Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 24, Number 8, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 September 1901 — The Doctor's Dilemma [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Doctor's Dilemma

By Hesba Stretton

CHAPTER XXIV. I, Olivia Foster, take up the thread of the story—the woful, weary narrative of my wanderings after leaving my island friends. Once more I found myself in London. I had inore acquaintance with almost every great city on the Continent. Fortunately, Tardif had given me the address of a boarding house, or rather a small family hotel, where he had stayed two or three times, and I drove there at once. I went to several governess agencies, which were advertising for teachers in the daily papers. When a fortnight had passed with no opening for me, I felt it necessary to leave the boarding house which had been my temporary home. Wandering about the least fashionable suburbs, where lodgings would cost least, I found a bedroom in the third story of a house in a tolerably respectable street. In this feverish solitude one day dragged itself after another with awful monotony. As they passed by, the only change they brought was that the sultry heat grew ever cooler, and the long days shorter. Think what a dreary life for a young girl! I was as fond of companionship, and needed love as much as any girl. Was it strange -that my thoughts dwelt somewhat dangerously upon the pleasant, peaceful days in Sark? Now and then, when I ventured out into the streets, a panic would seize me, a dread unutterably great, that I might meet my husband amidst the crowd. I did not even know that he was in London; he had always spoken of it as a place he detested. His habits made the free, unconventional life upon the Continent more agreeable to him. How he was living now, what he was doing, where he was, were so many enigmas to me; and I did not care to run any risk in finding out the answers to them. Twice I passed the Bank of Australia, where very probably I could have learned if he was in the same city as myself; but I dared not do it, and as soon as I knew how to avoid that street, I never passed along it. „ I had been allowed to leave my address with the clerk of a large general agency in the city. Towards the close of October I received a note from him, desiring me to call at the office at two o’clock the following afternoon, without fail. I had a long time to wait. The office clock pointed to half-past three before I caught the clerk's eye, and saw him beckon me up to the counter. I had thrown back my veil, for here I was perfectly safe from recognition. At the other end of the counter stood a young man in consultation with a clerk. He looked earnestly at me, but I was sure he could not know me. “Miss Ellen Martineau?” said the clerk. That was my mother’s name, and I had adopted it for my own, feeling as if 1 had some right to it. “Yes,” I answered. “Would you object to go into a French school as governess?” he inquired. “Not in the least,” I said eagerly. “And pay a small premium?” he addad. “How much?” I asked, my spirits falling .again. “A mere trifle,” he said; “about ten pounds or so for twelve months. You would perfect yourself in French, you know; and you would gain a referee for the future.” “I must think about it,” I replied. “Well, there is the address of a lady wh* can give you all the particulars,” he said, handing me a written paper. I left the Office heavy hearted. Ten pounds would be more than the half of the little store left to me. Yet, would it not be wiser to secure a refuge and shelter for twelve months than run the risk of not finding any other situation? I walked slowly along the street towards the busier thoroughfares, with my head bent down and my mind busy, when suddenly a heavy hand was laid upon my arm, grasping it with crushing force, and a harsh, thick voice shouted triumphantly in my ear: “I’ve caught you at last!’” It was like the bitterness of death, that chill and terror sweeping over me. My husband’s hot breath was upon my cheek, and his eyea were looking closely into mine. But before I could speak his grasp was torn away from me, and he was sent whirling into the middle of the road. I turned, almost in equal terror, to see who had thrust himself between us. It was a stranger whom I had noticed in the agency office. But his face was how dark with passion, and as my husband staggered back again towards us, his hand was ready to thrust him away a second time. “She’s my wife,” he stammered, trying to get past the stranger to me. By this time a knot of spectators had formed about us, and a policeman had come up. The stranger drew my arm through his, and faced them defiantly. “He’s a drunken vagabond!” he said; "he has just come out of those spirit vaults. This young lady is no more his wife than she is mine, and I know no more of her than that she has just come away from Ridley’s office, where she has been looking after a situation. Good heavens! cannot a lady walk through the streets of London without being insulted by a drunken scoundrel like that?” “Will you give him in charge, air?” asked the policeman, wMle Richard Foster was making vain efforts to speak coherently, and explain his clajm upon me. I clung to the friendly arm that had come to my aid, sick and almost speechless with fear. “Don’t," I whispered; "oh! take me away quickly.” He cleared a passage for us both with a vigor and decision that there was no resisting. I glanced back for an instant, and saw my husband struggling with the policeman. He looked utterly • unlike a gay, prosperous, wealthy man, with a well-filled purse, such as he had Used to appekr. He was shabby and poor enough now for the policeman to be very hard on him, and to prevent him from following me. The stranger kept my hand firmly on his arm, and almost carried me into Fleet street, where in a minute

