his hand on Olivia's with one of his rare gestures of affection.
My dear, Alwyn and I were talking last night. I told him that he must
be master here, and that he must put his wife in her proper place at
once. I shall want little during the few months or years that remain to
me. Just my quiet rooms and my children's affection and the society of
the one or two friends that remain to me. But Alwyn needs more. He
loves society, and to be a successful artist he must mix with his
fellow-workers, and rub against other minds. He must go into the world
and see and be seen.
I think you are right, returned Olivia, slowly; she was secretly
very much surprised by this speech. She had no idea how much he had
brooded over this question.
Yes, he returned, a little sadly, I have learnt my lesson at
last. Those young lives must not be overshadowed by a sick man's whims.
My son must never be able to say again that his father's house was like
a jail, and that he felt cramped in body and mind. Sooner than that,
with a trace of the old excitement in his manner, I would rather my
weary bones were laid in the earth.
Dear Mr. Gaythorne, in a soothing voice, Alwyn loves you far too
well ever to say or think such a thing.
I hope soI trust so, but I would rather not put his patience to
the proof. My boy must be happy, or I can know no peace. 'If you will
bring your wife here and stay with your old father I will never
interfere with either of you,' that is what I said to him. 'You may
turn the house out of window if you like, so that you leave me my two
quiet rooms;' but he only laughed in my face. 'We will see about that,'
was all he answered, but I shall prove to him that I meant what I
Greta will not care for gaiety this winter. You must remember that
she has been used to a very quiet life.
That is for her and Alwyn to decide, returned Mr. Gaythorne. Ah,
Mrs. Luttrell, my dear, what it will be to me to hear a woman's step
about the house again. It will be like music in my ears; and then he
leant back in his chair as though he were exhausted and asked Olivia to
read to him.
Later in the evening, as she walked back with Marcus, she told him
of this conversation, and then she added,
He will be very good to Greta, I am sure of that; his voice
softened so when he spoke of her. She is a link with the past, you see.
But, Marcus, as he talked he looked so old and broken that I cannot
help fearing that they will not have him with them for long.
Probably not. I have hinted this more than once to Alwyn, and
though he always turns it off, I think he understands me. It was his
own proposition that they should only be a fortnight away. Now I have
two or three patients to see, so you must not wait up for me; and
tired as he was Marcus walked off briskly, whilst Olivia lingered on
the doorstep for a moment to look at the stars shining in the dark
wintry sky. Alwyn had begged her, as a special favour to him, to pay a
daily visit to Galvaston House, so for the next three or four days she
found it impossible to go round to Maybrick Villas.
Mr. Gaythorne took her visits as a matter of course. There was
always something he wanted to discuss with her. Some fresh arrangement
for his daughter-in-law's comfort. One day he consulted her about a
brougham that he intended to buy as a surprise.
I shall get Dr. Luttrell to choose it, he said; and there is a
man I know at Medhurst who will pick me up a pair of chestnuts. My
son's wife is a rich woman, and ought to have a pair for her carriage.
There is some good stabling to be got just by, and Dr. Luttrell knows a
capital coachman who has been thrown out of place by his master's
death. In the spring she might have a victoria, but a brougham will be
more serviceable at this season of the year when Alwyn takes her to
theatres and concerts. And though Olivia smiled, she could not but own
that the brougham would be a boon to Greta.
Then we will see about it at once, he returned, eagerly. Would
you ask your husband to call to-morrow morning if he can spare the
time? And as Olivia took her leave she promised to give the message.
To her surprise she found Marcus reading by the fire; he looked up
at her a little gravely as she entered.
You are rather late, are you not, Livy? he said, laying down his
paper. Martha brought me some tea, but I waited to speak to you. I
shall have to go out again directly.
Let me give you Mr. Gaythorne's message first. He wants you to go
round and speak to him tomorrow morning about a new brougham for Greta.
How delighted she and Alwyn will be. Greta is not strong and does not
care for walking much in the winter, and she catches cold so easily.
It is just what Alwyn wished for her. Yes, I will try to run across
to-morrow morning, but I have a long day's work before me. Olive,
darling, I have rather bad news for you, and here he put his arm round
her. Aunt Madge is ill.
Olivia turned very pale. Marcus, how did you know? Has Deb sent a
message? I hopeoh, I do hope, it is not influenza.
