Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 22, Number 101, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 September 1901 — The Doctor’s Dilemma [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Doctor’s Dilemma

By Hesba Stretton

CHAPTER XX.—(Continued.) “You lone her?" said Johanna. “Certainly,” I answered, ‘‘as my sister.” „ } “Better than any' woman now living?” ■he pursued. “Yes.” I replied. “That is all Julia requires,” she continued; “so let us say no more at present, Martin. Only understand that all idea of marriage between her and my brother is quite put away. Don’t argue with me, don’t contradict me. Come to see us as you Would have done but for that unfortunate conversation last night. All will come right by-and-by.” “But Captain Carey——” I began. “There! not a word!” she interrupted imperatively. “Tell me all about that wretch, Richard Foster. How did you come across him? Is he likely to die? Ia he anything like Kate Daltrey?—l will never call her Kate Dobree as long aa the world lasts. Come, Martin, tell me everything about him.” She sat with me most of the morning, talking with animated perseverance, and at last prevailed upon me to take her a walk in Hyde Park. Her pertinacity did me good in spite of the irritation it caused me. When her dinner hour was

at hand I felt bound to attend her to her house in Hanover street; and I could not get —away 'mk^’j.Ciont—first. mp&a&kig c '-J n - Julia. Her face was very

sorrowful, and her manner sympathetic. We said only a few words to one another, but I went away with the impression that her heart was still with me. At dinner Jack announced his intention of paying a visit to Richard Foster. “You are not fit to deal with the fellow,” he said; "you may be sharp enough upon your own black sheep in Guernsey, but you know nothing of the breed here. Now if I see him ,1 will squeeze out of him every mortal thing he knows about Olivia.” Jack returned, his face kindled with excitement. He caught my hand, and grasped it heartily. “I no more believe she is dead than 1 am,” were his first words. ‘‘You recollect me telling you of a drunken brawl In a street off the Strand, where a fellow, as drunk as a lord, was for claiming a pretty girl as his wife; only I had followed her out of Ridley’s agency office, and was just in time to protect her from him. A girl I could have fallen in love with myself. You recollect?” “Yes, yes,” I said, almost breathless. “He was the man, and Olivia was the girl!” exclaimed Jack. “No!” I cried. “Yes!” continued Jack, with an affectionate lunge at me; "at any rate I can swear he is the man; and I would bet a thousand to one that the girl was Olivia.” “But when was it?” I asked. “Since he married again,” he answered; “they were married on the 2d of October, and this was early in November. I had gone to Ridley’s after a place for a poor fellow as an assistant to a druggist, and I saw the girl distinctly. She gave the name of Ellen Martineau. Those letters about her death are all forgeries.” “Olivia’s is not,” I snid; “I know her handwriting’ too well.” “Well, then," observed Jack, “there, is only one explanation. She has sent them herself to throw Foster off the scent; she thinks she will be safe if he believes her dead.” “No,” I answered hotly, “she would never have done such a thing as that.” “Who else is benefited by it?” he asked gra,vely. “It does not put Foster into possession of any of her property, or that would have been a motive for him to do it. But he gains nothing by it; and he is so convinced of her death that he has taken a second wife.”

“What/can'l Jo now?’’ I said, speaking aloud, though I was thinking to myself. “Martin,’’ replied Jack, gravely, “isn’t it wisest to leave the matter as it stands? If you find Olivia, what then? She is as much separated from you as she can be by death. So long as Foster lives it is worse than useless to be thinking of her.’’ “I only wish to myself that she is alive,” I answered. “Just think of it, Jack, not to know whether 6he is living or dead! You must, help me to satisfy myself. TJiis mystery would be intolerable to me.” “You’re right, old fellow,” he said, cordially; “we will go to Ridley’s together to-morrow morning.” We were there soon after the doors were open. There werp not many clients present, and the clerks were enjoying a slack time. Jack had recalled to his mind the exact date of his former visit; and thus the sole difficulty, was overcome. The cleric found the name of Ellen Martineau entered under that ddte in his book. “Yes,” he said, “Miss Ellen Martineau, English teacher in a French school; premium to be paid, about £10; no salary; reference, Mrs. Wilkinson, No. 19, Bellringer street.” “No. 19 Bellringer street!” we repeated in one breath. “Yes, gentlemen, that is the nddress,” said the clerk, closing the book. “Shall I write it down for you? Mrs. Wilkinson was the party who should have puld our commission; as you perceive, a premium was required instead of a salary given. We feel pretty sure the young lady went to the school, but Mrs. Wilkinson denies it, and it is not worth our while to pursue our claim in law.” “Can you describe the young lady?” I inquired. “Well, nor We have such hosts of young ladies here.”’ * “Do you know where the school is?" * “No. Mrs. Wilkinson was the psrty,” he said. “We had nothing to do with it, except to send any ladies to her who thought it worth their while. That was all.” As we could obtain no further information we went away, and paced up and down the tolerably quiet street, deep in consultation. That we sbonld have negd for great caution, and as much craftiness, as we both possessed, in pursuing our Inquiries was quite evident. Who could he this Mrs. Wilkinson? Was it possible that she might prove to be Mrs. Fos-

