Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 22, Number 81, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 June 1901 — The Doctor's Dilemma [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Doctor's Dilemma

By Hesba Stretton

CHAPTER Vl.—(Continued.) We walked home together. We had a good deal to talk of during the evening, and sat qp late. It was midnight before I found myself alone in my own room. I had half forgotten the crumpled paper in my waistcoat pocket, but now I smoothed it out before me and pondered over every word. No, there could not be a doubt that it referred to Miss Ollivier. Why should she have strayed from home? That was the question. What possible reason could there have been, strong enough to impel a young and delicately nurtured girl to run all the risks and dangers of a flight alone and unprotected? What ought I to do with this adver- ’ tisement, thrust, as it would seem, purposely under my notice? What was I to do with the clue? I might communicate at once with Messrs. Scott and Brown, giving them the information they had advertised for six months before. I might sell my knowledge of Miss Ollivies for fifty pounds. In doing so I might render her a great service, by restoring her to her proper sphere in society. But the recollection of Tardif’s description of her as looking terrified and hunted recurred vividly to me. The advertisement put her age as twenty-one. I should not have judged her so old myself, especially glace her hair had been cut short. I was not prepared to deliver her up until I knew something more of both sides of the question. Settled—that if I could see Messrs. Scott and Brown and learn something about Miss Ollivier's friends, I might be then able to decide whether I would betray her to them; but I would not write. Also, that I must see her again first, and once more urge her to have confidence in me. If she would trust me with her secret, I would be as true to her as a friend as I meant to be true to Julia. Having come to these conclusions, I cut the advertisement carefully out of the crumpled paper, and placed it in my pocketbook with portraits of my mother and Julia. Here were mementoes of the three women I cared most for in the ■world—my mother first, Julia second, and my mysterious patient third.

CHAPTER VII. I was neither in gooil spirits nor in Sood temper' during the next few days. [y mother and Julia astonished at this, for I was not ordinarily as touchy and fractious as I showed myself Immediately after my sojourn in Sark. I was ashamed of it myself. The new house, which occupied their time and thoughts so agreeably, worried the as it had not done before. I made' every possible excuse not to be sent to it, or taken to it, several times a day. It was positively necessary that I should run over to Sark this week—l had given my word to Miss Ollivier that I would do so—but I dared net mention such a project at home. My mother and Julia would be up in arms at the first syllable I uttered. What if I could do two patients good at one stroke—kill two birds with one stone? Captain Carey had a pretty little yacht lying idle in St. Sampson’s harbor, and a day’s cruising would do him all the good in the world. Why should he not carry me over to Sark, when I cduld visit my other patient, and nobody be made miserable by the trip? “I will ipake you up some of your old medicine,” I said, “bifit I strongly recommend you to have a day out oh the water; seven or eight hours at any rate. If the weather keeps as fine as it is now, ’it will do you a world of good.” “It is so dreary alone,” he oljjeeted. “If I could manage it,” I said, deliberating, “I should be glad to have a day with you.” “Ah! if you could do that!” he replied eagerly. “I’ll see about it,”'l said. “Should you mind where you sailed to?” “Not at all, not at all, my boy,” he answered, “so that I get your company. You shall be* skipper or helmsman, or both, if you like.” “Well, then, I replied, “you might take me over to the Havre Gosselin, to see how my patient's broken arm is going on. It's a bore theife being no resident medical man there at this moment.” The run over was all that we could wish. The cockle-shell of a boat belonging to the yacht lf»re me to the foot of the ladder hanging down the rock at Havre Gosselin. A very few minutes took me to the top of the cliff, and there lay the little thatched nest-like home of my patient. I hastened forward eagerly. All was silent as I crossed the atony causeway of the yard. Not a face looked out from door or window. Mam’zelle’s casement stood a little way open, and the breeze played with the curtains, fluttering them like banners in a procession. I dared not try to look in. The house door was ajar, and I approached it cautiously. “Thank heaven!” I cried within myself as I gazed eagerly into the cottage. She was lying there upon the fern-bed, halt asleep, her head fallen back upon the pillow, and the book she had been reading dropped from her hand. The whole iuterior of the cottage formed a picture. The old furniture of oak, the neutral tints of the wall and ceiling, and the deep tone of her green dress threw oat into strong relief the graceful shinlag head and pale face. I suppose she became subtly conscious, as women always are, that somebody’s eyes were fixed upon her, for she awoke fully and looked up as I lingered on the door sill. “Oh, Dr. Martin!” cried, “I am so glad I” “I am come to see how my work is going on,” I said. “How is the arm, first of alir I almost wished that mother Renouf or Suzanne Tardif had been at hand. But Miss Ollivier seemed perfectly composed, as much so as a child. She looked like one with her cropped head of hair, and frank, open face. My own momentary embarrassment passed away. The arm was going on all right, and so was mother Beaonfs charge, the sprained ankle.

