Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 22, Number 76, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 June 1901 — The Doctor’s Dilemma [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Doctor’s Dilemma

By Hesba Stretton

CHAPTER I. I think I was as nearly mad as I could *r. nearer madness, I believe, than I «hall ever be again. Three weeks of it had driven me to the very verge of desperation. I cannot say here what had brought me to this pass, for I do not •mow into whose hands these pages may Call; but I had made up my mind to per•ist in a certain line of conduct which I ftrmly believed to be right, whilst those who had authority over me were resolutely bent upon making me submit to <heir will. The conflict had been going «n, more or less violently, for months; ®ow I had come very near the end of it. 'I felt that I must either yield or go mad. There was no chance of my dying; I was Cbo strong for that. It had been raining all the day long. My eyes had followed the course of solitary drops rolling down the window panes until my head ached. There was pothh»g within my room less dreary than without. I was in London, but in what part of London I did not know. The house was situated in a highly respectable, though not altogether fashionable quarter; as I judged by the gloomy, monotonous rows of buildings which I could •ee from my windows. The people who passed up and down the streets on fine days were well-to-do persons, who could mfford to wear good and handsome -clothes. The rooms on the third floor—--any rooms, which I had not been allowed -t» leave since we entered the house, three -weeks before—were very badly furnished. The carpet was nearly threadbare, and »the curtains of dark red moreen were -very dingy. My bedroom opened upon a -dismal back yard, where a dog in a kennel howled dejectedly from time to time, <nd rattled his chain as if to remind me that I was a prisoner like himself. I had no books, no work, no music. It was a dreary place to pass a dreary time •in; and my only resource was to pace to . and fjno— to and fro from one end to an-•-other of those wretched rooms. □A. very slight sound grated on my ear; It was the hateful click of the key turning in the lock. A servant entered, carrying in a tray, upon which were a lamp .and my tea —such a meal as might be ; prepared for a school girl in disgrace. She , came up to me, as if to draw down the blinds. ■‘iLeave them,” I said; “I will do it myself by and by.” “He’s not coming home to-night,” said a woman’s voice behind me, in a scoffing ■tone.

' J could see her in the mirror without turning round. A handsome woman, with bold black eyes, and a rouged face, which showed coarsely in the ugly looking glass. She was extravagantly dressed, and not many years older than myself. I took no notice whatever of her, bat continued to gaze out steadily at the damp-lit streets and stormy sky. “It will be no better for you when he Is at home,” she said fiercely. “He hates you; he swears so a hundred times a day, jind he is determined to break your proud spirit. We shall force you to knock under sooner or later. What friends have you got anywhere to take your side? If :you'd made friends with me, my fine lady, •you’d have found it good for yourself; but you’ve chosen to make me your enjemy, and I’ll make him your enemy.” •“I set my teeth together and gave no Indication that I had heard one word of her taunting speech. My silence served to fan her fury. “Upon my soul, madam,” she almost -shrieked, “you are enough to drive me to murder! I could beat you. Ay! and I would, but for him. So then three weeks «f this hasn’t broken you down We shall try other means to-morrow.” She came up to where I stood, shook her clenched hand in my face and flung herself out of the room, pulling the door -violently after her. I turned my head .round. A thin, fine streak of light, no thicker than a thread, shone for an instant. My heart stool still, and then beat like a hammer. I stole very softly to the door, and discovered that the bolt had slipped beyond the hoop of the lock. The door was open for me! , 1 had been on the alert for such a chance ever since my imprisonment began. My sealskin hat and jacket lay ready to my hand in a drawer. I had ■not time to put on thicker boots; and it was perhaps essential to the success of >my flight to steal down the stairs in the ;aoft velvet slippers I was wearing. I ■Stepped as lightly as I could. I crept past the drawing room door. The heavy house door opened with a grating of the hinges; but I stood outside it in the shel«t«r of the portico —free, but with the rain «nd wind of a stormy night in October cheating against me. I darted straight across the muddy road -and then turned sharply round a corner. On I fled breathlessly. As I drew nearer to shop windows an omnibus driver, seeing me run toward him, pulled up his horses in expectation of a passenger. I cprang in, caring very little where it -might carry me, so that I could get quickly enough and far enough out of the reach -cf my pursuers. There had been no time to lose, tAid none was lost. The omnibus drove on again quickly, and no trace of >«ne was left. The omnibus drove into a station yard, end every passenger, inside and out, prepared to alight. I lingered till the last. The wind drove across the open space in a strong gust, as I stepped down upon the pavement. A man had just descended -from the roof, and was paying the conductor;* tall, burly man, wearing a thick ’Waterproof coat, and a seaman’s hat of allskin, with a long flap lying over the back of his neck. His face wffs brown ■•nd weather beaten, but he had kindly looking eyes. “Going down to Southampton?” said the conductor to him. “Ay, and beyond Southampton,” he answered. "Ton’ll have a rough night of it,” said the conductor. "Sixpence, if you pieaae, "Coffered an Australian sovereign, a pocket piece, which he turned over curiaualy, asking mo if I had no smaller sriiange. He grumbled when I answered

