Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 December 1890 — Dr. Elfenstein's Mission [ARTICLE]

Dr. Elfenstein's Mission

S Remarkable Romance.

BY EMILY THORNTON.

CHAPTER IX. WHAT CAME OF SIR REGINALD’S RIDE. Wc left Sir Reginald Glendenning dashing in a wild and furious way, while in a fit of vexation, down the ramble or carriage way leading from the Hall. The horsq he sat upon was almost a colt, very wild and fiery, and, as he had not been ridden for several days, was particularly spirited on this memorable morning in the latter part of May. The pathway over which they almost flew was very beautiful, surrounded on either side by grand old trees, whose soft boughs meeting, as we have before described, made a perfect canopy of green above, through which flecks of bright blue sky might be seen, and through which, also, rare slants of sunshine glinted, falling on drops of dew that lay upon the nodding grasses, or upon little clumps of flowers, whose cups lay open, ever turning skyward for a fresh supply of light or moisture. Oh, it was a glorious morning! Glorious in being a perfect contrast to the drear, damp, foggy ones that had immediately preceded it, with the fitful sunshine of the day before, that had ended in a wild storm. But Sir Reginald saw not and cared not for the beauty that lay so ravishingly around him. He had received an unwelcome letter, one presenting to him a duty, which he meant not to fulfill, and now he was sullen, morose, and angry. In order to gratify his whim, he was riding at a break-neck speed a wild young horse, going he cared not whither, nor how, so that his movements kept pace with the turmoil within. On, on they flew, past fountain, statuary, groves, and hedges, until they dashed into the open road away, away. Suddenly a large dog, roused from a drowsy morning nap by the heedless clatter of the horse’s hoofs, sprang from a doorway almost to the flanks of the startled animal, barking savagely as he did so. The suddenness of his appearing proved too much for the nervous organization of young Tempest, who, at the sight and sound, gave such a sharp, quick, sideward jump that bedashed his rider from the saddle and pitched him over his head, exactly upon a pile of stones that had been left by the roadside for removal, where he lay in a moaning heap, while he scampered carelessly on, all unmindful of the agony inflicted or the extent of the accident. But while he paused not in his mad course, human eyes saw the misfortune, and kind human hands went to the assistance of the wounded baronet. The slightest touch created the deepest agony; but that he must be carried hornet was evident to all, therefore a litter was easily constructed, and with as much tenderness as possible the sufferer was softly raised, placed upon it, and so taken to the Hall, to which a messenger had been sent ahead with the news, while another had rushed off for the Doctor. By the time the sad procession had reached the grounds of the mansion, Dr. Elfenstein was on hand, ready to superintend their entrance, and to manage their progress up the stairs to his bed chamber. It was the sight of this mournful cortege that had called the startled household to the hall, and the news of their coming that was suddenly imparted to her ladyship, as she emerged from her room on hearing the scream given by Belle, as she also heard for the first of the accident. Very tenderly he was borne along, yet with all their care the slight jars that it was impossible to prevent drew forth groans of agony, causing frequent rests to be made, so that their progress was necessarily slow and very tedious. But under Dr. Elfenstein’s quiet and calm directions the last stair was reached in safety, and after one more turn in the hall he was placed upon his own bed in a large and airy room, and his sympathetic, bearers wiped their heated brows, and drew a long breath of unspeakable relief. For a few moments a breathless silence reigned, then the sufferer turned his pallid face to the Doctor, and begged him to see at once what was the full and exact extent of his injuries. After a thorough and careful investigation, which caused great anguish, made evident by groans, mingled, I am sorry to say, with cqrses, the Doctor hastened to reply to his impatient demand to .know the exact truth. I M I am nappy to, inform your lordship that the injuries, while severe, are not necessarily fatal,” was the honest reply. •Shall I soon be over them?” was the