ter herself? At any rate it would not do for either of us to present ourselves there in quest of Miss Ellen Martineau. It was finally seftled between us that Johanna should be entrusted with the diplomatic enterprise. Johanna put in the next day following down the clews Jack and I had discovered. “Well, Martin,” she said that evening, “you need suffer no more anxiety. Olivia has gone as English teacher in an excellent French school, where the lady’ is thoroughly acquainted with English ways and comforts. This is the prospectus of the establishment. You see there are ‘extensive grounds for recreation, and the cOmforts of a cheerfully happy home, the domestic arrangements being on a thoroughly liberal scale.’ Here is also a photi|'raphic view of the place; a charming Vina, you see, in the best French style. The lady’s husband is an avocat; and everything is taught by professors—cosmography and pedagogy, and other studies of Which we never heard when I was a girl. Olivia is to stay there twelve months, and in return for her services will take lessons from any professors attending the establishment. Your mind may be quite at ease now.” “But where is the place?” I inquired. “Oh! it is in Normandy—Noireau,” he • I said —"quite out oi me i-augtrtiiT'uln’mis ana WumVifc- .i.'EfeArw.'ari'Lbft-iin danger o any one finding her out there; and you know she has changed her name altogether this time.” “Did you discover that Olivia and Ellen Martineau are the same persons?” I asked.

“No, I did not.” she answered; “I thought you were sure of that.” But I was not sure of it; neither could Jack be sure. He puzzled himself in trying to give a satisfactory description of his Ellen Martineau; but every answer he gave my eager questions plunged lis into greater uncertainty. He was not sure of the color either of her hair or eyes, and made blunderiug guesses at her height. What was I to believe? It was running too great a risk to make any further inquiries at No. 19 Bellringer street. Mrs. Wilkinson was the landlady of the lodging house, and she had told Johanna that Madame Perrier boarded with her when she was in London. But she might begin to talk to her other lodgets, if her own curiosity were excited; and once more my desire to fa'thom the mystery hanging about Olivia might plunge her into fresh difficulties, should .it reach the ears of Foster or his wife. “I must satisfy myself about her safety now,” I said. yourself in my place, Jack. How can I rest till I know more about Olivia?” “I do put myself in your place,” he answered. “What do you say to having a run down to.this place in Basse Normandy, and seeing for yourself whether Miss Ellen Martineau is your Olivia?” “How can I.?” I asked,-attempting to hang back from the suggestion. It was a busy time with us. The season was iu full roll, and our most aristocratic patients were in town. The easterly winds were bringing in their usual harvest of bronchitis and diphtheria. If I went Jack’s hands would,be more than full. Had these tilings come to perplex us only Pkro months earlier,’ I could taken a holiday with a clear conscience. VOad will jump fft'lhe chance of ing back for a tt’eek,” replied Jack; “he is bored to death dawn l at Fulham. Oo you must, for my sake, old fellow. You are good for nothing as long as you’re so down in the mouth, i shall be glad to be rid of you.” In this way it came to pass that two eveningß later I was crossing the Channel to • Havre, and found myself about five o’clock in the afternoon of the next day ’at Faluise.- It was the terminus of the railway in that direction; and a very ancient conveyance was in waiting to carry on any travelers who were venturesome enough to explore the regions beyond. I very much preferred sitting beside the driver, a red-faced, sinooth-cheeked Norman, habited in a blue blouse, who could crack his lopg whip with almost,the skill of a Parisian omnibus driver. We were friends' in a trice, for my patois was almost identical with his own. and he could not believe his own ears that he waH talking with an Englishman. The sun sank below the distant horizon, with the trees showing clearly against it, and the light of the stars that came out one by one almost cast a defined shadow upon our path, from the poplar trees standing in long straight rows ka the hedges. If I found Olivia at the end of that star-lit path my gladness in it wpuld ,be completed. Yet if l found her, what then? I should see her for a few minute* in the dull salon of a school, perhaps witl some watchful, spying Frenchwoman present. I should simply satisfy