I fear it is, returned Marcus, reluctantly. I met Randolph, and
he stopped and told me. He was just going there for the second time. He
wants to send a nurse in, but Deb was so against it that he did not
venture to insist; but I am afraid she is very ill, Livy.
I must go round at once. Marcus, do you think you can spare me?
Martha is very careful; she will look after Dot. But you knowand
here there were hot, smarting tears in Olivia's eyesyou know what
Aunt Madge is to me. I cannot leave her to Deb.
Marcus sighed; he could not bear his wife to run the risk, and yet
how could he be selfish enough to deprive Mrs. Broderick of the comfort
of having her with her? He knew their deep affection for each other.
Aunt Madge was her second mother; few aunts were so fondly beloved.
I hate you to go, dearest, he said, and yet I cannot deny that
Randolph is very anxious about her. It is the prostration he fears; the
fever has been so high these two days.
She has been ill two whole days, and Deb has never sent for me,
and Olivia sobbed in a heart-broken manner.
My dear girl, you must not lose heart in this way, and Marcus
stroked her hair tenderly. Let me tell you exactly how it was. I went
round with Randolph and waited while he paid his visit. Deb came out to
speak to me; she is an obstinate, incorrigible, cross-grained old
woman, and I told her so. Oh, I spoke my mind to her. She cannot deny
that she has been up for three nights, and yet the mention of a nurse
throws her into tantrums. 'I have always nursed my mistress, and as
long as I can drag about she shall have no strangers to harass her dear
soul,' she said, defiantly. Now what are you to do with a woman like
that? I asked her why she had not let us know, he went on, and she
confessed that Aunt Madge had made her promise not to send. So you see
Deb was not to blame for that.
No, I see; and then Olivia looked up in her husband's face
pleadingly. Marcus, dear, you will not forbid my sitting up with Aunt
Madge tonight. Deb will not mind me; she knows how Aunt Madge will love
to have me. I will be very careful, and do just as you tell me; but I
must! I must be with her! and then very reluctantly Marcus gave his
Martha was interviewed and Dot kissed in her cot, and then Olivia
told Marcus she was ready; and they walked to Maybrick Villas almost in
Olivia's heart was too full for speech. If Aunt Madge died, she told
herself, the world would never be the same to her again; some of the
warmth and the light and the joy of life would have faded out of it.
She is one of my few treasures, she thought. Marcus and dear baby
come first, of course, but Aunt Madge has taken mother's place. All
these years she has helped me so with her wise, loving counsel and
While there is life there is hope, Livy, observed Marcus, gently;
and his hand touched hers in the darkness.
Dr. Randolph does not own himself beaten by any means. Do what you
can to help Deb, for she is just worn out, the foolish, faithful
creature; and his voice changing, do not forget me or Dot, and for
our sakes take care of yourself, and with these words he opened the
little gate and left her to go in alone.
CHAPTER XXIII. I HAVE COME TO
The dear Lord's best interpreters
Are humble human souls;
The gospel of a life
Is more than books or scrolls.Whittier.
Deb, I have come to stay, were Olivia's first words, as the woman
met her on the top of the stairs; but Deborah's only answer was to lift
her hands in dumb protest and lead the way into the kitchen.
Deb's strong, hard-featured face was haggard and drawn with fatigue
and anxiety, and she looked more gaunt and angular than ever: her
reddened, swollen eyelids told their own tale.
I am come to stay, repeated Olivia, firmly; but Deborah only
shrugged her shoulders and walked over to the fireplace.
You won't need to stay long, Miss Olive, she said, in a choked
voiceat moments of excitement it was still Miss Olive with
Debshe is failing fast, dear soul; the fever's gone and left her as
weak as a new-born babe. I always said my mistress was only fit to be
among the angels! and Deb gave an expressive sniff as she filled her
kettle. Olivia felt a dull pain at her heart at this speech, but she
would not let herself give way. Deborah, as she knew, always took a
gloomy view of her mistress's illnesses.
Dr. Randolph is coming again to-night, she observed; my husband
told me so; but Olivia's hand shook as she took off her hat and
Yes, Miss Olive, the doctor is coming again, and that speaks for
itself, to my mind. I knew what it was four days ago, for she was taken
ill the very night after you drove round to see her, but I dare not let
you know. 'We won't tell Mrs. Luttrell, or she will be anxious, and
will insist on coming to nurse me. Promise me that you will not send to
Galvaston Terrace, Deb;' and what was a poor servant to do? I suppose
if Dr. Luttrell has sent you you will have to stop, but I won't give up
nursing my mistress even to you, Miss Olive, and Deb sniffed
defiantly. There, you may go in while I warm her milk, but she will
not take any notice of you. She is too weak to speak.