next question that issued anxiously from the pale lips of the sufferer. •You will not, I am grieved to inform you. Your hip is so injured that you will be helpless for weeks, nay, months, while your spine also has received a terrible wrench." “Doctor, I cannot lie here a single night; I must get up, and go around my house," returned the patient, throwing off the clothes in great excitement, and striving to raise himself in vain, while great drops of perspiration gathered upon his pale brow, brought there by the effort. •You see yourself that it is impossible. You must obey orders and lie perfectly quiet, if you ever expect to walk again." “I tell you I cannot lie here," shouted the sufferer, in the greatest agony of mind. “You don’t know what you say when you demand it. I must, I will be around by night. It is of vital importance." “I cannot help it. The dealings of Providence are mysterious, but also are inevitable. Your hip is broken, your spine is injured, and you are a prisoner for months," was the Doctor’s serious but firm reply. “My God! what on earth then is to become of my poor ” His lordship paused, wiped the great drops of agony from his brow, and concluded the sentence in a feeble wall, “my poor plans, my business. ” “Do not worry over your earthly affairs. You surely can give orders to some person to attend to all and everything. Y’our chief duty now is to bear up, while I do what I can for your relief, so that you may at least have a comfortable night, if there is comfort to be had after so dreadful an accident,” returned the physician. “Doctor, answer me one question, and, at your peril, answer truly. Is there danger of delirium? Will my mind give way under this awful pain?” “I think not. Your constitution is a good one, and your nervous system not at all shattered; but of course I do not say for a certainty, as these things are beyond a physician’s knowledge.” “If there is the least danger of that within twenty-four hours I must know it, as I have business of vital importance to transact. ” There is no danger within that time, rest assured; so try and calm yourself, for the sake of your friends,” returned the Doctor. Sir Reginald was silent for a moment; then his eyes rested half-inquiringly upon his weeping wife and niece, then fixed themselves, as if in deep study, upon the face of his nephew, while bitter sighs escaped his white, trembling lips. “Drink this, my dear sir, and it will, I hope, relieve you,” said the Doctor at last, advancing to his side with some liquid medicine in a glass. “Answer first, will it deaden thought? If it will, I cannot swallow it, as I have a terrible problem to be solved before my mind can have a rest,” was the strange reply. “Drink it. It may soothe pain, but, I assure you, notpfeverft reflection.” So the trembling baronet swallowed the potion, and then became silent and thoughtful. Dr Elfenstein waited until he saw his patient calmed and more pliable, then proceeded to replace the bone of the broken hip and arrange the sufferer in the position most important for the success of his sutgery. After giving explicit directions to Lady Constance and Mrs. Fredon, an old family nurse, for his further treatment, he withdrew, promising to return by evening to see how his remedies were working, and to bring other needed articles for his comfort and relief. No sooner had the door closed upon his retiring form than Sir Reginald ordered every soul to leave the room except Lady Constance, merely explaining to the wondering ones that he must consult his wife upon a matter of importance. “Constance,” said he, when he saw that his order had been obeyed and that they were alone, “go to my library and get me from the locked drawer of my bookcase, a letter which lies upon the very top. The key you will find in my pocket.” Lady Constance instantly did as he directed, and the letter from his dead sister was once more in his hand. This time he read it in a different mood.

Instead of anger, one could see intense satisfaction in his eager eyes. “Now, I will tell you the request made of me in this letter, ” and he repeated to her the words we read over the shoulders of his niece and nephew, as they stealthily possessed themselves of its contents. “This girl needs a home for a few months. I need some private assistance, and you need some person to aid you and the nurse in taking, care of me, or at least in amusing me. If this Ethel is willing to do as I wish, I will pay her for her services well, and thus my sister's desires will be carried out. What say you to the arrangment?” . “I am perfectly willing to acquiesce in what you think best,” was the meek reply of the wife. “Then give me a paper and pencil while I write a telegraphic dispatch. “There,” said he, handing her the following message, addressed to the person alluded to: “Sir Glendenning is ill. You can be useful here if you wish, so come instantly. Answer; Will be met at station. ” “Call the coachman; tell him to take Jerry and go with all speed to the office and see that this is sent at once. Have him wait for an answer.” A short time elapsed only, when Matthew returned with this message: “I will come to you on the 4 o’clock train.” A few word? concisely written, but onthem hung a long train of terribleevents that the movements of the dread future could alone unfold. CHAPTER X. MRS. NEVERGAIL. We will now return to look a litt’c into the welfare of Mrs. Nevergail and her sorrowful niec£, after they had reached the home of their relative, Mr. Charles Rogers, in Charles street, Liverpool, and bidden the handsome young physician farewell, who had cared for them both so tenderly during their passage across the Atlantic. It need only be said, in reference to that farewell, that the tears rushed to the hazel eyes of Ethel as she saw him disappear in the distance, and a great and lonely void seemed suddenly to have dropped into her heart. She knew not why she had taken such a deep interest in this grave and often preoccupied stranger, but from the first’ word of kindness spoken to her, the first glance into his earnest eyes, she had felt toward him as she had never done toward any person of the opposite sex before. Then he had been so tender and kind

