CHAPTER IV.
Magnus Duncan was in a brown study. Rick, his terrier, had been endeavouring for some time past to attract his master’s attention, but so far his efforts had been fruitless.
Patients had been and gone, and the consulting-room was empty save for Rick and his master, but still Magnus made no move to get his hat and go for a walk as his custom was.
Rick could not understand it, so, finding that poking his nose into the hand that hung down over the arm of the chair, and giving vent to small whines, produced no effect, he suddenly jumped on to his master’s knee and commenced to lick vigorously the hand upon which Magnus had rested his forehead.
With a start and a laugh Magnus came back to earth, for, if the truth must be told, he had been indulging in a habit which had become common with him of late, viz., building castles in the air. In these, too, a very large part was played by a certain golden-haired, hazel-eyed young lady known to the reader under the name of Marielle Heritage.
For it had come to this, that Magnus Duncan’s true heart had found its liege lady, and his life’s happiness depended upon the answer that Marielle would give to a certain question which he intended to put to her before long.
“If I could only be sure of her!” sighed Magnus to himself. “But she is so modest and shy, she will never let me be certain she cares for me. I think she does though, in spite of the reserve she wraps herself up in. My queen!”
Humming unconsciously the air of Blumenthal’s exquisite song, young Dr. Duncan got up and fetched his hat and stick. Rick took this as an invitation to a walk, and immediately began to utter a series of sharp shrill barks expressive of his delight at the prospect. But he was doomed to disappointment after all, for just as Magnus was leaving the house a messenger came up in hot haste bearing a note.
Opening it the young man read, “Please come at once to 27, York Road. My mother is seriously ill, and I do not know what is the matter with her.—M. H.”
Magnus only waited to secure his bag, into which he put various things of use in emergencies, then hailing a hansom he was driven rapidly along to York Road.
Arrived there he was shown up at once into the room where Mrs. Heritage was lying in bed, with Marielle standing anxiously beside her.
One glance from the keen blue eyes at the face upon the pillow told Magnus Duncan what was amiss.
Marielle only whispered, “I am so glad you have come,” then turning to Mrs. Heritage said, “Mother darling, here is the doctor come to see you.”
An inarticulate effort at speech accompanied by a bewildered look was the only response, and Marielle turned the most piteous of faces to meet the kindly eyes of the young man, saying, “She has been like this for nearly two hours now, and I cannot think what causes it.”
Magnus Duncan beckoned the girl to come a little further away from the invalid while he made a careful examination of the helpless limbs. He could not trust himself to speak at the moment. Her trouble almost unmanned him.
The examination over, the young doctor asked that one of the servants might be told to remain in the sick-room while he had a little talk with Marielle downstairs, and as soon as they reached the little drawing-room he asked, “Tell me just how this began?”
“It began with a cold,” replied Marielle. “I had a slight one on Sunday and was unable to go out, so mother said she would not walk so far as St. Jude’s by herself, but would go to St. Saviour’s instead for once. When she came back she was shivering, and she told me she had been shown into a pew close beside a damp wall. She sneezed violently, she said, so many times that people turned to look at her, and she did not like to attract further attention by coming out. On Monday and Tuesday she got up as usual, but yesterday I persuaded her to stay in bed as her cold was no better, and to-day she became as you see her now. I thought at first that she was only drowsy, then I became very uneasy and sent for you.”
“Have you never seen paralysis before?” asked Magnus gently.
“Oh, no! Oh! it cannot be that, surely. Oh, say it is not that!” Yet as she asked, she knew it must be so, from the pitiful look in the honest eyes that met her own.
How hard it was for Magnus to stand by and witness Marielle’s grief and be obliged to suppress his longing to take her in his arms and comfort her, was a secret that remained locked in his breast.
He impressed upon her the necessity for being brave, and after giving a few directions, took his leave, promising to send a nurse in at once.
