Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 22, Number 85, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 July 1901 — The Doctor's Dilemma [ARTICLE]

The Doctor's Dilemma

CHAPTER IX. I took care not to reach home before th* hour when Julia usually went to bed. it was quite vain to think of sleep that ailyht I had soon worked myself up into that state of nervous, restless agitation when one cannot remain quietly in a room. About one o’clock I opened my door as softly as possible and stole silently downstairs. Madam was my favorite mare, first*ate at a gallop when she was In good temper, but apt to turn vicious now and then. She was in good temper to-night, and pricked up her ears and whinnied when I unlocked the stable door. In a tow minutes we were going up the tjrange road at a moderate pace till we reached the open country. It was a cod, quiet night in May. A tew of the larger fixed stars twinkled ®alely in the sky, but the smaller ones were drowned in the full moonlight. I turned off the road to get nearer the sea. and rode along sandy lanes, with banks »as turf Instead of hedge rows, which were covered thickly with pale primroses, ahining with the same hue as the moon above them. Now and then I came in full sight of the sea, glittering in the silvery light. I crossed the head of a gorge, and stopped for a while to gaze down it, till my flesh crept. It was not more than a few yards la breadth, but it was of unknown depth, and the rocks stood above it with a thick, heavy blackness. The tide was rushing Into its narrow channel with a thunder which throbbed like a pulse; yet in the Intervals of its pulsation I could catch the thin, prattling tinkle of a brook running merrily down the gorge to plunge headlong into the sea. • As the sun rose, Sark looked very near, and the sea, a plain of silvery blue, seemed solid and firm enough to afford me a road across to it. A white mist lay like a huge snowdrift m hazy,,broad curves aver the Havre Gosselin, with sharp >eaks of cliffs piercing through. Olivia was sleeping yonder behind that veil of chining mist; and dear as Guernsey was to me s she was a hundred-fold dearer. But my night's ride had not made my ■day's task any easier for me. No new light had dawned upon my difficulty. There was no loophole for me to escape from the most painful and perplexing ftralt I had ever been in. How was Ito break it to Julia? and when? It was quite plain to me that the sooner it was •ver the better it would be soy myself, •nd perhaps the better for her. How Was I to go through my morning’s calls? I resolved to have it over as soon as breakfast was finished. Yet when breakfast came I was listening intently for come summons which would give me an liour's grace from fulfilling my own determination. I prolonged my meal, keepIng my mother in her place at the table; for she had never given up her office of g>ouring out my tea and coffee. I finished at last, and still no urgent message had come for me. My mother left us together alone, as her custom was, for what time I had to spare—a variable quantity always vyith me. Now was the dreaded moment. But Ihow was Ito begin? Julia was so calm .and unsuspecting. In what words could J convey my fatal meaning most gently to her? My head throbbed, and I could not raise my eyes to her face. Yet it must be done. "Dear Julia,” I said, in as firm a voice as I could command. "Yes, Martin.” But just then Grace, the housemaid, “knocked emphatically at the door, and after a due pause entered with a sniiling, cignificant face, yet with an apologetic •ourtcay. “If you please, Dr. Martin," she said, •I'm very sorry, but Mrs. Lihou’s baby la taken with convulsion fits; and they want you to go as fast as ever you can, please, sir.” Was I sorry or glad? I could not tell. It was a reprieve; but then I knew positively it was nothing more than a reSrieve. The sentence must be executed, ulia came to me, bent her cheek towards me, and I kissed it. That was our usual •alutatlon when our morning's interview Was ended. "I am going down to the new house,” «he said. ”1 lost a good deal of time yesterday, and I must make up for it to-day. Shall you be passing by at any time, Martin?” "Yes —no —I cannot tell exactly,” I Stammered. "If you are passing, come in for a few minutes,” she answered; "I have a thousand things to speak to you about.” I was not overworked that morning. The convulsions of Mrs. Lihou’s baby were not at all serious. So I had plenty •f time to call upon Julia at the new house; but I could not summon sufficient courage. The morning slipped away Whilst I was loitering about Fort George, •nd chatting carelessly with the officers quartered there. I went down reluctantly at length to the new house; but it was at almost the last hour. Doggedly, but sick at heart with myself and all the world, I went down to meet- my doom. Julia was sitting alone In the drawing room, which overlooked the harbor and the group of islands across the channel. There was no fear of interruption. It Was an understood thing that at present •nly Julia's most intimate friends had been admitted into our new house, and then by special invitation alone. There was a very happy, very placid •xpression on her face. Every harsh line •eemed softened, and a pleased smile ylayod about her lips. Her dress was eae of those simple, fresh, clean muslin •owns, with knots of ribbon about it, which make a plain woman almost pretty, and a pretty woman bewitching. "I am very glad you are come, my dear Martin,” she said softly. I dared not dally another moment I gsmst take my plunge at once into the ley-cold waters. "I have something of importance to say A* you, dear cousin,” I began. I sat down on the broad window sill, 4kstead of on the chair close to hers. She ieoked up at that, and fixed her eyes up mo keenly. I had often quailed be-