The folding-doors were open, and the little sitting-room, with its
cheery fire, had a cosy aspect, the sick-room was dimly lighted. As
Olivia bent over the invalid her heart contracted with anguish. Could
only four days have wrought such deadly havoc?
Aunt Madge's face looked pinched and sunken, and so changed that
Olivia could hardly recognise it, but, as she hung over her in
speechless grief, the heavy eyelids unclosed, and something like a
smile passed over the features. My little Livy was all she whispered,
but it was the old caressing tone.
When Dr. Randolph paid his last visit Olivia begged him to use his
influence with Deborah. She has been up three nights and is utterly
worn out, she went on. I want her to let me watch while she has a
good sleep on that couch. I would promise to wake her if I saw the
least change. Indeed, I know something of nursing, Dr. Randolph. I was
with my dear mother when she died, and I will carry out all your
Well, you heard what I said to Mrs. Higgins, returned Dr.
Randolph, that everything depends on frequent nourishment. The fever
is down, but there is a state of collapse that makes me uneasy. Mrs.
Broderick has a good constitution or she would not have got through her
last illness, so I still hope we may pull her through; but Dr.
Randolph's voice was not sanguine as he said this. Now I will go and
have a talk with Mrs. Higgins. I shall tell her that unless she does as
she is told to-night I shall bring round a nurse with me to-morrow. I
think that will fetch her, and Dr. Randolph was right. Possibly Deb
felt herself on the verge of breaking down, for she consented at last
to lie down on her mistress's couch for an hour or two, but it was
midnight before Olivia found herself in sole charge.
There was very little to be done except to give medicine and
nourishment at stated intervals and to make up the two fires as
noiselessly as possible, but Olivia felt her responsibilities too
acutely to be overcome by drowsiness, though Deborah lay hour after
hour in the heavy sleep of utter exhaustion.
Olivia's thoughts went back to her childhood as she sat there. A
hundred instances of Aunt Madge's affection and devotion recurred to
her. She remembered how the sprightly young aunt used to run up to the
nursery with some new toy or gaily-dressed doll that she had purchased
out of her scanty savings, for Aunt Madge had been a daily governess,
too. She could recall the Sunday afternoons when she sat in her lap and
the beautiful voice sang to her or told her stories,Joseph and his
brethren and Daniel in the lions' den,or on other days dear old fairy
stories such as children love. She had been her bridesmaid, too, and
had grown very fond of the honest, sturdy Scotchman whom his wife so
Uncle Fergus was a good, kind man, she thought, but he was not
all that Aunt Madge imagined him. Most people would not have called him
interesting, but he was devoted to her. What a bright creature she was
until little Malcolm died. That was the first of her troubles. What a
happy home theirs had been, but it was Aunt Madge who had been the
heart of the house, who had organised and planned. Uncle Fergus had
never originated anything.
And she loved him as dearly as I love Marcus, she went on. And
yet when she lost him there was not a murmuring word.
'I thought it was too good to last,' she once said to me, 'but my
widow's cruse will never be empty. I have the sweetest memories, and
by-and-by I shall have my treasures again. Do you know I often pray,
Livy, that I may not long so much to die? God's will, not mine, even in
Oh, Aunt Madge, dear Aunt Madge, I cannot spare you yet, murmured
Olivia more than once that night, for it is hard for human affection to
rid itself of selfishness.
When Olivia brought Deb a cup of tea at seven o'clock, the good
creature seemed quite shocked. To think I have slept all these hours,
she said, in a dazed voice.
Miss Olive, why did you not wake me long ago? You are fit to drop,
and what will Dr. Luttrell say? but Olivia shook her head with a faint
I will lie down now and get a nap. Deb, I am sure she is no worse;
she has taken all Dr. Randolph ordered, and though she has not spoken,
she seemed to me a shade less exhausted; but, though Deb would not
endorse this, Olivia felt certain that she was right.