myself that she was living. There coold be nothing more between us. I dared not tell her how dear she was to me, or ask her if she ever thought of me in her loneliness and friendlessness.* I began to sound the driver, cautiously wheeling about the object of my excursion into those remote regions. I had tramped through Normandy and Brittany three or four times, but there had been no inducement to visit Noireau, which resembled a Lancashire cotton town, and I had never been there. “There are not many English at Noireau?” I remarked suggestively. “Not one,” he replied—“not one at this moment. There was one little English mam’zelle —peste!—a very pretty little English girl, who was voyaging precisely like you, m’sieur, some months ago. There was a little child with her, and the two were quite alone. They are very intrepid, are the English mam’zelles. She did not know a word of our lnnguage. But that was droll, m’sieur!' A French demoiselle would never voyage like that.” The little child puzzled me. Yet I could not help fancying that this young Englishwoman traveling alone, with no knowledge of French, must be my Olivia. At any rate it could be no other than Miss Ellen Martineau. “Where was she going to?” I asked. “She came to Noireau to be an instructress in an establishment,” answered the driver, in a tone of great enjoyment —“an establishment founded by the wife of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the avocat! He! he! he! how droll that was, m’sieur! An avocat! So they believed that in England? Bah! Emile Perrier an avocatT’ “But what is there to laugh at?” I asked. !■> “Am I an avocat?” he inquired derisively, “am I a proprietor? am I even a cure? Pardon, m’sieur, but I am just as much avocat, proprietor, cure, as Emile Perrier. He was an impostor. He became bankrupt; he and his wife ran away

M establishment ■ Lwssl broken ud. It was a bubble, m’sieur, and it burst.” My driver clapped his hands together lightly, as though Monsieur Perrier’s bubble needed very little pressure to disperse it. “Good heavens!” I exclaimed, “but

what became of Oli—of the young English lady, and the child?” “Ah, m’sieur!” he said, “I do not know. I do not live in Noireau, but I pass to and fro from Falaise. She has not returned in my omnibus, that is all I know. But she could go to Granville, or to Caen. Thete are other omnibuses, you see. Somebody will tell you down there.” • It was nearly eleven o’clock before we entered the town; but I learned a few more particulars from the middle-aged woman in the omnibus bureau. She recollected the name of Miss Ellen Martineau, and her arrival; and she described her with the accuracy and faithfulness of a woman. If she were not Olivia herself she must be her very counterpart. I started out early the next morning to find the Rue de Grace, where the inscription on my photographic view of the premises represented them as situated. There were two houses, one standing in the street, the other lying back beyond a very plepsnt garden. A Frenchman wag paeitfg ’MO and down the broad gravel path which connected them, examining critically the vines growing against the walls. Two little children were gamboling about in close white caps, and with frocks down to their heels. L T pon seeing me he lifted his hat. I returned the salutation with a politeness as ceremonious as his own. “Monsieur is an Englishman?” he said in a doubtful tone. “From the Channel Islands,” I replied. “Ah! you belong to us,” he said, “but you are hybrid, \ half English, half French; a fine race. I also have'English blood in my veins.” I paid monsieur a compliment upon the result of-the admixture of biohd in his own instance, and then proceeded to unfold my object in now visiting him., “Ah!” he said, “yes, yes, yes; Perrier was an impostor. These houses are mine, monsieur. I live in the front yonder; my daughter and son-in-law occupy the other. We had the photographs taken for our own pleasure, but Perrier must have bought them from the artist, no doubt. I have a small cottage at the back of my house; monsieur! there it is. Perrier, rented it from me for two hundred francs a year. I permitted him to pass along this wallj, and through our coach house into a passage which leads 'to the street where inadame had her school. Permit me, and I will show it to you.” He led me through a shed, and along a dirty, vaulted passage, into a mean street at the back. A small, miserable-looking house stood in it, shut up, with broken persiennes covering the windows. My heart sunk at the idea of Olivia living here, in such discomfort and neglect and sordid poverty. “Did you ever see a young English lady here, monsieur?" I asked; “she arrivecLabout the beginning of last November.” “But yes, certainly, niqnsieur,” he plied, “a charming English demoiselle! One must have been blind not to observe her. A sweet face, with hair of gold, but a little more somber. “What height was she, monsieur?” I inauired. “A just height,” he answered, “not tall like a camel, nor too short like a monkey. She would stan'd an inch or two above your shoulder, monsieur.”

It could be no other than my Olivia! She had been living here, then, in thia miserable place, only a month’ ago; bat where could she be now? How was I to find any trace- of her? “I will make some inquiries from my daughter,” said the Frenchman; “when the establishment was broken up I was ill with the fever, monsieur. We have fever often here. But she will know — I will ask her.” He returned to me after some time, with the information that the English demoiselle had been seen in the house of a woman who sold milk, Mademoiselle Rosalie by name; and he volunteered to accompany me to her dwelling. It was a poor-looking house, of on« room only, in the same street as the school; but we found no one there except an old woman, exceedingly deaf, who told us that Mademoiselle Rosalie waa gone somewhere to nurse a relative, who was dangerously ill, and she knew nothing of an Englishwoman and a little girl, I turned away baffled and discouraged] but my new friend was not sp quickly depressed. It was impossible, he maintained, that the English girl and the child could have left the town unnoticed, He went with me to all the omnibus bureaus, where we made urgent inquiries concerning the passengers who had quitted Noireau during the last month. No places had been taken for Miss Ellen Martineau and the child, for there was no such name in any of the books. But at each bureau I was recommended to see the drivers upon their return in the evening; and.l was compelled to give up the pursuit for that day. (To be continued.)

"SITTING .BESIDE THE DRIVER.”