toward her suffering charge, had looked so gently after the welfare of each, that she had learned to trust him implicitly, to look to him for advice, and .to lean upon him as a sister would upon a brother while thrown so much together upon the deep. But now it was all over. He had gone, and henceforward she could but learn to do without him. For a day or so it had almost seemed an impossibility, but with the rapid failure of her aunt’s strength her thoughts were forced into another channel, and her own lonely feelings had to be pushed aside for the more momentous and important one of their impending separation. The third week was drawing to a close, and the young girl had thrown herself upon her knees by the bedside of the invalid to catch the last words that she had to speak in her ear. At* her request, she had been left alone with her child, and now, with her hand in hers, she murmured: “Ethel, darling, I feel that I have but a few hours more to be with you, as my strength is fast waning; but while I may, I wish to tell you what I thought might be. kept from your ears until your twenty-first birthday; but as I shall not be with you then, I must impart to you now an important secret, and give into your charge some documents not to be opened until that day. My dear, will you take those papers, and promise me that you will not break their seal until that time arrives?” “I will, dearest aunt; rest assured I will do exactly as you wish.” “The papers I speak of, then, are in my trunk, inside a small wallet. Take charge of them immediately, and be sure to attend to them at the time I mention. Now, I must tell you a fact that I have withheld from your knowledge for the best of reasons, and in order to keep a solemn pledge of secrecy given to your father when a babe. I took you, as you are aware, when a child of a few weeks old, as my own had died, as well as my husband’s sister, who was your own dear mother. “You were so young, and to be so entirely ours until your twenty-first birthday, that all thought it best to call you by our own name. I now tell you, for the first time, what has been kept secret. Your father still lives, but for various reasons did not wish to claim you or be known to you until that time. I have informed him of my husband’s death, my failing health, and of my Return to England. I have also given him Cousin Rogers’ address, who will also tell him where you can be found when that date arrives. “I will only.add that there is nothing to be ashamed of in your birth. You are a true gentlewoman, and when twenty-one will come into property sufficient for your support; but this fact is not to be generally known. Four months will elapse before that time comes, and I can leave only enough to bury me and purchase suitable mourning apparel for yourself. “I dare not leave you without a protector and guardian, and as our present host is poor and has a struggle to provide for his own six children anti wife, I have written to my brother, Sir Reginald Glendenning, asking him to take charge of you. I told him unless he did you would be obliged to earn your own living, and I hated to send you out into the world alone for such a purpose. 1 asked him if you could not be of use in some to him, until the fifth of October, when you would be otherwise provided for.’ This letter must be sent after my intorment. Let him be notified of my death and invited to my funeral; then, after all is over and your mourning garments are made, send him the letter. “Now, my love, I wish you to promise me that you will go to him if he sends for you, and assist him in whatever capacity he offers, even though it may be distasteful. Will you do this for your dying aunt, Ethel, my child?” “I surely will,” was the low reply, sobbed out almost with a wail, “but I cannot think of your dying. O, auntie! I have loved you so, how can I live without you?” “ ‘As thy day, so shall thy strength be,’ is all I can say. God will comfort you, and in a few more months your father will claim and protect you.” “Thank God for that. >Dear aunt, I shall rejoice in that father’s love, I trust. ”

“You will, my darling. But what is this? I cannot see! lam growing numb —cold, Ethel —Ethel—l am dying!” She spoke no more, and as Mr. and Mrs. Rogers hastened back to the room at Ethel’s hurried call, they saw that she was indeed breathing her last. Ethel mourned, as one with such a loving heart would naturally do over her great loss, but amid all her grief she remembered distinctly every direction she had received from those loved, dying lips. The package spoken of was hidden instantly amid her own possessions, and a message dispatched to the baronet, notifying him of his sister’s death and the hour of her funeral. To this no answer was vouchsafed. The day came and passed without his presence, and in a little less than a week after all was over, the letter to be delivered after death was forwarded to Glendenning Hall. The next day a telegraphic dispatch summoned the young girl immediately to the presence of the baronet, saying “that he was ill, and needed her at once.” An hour later saw her seated in a railway train that passed through shire, on her way to the Hall. Poor girl; she little knew what awaited her there. [to be continued.]