“We must take care you*are not lame,” I said. “You must promise mie not to set your foot on the ground, or in any way rest your weight upon it, till I give you leave.” “That means that you will have to come to see me again,” she said; “is it not very difficult to come over from Guernsey ?” “Not at all,” I answered, “it ih quite a treht to me." Her face grew very grave, as if she was thinking of some unpleasant topic. She looked at me earnestly and questioningly. “May I speak to you with great plainness, Dr. Martin?” she asked. “Speak precisely what is in your mind at this moment,” I replied. “You are very, very good to me,” she said, holding out her hand to me, “but I do not want you to come more often than is quite necessary, because I. am very poor. If I were rich,” she went on hurriedly, “I should like you to come every day—it is so pleasant—but I can never pay you sufficiently for that long week you were here. So please do not visit me oftener than is quite necessary.” My face felt hot, but I scarcely knew what to say. I bungled out an answer. “I would not take any money from you, and I shall come to see you as often as I can.” “You are not offended with me, Dr. Martin?” she asked, in a pleading tone. “No,” I answered; “but you are mistaken in supposing a medical man has no love for his profession apart from its profits. To see that your arm gets properly well is part of my duty, and I shall

fulfill it without any thought of whether I shall get paid for it or no.” “Now,” she said, “I must let you know how poor I am. Will you please tofetch me my box out of my room?” I was only too glad to obey her. This seemed to be an opening to a complete confidence between us. Now I came to think of it, fortune had favored me in thus throwing us together alone. I lifted the small, light box very easily —there could not be many treasures in it—and carried it back to her. She took a key out of her pocket and unlocked if with some difficulty, but she could not raise the lid without my help. I took cars not to offer any assistance until she asked it. Yes, there were very few possessions in that light trunk, but the first glance showed me a blue silk dress and sealskin jacket amd hat. I lifted them out for her, and after them a pair of velvet slippers, soiled, as if they had been through muddy roads.' I did not utter a remark. Beneath these lay a handsome watch and chain, a tine diamond ring and five sovereigns lying loose in the box. “That is all the money I have in the world,” she said sadly. y I laid the five sovereigns in her small white hand, and she turned them over, one after another, with a pitiful look on her face. I felt foolish enough to cry cfver them myself. “Dr. Martin,” was her unexpected question after a long pause, “do you know' what became of my hair?” “Why?” I asked, looking at her fingers running through the short curls we had left her. “Because that ought to be sold for something,” she said. “I am almost glad you had it cut off. My hairdresser told me once he would give five guineas for a head of hair like mine, it was so long, and the color was uncommon. Five guineas Would not be half enough to pay you, though, I know.” She spoke so simply and quietly that I did not attempt to remonstrate with her about her anxiety to pay me. “Tardif has it,” I said; “but of course he Will giye it you back again. Shall I sell it for you, inam’zelle?” “Oh, that is just whnt I could not ask you!” she exclaimed. “You see there is no one to buy it here, and I hope it may be a long time before Igo away. I don’t know, though; that depends upon whether I can dispose of my things. There is my sealskin, it cost twenty-five guineas last year, and it ought to be worth something. And my watch—see what a nice one it is. I should like to sell them ail, every one. Then I could stay here as long as the money lasted.” “How much do you pay here?” I inquired, for she had taken me so far into counsel that I felt justified in asking that question. * “A pound a week," she answered. “A pound a week!” I repeated, in amazement. “Does Tardif know that?” “I don’t think he does,” she said. ‘'When I lyid been here a week I gave Mrs. Tardif a sovereign, thinking perhaps ahe .would give me a little out of it. I am not used to being poor, and I did not know how much I ought to pay. But ■he kept it all, and came to me every

week for more. Was It too much to pay?" _ ■ “Too much!” I said. “You should hawe spoken to Tardif about it, my poor child.” “I could not talk to Tardif about hi* mother,” she answered. “Besides, it would not have been tpo much, if I had only had plenty. But it has made me so anxious. I did not know whatever I should do when it was all gone. Ido not know now.” Here was a capital opening for a queetion about her friends. . “You will be compelled to communicate with your family,” I said. "You have told me how poo,- you are; cannot you trust me your friends?” “I have no friends,” she answered sorrowfully. “If I had any, do you suppose I should be here?” “I am one,” I said, “and Tardif is another.” “Ah, new friends,” she replied; “but I mean real old friends who have known you all your life, like your mother, Dr. Martin, or your cousin Julia. I want somebody to go to who knows all about me, and say to them, after telling them everything, keeping nothing back at all, ‘Have I done right? What else ought I 'to have done?’ No new friend could answer questions like those.” Was there any reason I could bring forward to increase her confidence in me? I thought there was, and her friendlessness and helplessness touched me to the core of my heart. Yet it was with an indefinable reluctance that I brought forward my argument. “Miss Ollivier,” I said, “I have no claim of old acquaintance or friendship, yet it is possible I might answer those questions, if. you could prevail upon yourself to tell me the circumstances of your former life.' In a few weeks I shall be in a position to show you more friendship than I can do now. I shall have a home of my own, and a wife, who will be your friend more fittingly, perhaps, than myself.” “I knew it,” she answered, half shyly. “Tardif told me you were going to marry your cousin Julia.” Just then we heard the foldyard gate swing to behind some one who was coming to the house. It was an immense relief to see only tall figure crossing the yard

