Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 38, Number 30, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 December 1905 — The Doctor’s Wife [ARTICLE]

The Doctor’s Wife

BY MISS M. E. BRADDDON

CHAPTER XXL—(Continued.) “I’m not going far; only—only a little way on the Briargate road,” Isabel answered, piteously; and then her bead sank back against the wall behind her. and she sighed a plaintive, almost heartbroken sigh. Her life was very hard just now, begirt with terror and peril, as she thought. A whole after life of happiness could not have atoned to her for the pang of seeing a dreadful change come upon the familiar face. Sometimes, in spite of herself, though she put away the thought from her with shuddering horror, the idea that George Gilbert might not recover would come into her mind. He might not recover; the horror which so many others had passed through might overtake her. Oh, the hideous tramp of the undertaker’s men upon the stairs; the knocking, unlike all’ othei knocking; tile dreadful aspect of the shrouded house! She thought of all the deaths in her favorite books; of Paul Dombey, fading slowly, day by day, with the golden water rippling on thewall; David Coperfield, sitting weeping in the dusk; and Agnes, with her holy face and quiet uplifted hand. If—if any such sorrow came upon her, Mrs, Gilbert thought that she would join some community of holy women, and go about doing.good until she died. Was it so very strange, this sudden conversion? Surely not! In these enthusiastic natures sentiment may take any unexpected form.

CHAPTER XXII. After that scene in the church at Hurstonleigh, Roland Lansdell went back to Mordred, to think, with even greater bitterness, of the woman he loved. That silent encounter —the sight of the pale face, profoundly melancholy, almost statuesque in its air of half despairing resignation—had exercised no softening influence on the mind of this young man, who could not understand why the one treasure for which he languished should be denied to him. He was sitting in the library by the lamplit table one sultry June evening, when George Gilbert had been ill about a fortnight, a soft, subdued light shining dimly. He had been brooding over his books, but scarcely reading half a dozen pages ever since 9 o’clock, and it was now half past 11. He was stretching his hand toward the bell in order to summon his valet, and release that personage from the task of sitting up any longer, when that gentleman entered the library. “Would you please to see any one, sir?” he asked. “Would I please to see any one?” cried Roland; “who would want to see me at such a time of night? Is there anything wrong? Is it any one from — from Lowlands?” “No. sir; it's a strange lady; leastways, when I say a strange lady. I think, sir, though her veil being down, and a very thick veil, I should not like to speak positive—l think it’s Mrs. Gilbert, the doctor's lady, from Graybridge.” Mr. Lansdell's valet coughed doubtfully behind his hand, and looked discreetly at the carved oaken bosses in the ceiling. Roland started to his feet. “Mrs. Gilbert.” he muttered, "at such an hour as this. It can’t be; she would never . Show the lady here, whoever she is,” he added aloud to h:s servant. “There must be something wrong; it must be some very important business that brings any one to this place tonight.”

The valet departed, closing the door behind him, and Roland stood alone upon the hearth, waiting for his late visitor. All the warmer tints faded out of his face, and left him very pale. Why had she come to him at such a time? \\ hat purpose could she have in coming to that house save one? She had come to revoke her decision. For a moment a flood of rapture swept into his soul, warm and revivifying as the glory of a sudden sunburst on a dull gray autumn day. “My poor ignorant, innocent girl; how hard it seems that my love must forever place her at a disadvantage,” he thought. The door was opened by the valet with as bold a sweep as if a duchess had been entering in all the glory of her court robes, and Isabel came into the room. One glance showed Mr. Lansdell that she was very nervous, that she was suffering cruelly from the terror of his I resell e; and it may be that even before she had spoken he understood that she had not come to announce any change in her decision. There was nothing desperate in her manner. She stood before him pale and irresolute, with pleading eyes lifted meekly to his face. •‘I hope you are not angry with me for coming here at such a time.” she said, in a low, tremulous voice; “1 could not come any earlier, or I ’ “It cau never be anything but a pleasure for me to see you,” Roland answered gravely, “even though the pleasure is strangely mingled with pain. You have come to me. perhaps, became you are iu some kind of trouble, and have need of my services in some way or other. 1 am very much pleased to think that you can so far confide in me; I am very glad to think that you can rely on my friend ship.” Mr. Lansdell said this because he saw that the doctor's wife hall come to de■land some favor* at his hands, and he wished to smooth the way for that demand. Isabel looked up at him with something like surprise iu her gaze. She had not expected that d*e would Ih> like this, calrti, still, self i iosscssod, reasonable. ‘ A moutrtfnl T<*cfing‘ , rdbk possession es her heart. She thought must have perished altogether, or he eould not surely have been so kind to her, so gentle or dispassionate. •'You are very, very good not to be angry with me,” she said. "1 have come to ask you a favor, a very great favor, and I She stopped, and sat silently twisting the handle of her parasol, the old green parasol under whose shadow Roland hnd m often seen her. It was quite evident that her courage had failed her altogether at this crisis.

