"We must humor him in every way possible," Dr. Devoe said to George, "and as soon as he is strong enough you must take him North."
George's heart sank at these words, and at others which his father constantly reiterated.
"I wish to get away from this city, George," he would say feebly. "I will go anywhere, only to be away from this town and its people. Oh, I've had such a warning! This is no place for you or me. Its people are aliens. They destroyed one of my boys, and they have nearly cost you your life, as well as your happiness and success in life. Oh, that terrible old woman, with her tongue of fire! She looked and talked like an accusing fiend. I want to go away from it all, and forget it all—that such a place and people exist. Help me get strong, doctor, and then George and I will go, as Lot fled from Sodom."
"Yes, Mr. Houghton," Dr. Devoe would answer, "all your wishes shall be carried out;" and this assurance would pacify the old man for a time.
When alone with George the physician would add: "You see how it is, my young friend. Your father is in such a feeble, wavering state of mind and body that we must make it all clear sailing for him. Even if he asks for what is impossible, we must appear to gratify him. Anything which disturbs his mind will be injurious to his physical health."
George could not but admit the truth of the doctor's words, and he manfully faced his duty, hoping that the future still had possibilities.
After getting some much-needed sleep the day following his escape, he wrote:
"MY DEAR CAPTAIN BODINE—If I had known you better your letter would not have been such an agreeable surprise. Please do me the favor not to over-estimate my effort for you and those with you—an effort which any man would have made. That it was successful, is as much a cause for gratitude in my own case as in yours. Please present my compliments to the ladies, and express my hope that they suffered no ill effects from their hasty exchange of boats. I trust that the stupid boatman, who was to blame for your disaster, will not attempt to navigate anything more complicated than a wheelbarrow hereafter. I regret to say that my father is still very ill, and that his physician enjoins the utmost care and quiet until he recovers from his nervous shock. With much respect, I am, Gratefully yours,
"GEORGE HOUGHTON."
When Ella's physician came the following day, he found his patient so much better that he could not account for it until he had heard the glad news. The healthful, elastic nature of the girl rallied swiftly. George's second letter was handed her to read, and she kept it. Being clever with her pencil, she made a ludicrous caricature of the colored boatman caught in a gale with a wheelbarrow. Her smile was glad now, for hope grew stronger every moment. Her right to love was now unquestioned, and even her proud father and cousin had only words of respect and admiration for the lover who, in a few brief moments, had vindicated the manhood which she had recognized in the first moments of their chance encounter.