Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 22, Number 97, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 August 1901 — The Doctor’s Dilemma [ARTICLE]

The Doctor’s Dilemma

By Hesba Stretton

CHAPTER XVl.—(Continued.) “You are looking rather low,” she said triumphantly—“rather blue, I might say. Ia there anything the matter with you? Your face is as long as a fiddle. Perhaps It is the sea that makes you melancholy.” “Not at all,” I answered, trying to speak briskly; “I am an old sailor. Perhaps you will feel melancholy by-and-by.” Luckily for me, my prophecy was fulfilled shortly after, for the day was tough enough to produce uncomfortable sensations in those who were not old sailors like myself. My tormentor was prostrate, to the last moment. When we anchored at the entrance of the Creux. and the small boats came out to carry us ashore, I managed easily to secure a place in the first, and to lose sight of her in the bustle of landing.. As soon as my feet touched the shore I started off at my swiftest pace for the Havre G-osselin. But I had not far to go, for at Vaudin’s Inn, which stands at the top of the steep lane running from the Creux Harbor, I saw Tardif at the door. He came to me instantly, and we sat down on a low stone wall on the roadside, but well out of hearing of any ears but each other's.” “Tardif,” I said, “has mam'zelle told you her secret?” “Yes, yes,” he answered; “poor little soul! and she is a hundredfold dearer to me now than before. But mam’zelle is not here. She is gone!” “Gone!” I ejaculated. I could not utter another word; but -I stared at him as if my eyes could tear further information from him. “Yes,” he said; “that lady came last week with Miss Dobree, your cousin. Then mam’zelle told me all, and we took counsel together. It was not safe for her to stay any longer, though I would have died for her gladly. But what could be done? We knew she must go elsewhere, and the next morning I rowed her over to Peter-port in time for the steamer to England. Poor little thing! poor little hunted soul!” “Tardif,” I said, “did she leave no message for me?” “She wrote a letter for you,” he said, “the very last thing. She did not go to bed that night, neither did I. I was going to lose her, doctor, and she had been like the light of the sun to me. But what could I do? She was terrified to death at the thought of her husband claiming her. I promised to give the letter into your own hands. Here it is: It had been lying in his breast pocket, and the edges were worn already. He gave it to me lingeringly, as if loth to part with it. The tourists were coming up in greater numbers, and I made a retreat hastily towards a quiet and remote part of the cliffs seldom visited in Little Sark. There, with the sea, which had carried her away from me, playing buoyantly amongst the rocks, I read her farewell letter. It ran thus: “My Dear Friend —I am glad I can call you my fcjend, though nothing can ever coime of our friendship—nothing, for we may not see one another as other friends do. lam compelled to flee away again from this quiet, peaceful home, where you and Tardif have been so good to me. I began to feel perfectly safe here, and all at once the refuge fails me. It breaks my heart, but I must go, and my only gladness is that it will be good for you. By and by you will forget me, and return to your cousin Julia, and be happy just as you once thought you Bhould be —as you would have been but for me. You must think of me as one dead. lam quite dead —lost to you. “Good-by, my dear friend; good-by, good-by! OLIVIA.” The last line was written in a shaken, irregular hand, and her name was half blotted out, as if a tear had fallen upon It. I remained there alone on the wild und solitary cliffs until it was time to («turn to the steamer. Tardif was waiting for me at the entfance of the little tunnel through which tie road passes down to the harbor. He did not speak at first, but he drew out of his pocket an old leather pouch filled with yellow papers. Amongst them lay a long curling tress of shining hair. He touched it gently as if it had feeling and consciousness. “You would like to have it, doctor?” he Baid. “Ay,” I answered, and that only. • I could not venture upon another word.