slowly. I hailed him, and he quickened his pace, his honest features lighting up at the sight of me. “How do you find mam'zelle, doctor?” were his first eager words. “All right, I said; “going on famously. Sark is enough to cure any one and anything of itself, Tardif. There is no air like it. I should not mind being a little ill here myself.” “Captain Carey is impatient to be gone,” he continued. “He sent word by me that you might be visiting every house in the island, you had been away so long.” “Not so very long,” I said, testily; “but I will just run in and say good by, and then I want you to walk with me to the cliff.” I turned back for a last look and a last word. No chance of learning her secret now. The picture was as perfect aw when I had had the first glimpse of it, only her face had grown, if possible, more charming after my renewed scrutiny of it. “Shall I send you the hair?” asked Miss Ollivier. “To be sure,” I answered. “I shall dispose of it to advantage, but I have not time to wait for it now.” “And may I write a letter to you?” “Yes,” was my reply. I was too pleased to express myself more eloquently. “Good-by,” she said; “you are a very gooil doctor to me.” “And friend?” I added. “And friend,” she repeated. For the next few days I waited with some impatience for Miss Ollivier's promised letter. It came at last, and I put it into my pocket to read when I was alone —why, I could scarcely have explained to myself. It ran thus: “Dear Dr. Martin —I have no little commission to trouble you with. Tardif tells me it was quite a mistake, his mother takiug a sovereign from me each week. She does not understand English money; and he says I have paid quite sufficient to stay with them a whole year longer without paying any more. I am quite content about that now. Tardif says, too, that he has a friend in Southampton who will buy my hair, and give more than anybody in Guernsey. So I need not trouble you about it, though I am sure you would have done'it for me. “Good by, my good doctor. I am trying to do everything you told me exactly; and lam getting well again fast. I do not believe I shall be lame; you are too clevei for that. Your patient, "OLIVIA." Olivia! I looked at the word again to make sure of it. Then It was not her surname that was Ollivier, and I was still ignorant of thut. I saw in a moment how the mistake had arisen, and how innocent was of any deception in the matter. Bbe would tell Tardif that her name was Olivia, and he thought only of the Olliviers he knew. It was a mistake that had been of use in checking curiosity, and I did not feel bound to put it right. My mother and Julia appeared to have forgotten my patient in Sark altogether. ' Olivia! I thought it a rorf pretty name, and repeated it to myself with its abbreviations. Olive, Livy. It was diffl-

cult to abbreviate Julia; Ju, I had called her in my rudest schoolboy days. I wondered how high Olivia would stand beside me;' for I had never seen her on her feet. Julia was not two inches shorter than myself; a tall, stiff figure, neither slender enough to be lissome, nor wellproportioned enough to be majestic. But she waa very good, und qer price was far above rubies. I visited Sark again in about ten days, to Set Olivia free from my embargo upon her walking. I allowed her to walk a little way along a smooth meadow path, leaning on my arm; and I found that she was a head lower than mysdlf—a beautiful height for a woman. That time Captain Carey had set me down at the Havre Gosselin, appointing to meet at the Creux harbor, which was exactly on the opposite side of the island. In crossing over to it—a distance of rather more than a mile —I encountered Julia’s friends, Emma and Maria Brouard. “You here again, Martin!” exclaimed Emma. “Yes,” I answered; “Captain Carey set me down at the Havre Gosselin, and is gone round to, meet me at the Creux.” “You have been to see that young person?” asked Maria.' “Yes,” I replied. “She is a very singular young woman,” she continued; “we think beibstupld: We cannot make anything of her. But there is no doubt poor Tardif means to marry her.” “Nonsense!" I ejaculated hotly; “I beg your pardon. Maria, but I give Tardif credit for sense enough to know his own position.” I had half an hour to wait in the little harbor, its great cliffs rising all about me, with only a tunnel bored through them to form an entrance to the-green island within. My rage had partly fumed itself away before the yacht came in sight. (To be continued.)

“HALF ASLEEP.”