She was sitting at her late breakfast, when Marcus called to see how
they had spent the night. And her account evidently relieved him. He
waited to hear Dr. Randolph's opinion. Olivia came back to him as soon
Oh, Marcus, she said, the tears rushing to her eyes, Dr. Randolph
says that the exhaustion is not quite so great, and he owned frankly
that he was afraid last night how he should find her this morning. We
are to go on just the same. Everything depends on frequent nourishment;
he thinks the heart is a little stronger, but she must not be moved at
all. 'We must see what nature and rest will do,' he said to me; 'do not
relax your efforts, we are not out of the woods yet.' He is coming
again about four.
Yes, I should not be surprised if she weathered it after all,
returned Marcus; she must have a tough constitution to have gone
through all she has. Yesterday I certainly felt anxious, and so did
Randolph. We both feared sudden collapse. I worried myself for a long
time because I had not offered to sit up with you, Livy, but I have
been up two nights already this week, and one has one's work to do;
but Olivia looked quite shocked at this.
My dear boy, how could you think of such a thing? It would have
made me more miserable than I was already; besides, there would have
been no room for you, this is such a tiny place. Oh, how I wish Aunt
Madge could move into better lodgings; her bedroom is far too small,
and that wardrobe quite fills it up. By-the-bye, Marcus, I wish you
would tell me what I had better do. May I come home for an hour or two
and see baby?
I don't know that there would be any risk, he replied, slowly;
you cannot give influenza unless you have it yourself; but, all the
same, I would keep away from Dot. She is perfectly well, and sat up in
her high-chair pouring out imaginary tea in her wooden set while I had
my breakfast, and Martha begged me to tell you 'that the butcher had
called, and she had ordered a steak for master, and would make a
rice-pudding for Miss Baby.'
Very well, then, I will stay; but, Marcus, I shall see you again
this evening, shall I not? and Marcus returned in an emphatic voice
that he certainly intended to keep an eye on her.
I won't have you getting into mischief and knocking yourself up,
he remarked, severely. So be a wise woman, or you will have to reckon
There was plenty to do that morning, putting things tidy in the
sick-room and straightening the sitting-room. In the course of the day
some choice flowers came from Galvaston House with Mr. Gaythorne's
compliments, and at tea-time Marcus dropped in unexpectedly, and they
had a cosy half-hour together in Deb's spotless little kitchen; to her
surprise he told Olivia that Dot was at Galvaston House.
Mrs. Crampton begged to have her, and Mr. Gaythorne thought it
would be a good plan, so she fetched her this afternoon. I hope I have
done right, Livy; and Marcus spoke in an apologetic tone, as though he
felt that he had trenched on the mother's prerogative; but, you see, I
am so much out, and Martha is so busy, that I thought that we should
both be less anxious to know that Mrs. Crampton was looking after her,
and Olivia agreed to this.
Olivia had already arranged to take the earlier part of the night in
the sick-room, and when Dr. Randolph had paid his evening visit, Deb
took possession of the couch again. Olivia had promised faithfully to
wake her at three o'clock.
A long afternoon nap had refreshed Olivia, and a few hopeful words
from the doctor had cheered her immensely. A little after midnight she
was sitting down by the bedside with some knitting to keep her awake,
when a movement from the bed made her look up. Aunt Madge's eyes were
fixed on her; there was a strange solemnity and deep sadness in their
expression, and as Olivia rose hastily and bent over her with a tender
inquiry, the feeble voice whispered:
Don't fret any more, Livy, the Master does not need me yetnot
yet, and then scarcely audibly, I shall not die, but live and declare
the works of the Lord, and then it seemed to Olivia that the weary
eyelids closed in sleep again.
When her turn for rest came, Olivia felt almost too agitated to
sleep; the sad yearning in the sunken eyes haunted her; too well she
knew that the fresh gift of life would only be an additional cross laid
on the weary shoulders. What was life to Aunt Madge now but suffering
and deprivation, a daily stumbling among shadows, as she had once
There was no reserve and hesitation in Dr. Randolph's manner when he
came out of the sick-room the next day.
She has turned the corner now, but it was a narrow squeak, he
said, rubbing his hands. Now, all we have to do is to build up her
strength. Your aunt is a wonderful woman, Mrs. Luttrell. I should not
wonder if she is good for twenty years yet, but we must be careful
still. I suppose you will be here for another day or two? Oh, that's
all right, as Olivia gave a decided assent to this. It would be a
pity to knock Mrs. Higgins up. There are not many women like her; she
is simply invaluable.