CHAPTER XVh. ' Three months passed slowly away after my mother's death. Dr. Dobree, who was utterly Inconsolable the first few weeks, fell into all his old maundering, philandering ways again, spending hours upon his toilet, and paying devoted attentions to every passable woman who came across his path. My temper grew like touchwood; the least spark would set it a blaze. I could not take Buch things in good part. We had been at daggers drawn for a day or two, he and I, when one morning 1 was astonished by the appearance of Julia in our consulting room, soon after my father, having dressed himself elaborately, had quitted the house. Juliu'a face was ominous, the upper lip very straight, and a frown upon her brow. “Martin,” she began in a low key, “I am come to tell you something that fills me with shame and nnger. Ido not know how to contain myself. I could never have believed that I could have been so blind and foolish. But it seems as if I were doomed to be deceived and disappointed on every hand —I who would not deceive or disappoint anybody in thed worl. I declare it makes me quite ill to think of it. Just look at my hands, how they tremble.” “Your nervous system Is out of order,” I remarked. “It is the world that is out of order,” •he said petulantly; “I am wall enough. Oh, I do not know however I am to tell you. There are some things it Is a shams to speak of.” “Must you speak of them?” I asked. “Yes; you must know, you will have to know all sooner or later. U mg pool*

dear aunt knew of it she could not rest in her grave. Martin, cannot you guess? Are men born so dull that they cannot see what is going on under their own eyes?” “I have not the least idea of what you are driving at,” I answered. “Sit down and calm yourself.” “How long is it since my poor, dear aunt died?” “You know as well as I do,” I replied, wondering that she should touch the wound so roughly. “Three months next Sunday.” “And Dr. Dobree,” she said in a bitter accent —then stopped, looking me full in the face. I had never heard her call my father Dr. Dobree in my life. “What now?” I asked. “What has my unlucky father been doing now?" “Why,” she exclaimed, stamping her foot, while the blood mantled to her forehead, “Dr. Dobree is in haste to take a second wife! He is indeed, my poor Martin. He Wishes to be married immediately to that viper, Kate JJaltrey." “Impossible!” I cried, stung to the quick by these words. I remembered my mother’s mild, instinctive dislike to Kate Daltrey, and her harmless hope that I would not go over to her side. Go over to her side! No. If she set her foot into this house as my mother’s successor, 1 would never dwell under the same roof. As soon as my father made her his wife I would cut myself adrift from them both. But he knew that; he would never venture to outrage my mother’s memory or my feelings in such a flagrant manner. “It is possible, fpr it is true,” said Julia. “They have understood each other for these four weeks. You may call—an engagement, for it is one; and I never suspected them, not for a moment! Couldn’t you take out a commission of lunacy against him? He must be mad to think of such a thing.” “How did, you find it out?” I inquired. “Oh, I was so ashamed!" she said. “You see I had not the faintest shadow of a suspicion. I had left them in the drawing room to go upstairs, and I thought of something I wanted, and went back suddenly, and there they were —his arm around her waist, and her head on his shoulder —he with his gray hairs, too! She says she is the same age as me, but she is forty if she is a day. The simpletons! I did not know what to say, or how to look. I could not get out of the room again as if I had not seen, for I cried, ‘Oh!’ at the first sight of them. Then I stood staring at them; but I think they felt as uncomfortable as I did.” “Julia,” I said, “I shall leave Guernsey before this marriage can come off. I would rather break stones on the highway than stay to see that woman in my mother’s place. My mother disliked her from the first.”