It was the beginning of what proved to be a long and trying illness for poor Mrs. Heritage. Indeed at first it seemed a little doubtful whether she would ever recover, but this was during the first week only. After that, the improvement in her condition though very slow was sure, and though it was not likely that she would ever again be so strong and well as formerly, there was every reason to hope that in time she might be able to resume to a great extent her former active life. Magnus Duncan continued to treat the case himself, by common consent. Paralysis was a subject to which he had given special study and attention, and although the older doctor accompanied his son once or twice at first, it was more as a matter of form than anything. It is superfluous to say that every expedient that skill and devotion could bring to bear upon the case was resorted to by the young doctor, and his unceasing efforts were not lost upon either Marielle or the invalid. Both mother and daughter had been from the beginning of the acquaintanceship, strongly attracted towards him. He was so manly and straightforward, so courteous and polite to the weaker sex, yet without being in any way effeminate.
Long since Mrs. Heritage had awakened to the fact that her child was the object of devoted love on the part of Magnus Duncan, and far from feeling any displeasure at the idea, she rejoiced exceedingly. There was no one to whose care she would so gladly give her beloved daughter. It would be an inexpressible comfort to think of her darling having a strong arm and true heart to defend her, when she herself had been gathered to her last long home.
Yet, like Magnus, Mrs. Heritage was not sure of Marielle’s feelings towards the young doctor. The girl was so maidenly and modest, so free from conceit, that even if she really reciprocated his love, she would not show it until certain that she was indeed sought by him.
Neither mother nor lover need have been uneasy, however, for circumstances were lending themselves to aid their dearest wish, and Marielle’s heart had been won during these long weeks of her mother’s illness.
Magnus as an acquaintance or friend had always been charming, but Magnus in a sick-room was a revelation to Marielle. His quiet, yet withal bright and cheery, manner was the very perfection of what a medical man’s should be. It neither startled nor depressed his patients by being either boisterous or melancholy; and the gentle touch and tenderness with which from time to time he examined the paralysed limbs of Mrs. Heritage made Marielle glow with gratitude, and resolve that when a fitting opportunity presented itself she would not fail to thank Magnus for all his kindness.
Somehow she had an inkling that a few words from herself would have more value in his eyes than the biggest fee she could offer him.
At the thought of the doctor’s and other bills that would have to be paid, Marielle’s heart sank. It would be rather difficult to meet them all out of their slender income, and for a month past she had done nothing to earn money, owing to her mother’s illness. Now, however, it was no longer necessary for the nurse or anyone to sit up all night with the invalid, and Marielle decided to sleep in her mother’s room at night and let the nurse take the day duty.
Accordingly she notified her pupils to the effect that she would be able to resume her teaching the following week, and prepared to work hard.
Hence it came about that one day about a fortnight later Magnus Duncan, calling in to see Mrs. Heritage, who was promoted to a sofa for a while in the afternoon now, found her alone, Nurse Rigby having gone to prepare some little invalid delicacy, and Marielle being out.
Mrs. Heritage, who was making rapid progress towards health, noticed the quick glance around that the young doctor gave, and answered it by remarking quietly:
“Marielle is out.”
Magnus reddened at having his thoughts read so easily, but met the glance bent on him by one as steady. Then he resolved to take her into his confidence, and went straight to the point.
“I see you have guessed my secret,” he said. “Tell me, shall I have your consent if I win her?”
Mrs. Heritage held out her hand, and replied, as Magnus clasped it with his own:
“Yes, and my blessing too. There is no one I know to whom I would so gladly give my child.”
“Bless you for that!” cried Magnus. “But do you think she cares for me?”
“Ask her, and see,” said Marielle’s mother, smiling. “Remember she is not a girl to wear her heart on her sleeve.”
“When can I see her?” asked Magnus.
“Well, she is teaching at Forman’s to-day,” said Mrs. Heritage, “but she finishes about half-past three, and I persuaded her to come home by Roxton Road and take a walk in the park. She is rather pale after nursing me and being indoors so much, and I thought it would do her good. She is so fond of the Rose-walk that she is sure to stop some time, so I do not think you will see her to-day, unless”—smiling—“you come again on purpose. You must make your own opportunity, but whenever it may be, I shall rejoice so that you bring me good news.”