or two we were quite lost in the throng, and I was safe from all pursuit. “I do not know how to thank you,” I said, jalterihgly. * “You are trembling still!” he replied. “How lucky it was that I followed you directly out of Ridley’s! If I ever come across that scoundrel again I shall know him, you may be sure. My name is John Senior. Perhaps you -have heard of my father, Dr. Senior of Brook street?” “No,” replied, “I know nobody in London.” “That’s bad,” he SRjd. “I wish I waa Jane Senior instead of John Senior; I do indeed. Do you feel better now, Miss Martineau?” “How do you know my name?” I asked. “The clerk at Ridley’s called you Miss Ellen Martineau,” he answered. “My hearing is very good, and I was not deeply engrossed in my business. I heard and saw a good deal whilst I was there.” He called an empty cab that was passing by. We shook hands warmly. There was.no time for loitering; so I told him the name of the. suburb where I was living, and he repeated it to the cabman. “All right,” he said, speaking through the window, “the fare is paid and I’ve taken cabby’s number. If he tries to cheat you, let me know; Dr. John Senior, Brook street. I hope that situation will be a good one, and very pleasant. Goodby.” “Good-by,” I cried, leaning forward and looking at his face till the crowd came between us, and I lost sight of it. I felt safer when the cabman set me down at the house where I lodged, and I ran upstairs to my little room. I kin-

died the fire. Then I sat down on my box before it, thinking. Yes: 1 must leave London. I must take this situation,, the only one .open to me, in a school in France. I should at least be assured of a home for twelve months; and, as the clerk had said, I should perfect myself in French and gain a referee. I should be earning a character in fact. The sooner I fled .from London again the better, now that I knew my husband was somewhere in it. I unfolded the paper on which was written the name of the lady to whom I was to apply. Mrs. Wilkinson, 19 Bellringer street. I ran down to the sitting room, to ask my landlady where it was, and told her, in my new hopefulness, that I had heard of a situation in FraAce. Bellringer street was less than a mile away. I could be there before seven o’clock, not too late Mrs. Wilkinson to give me an interview. No. 19 was not difficult to find, and I pulled the bell handle with a gentle and quiet pull. A slight, thin child in rusty mourning opened it, with the chain across, and asked in a timid voice who I was. “Does Mrs. Wilkinson live here?” I asked. “Yes,” said the child. “Who is there?” I heard a voice calling shrilly from within. ♦ “I am come about a school in France,” I said to the child. “Oh, I’ll let you in,” she answered eagerly; "she will see you about that, I’m sure. I’m to go with you, if you go.” She let down the chain, and opened the door. There was a dim light burning in the hall, which looked shabby and poverty stricken. I had only time to take a vague general impression, before the little girl conducted me to a room on the ground floor. “I’m to go if you go,” she said again; “and, oh! I do so hope you will agree to go.” “I think I shall,” I answered. “I daren’t be sure,” she replied, nodding her head with an air of sagacity; “there have been four or five governesses here, and none of them wonld go. You'd have to take me with you; and, oh! it is such > lovely, beautiffil place. See! here is a picture of it.” She ran eagerly to a side table, on which lay a book or two, one of which she opened, and reached out a photograph, which had been laid there for security. It was clear, sharply At the left hand stood a handsome house, with windows covered with lace curtains, and provided with outer Venetian shutters. In the center stood a large square garden, with fountains, and arbors and statues; and behind this stood a long building of two stories, and a steep roof with dormer windows, every casement of which was provided, like the house in the front, with rich lace curtains and Venetian shutters. The whole place was clearly in good order and good taste, and looked like a very pleasant home. “Isn’t it a lovely placet’ asked the child beside me, with a deep sigh of longing.