By Hesba Stretton

fore Julia's gaze as a boy, but never as I did now. “Well! what is it?” she asked curtly. The incisiveness of her tone brought life into me, as a probe sometimes brings a patient out of stupor. “Julia,” I said, “are you quite sure you love me enough to be happy with me as my wife?” “I know you well enough to be as happy as the day is long with you,” she replied, the color rushing to her face. “You do not often look as if you loved me,” I said at last. “That is only my way,” she answered. “I can't be soft and purring like many women. I don’t care to be always kissing and hanging about anybody. But if you are afraid I don’t love you enoughwell! I will ask you what you think in ten years’ time.” “What would you say if I told you 1 had once loyed a girl better than I do you?” I asked. “That’s not true,” she said sharply. “I’ve known you all your life, and you could not hide such a thing from your mother and me. You are only laughing at me, Martin.” * “Heaven knows I’m not laughing,” I answered solemnly; “it’s no laughing matter. Julia, there is a girl I love better than you, even now.” The color and the smile faded out of her face, leaving it ashy pale. Her lips parted once or twice, but her voice failed her. Then she broke out into a short hysterical laugh. “You are talking nonsense, dear Martin,” she gasped; “you ought not! I am not very strong. Tell me it is a joke.” “I cannot," I replied, painfully and sorrowfully; “it is the truth, though I would almost rather face death than own it. I love you dearly, Julia; but I love another woman better.” There was dead silence in the room after those words. I could not hear Julia breathe or move, and I could not look at her. My eyes were turned towards the window and the islands across the sea, purple and hazy in the distance. ‘'Leave me!” she said, after a very long stillness; “go away, Martin.” “I cannot leave you alone,” I exclaimed; “no, I will not, Julia. Let me tell you more; let me explain it all. You ought to know everything now.” “Go away!” she repeated, in a mechanical way. I hesitated still, seeing her white and trembling, with her eyes glassy and fixed. But she motioned me from her towards the door, and her pale lips parted again to reiterate her command. How I crossed that room I do not know; but the moment after I had closed the door I heard the turn in the lock. I dared not quit the house and leave her alone in such a state; and I longed ardently to hear the clocks chime five, and the sound of Johanna’s coach wheels on the roughly paved street. That Mas one of the longest half hours in my life. I stood at the street door watching and 'waiting, and nodding to people who passed by, and who simpered at me in the most inane fashion. The fools! I called them to myself. At length Johanna turned the corner, and her pony carriage came rattling cheerfully over the large round stones. I ran to meet her.