“I know it,” she replied, with tears in her eyes, “and I thought it was nothing but prejudice. It was my fault, bringing her to Guernsey. But I could not bear the idea of her coming as mistress here. I said so distinctly. ‘Dr. Dobree,’ I said, ‘you must let; me remind you that the house is mine, though you hare paid me no rent for years. If you ever take Kate Daltrey into it, I will put my affairs into a notary’s hands. I will, upon my word, and Julih' Dobree never broke her word yet.’ That brought him to his senses better than anything. He turned very pale, and sat down beside Kate, hardly knowing what to say. Then she began. She said if I was cruel, she would be cruel, too. Whatever grieved you, Martin, would grieve me, and she would let her brother, Richard Foster, know where Olivia was.” “Does she know where she is?” I asked eagerly, in a tumult of surprise and hope. “Why, in Sark, of course," she replied. “What! Did you never know that Olivia left Sark before my mother’s death?” I said, with a chill of disappointment. “Did I never tell you she was gone, nobody knows where?” “You have never spoken of her in my hearing, except once —you recollect when, Martin? We have supposed she was still liviifg in Tardif’s house. Then there is nothing to prevent me from carrying out my threat. Kate Daltrey shall never enter this house as misfress.” “Would you have given it up for Olivia’s sake?” I asked, marveling at her generosity. “I should have done it for your sake," she answered frankly. “But,” I said, reverting to our original topic, “if my father has set his mind upon marrying Kate Daltrey, he will brave anything.” “He is a dotard,” replied Julia. “Ha positively makes me dread growing old. Who knows what follies one may be guilty of in ohTage! I never felt afraid of It before. Kate says she has two hundred a year of her own, and they will go and live on that in Jersey, if Guernsey becomes unpleasant to them. Martin, sha is a viper—she is indeed. And I have made such a friend of her! Now I shall have no one but you and the Careys. Why wasn’t I satisfied with Johanna as my friend?” She stayed an hour longer, turning over this unwelcome subject till we had thoroughly discussed every point of it. In the evening, after dinner, I spoke to my father briefly but decisively upon the same topic. After a very short and very sharp conversation, there remained no alternative for me but to make up my mind to fry my fortune once more out of Guernsey. I wrote by the next mail to Jack Senior, telling him my purpose. I did not wait for my father to commit the irreparable folly of his second marriage. Guernsey had become hateful to me. In spite of my exceeding love for my native island, more beautiful in the eyes of its people than any other Bpot on earth, I could no longer be happy or at peace there. Julia could not conceal her regret, but I left her in the charge of Captain Carey and Johanna. She promised to be my faithful correspondent, and I engaged to write to her regularly. There exin ted between us thejhalf-betrothal to which we had pledged ourselves at my

dying mother's urgent request. Bhe would wait for the time when Olivia was no longer the first in my heart; then she

would be willing to become my wife. Bat if ever that day came she would require jne to give up my position in England, and settle down for life in Guernsey. Fairly, then, I was launched upon the career of a physician in the great city, as a partner with Jack and his father. ,The completeness of the change suited me. Nothing here, in scenery, atmosphere or society, could remind me of the fretted past. The troubled waters subsided into a dull calm, as far as emotional life went. To be sure, the idea crossed me often that Olivia might be in London—even in the same street with me. I never caught sight of a faded green dress but my steps were hurried, and I followed till I was sure that the wearer was not Olivia. But I was aware that the chanees of our meeting were so small that I could not count upon them. Even if I found her, what then? She was as far away from me as though the Atlantic rolled between us. If I only knew that she was safe, and as happy as her sad destiny coufd let her be, I would be content. Thus I was thrown entirely upon mt profession for interest and occupation. I gave myself up to it with an energy that amazed Jack, and sometimes surprised myself. Dr. Senior, who as an old veteran loved it with ardoy for its own sake, was delighted with my enthusiasm. He prophesied great things for me. So passed my first winter in London.