"Yes,” I said; “I should like to go.” I had had time to make all these ob* nervations before the owner of the for* eign voice, which I had heard at the door, came in. At the first glance I knew her to be a Frenchwoman. Her black eyes were steady and cold, and her general expression one of watchfulness. _ “I have not the honor of knowing you,” she said politely. “I come from Ridley’s Agency office,” I answered, “about a situation as English teacher in a school in France.” “It is a great, chance,” she said, “my friend, Madame Perrier, is very good, very amiable for her teachers. She is like a -sister for them. The terms are very high, very high for France; but there is absolutely every comfort. I suppose you could introduce a few English pupils.” “No,” I answered, “I am afraid I could not. I am silre I could not.” “That of course must be considered in the premium,” she continued; “if you could have introduced, say, six pupils, the premium would be low. I do not think my friefid would take one penny less than twenty pounds for the first year, and ten for the second.” The tears started to my eyes. I had felt so sure of going if I would pay ten pounds, that I was quite unprepared for this disappointment. There was still my diamond ring left; but how to dispose of it, for anything like its value, I did not know. ■ ... • “What were you prepared to give?” asked Mrs. Wilkinson, whilst I hesitated. “The clerk at Ridley’s office told me the premium would be ten pounds,” I answered; “I do not see how I can give more.” _ “Well,” she said, after musing a little, “it is time this child went. She has been here a month, waiting for semebody to take her down to Noireau. I will agree with you, and will explain to Madame Perrier. How soon could you go?” “I shotfld like to go to-morrow,” I replied, feeling that the sooner I quitted London the better. Mrs. Wilkinson’s steady eyes fastened upon me again with sharp curiosity.” “Have you references, miss?” she asked.

“No,” I faltered, my hopes sinking again before this old difficulty. “It will be necessary, then,” she said, “for you to give the money to me, and I will forward it to Madame Perrier. Pardon, miss, but you perceive I could not send a teacher to them unless I knew that she could pay the money down.” I did not waver any longer. The prospect seemed too promising for me to lose it by any irresolution. I drew out my purse, and laid down two out of the three five-pound notes left me. She gave me a formal receipt in the names of Emile and Louise Perrier, and her sober face wore an expression of satisfaction. “There! it is done,” she said. “You will take lessons, any lessons you please, from the professors who attend the school. It is a grand chance, miss, a grand chance. Let us say you go the day after to-morrow; the child will be quite ready. She is going for four years to that splendid place, a place for ladies of the highest degree.” At that moment an imperious knock sounded upon the outer door, and the little girl ran to answer it, leaviug the door of our room open. A voice which I knew well, a voice which made my heart stand still and my veins curdle, spoke in sharp, loud tones in the hall. “Is Mr. Foster come home yet?” were the words the terrible voice uttered, quite close to me it seemed; so close that I shrank back shivering, ns if every'syllable struck a separate blow. All my senses were awake; I could hear every sound in the hall, each step that came nearer and nearer. Was she about to enter the room where I was sitting? She stood still for half a minute as if uncertain what to do. “He is upstairs,” said the child’* voice. “He told me he was ill when I opened the door for him.” “Where is Mrs. Wilkinson?” she asked. “She is here,” said the child, "but there’s a lady with her.” Then the woman’s footsteps went on up the staircase. I listened to them climbihg up one step after another, my brain throbbing with each sound, and I heard a door opened^!nd closed. Mrs. Wilkinson had gone to the door, and looked out into the hall, as if expecting other questions to be asked. She had not seen my panic of despair. I must get away before I lost thfe use of my senses, for I felt giddy and faint. (To be continued.)

“SENT WHIRLING INTO THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD.”