“For heaven's sake go to Julia!” I cried. “I have told her.” “And what does she say?” asked Johanna. “Not a word, not a syllable,” I replied, “except to bid me go away. She has locked herself into the drawing room.” “Then you had better go away altogether,” she said, “and leave me to deal with her. Don't come in, and then I can say you are not here.” A friend of mine lived in the opposite house, and though I knew he was not at home, I knocked at his door and asked permission to rest for a while. ♦ The windows looked into the street, and there I sat watching the door of our new house, for Johanna and Julia to come out. At length Julia appeared, her face completely hidden behind a veil. Johanna helped her into the low carriage, as if she had been an invalid. Then they drove off, and were soon out of my sight. By this time our dinner hour was near, and I knew my mother would be looking out for us both. I was thankful to find at the table a visitor, one of my father’s patients, a widow, with a high color, a loud voice and boisterous spirits, who kept up a rattle of conversation with Dr. Dobree. My mother glanced anxiously at me, but she could say little. “Where is Julia?” she had inquired, as we sat down to dinner without her. “Julia?” I said absently; “oh! she is gone to the Vale, with Johanna Carey.” “Will she come back to-night?” asked my mother. “Not to night,” I said aloud; but to myself I added, "nor for many nights to come; never, most probably, whilst I am under this roof. We have been building our house upon the sand, aife the floods have come, and the winds have blown, and the house has fallen; but my mother kpows nothing of the catastrophe yet.” ' She read trouble in my face, as clearly as one sees a thunder cloud in the sky, and she could not rest till she had fathw omed it. I went up into my own room, where I should be alone to think over things. I heard her tapping lightly at the door. She was not in the habit of leaving her guests, and I was surprised and perplexed at seeing her. "Your father and Mrs. Murray are having a game of chess," she said. “We can be alone together half an hour. And now tell me what is the matter? These is something going wrong with you.” She sank down weariedly into a chair, and I knelt down beside her. It was almost harder to tell her than to tell Julia; but it was worse than useless to put off the evil moment. “Mother, I am not going to marry my cousin, for I love somebody else, and I told Julia so this afternoon. It la broken off for good now." She gave me no answer, and I looked up into her dear face in alarm., It had grown rigid, and a peculiar blue tinge of pallor was spreading over it. Her head had fallen £ack against the chair. It

was several minutes before she breathed freely and naturally, 'then she did not look at me, but lifted up her eyes to the pale evening sky, and her lips quivered with agitation. “Martin,, it will be the death of me,” she Said; and a few tears stole down her cheeks, which I wiped away. “It shall not be the death of you,” I exclaimed. “If Julia is willing to marry me, knowing the whole truth, I am ready to mdrry her for your sake, mother. I would do anything for your sake. But Johanna said she ought to be told, and I think it was right myself.” “Who is it, who can it be that you love?” “Mother,” I said, “I wish I had told you before, but I did not know that I loved the girl as I do till I saw her yesterday in Sark.” “That girl!” she cried. “One of the Olliviers! Oh, Martin, you must marry in your own class.” “That was a mistake,” I answered. “Her Christian aame Is Olivia; I do not know what her surname is.” “Not know even her name!" she exclaimed. “Listen, mother,'” I said; and then I told her all I knew about Olivia. “Oh, Martin, Martin!” wailed my poor mother, breaking down again suddenly. “I did so long to see you in a home of your own! Aryl Julia was so generous, never looking as if all the money was hers, and you ■without a penny! What is to become of you now, my boy? I wish I had been dead and in my grave before this had happened!” “Hush, mother!” I said, kneeling down again beside her and kissing her tenderly; “it is still in Julia's hands. If she will marry me, I shall marry her.” “But then you will not be happy?” she said, with fresh sobs. It was impossible for me to contradict that. I felt that no misery would be equal to that of losing Olivia. But I did my best to comfort my mother, by promising to see Julia the next day and renew my engagement, if possible. “Pray, may I be informe_d as to what is the matter now?” broke in a satirical, cutting voice—the voice of my father. It roused us both —my mother to her usual mood of gentle submission, and me to the chronic state of irritation which his presence always provoked in me. “Not much, sir," I answered coldly; “only my marriage with my cousin Julia is broken off.” “Broken off!” he ejaculated, “broken off!” <

