Doctor Luttrell's First Patient

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

And though Alwyn only nodded in answer to this, Marcus was sure that he understood him; but as he stood by the hall fire caressing Eros he could not help feeling very anxious.

"They are neither of them to be trusted," he thought, and he determined that if the talk were too prolonged he would make some excuse to go in and interrupt them; then he raised his head uneasily and listened as the sound of a man's stifled sobs reached his ear.

It was what he had feared, that Alwyn, weak and unstrung, would break down utterly, and the next moment Dr. Luttrell had opened the door of the library.

Neither of them perceived him as he stood for a moment, watching them with keen professional eyes. Alwyn was kneeling with his face hidden on his father's knees, and Mr. Gaythorne's clasped hands were resting on his head. "My boy, we must both say it," he whispered. "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them"—but Marcus heard no more, he closed the door again softly—the scene was too sacred—not even to his dearer self—his wife—did he ever speak of what he had seen.

The Prodigal had eaten his fill of husks and had returned to his father's roof and his father's love. But in this case the father had also sinned, for surely undue severity and exacting hardness and failure of sympathy are sins to be bitterly repented. No one can gather grapes of thorns, or glean corn from a harvest of tares. And no parent who has first unwisely indulged his son, and then ruled him with a rod of iron, can well claim the glad obedience of a free son.

If Alwyn Gaythorne, trammelled and embittered by his father's tyranny, had dashed recklessly down the path that leads to destruction, his father had first driven him to the verge of frenzy.

Young limbs will not always adjust themselves to the Procrustean bed. Alwyn, who had inherited his father's strong will, refused to bear the yoke of his despotism.

"I would rather starve, and have room to breathe," he had once said to Greta. "There is no room here."

Another half-hour passed before Dr. Luttrell ventured into the room again. He found Mr. Gaythorne leaning back in his chair looking very white and exhausted, but with a peaceful expression on his face. Alwyn had just left his side and was standing by the window with a miniature in his hand.

"Dr. Luttrell," observed the old man feebly, as he gave him some restorative, "my son will stay with me to-night." And then Alwyn flushed as he met the doctor's eyes.