“It is not for myself I am going to ask you this favor,” she said, still hesitating and looking down at the parasol; “it is for another person, who —it is a secret, in fact, and ” * “Whatever it is, it shall be granted,” Roland answered, “without question, without comment.” “I have come to ask you to lend me—or at least I had better ask you to give it to me, for indeed I don’t know when I should ever be able to pay it —some money, a great deal of money—fifty dollars.” She looked at him as if she thought the magnitude of the sum must inevitably astonish him, and she saw a tender, half-melancholy smile upon his face. “My dear Isabel—my dear Mrs. Gilbert —if all the money I possess in the world could secure you happiness, I would willingly leave here to-morrow a penniless man. I would not for the world that you should be embarrassed for an hour, while I have more money than I know what to do with. I will write you check immediately—or, better still, half a" dozen blank checks, which you can fill up as you require them. But Isabel shook her head at this proposal-. “You are very kind,” she said, “but a check would not do. It must be money, if you please; the person for whom I want it would not take a check.” “The person for whom you want it,” he repeated. “It is not for yourself, then, that you want this money?” “Oh, no, indeed. What would I want with so much money?” “I thought you might be in debt. I thought that—ah, I see; it is for your husband that you want the money.” “Oh, no; my husband knows nothing about it. But oh, pray don’t question me. Ah, if you knew how much I suffered before I came here to-night. If there had been any other person in the world who could have helped me I would never have come here; but there is no one, and I must get the money.” Roland's face grew darker as Mrs, Gilbert spoke. Her agitation, her earnestness, mystified and alarmed him. "Isabel,” he cried, “heaven knows I have little right to question you; but there is something in the manner of your request that alarms me. Can you doubt that I am your friend —next to your husband, your best and truest friend, perhaps? Forget every word that I have ever said to you, and believe only what I say to-night—to-night, when all my better feelings are aroused at the sight of you. Believe that I am your friend, Isabel, and for pity's sake trust me. Who is this person who wants money of you? Is it your stepmother? If so, my checkbook is at her disposal.” "No,” faltered the doctor's wife; “it is not my stepmother, but ” "But it is for some member of your family?” “Yes,” she answered, drawing a long breath; “but oh, pray do not ask me any more questions. You said just now that you would grant me the favor I aske 1 withqut question or comment. Ah, if you knew how painful it was to me to come here.”

“Indeed 1 I am sorry that it was so painful to you to trust me.” “Ah, if you knew ” Isabel murmured in a low voice, speaking to her self rather than to Roland. Mr. Lansdell took a bunch of keys from his pocket and went across the room to an iron safe cunningly fashioned after the presentment of an antique ebony cabinet. He opened the ponderous door and took a little casket from one of the shelves. Roland counted out some notes and handed them to Isabel. She arose and stood for a few moments, hesitating as if she had something more to say—something almost as embarrassing in its nature as the money question had been. “I—l hope you will not think me troublesome.” she said; “but there is one more favor that I want to ask you.” “L)o not hesitate to ask anything of me: all I want is your confidence.” “It is only a question that I wish to ask. You talked some time since of going away.” “Yes. my plans are all made for an early departure.’’ “A very early departure? You are going almost immediately?” "Immediately—to-morrow morning. It may be a long time before 1 return.” There was a little pause, during which Roland saw that a faint Hush kindled in Isabel Hilbert’s face, nnd that her breath came and went rather quicker than before. "Then I must say good-bye to-night,” she said.