CHAPTER X. My father stood motionless for a moment. Then slowly he sank into a chair. “I am a ruined and disgraced man," he said, without looking up; “if you have broken off your marriage with Julia, I shall never raise my head again.” “But why?” I asked uneasily. “Come down into my consulting room,” he said. I went on before him, carrying the lamp, and turning round once or twice saw his face look grey, and the expression of it vacant and troubled. His consulting room was a luxurious room, elegantly furnished. He sank down into an easy chair, shivering as if we were in the depth of winter. “Martin, I am a ruined man!” he said, for the second time. “But how?” I asked again, impatiently. “I dare not tell you,” he cried, leaning his head upon his desk and sbbbing. How white his hair was! and how aged he looked! My heart softened and warmed to him as it had not done for years. “Father!” I said, “if you can trust any one, you cafi trust me. If you are ruined and disgraced I shall be the same, as your son.” “That’s true,” he answered, “that’s true! It will bring disgrace on you and your mother. We shall be forced to leave Guernsey, where she has lived all her life; and it will be the death of her. Martin, you must save us all by making it up with Julia.” -“But why?” I demanded, once more. “I must know what you mean.” “Mean?” he said, turning upon me angrily, “ybu blockhead! I mean that unless you marry Julia I shall have to give an account of her property; and I could not make all square, not if I sold every stick and stone I possess.” I sat silent for a time, trying to take in this piece of information. He had been Julia’s guardian ever since she was left an orphan, ten years old; but I had never known that there had not been a formal and legal settlement of her affairs when she was of age. Our family name had- no blot iipon it; it was one of the most honored names in the island. But if this came to light, then the disgrace would be dark indeed. “Can you tell me all about it?” I a%ked. “It would take a long time,” he said, “and it would be a deuce of a nuisance. You make it up with Julia, and marry her, as you're bound to do. Of course you will manage all her money when you are her husband, as you will be. Now you know all.” "But I don’t know all,” I replied; "and I insist upon doing so before I make up my mind what to do.” For two hours I was busy with his accounts. Once or twice he tried to slink out of the room; but that I would not suffer. At length the ornamental cloek on his chimney piece struck eleven, and he made another effort to beat a retreaj. “Do not go away till everything is clear,” I said; "is this all?” “All?” he repeated; “isn’t it enough?” “Between three and four thousand pounds deficient!” I answered; "it is quite enopgh.” { “Enough to make me a felota,” he said, “if Julia chooses to prosecute me.” “I think it is highly probable," I replied; .“though I know nothing of the law.”

“Then you see clearly, Martin, there is no alternative but for you to marry hey, and keep our secret. I have reckoned upon this for years, and your mother and I have been of one mind in bringing it about. If you marry Julia, her affairs go direct from my hands to yours, and we are all safe. If you break with her will leave us, and demand an account my guardianship; and your name and mine will be branded in our own island." “That is very clear,” I said sullenly. “Your mother would not survive it!” he continued, with a solemn accent. “Oh! I have been threatened with that already,” I exclaimed, very bitterly. “Pray does my mother know of this disgraceful business?” “Heaven forbid!” he cried. “Your mother is a good woman, Martin; as simple as a dove. Yop ought to think of her before you consign us all to shame. Poor Mary! My poor, poor love! I believe she cares enough for me still to break her heart over it"

"Then I agr to be your scapegoat,” t said. v “You are my son,” he answered; “a»d religion itself teaches us that the sins, of the fathers are visited on the children. I leave the matter in your hands. But only answer one question: Could you show your face amongst your own friends If this were known?” I knew very well I could not. My father a fraudulent steward of Julia’s property! Then farewell for ever to all that had made my life happy. I saw there was no escape from it —I must’ marry Julia. “Well," I said at last, “as you say, the matter is in my hands now; and I must make the best of it. Good night, sir.” (To be continued.)