CHAPTER XVIII. Early in the spring I received a letter from Julia, desiring me to look out for apartments, somewhere in my neighborhood, for herself and Johanna and Captain Carey. They were coming to London to spend two or three months of the season. I had not had any task so agreeable since I left Guernsey. Jack was hospitably anxious for the® to come to our own house, but I knew they would not listen to such a proposal. I found some suitable rooms for them, however, where I could be with them at any time in five minutes. On the appointed day I met them at Waterloo station, and installed them in their new apartments. It struck me that Julia was looking better and happier than I had seen her look for a long time. Her black dress suited her, and gave her a style which she never had in colors. Her complexion looked dark, but not sallow; and her brown hair was certainly more becomingly arranged. Her appearance was that of a well-bred, cultivated, almost elegant woman, of whom no man need be ashamed. Johanna was simply herself, without tjpe least perceptible change. But Captain Carey again looked ten years younger, and was evidently taking pains with his appearance. I was more than satisfied, I was proud of all my friends. “We want you to come and have a long talk with us to-morrow,” said Johanna; “it is too late to-night. We shall be busy shopping in the morning, but can you come in the evening?” “Oh, yes,” I answered; “I am at leisure most evenings, and I count upon spending them with you. I can escort you to as many places of amusement as you wish to visit.” “To-morrow, then,” she said, “we shall take tea at eight o’clock. I bade them good-night with a lighter heart than I had felt for a long while. I held Julia’s hand the longest, looking into her face earnestly, till it flushed and glowed a little under my scrutiny. “True heart!” I said to myself, “true and constant! and I have nothing, and shall have nothing, to offer it but the ashes of a dead love. Would to heaven,” I thought as I paced along Brook street, “I had never been fated to see Olivia!” I was punctual to my time the next day. I sat among them quiet and silent, but revelling in this partial return of olden times. When Julia poured out my tea, and passed it to me with her white hand, I felt inclined to kiss her jeweled fingers. If Captain Carey had not been present I think I should have done so.

We lingered over the pleasant meal. At the close Captain Carey announced that he was about -to leave us alone together for an hour or two. I went down to the door with him, for he had made me a mysterious signal to follow him. In the hall he whispered a few incomprehensible sentences into my ear. “Don’t think anything of me, my boy. Don’t sacrifice yourself for me. I’m an old fellow compared to you, though I’m not fifty yet; everybody in Guernsey knows that. So put me out of the question, Martin. ‘There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.’ That I know quite well, my dear fellow.” He was gone before I could ask for an explanation. I returned*to the drawing room, pondering over his words. Johanna and Julia were sitting side by side on the sofa, in the darkest corner of the room. “Come here, Martin,” said Johanna; “we wish to consult you on a subject of great importance to us all.” I drew up a chair opposite to them and sat down, much as if it was about to be a medical consultation. “It is nearly eight months since your poor dear mother died,” remarked Jo? hanna. Eight months! Yes; and no one knew what those eight months had been to me —how desolate! how empty! “You recollect,” continued Johanna, “how her heart was set on your marriage with Julia, and the promise you both made to her on her deathbed?” “Yes,” I answered, bending forward and pressing Julia's bund, “I remember every word.” There wss'a minute's silence after this; and I waited in some wonder as to what this prelude was leading to. “Martin,” asked Johanna, in a solemn tone, “are you forgetting Olivia?” “No,” I said, dropping Julia’s hand as the image of Olivia flushed across me reproachfully, “not at all. What would you have me say? She is as dear to me at this moment as she ever was.” “I thought you would say so,” she replied; “I did not think yours was a lovs that would quickly pass away, if it ever does. There are men who can love with the constancy of a woman. Do you know anything of her?” “Nothing,” I said despondently; “1 have no clue as to where she may be now. “Nor has Tardif,’ she continued; “my brother and I went across to Sark last week to ask him.” “That was very good of you," I interrupted. “It was partly for our own sakee,” she said, blushing faintly. “Martin, Tardif says that if you have once loved Olivia, it is once for all. You would

never conquer it. Do you think that this is true? Be candid with us.” “Yes,” I answered, “it is true. I could never love again as I love Olivia." “Then, my dear Martin,” said Johanna, very softly, “do you wish to keep Julia to her promise?” I started violently. What! did Julia wish to be released from that Semi-en-gagement, and be free? Was it possible that any one else coveted my place in her affections, and in the new house which we had fitted up for ourselves? I felt like the dog in the manger. It seemed an unheard-of encroachment for any person to come between my cousin Julia and me. “Do you ask me to set you free from your promise, Julia?” I asked, somewhat sternly. (To be continued.)