no, and the stranger who had not passed on, turned pleasantly to me. “You have no change, mam’zelle?” he asked slowly, as if English was not his ordinary speech. “Very well! are you going to Southampton?” “Yes, by the next train,” I answered, deciding upon that course without hesitation. “So am I, mam’zelle,” he said, raising hand to his oilskin cap; “I will pay this sixpence, and you can give It me again when you buy your ticket in the office.” I smiled gladly but gravely. I passed on into the station. At the ticket office they changed my Australian gold piece and I sought out my seaman friend to return the sixpence he had paid for me. I thanked him heartily. He put me into a compartment where there were only two ladies, touched his hat and ran away to a second-class carriage. In about two hours or more my fellowpassengers alighted at a large, half-de-serted station. A porter came up to me as I leaned my head through the window. “Going'on, miss?” he asked. “Oh, yes!” I answered, shrinking back into my corner seat. He remained on the step whilst the train moved on at a slackened pace, and then . .tiled up. Before me lay a dim, dark scene, with little specks of light twinkling here and there, but whether on sea or shore I could not tell. Immediately opposite the train stood the black hulls and masts and funnels of two steamers, with a glimmer of lanterns on their decks. The porter opened the door for me. “You’ve only to go on board, miss,” he

said, “your luggage will be seen to all right.” And he hurried away to open the doors of other carriages. I stood still, utterly bewildered, with the wind tossing my hair about, and the rain beating in sharp stinging drops upon my face and hands. It must have been close upon midnight. Every one was hurrying past me. I began almost to repent of the desperate step I had taken. At the gangways of the two vessels there were men shouting hoarsely, This way for the Channel Islands!” “This way fipr Havre and Paris!” To which boat should I trust-myself and my fate? A mere accident decided it. Near the fore part of the train I saw the broad, tall figure of my new friend, the seaman, making his way across to the boat for the Channel Islands; and I made up my mind to go on board the same steamer, for I had an instinctive feeling that he would prove a real friend. I went down immediately into the ladies’ cabin, which was almost empty, and chose a berth for myself in the darkest corner. It was not far from the door, and presently two other ladies came down, with a gentleman and the captain, and held an anxious parley close to me. “Is there any danger?” asked one pf the ladies. “Well, I cannot say positively there will be no danger,” answered the captain; “there's not danger enough to keep me and the crew in port; but it will be a very dirty night in the Channel. Of course we shall use extra caution, and all that sort of thing. No; I cannot say I expect any great danger.” “But it will be awfully rough?” said the gentleman. It was very stormy and dismal as soon as we were out of Southampton water, and in the rush and swirl of the Channel. It did not alarm me so much as it distracted my thoughts. My hasty escape had been so unexpected, so unhoped for, that it had bewildered me, and it was almost a pleasure to lie still and listen to the din and uproar of the sea. Was I myself or no? Was this nothing more than a very vivid dream, from which I should awaken by and by to find myself a prisoner still, a creature as wretched and friendless as any that the streets of London contained? I watched the dawn break through a little porthole opening upon my berth, which had been washed and beaten by the water all the night long. The stewardess had gone away early in the night. So I was alone, with the blending light of the early dawn and that of the lamp burning feebly from the ceiling. I sat up in my berth and cautiously unstitched the lining of my jacket. Here, months ago, when I first began to foresee this emergency, and whilst I was still allowed the use of my money, I had concealed one by one a few five-pound notes. I counted them over, eight of them; forty pounds in all, my sole fortune, my only means of living. True, I had a diamond ring and a watch and chain, but how difficult and dangerous it would be for me to sell either of them! Practically my means were limited to the eight notes of five pounds each. As the light grew I left my berth and ventured to climb the cabin *t*p*. The