As the days went on the tension of anxiety was visibly relaxed. The
invalid's progress was slow but sure. In another day or two Olivia was
able to go home for an hour or two to have dinner with Marcus and give
Martha directions; but while the night-work continued it was impossible
for her to leave. And it was arranged that Dot was to remain at
Galvaston House for the present.
Greta had written to beg for an extension of her visit. She is such
a darling, and I shall be so delighted to have her, she wrote. She
will not be at all in the way, and indeed Dot ruled royally over the
She and Mr. Gaythorne became great friends. Great dada, as she
called him, took a good deal of notice of the pretty, golden-haired
child who played at his feet for hours, and Eros was devoted to her.
Alwyn's first work when he returned was to paint a large picture of
Dot in her cream-coloured smock, hanging a withered garland round the
neck of the blind hound.
Friends he called it.
Olivia was able to spend an hour or two at Galvaston House the day
after the young couple returned.
She found them in the studio with Dot and Eros. Alwyn was looking
well and handsome, and Greta's sweet face wore an expression of gentle
content. She carried Olivia off at once to the morning-room to have a
chat, as she said, looking archly at her husband. And though Alwyn
professed to grumble at the desertion, he was too busy stretching his
canvas for the new picture to resent it.
Let me know when tea is ready, he called after them, and then they
heard him whistling in his usual light-hearted fashion.
I need not ask you if you are happy, Greta, were Olivia's first
words, and then a charming blush crossed the young bride's face.
No, indeed! Oh, Olive, he is so good to me; if you only knew how he
studies all my wishes. It was like a dream yesterday coming to this
beautiful home. And then Mr. Gaythorne's delight at getting his son
back. Oh, it was so touching to see them together. Alwyn wants me to
call him 'Father,' she continued, shyly. He says it will please him
so, so I must try to do it. You know I always called my own father dad.
Now tell me about dear Mrs. Broderick. Poor Olive, what a time you have
had; and you are looking so pale and tired. And then Olive poured out
her anxieties and past troubles into Greta's sympathising ears.
She is very weak still, she finished. Dr. Randolph thinks it will
be some time before she will be able to leave her bed. I have found
such a nice woman who will come in and help Deb, for of course I cannot
leave Marcus any longer. I am to go home the day after to-morrow. Deb
will sleep on the couch in the sitting-room. She will have to give
nourishment every two hours, but Deb manages to sleep with one eye
open, as I tell her. I am to go for a couple of hours every afternoon,
that will allow her to have a little rest. Marcus thinks this will work
excellently. Oh, how glad I shall be to be at home again and look after
You want looking after yourself, dear, returned Greta,
affectionately. And then Alwyn came into the room with Dot on his
shoulder, but she clamoured to go to her mammy.
How do you think Mrs. Alwyn Gaythorne looks? asked Alwyn,
mischievously. She does me credit, does she not? By-the-bye, Greta, do
you think father will like us to have coffee with him in the library
I told Phoebe that we would have it up here; shall I go and ask
Do, love; the attention will please him, and I am sure Mrs.
Luttrell will not mind. Then as Greta left the room, he turned to
Olivia and said in a tone of deep feeling,
She looks well and happy, don't you think so? Oh, Mrs. Luttrell,
every day I feel more what a treasure I have. She is an embodied
sunbeam. I never knew anyone so gentle and yet so bright. How my father
will love her when he knows her better. And then, as his wife's step
sounded in the corridor, he sprang from his seat to open the door.
CHAPTER XXIV. NOT YET.
But here I bring within my trembling hand,
This will of mine, a thing that seemeth small,
And Thou alone, O Lord, can understand,
How when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all.Anon.
It was some time before Aunt Madge could be lifted on to the couch
in the sitting-room, and even then Deb declared that she was not the
weight of a child of eight or nine.
There is nothing of her, Miss Olive, she grumbled. She is worn to
such a shadow. Tire my arms, indeedI could lift a heavier weight than
that, and Deb gave one of her ominous sniffs, and went off to her
kitchen to shed a few tears in private.
