At one time Colonel Carruthers would hardly have deemed Sebastian Mouncey a match for the granddaughter he loved so well; but his regard for the hardworking clergyman has strengthened considerably since he discovered in Mr. Mouncey's protégé the child of his own lost son; and, moreover, the colonel has learned to esteem goodness the highest nobility.
Edith was never ambitious in the world's sense; she has the noble ambition to serve others and make their lives brighter and better, so in working for the cottagers at Rayleigh she has found her right vocation, and is proving a true help-meet to the busy pastor.
And Gus. Let us look at him as on a March morning he enters the city hospital, in which he is studying as a medical student. He has given himself to the profession of medicine with all the enthusiasm of his warm, sound nature. He has the highest ideal of what the life of a physician should be, and the more material aspects of his calling cannot destroy it. To him, it seems to present the grandest possibility of following in the steps of the Lord Christ, and in little things as in great exhibiting the spirit of that "first true Gentleman that ever breathed."
He has applied himself with such energy to his studies, that already he is looked upon as one who promises to take a high position in his profession. No day, no hour scarcely of the past ten years, has been suffered to slip by without yielding him some permanent gain.
He is a man now. On his brow are the perpendicular lines which indicate hard thinking; his expression is grave and earnest, but he has still somewhat of the old boyish grace. His blue eyes have the same frank, kindly glance, and when he smiles, as one of his comrades addresses him playfully, it is with the bright, winsome smile of yore.
As Gus enters the women's medical ward, and passes along it, his eyes are quick to observe a fresh patient. A young woman, with a white, worn, patient face, lies in a bed to his left. She looks very ill; but it is not her suffering appearance which makes him halt suddenly before her. There is something familiar in that patient countenance, in those sad, grey eyes.
"Lucy!" he exclaims, in a tone of astonishment. "Lucy!"
"That is my name," she replies, with a startled look; "but I do not know—"
"Lucy Lucas," he returns; "Lucy Lucas, who used to live at Lavender Terrace."
A hot, painful flush dyes the face of the young woman.