They had both spoken to me with the candour of youth, of love, and of inexperience. It takes very little sometimes to bring a doctor into close relations with his patients. I seemed to become the friend of this interesting young couple at once. I assured them they need not fear being intruded upon by the villagers, and the only gentlemen’s residences within calling distance were tenantless at that season of the year, the owners either being up in London or travelling abroad. As to the vicar, he was a man whose advanced age and infirmities effectually precluded him from visiting more than was absolutely necessary among his parishioners.
“If you go to the church—a mile from here,” said I, “he may or may not call upon you. If you do not go, I think I may safely say he will not consider it necessary. In that case you will probably never meet.”
Mr. and Mrs. Wilton thanked me warmly, pressing me to come to see them frequently, which I did with ever-increasing pleasure as the beautiful romance of these two loving hearts unfolded itself. I soon discovered that Mr. Wilton had received a college education; I also gleaned that “Una” was somewhat his inferior in social position, and that since their runaway marriage they had been travelling abroad. It was no business of mine to know more than they chose to tell. I respected their secret, and asked no questions.
One morning—my visits had become almost daily now—I saw at once that there was something wrong with Mrs. Wilton, and she saw also that I perceived it.
“You need not feel my pulse, doctor; it is my heart,” she said in answer to my looks. “You will think me foolishly weak, I know,” she added, forcing a smile, “but I am miserable because my husband is going to leave me.”
“Leave you! For how long?” I inquired anxiously.
She blushed, and, looking down, answered shyly, “Till this evening. Ah, don’t laugh,” she implored; “we have never been separated for so long since we were married. I am nervous and fanciful, I suppose, but I scarcely slept last night for thinking of it, and when I did, a dreadful dream kept repeating itself—
“Oh, you must not mind dreams,” I answered.
“I never did much before, but this—ah, Charlie!” she cried, as Mr. Wilton came in booted and spurred, “I will come and see you mount.”
I saw the parting from the drawing-room window where I stood—saw her husband place his hands on either side of the sweet face, and gaze down into it with a look of unutterable love; saw their lips meet together for a moment; after that he kissed her forehead and her beautiful fair hair, then sprang into the saddle, and rode off swiftly as though he could not trust himself to linger longer. At the gate, turning, he waved a last farewell.