But the moment his horse's feet rang on the stones, this burly philosopher shook off the past, and set himself to recover lost time. He drove rapidly to several patients, and, at six o'clock, was at 13 Chettle Street, and asked for the lady on the second floor, “Yes, sir: she is at home,” was the reply. “But I don't know; she lives very retired. She hasn't received any visits since they came. However, they rent the whole floor, and the sitting-room fronts you.”
Dr. Amboyne mounted the stair and knocked at the door. A soft and mellow voice bade him enter. He went in, and a tall lady in black, with plain linen collar and wristbands, rose to receive him. They confronted each other. Time and trouble had left their trace, but there were the glorious eyes, and jet black hair, and the face, worn and pensive, but still beautiful. It was the woman he had loved, the only one.
“Mrs. Little!” said he, in an indescribable tone.
“Dr. Amboyne!”
For a few moments he forgot the task he had undertaken; and could only express his astonishment and pleasure at seeing her once more.
Then he remembered why he was there; and the office he had undertaken so lightly alarmed him now.
His first instinct was to gain time. Accordingly, he began to chide her gently for having resided in the town and concealed it from him; then, seeing her confused and uncomfortable at that reproach, and in the mood to be relieved by any change of topic, he glided off, with no little address, as follows:—“Observe the consequences: here have I been most despotically rusticating a youth who turns out to be your son.”
“My son! is there any thing the matter with my son? Oh, Dr. Amboyne!”
“He must have been out of sorts, you know, or he would not have consulted me,” replied the doctor, affecting candor.
“Consult! Why, what has happened? He was quite well when he left me this morning.”