A MISERABLE CHRISTMAS AND
A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

IF you had asked any of the poor people of Ilverton who was the prettiest and best girl in the town, they would, one and all, have answered promptly, ‘Dr. Layard’s daughter.’ There was scarcely a poor man or woman, who did not know the way to Dr. Layard’s surgery, where he gave advice gratis to all who could not really afford to pay for it. And there was scarcely one who did not know the look of Dr. Layard’s bright, comfortable, old-fashioned kitchen, and the pleasant, tender smile on Kate Layard’s face, as she listened pityingly to their sad stories, and sent them away home with happier hearts and lighter spirits.

If it had not been for her poor people, as she called them, Kate Layard’s life would have been utterly dull and idle. She had no household duties to see after; her aunt, who had taken the management of all such matters whilst she was still a little girl, would not brook any interference with her rule; and preferred to have Kate sitting in the drawing-room, idly busy over fancy work, or practising music to which no one listened, and painting water-colour sketches, at which no one looked. There were three boys younger than herself, but they were all away, either at school or college; and the long days passed by listlessly, for want of something to do that was really worth the doing. But for her father’s poor patients, and he had a good many of them, she would have felt her life to be quite lost.

It was on a dull, dark day, near the end of November, with a thick yellow fog pressing close against the windows, which prevented her from going out, that she felt particularly disconsolate and weary. Aunt Brooks was busy about the house, making arrangements for a thorough cleaning down before Christmas; but she steadily refused Kate’s offers of help. Secretly Aunt Brooks was fearful of Dr. Layard finding out that Kate would make quite as good a housekeeper as herself; and she shrank from the idea of going into some little lonely house of her own, where she could have no more than one little maid to order about, and no scope at all for her own powers. She did not think of Kate having no scope for hers. If she had, it is quite possible that she would have laid down her command, and heroically withdrawn to leave Kate her proper post.

‘I wish, something would happen to me!’ sighed Kate, on that dull November morning. At the very moment a servant brought in a letter, just delivered by the postman. Kate was not quite sure of the handwriting; not quite sure. But all at once a vision of her father’s surgery flashed across her mind, with a frank, noble, pleasant-looking young man in her father’s place, giving advice and prescription, and good-tempered, cheery words to her poor people. It was Philip Carey, her father’s assistant, who had left them some months ago. It seemed to Kate that she had never been dull while he was there. Yes! the letter was from Philip Carey; it bore his name. A bright colour flushed up in Kate’s face. If there had been any one in the room, she would have carried it away to read it in solitude, although she did not yet know a single word in it. But she was quite alone, and no one could see the colour in her cheeks, or the ready tears that sprang into her eyes, and made the lines look dim.

‘I used to fancy sometimes,’ said Philip Carey, ‘that I might win your love; but I never dared to be sure of it. I was too poor then, and my future was too uncertain, for me to say how dearly I loved you. But now I am appointed the assistant physician at Lentford Hospital, I think your father would be satisfied with my prospects. I do not write to him but to you. If there is any hope for me, if you can trust your whole happiness to me, write but the one word “Come,” and I will come over immediately after my official appointment on the 30th, and speak to Dr. Layard. If you do not write, I shall understand your silence.’

Kate sat, with the letter crushed between her hands, gazing blissfully into the fire. All the world was changed, quite suddenly. The day was no longer dull and dreary. It seemed almost too good to be true. Philip Carey was the very man to be a physician in the Lentford Hospital; he was so gentle and considerate with the poor, and so skilful as well. She recollected how all her poor people had bewailed and mourned after him when he went away; and what a pang it had often been to her, a pang yet a pleasure, to hear his name so often on their lips. Oh! how good she must be to make herself good enough for him! She must be the best doctor’s wife in all Lentford.

With very unsteady fingers she wrote the one word ‘Come’ as Philip had suggested; and then it occurred to her that she might catch the morning post, and he would receive her answer before night. She directed the envelope in haste, and ran out herself with it across the square; dropping it into the letter-box with her own hands, and looking after it, as one does sometimes when the letter is a very important one.

Kate kept her precious secret to herself. Aunt Brooks was in a rather testy temper, and it was not easy to begin such a confidential disclosure to her. Dr. Layard was out all day, and only came in late at night, worn out and exhausted. Kate rather rejoiced in the secret being a secret. Everybody would know quite soon enough; for her letter had reached her on the 28th, and Philip was sure to come over on the 30th, for Lentford was only ten miles away, and he could ride to Ilverton as soon as his official appointment was confirmed.