Whatever her own doubts and imaginings, she was always cheerful before her father, for he seemed to carry a weight through life that would break him down, unless sustained by his daughter’s strength of mind.
Dr Fellows was a man of about fifty years of age, but he looked older. His figure was bent and attenuated, his hair nearly white, his features lined with care and yellow from ill-health. No one to see them together could have believed him to be the father of the healthy and finely-formed young woman who advanced to meet him. The frank, ingenuous expression on his daughter’s face contrasted pleasantly with his reserved and somewhat morose physiognomy. He hardly smiled as she took his broad-brimmed Panama hat and stick from him, and kissed him on the forehead. The doctor was dressed in a complete suit of white nankeen, and his face was scarcely less white than his clothes.
‘You look very tired, father!’ exclaimed Liz. ‘Have you been far from the plantation to-night, and are there any fresh cases?’
‘I walked to the other side of Shanty Hill, to see a child of Mathy Jones, but I was too late. The fever had set in with convulsions, and it was dead before I arrived. And poor old Ben is gone too, Liz; Mr Latham’s faithful old servant. I would have given all I am worth to save him, but I failed to do so. I think my right hand must have lost its cunning,’ said the Doctor, in a tone of deep depression.
‘No, no! father! It is nothing of the sort. You are overtired with your constant work, or you would not think of such nonsense. Let me mix you a white wine sherbet, you seem quite exhausted. And here is Henri, so talk of something else, and divert your thoughts.’
‘How are you, Monsieur de Courcelles? We have not seen much of you lately,’ said Dr Fellows languidly.
The indifference with which he spoke, showed that he did not care much for his intended son-in-law. Indeed, excepting that he believed his daughter to possess a much clearer and more practical head than his own, he never would have sanctioned the engagement. But Lizzie loved him, so the Doctor argued—and believed in him, and therefore it must be all right. Lizzie was too sensible to make a mistake about it. The Doctor forgot, or was ignorant of the fact, that the cleverest women often make the greatest fools of themselves where their hearts are concerned, and their vivid imaginations make them believe those they love to be all they could wish them. The handsome, nonchalant young Frenchman did not appear much better pleased to meet Dr Fellows than he did to see him, but he considered it worth his while to refute his assertion.
‘That has been your fault more than mine,’ he replied airily. ‘I was just telling your daughter that I have made several attempts to find you at home, without success. My time is not my own, you know, any more than yours.’
‘Oh, if Liz is satisfied, I am sure I am!’ retorted Dr Fellows.
‘It is all right, father, Henri and I perfectly understand each other,’ interposed his daughter cheerfully. ‘But had you not better go and lie down, father? I don’t like that heavy look in your eyes; and you may be called up again at any hour of the night. Do take some rest whilst you can.’