“Yes; it is nut likely that we shall meet again. Good night—good-bye. Perhaps some dny, when I am a pottering old nun, telling people the same anecdotes every time I shall dine with them, 1 shall come back, nnd find Mr. Gilbert a crack physician in Kylmingtou, petted by rich old ladies nnd riding in a yellow barouche —till then, good-bye.” Ho held Isabel's hand for a few moments. as if in that frail, tenure he held the hist link that bound him to love nnd life. Isabel looked nt him wOnderingiy. How different wns this adieu from that, passionate farewell under Thurston's onk, when he hnd flung himself 'lifltfh the ground ami wept aloud in the nngulsh of parting from her! "Only one more word, Mrs. Gilbert,” Roland said,- after n brief pause. ■’•Your husband —does he know, about this person who asks for money from you?” "No—l —l should have told him—l think —and naked him to give me the ’money, THily he it'very tlipfle Iritiut not” be troubled about anything.” M •'He is very ill—your husband is ill?” “Yea—l thought every one kpew. He is very, very ill. It is on that account I came here so late. I have been sitting in his room. Good night.” “But you cannot go biu'k alone; it in stub n long way. It will be 2 o’clock iu .the morning before you cau get back to Graybridge. I will drive you home? or it will be better to let my coachman —my mother'll old coachman—drive you home "

It was in vain that Mrs. Gilbert protested against this arrangement. Roland Lansdell reflected that as the doctor’s wife had been admitted by his valet, her visit would, of course, be patent to all the other servants at their next morning's breakfast. Under these circumstances Mrs. Gilbert could not leave Mordred with too much publicity. Isabel returned very comfortably to Graybridge; but she begged the coachman to stop at the top of me, bine, where she alighted and bade’biih good night. She found all dark in the little surgery, which she entered by means of her husband’s latch key, and she crept softly up the stairs to the room opposite that in which George Gilbert lay, watched over by Mrs. Jeffson.

CHAPTER XXIII. “See that some hothouse grapes and a pine are sent to Mr. Gilbert at Graybridge,” Roland said to his valet, on the morning after Isabel’s 'visit. “I was very sorry to hear of his serious illness from his wife last night.” Mr. Lansdell's valet, very busily occupied with a hat brush, smiled softly to himself as his employer made this speech. The master of Mordred Priory need scarcely have stained his erring soul by any hypocritical phrase respecting the Graybridge surgeon. “I shouldn't mind laying a twelvemonth’s wages that if her husband dies he marries her within six months,” Roland’s man servant remarked, as he sipped his second cup of coffee; “I never did see such an infatuated young man in all my life.” Roland went to Lowlands in the evening. He found Gwendoline in the drawing room, looking something like Marie Antoinette in a demi-toilette of gray silk, with a black lace scarf crossed upon her stately shoulders, and tied in a careless bow at the back of her waist. Mr. Raymond was established in a big chintzcovered easy chair, turning over a box of books newly arrived and muttering scornful comments on their titles and contents. “At last!” he exclaimed, as Mr. Lansdell's name was announced. “I’ve called at Mordred half a dozen times within the last two months; but as your people always said you were out, and I could always see by their faces that you were at home, I have given up the business in despair.” The dinner was drawing to a close when Gen. Ruysdale mentioned a name that awakened all Mr. Lansdell’s attention.

“I rode into Graybridge after leaving you, Roland,” he said, “and I made a call or two. I was sorry to hear that Mr. Gilmore —-Gilson—Gilbert, ah, yes, Gilbert’—that very worthy young doctor, whom we met at your house, is ill. Low fever—really in a very dangerous state. You’ll be very sorry to hear it, Gwendoline.” “I am sorry to hear it,” she said. “I am sorry for Mr. Gilbert, for more than one reason. I am sorry he has so very bad a wife.” Roland's face Hushed crimson, and he turned to his cousin as if about to speak, but Mr. Raymond was too quick for him. “I think the less we say upon that subject the better,” he exclaimed, eagerly; “I think, Gwendoline, that is a subject that had much better not be discussed here.” She was very quiet, but very pale, and looked at her cousin as steadily in the eyes as if she had been fighting a smallsword duel with him. subject is one that will scarcely bear discussion here or elsewhere; but since you accuse me of feminine malice, I am bound to defend myself. I say that Mrs. Gilbert is a very bad wife. A person who is seen to attend a secret rendezvous with a stranger, net once, but several times, with all appearance of stealth and mystery, while her husband lies between life and death, must surely be one of the worst of women.” Gwendoline rose from the table and Mr. Raymond hurried to open the door for her. But Roland’s eyes were never lifted from his empty plate; he was waiting for something; and now and then a little convulsive movement of his lower lip betrayed that he was agitated; but that was all. Then the general exclaimed at the lateness of the hour. “I've some letters to write that must go by to-night’s post,” he said. “I know you'll excuse me if I leave you for an hour or so.” Charles Raymond murmured some polite little conventionality as the general left the room; but lie never removed his eyes from Roland's face. He had watched the brewing of the storm, and was prepared for n speedy thunder clap. Nor was he mistaken in his calculations. (To be continued.)