"Your mission lies here," Father Francis said, emphatically. "You can do good, Doctor Danton. Stay!"
So Doctor Danton stayed, hanging out his shingle and taking up his abode at the village hotel. Doctor Pillule all of a sudden, like the Moor of Venice, found his occupation gone. Every one liked the pleasant young Doctor, whose ways were so different from those of Doctor Pillule, and who sat by their fevered bedsides, and talked to them so kindly. Every one liked him; and he soon found himself busy enough, but never so busy that some time, each day, he could not run up for half an hour to Danton Hall.
July came, and brought a letter from Captain Danton to Grace. Like many others, he hated letter-writing, and, never performed that duty when he could possibly avoid it. But Kate declined writing, absolutely; so it fell to his lot. They were in New York, on the eve of departure for Newport, and Kate had already benefited by the change. That was nearly all; and it was the middle of July before the second arrived. They were still at Newport, and the improvement in Kate was marked. The wan and sickly look was rapidly passing away—the change, the excitement, the sea-bathing, the gay life, were working wonders.
"She has created somewhat of a sensation here," said the latter, "and might be one of the belles, if she chose; but she doesn't choose. Her coldness, her proud and petrified air, her strange and gloomy manner, throws a halo of mystery around her, that has fixed all eyes upon her, and set all tongues going. We are quite unknown here, and I don't choose to enlighten any one. I dare say, more than one little romance has been concocted, founded on poor Kate's settled gloom; but, beyond our names, they really know nothing. Some of the young men look as if they would like to be a little more friendly, but she freezes them with one flash of her blue eyes."
August came, burning and breezeless, and they were at Saratoga, drinking Congress water, and finding life much the same as at Newport. Kate had recovered her looks, the Captain's letters said; the beauty that had made her so irresistible had returned, and made her more irresistible than ever. There was nothing like her at Saratoga; but she was as deeply wrapped in mystery as ever, and about as genial as a statue in Parian marble.
The end of August found them journeying southward. The beginning of September, and they were domesticated in the friendly Georgian homestead; and then, Kate, tired after all her wanderings, sank down in the tropical warmth and beauty, and drew a breath of relief. She liked it so much, this lovely southern land, where the gorgeous flowers bloomed and the tropic birds flitted with the hues of Paradise on their wings. She liked the glowing richness of the southern days and nights, the forests and fields so unlike anything she had ever seen before; the negroes with their strange talk and gaudy garments, the pleasant house and the pleasant people. She liked it all, and the first sensation of peace and rest she had felt all these months stole into her heart here. And yet it had done her a world of good—she was a new being—outwardly at least—although her heart felt as mute and still as ever. Her life's shipwreck had been so sudden and so dreadful, she had been so stunned and stupefied at first, and the after-anguish so horribly bitter, that this haven of rest was as grateful as some green island of the sea to a shipwrecked mariner. Here there was nothing to remind her of all that was past and gone—here, where everything was new, her poor bruised heart might heal.
Captain Danton saw and thanked Heaven gratefully for the blessed change in the daughter he loved, and yet she was not the Kate of old. All the youth and joyousness of life's springtime was gone. She sang no more the songs he loved; they were dead and buried in the dead past; her clear laugh never rejoiced his heart now; her fleeting smile came cold and pale as moonlight, on snow. She took no interest in the home she had left; she made no inquiries for those who were there.
"I have had a letter from Danton Hall," he would say; "and they are well." And she would silently bend her head. Or, "I am writing to Danton Hall; have you any message to send?" "Only my love to Eeny," would be the answer; and then she would stray off and leave him alone. She was as changed to him as she was changed in other things. Grace stood between—an insuperable barrier.
September drew to a close. October came, and with it the time for their departure. Kate left reluctantly; she longed to stay there forever, in that land of the sun, and forget and be at peace. It was like tearing half-healed wounds open to go back to a place where everything her eye rested on or her ear heard, from morning till night, recalled the bitter past. But fate was inexorable; farewell must be said to beautiful Georgia and the kind friends there; and the commencement of the second week of October found them starting on their journey to their northern home.