In response to this kindly speech Magnus Duncan just bent over the invalid and gave her a hearty kiss, then bade her good-bye, and was leaving the room when he turned back to say:
“I had nearly forgotten my message. My mother asked when she could come and see you, and I told her any time now, as you were doing so nicely; so she sent her love, and I was to say she would come to-morrow afternoon for a little while. Mr. Mellis also waylaid me as I was coming here to-day with a similar inquiry, so I promised to prepare you for a visit from him too. Dear old man! he has been so anxious about you. He would not come to-morrow as my mother is coming, but the day after.” And with a nod and bright smile Magnus went on his way.
Odd, wasn’t it, that as soon as he stepped into the road the young doctor’s feet should turn in the direction of the High Park? The sly fellow had been calculating the time at which Marielle could arrive there, and had come to the determination to seek her and learn his fate from her own lips without further delay.
He was in such a hurry to reach the Rose-walk, and so absorbed in his own thoughts, that he narrowly escaped being run over at a street-crossing, but he never checked his pace until he actually reached the spot where he expected to find his love.
At first he failed to see her, and a blank feeling of disappointment crept over him. The next moment he descried her in the midst of a group of merry children. One darling tot had fallen and grazed her knee, and Marielle was sitting with the little one in her lap, kissing away the tears, and tenderly wiping the place with her handkerchief.
Magnus stood and watched her there with adoring eyes until, smiles having been restored to the baby face of the child, she put her down from her lap to run to her companions, and rose herself to go home.
Turning, she met the rapt gaze of Magnus Duncan—whom she had not hitherto perceived—which made her heart beat fast and the blood leap to her face. With an immense effort at self-control she held out her hand, with the remark:
“Dr. Duncan! I did not expect to meet you here.”
“No? I have been to see your mother.”
“She is not worse, is she?” cried Marielle hastily.
“Oh, no!” answered Magnus, smiling reassuringly. “In fact, she is making a splendid recovery, thanks to your good nursing.”
“Thanks to your kind care and attention, you mean,” responded Marielle. Then, her voice faltering a little: “Dr. Duncan, I cannot tell you how I have thought about it, or what it has been to me, but I can never, never thank you sufficiently for all your goodness to my darling mother. Oh! if I were rich I would show you my gratitude in a practical way, but I am only poor as yet, and thanks are all I have to give you.”
They had turned into a shady alley, where they were quite alone, and as Marielle spoke she raised her eyes, brimming with tears, to meet those of the man at her side.
“All you have to give me, Marielle? Why, you have it in your power to give me the greatest reward that was ever bestowed on medical man!” Then, tenderly taking her hand in his: “Won’t you give it me, my darling? It is yourself I want.”
Trembling all over, Marielle essayed to answer, but words would not come. Instead she pressed the hand that held her own, and looked up with a face like an April day, half smiles, half tears.
Magnus Duncan read her reply aright, and strained her to his heart.
“Ah!” said Marielle archly, a little later on, “you say it is your greatest reward, but”—gravely—“I had a far greater still—once.”
“I know all about it, my darling, and it only makes me feel myself doubly blessed in having won your love,” was Magnus Duncan’s tender reply, as he drew Marielle’s hand within his arm and they strolled slowly homewards.
“It was a very pretty wedding,” was the general remark about that which was solemnised at St. Jude’s the following June. The bride looked lovely in her shimmering white robes, followed by six of her pupils as bridesmaids; and the bridegroom looked so proud and happy.
No tears were shed, for Marielle had begged there might not be, since she was not going to be separated from her mother for long; and as everyone was pleased and happy, why should they weep?
“If ever I marry,” had been Marielle’s remark some years before, “I will not go crying to my husband; it would be such a poor compliment.”
And she kept her word.
R. S. C.