All those weeks Olivia had been unremitting in her attentions, and
all other visits were interdicted; but the friends at Galvaston House
showed their sympathy in every possible way. Mr. Gaythorne sent choice
old wine and game, and Greta and Alwyn kept the invalid supplied with
fruit and flowers. Mrs. Crampton made jellies and soups, the little
larder at Mayfield Villas was filled to overflowing. Mrs. Broderick
took it all gratefully, and gave her nurses no trouble. I am under
orders, she would say, with a pitiful attempt at her old drollery; but
only Olivia, who loved and understood her, ever guessed at the sadness
of those days of convalescence.
One evening, as they were together in the twilight, Olivia ventured
to hint at this depression; she was waiting for Marcus to come and
fetch her, for they were to dine at Galvaston House.
Is it because you are too weak to feel cheerful, dear Aunt Madge?
she asked, tenderly; but Mrs. Broderick shook her head.
It is because I am a coward, she returned, with a spirit of her
old energy. Ah, Livy, I am ashamed to tell you what a coward I have
been; but I simply felt as though I could not face it. Let me explain
myself; I feel strong enough to talk, and it may do me good. Dear
child, dearest Livy, stroking her hand, you have been such a comfort
to me! Do you remember that night when I told you I was not going to
die? Well, I had had a wonderful dream, a vision rather, for I shall
always think it one. I thought that I was wandering in some strange
place, some vast emptiness where there was nothing human but myself,
and that I came suddenly to a wide arched portal that seemed to reach
to the stars, and I said to myself, 'this is the Gate of Paradise.' As
I stood on the threshold I could see a green space like a valley bathed
in sunlight, and I even noticed the white starry flowers growing
everywhere, and then I saw my dear Fergus, looking just as he did in
life, only somehow with a grander and more peaceful look on his dear
face, and he was leading our little Malcolm by the hand. I thought I
kissed them both, and clung to them in a perfect ecstasy of joy, but
Fergus looked at me in such a tender solemn way. 'Not yet, Madge,' he
said, 'your work is not quite done yet; the Master has sent me to tell
you so; be patient, true heart. When the time comes, Malcolm and I will
be here.' And then I felt myself falling, and when I opened my eyes I
saw you sitting there by the bedside.
What a sweet dream, dearest!
Yes, I am beginning to feel the comfort of it now; but that night I
felt as though my heart were broken to be so near and then to have to
go back; but, Livy, I am trying to say it'Thy will, not mine, be
done.' God's willnot ours; surely our Father knows what is best for
His poor child.
And you are not unhappy?
Only a little sad and tired, but that will pass, it is passing
now, and the old lovely smile came to her lips. Don't you recollect
what Keble says,
''Tis sweet as year by year we lose
Friends out of sight, in faith to muse
How grows in Paradise our store.'
What are a few more years of loneliness when Fergus and I have
eternity to spend together. There, I hear Marcus's knock; he will scold
me for making you look sad.
But Aunt Madge was wrong, for once in his life Marcus was too
preoccupied to notice the signs of agitation on his wife's face.
What do you think, dear people, he said, brightly, when he had
greeted the invalid. Dr. Bevan and I have settled matters; he will
have the deed of partnership drawn up at once. Nothing can be fairer or
more liberal than his terms. I told him I had only half-a-dozen paying
patients at present, but he said that I should soon have more. We have
turned the corner, Livy, and my wife shall walk in silk attire yet,
and Marcus flung back his head with a gesture of pride and importance.
My dear laddie, I congratulate you with all my heart, returned
Aunt Madge, affectionately, as she grasped his hands. Livy looks quite
dazed, and no wonder, and then a warm flush came to Olivia's cheek.
Dear Marcus, I am so glad, so thankful, she whispered.
Yes, but it will be uphill work at first, he returned, and I
shall have plenty to do. Bevan is not the man he was, Randolph does not
seem satisfied about him; but he will pick up when the warm weather
comes. Oh, by-the-bye, Livy, I have not told you half yet. Bevan
insists on our moving at once; he wants me to take a good house, either
in Brunswick Place or Montague Square, or one of those roads leading
out of it; it is well that we have that nest egg, the five hundred
pounds untouched, it will pay for the necessary furniture, and the
first year's rent will be assured.
Yes, indeed, returned Olivia, in a low voice; she was awed and
overwhelmed by this unexpected good fortune; but Marcus would not allow
any more talking; his professional eyes had already noted the signs of
weariness and exhaustion in the invalid.