fresh air smote upon me almost painfully. The sea was growing brighter, and glittered here and there in spots where the sunlight fell upon it. I stayed on deck in the biting wind, leaning over the wet bulwarks and gazing across the desolate sea till my spirits sank like lead. I was cold, and hungry, and miserable. How lonely I was! how poor! with neither a home nor a friend in the world! — a mere castaway upon the waves of this troublous life! “Mam’zelle is a brave sailor,” said a voice behind me. Which I recognized as my seaman of the night before; “but we shall be in port soon.” “What port?” I asked. “St. Peter-port,” he answered. “Mam’zelle, then, does not know our islands?” “No,” I said. “Where is St. Peterport?” “In Guernsey,” he replied. “If you were going to land at St. Peter-port I might be of some service to you.” I looked at him steadily. His voice was a very pleasant one, full of tones that went straight to my heart. His face was bronzed and weather-beaten, but his deop-set eyes had a steadfast, quiet power in them, and his mouth had a pleasant curve about it. He looked a middleaged man to me. He raised his cap as my eyes looked straight into his, and a faint smile flitted across his grave face. “I want,” I said suddenly, “to find a place where I can live very cheaply. I have not much money, and I must make it last a long time. Can you tell me of such a place?” “Yau would want a place fit for a lady?” he said. “No,” I answered. “I would do all my own work. What sort of a place do you and your wife live in?” “My poor little wife is dead,” he answered. “We live in Sark, my mother and I. lam a fisherman, but I have also a little farm. It is true we have one room to spare, which might do for mam’zelle; but the island is far away, and in the winter Sark is too mournful.” “It will be just the place I want,” I said quicklq; “it would suit me exactly. Can you let me go there at once? Will you take me with you?” “Mam’-zelle,” he replied, smiling, "the room must be made ready for you, and I must speak to my mother. If God sends

us fair weather I will come back to St. Peter-port for you in three days. My name is Tardif. You can ask the people in Peter-port what sort of a man Tardif of the Havre Gosselin is.” “I do not want any one to tell me what sort of a man you are,” I said, holding out my hand. He took it with an air of friendly protection. “What is your name, mam’zelle?” he inquired. "Oh! my name is Olivia,” I said. I went below, inexpressibly satisfied and comforted. What it was in this man that won my complete, unquestioning confidence, I did not know; but his very presence, and the sight of his good, trustworthy face, gave me a sense of security such as I have never felt before or since. Surely God had sent him to me in my great extremity.

CHAPTER 11. Looking back upon that time, now it is past, and has “rounded itself into that perfect star I saw not when I dwelt therein,” it would be untrue to represent myself as in any way unhappy. At times I wished earnestly that I had been bom among the people with whom I had now come to live. Tardif led a somewhat solitary life himself, even in this solitary island, with its scanty population. There was an ugly church, but Tardif and his mother did not frequent it. They belonged to a little knot of dissenters, who met for worship in a small room, when Tardif’ generally took the lead. For this reason a sort of coldness existed between him and the larger portion of his fellow islanders. I But there was a second and more important -cause of estrangement. He had married an Englishwoman many years ago, much to the disappointment of his neighbors; and since her death he had held himself aloof from all the good women who would have been glad enough to undertake the task of consoling him for her loss. Tardif, therefore, was left very much to himself in his isolated cottage; and his mother’s' deafness cauqpd her also to be no very great favorite with any of the gossips of the island. I learned afterwards that Tardif had said my name was Ollivier, and they jumped to the conclusion that I belonged to a family of that name in Guernsey; this shielded me from curiosity. I was nobody but a poor woman who was lodging in the spare room of Tardif’s cottage. I set myself to grow used to their mode of life, and if possible to become so useful to them that when my money was all spent they might be willing to keep me with them. As the long, dismal nights of winter set in, with the wind sweeping across the island for several days together with a dreary, monotonous moan which never ceased, I generally sat by their fire; for I had nobody but Tardif to talk to, and now and then there arose an urgent need within me to listen to some friendly voice, and to hear my own in reply. March came in with all the strength and sweetness of spring. I went out frequently to the field near the church. I was sitting there one morning. Tardif

was going to fish, and I had helped him to pack his basket. I could see him getting out of the harbor, and he had caught a glimpse of me, and stood up in hla boat, bare headed, bidding me good by. I began to sing before he was quite out of hearing, for he paused upon his oars listening, and had given me a joyous shout and waved his hat round his head, when he was sure it was I who was singing. By 12 o’clock I knew my dinner would be ready, and I had been out in the fresh air long enough to bo quite ready for it. Old Mrs. Tardif 'would be looking out for me impatiently, that she might get the meal over, and the things cleared away, and order restored in her dwelling. , .4, L (To be continued.)

“SHOOK HER CLENCHED HAND IN MY FACE.