The captain turned an imploring eye, first towards his cousin, then towards the parson.
“I ‘m engaged to dine with my son—very sorry,” said the squire. “But Dale, here—”
“If he will be so kind,” put in the captain, “we might cheer the evening with a game at whist,—double dummy.” Now, poor Mr. Dale had set his heart on dining with an old college friend, and having no stupid, prosy double dummy, in which one cannot have the pleasure of scolding one’s partner, but a regular orthodox rubber, with the pleasing prospect of scolding all the three other performers. But as his quiet life forbade him to be a hero in great things, the parson had made up his mind to be a hero in small ones. Therefore, though with rather a rueful face, he accepted the captain’s invitation, and promised to return at six o’clock to dine. Meanwhile he must hurry off to the other end of the town, and excuse himself from the pre-engagement he had already formed. He now gave his card, with the address of a quiet family hotel thereon, to Leonard, and not looking quite so charmed with Dr. Morgan as he was before that unwelcome prescription, he took his leave. The squire too, having to see a new churn, and execute various commissions for his Harry, went his way (not, however, till Dr. Morgan had assured him that, in a few weeks, the captain might safely remove to Hazeldean); and Leonard was about to follow, when Morgan hooked his arm in his old protege, and said, “But I must have some talk with you; and you have to tell me all about the little orphan girl.”
Leonard could not resist the pleasure of talking about Helen; and he got into the carriage, which was waiting at the door for the homoeopathist.
“I am going in the country a few miles to see a patient,” said the doctor; “so we shall have time for undisturbed consultation. I have so often wondered what had become of you. Not hearing from Prickett, I wrote to him, and received from his heir an answer as dry as a bone. Poor fellow, I found that he had neglected his globules and quitted the globe. Alas, ‘pulvis et umbra sumus!’ I could learn no tidings of you. Prickett’s successor declared he knew nothing about you. I hoped the best; for I always fancied you were one who would fall on your legs,—bilious-nervous temperament; such are the men who succeed in their undertakings, especially if they take a spoonful of chamomilla whenever they are over-excited. So now for your history and the little girl’s,—pretty little thing,—never saw a more susceptible constitution, nor one more suited to pulsatilla.”
Leonard briefly related his own struggles and success, and informed the good doctor how they had at last discovered the nobleman in whom poor Captain Digby had confided, and whose care of the orphan had justified the confidence.
Dr. Morgan opened his eyes at hearing the name of Lord L’Estrange. “I remember him very well,” said he, “when I practised murder as an allopathist at Lansmere. But to think that wild boy, so full of whim and life and spirit, should become staid enough for a guardian to that dear little child, with her timid eyes and pulsatilla sensibilities. Well, wonders never cease! And he has befriended you too, you say. Ah, he knew your family.”
“So he says. Do you think, sir, that he ever knew—ever saw—my mother?”
“Eh! your mother?—Nora?” exclaimed the doctor, quickly; and, as if struck by some sudden thought, his brows met, and he remained silent and musing a few moments; then, observing Leonard’s eyes fixed on him earnestly, he replied to the question,
“No doubt he saw her; she was brought up at Lady Lansmere’s. Did he not tell you so?”