We must go now, he said, abruptly. We will talk over details
another time; it is no use giving Aunt Madge a bad night, and then
Olivia rose reluctantly and put on her wraps.
I shall come to-morrow afternoon and tell you everything, she
said, and Mrs. Broderick nodded and smiled.
But as they slipped out into the wintry darkness and Olivia took her
husband's arm, she said, with a little laugh,
I am so glad I have put on my wedding-dress to-night. I ought to be
smart for such an occasion. This is our first dinner-party since we
have been married.
Then it won't be our last, returned Marcus, in a tone of
conviction. I wonder, Livy, whether we shall ever regret those cosy
evenings in the dear little room at No. 1, Galvaston Terrace, but
Olivia only sighed happily. She was too good a wife to regret anything
that led to her husband's advancement. Very likely her cares and
responsibilities would be doubled. She would have less of Marcus's
society, and the world would have claims upon them. The long three
years' honeymoon was over, but, thank God, something else was over
too,the dread of approaching poverty, the sadness of unproductive
labour, of work done only for love's sake and without grudging.
The following afternoon Mrs. Broderick lay tranquilly in the
pleasant fire-lit twilight, awaiting Olivia's promised visit.
A pine log was spluttering and diffusing tiny coloured sparks. Zoe
lay curled up in a silken ball on the black bearskin rug, and Olivia's
favourite low chair had been wheeled to the foot of the couch, the
tea-things were on the table, and the brass trivet on the fender was
suggestive of hot buttered scones.
Oh, Aunt Madge, how cosy you look, were Olivia's first words. May
I take off my hat and jacket? I am going to stay a long time, and
Marcus hopes to come round presently.
Then we will wait tea for him, returned Aunt Madge, with something
like her old briskness.
Will you tell Deb not to bring in the kettle and scones until we
ring? Come, this is like old times. It is months since Marcus had tea
with me. Now draw up your chair, Livy, and begin your story, for you
are just bursting with news, and, though Olivia laughed at this, she
did not deny it.
We had such a lovely time last night, she began. Greta looked so
pretty in her black evening dress at the top of the table. She wore the
pearl necklace and Olive's diamond cross. She has such a beautiful
white throat the pearls hardly showed against it Mr. Gaythorne came in
to dinner and sat beside her, but he was very tired and left us
directly after, and we all went up to Greta's morning-room and sat
round the fire talking, just we four. It was so nice and cosy.
I suppose Mr. Gaythorne was told the grand news?
Oh dear, yes. He and Alwyn were so keen about it. They drank the
health of Dr. Bevan's new partner. Mr. Gaythorne proposed the toast
himself. Just as we left the dining-room I noticed that Greta detained
Alwyn, and they did not follow upstairs for quite a quarter of an hour,
but of course Marcus and I took no notice. They both looked a little
bit excited when they came in. Greta gave my arm a funny little
squeeze, and Alwyn cleared his throat and looked at Marcus, and then
said in such a serious voice that he had an important proposal to make
to us. It was Greta's idea, but he heartily approved of it. The house
at Brunswick Place was waiting for a tenant. Why should not Marcus take
it? It was to be let furnished. They had decided on that already, so
there would be no delay or fuss necessary. 'You might go in next week,'
he finished. 'The rooms only need airing and warming.'
My dear Livy, what a splendid idea. Three cheers for Greta, I say.
Yes, it was all Greta's thought; but oh, Aunt Madge, what a talk we
had. First, the terms that Alwyn proposed were so absurdly low that
Marcus got quite red and said in almost an annoyed toneyou know how
proud he isthat he must decline living at other people's expense. He
would pay a fair rent for the house or he would not have it at all. And
then Alwyn patted him on the back and told him to keep calm, for no one
wanted to insult him, and then they went on wrangling like two
schoolboys. Marcus called Alwyn a stuck-up millionaire, and Alwyn
retorted by telling him that he was as proud as a Highlander, and then
Greta and I called them to order, but we were laughing so that we could
How I should have loved to hear them. Marcus is so delicious when
he gets on his high horse.
Well, it was arranged at last to everybody's satisfaction, though
Alwyn went on grumbling for a long time, and we are to move in next
month. Marcus is to pay the full rent, and there is to be a fixed sum
paid quarterly for the furniture, and at the end of two years it will
be ours. They both thought this the best plan. You see, expenses will
be heavy the first year, and we must not look for great profits. But
there is every reasonable hope, as Marcus says, if he keeps his health,
that in a year or two he may have a good practice. There is room for
another doctor; even Dr. Randolph says so.
Well, Livy dear, I can only congratulate you.
Yes, indeed; Greta and I have been in Brunswick Place all the
morning planning things. Oh, Aunt Madge, it is such a lovely house. The
dining-room and drawing-room are such handsome rooms, and there is such
a study for Marcus. It is too large for us, of course. And then Olivia
stopped and her eyes grew very wistful.
Aunt Madge, dear Aunt Madge, we want you and Deb to go with us. I
have set my heart on it, darling, and Marcus wants it too. Don't get
pale over it, as Mrs. Broderick gave a little gasp. Listen to me a
moment, and Olivia knelt by the couch and put her arms round her.
There is Greta's morning-room on the first floor, it is such a
large, cheerful room, with a bay-window overlooking the nice,
old-fashioned garden, where you could lie and look out on the trees and
flowers; here you see nothing but the four walls. Greta's bedroom is
next to it; you would have that, too; it is a pleasant front room, very
large and airy, and so nicely furnished, and my room would be just
opposite. Deb could have the room just at the top of a short flight of
stairs; it looks on the garden, too, and she could sit there and do her
sewing. There are three or four other rooms besides attics, but they
have not been used, so you can judge what a good house it is. Aunt
Madge, do say you will come. It will make us so happy to know you are
safe under our roof. Think what it would be to me to have you at hand
in all my little difficulties. And you shall not be troubled; you shall
live your old life, and Deb will have nothing to do but take care of
you. But Aunt Madge made no answer, only a curiously sweet smite
played round her lips.
I should be no expense to you, she observed presently, in a
reflective tone. I might even be able to help a little. By-the-bye,
Livy, how many servants do you propose to keep in this palatial
I am afraid we can only afford two good ones at present. That is my
difficulty, Aunt Madge. What am I to do with Martha? She is certainly
not eligible for a house-parlourmaid.
Keep her as Dot's nurse, and I will pay her wages. Yes, I mean it,
Livy. In a year or two with careful training that girl will be worth
her weight in gold. She will be a second Deb to you in time. Oh, that
is Marcus, and we have not finished.
Well, are you coming to us, Aunt Madge? were Marcus's first words
as he entered the room. There was unmistakable eagerness in his tone.
If you do not want Livy to cry out her eyes with disappointment, and
if I am to have a peaceful moment for the next six months, I entreat
you to consent.
Am I likely to refuse, Marcus? But Aunt Madge's voice was not so
clear as usual. Don't you think that I shall love to have you and Livy
caring for me? so it is 'yes,' and God bless you both. And a slow tear
rolled down Aunt Madge's pale face.
Marcus and Olivia never repented that step. As the years went on and
other children's voices were heard in the house at Brunswick Place,
when three sturdy, boys climbed up on Dr. Luttrell's knees, and two
small, brown-eyed girls toddled after mother, Aunt Madge's room was the
heart and nucleus of the busy household.
There would come Marcus for a greeting word and a jest before he set
off on his day's round, and there Olivia would betake herself for a
rest and a chat. When her household tasks had been despatched, she
seldom found Aunt Madge alone; Nigel or Hugh would have brought her
their kites to mend, or to beg that Deb would make them new sails for
their boat, and, of course, where Nigel went, fat, sturdy Ronald
Or the twins would be playing with their Japanese babies on the
carpet, or rolling over each other and Zoe (not the same Zoe, alas!)
like kittens. But the most frequent visitor was Dot, dimpled and
winsome as ever.
Olivia had verified Aunt Madge's words. She had grown a little
stouter and more matronly, and had become a fine-looking woman, but the
eyes were as frank and kindly as ever, and one only needed to look at
her to find out that she was thoroughly in harmony with her
And Madge Broderick was happy, although the years of her widowhood
and banishment stretched out indefinitely.
You will make an old woman yet, Dr. Randolph often told her, but
she had ceased to wince when he said it as though a cold hand had
And year by year a deep peacefulness steals over the dear face, and
the ring of cheerfulness in the full, mellow voice grows stronger. I
have two lovely homes, Livy, she would say. One here with you and
Marcus and the darling children, and one in the 'many mansions,' where
Fergus and baby boy wait for me. And as she said this a radiant smile
would light her features like sunshine.