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The Doctor's Dilemma by Hesba Stretton

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"All the world is here to meet us, monsieur," I said.

"Madame, I have also the honor of presenting to you two strangers from
England," answered Monsieur Laurentie, while the people fell back to
make way for them. Jack and Minima! both wild with delight. We learned
afterward, as we marched up the valley to Ville-en-bois, that Dr. Senior
had taken Jack's place in Brook Street, and insisted upon him and Minima
giving us this surprise. Our procession, headed by the drum, the fife,
and the violin, passed through the village street, from every window of
which a little flag fluttered gayly, and stopped before the presbytery,
where Monsieur Laurentie dismissed it, after a last _vivat_.

The next stage of our homeward journey was made in Monsieur Laurentie's
_char a bancs_, from Ville-en-bois to Granville--Jack and Minima had
returned direct to England, but we were to visit Guernsey on the way.
Captain Carey and Julia made it a point that we should go to see them,
and their baby, before settling down in our London home. Martin was
welcomed with almost as much enthusiasm in St. Peter-Port as I had been
in little Ville-en-bois.

From our room in Captain Carey's house I could look at Sark lying along
the sea, with a belt of foam encircling it. At times, early in the
morning, or when the sunset light fell upon it, I could distinguish the
old windmill, and the church breaking the level line of the summit; and
I could even see the brow of the knoll behind Tardifs cottage. But day
after day the sea between us was rough, and the westerly breeze blew
across the Atlantic, driving the waves before it. There was no steamer
going across, and Captain Carey's yacht could not brave the winds. I
began to be afraid that Martin and I would not visit the place, which of
all others in this half of the world was dearest to me.

"To-morrow," said Martin one night, after scanning the sunset, the sky,
and the storm-glass, "if you can be up at five o'clock, we will cross to
Sark."

I was up at four, in the first gray dawn of a September morning. We had
the yacht to ourselves, for Captain Carey declined running the risk of
being weather-bound on the island--a risk which we were willing to
chance. The Havre Gosselin was still in morning shadow when we ran into
it; but the water between us and Guernsey was sparkling and dancing in
the early light, as we slowly climbed the rough path of the cliff. My
eyes were dazzled with the sunshine, and dim with tears, when I first
caught sight of the little cottage of Tardif, who was stretching out his
nets, on the stone causeway under the windows. Martin called to him, and
he flung down his nets and ran to meet us.

"We are come to spend the day with you, Tardif," I cried, when he was
within hearing of my voice.

"It will be a day from heaven," he said, taking off his fisherman's cap,
and looking round at the blue sky with its scattered clouds, and the sea
with its scattered islets.

It was like a day from heaven. We wandered about the cliffs, visiting
every spot which was most memorable to either of us, and Tardif rowed us
in his boat past the entrance of the Gouliot Caves. He was very quiet,
but he listened to our free talk together, for I could not think of good
old Tardif as any stranger; and he seemed to watch us both, with a
far-off, faithful, quiet look upon his face. Sometimes I fancied he did
not bear what we were saying, and again his eyes would brighten with a
sudden gleam, as if his whole soul and heart shone through them upon us.
It was the last day of our holiday, for in the morning we were about to
return to London, and to work; but it was such a perfect day as I had
never known before.

"You are quite happy, Mrs. Martin Dobree?" said Tardif to me, when we
were parting from him.

"I did not know I could ever be so happy," I answered.

"We saw him to the last moment standing on the cliff, and waving his hat
to us high above his head. Now and then there came a shout across the
water. Before we were quite beyond ear-shot, we heard Tardif's voice
calling amid the splashing of the waves:

"God be with you, my friends. Adieu, mam'zelle!"




CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH.

A POSTSCRIPT BY MARTIN DOBREE.


You may describe to a second person, with the most minute and exact
fidelity in your power, the leading and critical events in your life,
and you will find that some trifle of his own experience is ten times
more vivid to his mind. You narrate to your friend, whom you have not
met for many years, the incident that has turned the whole current of
your existence; and after a minute or two of musing, he asks you, "Do
you remember the day we two went bird-nesting on Gull's Cliff?" That day
of boyish daring and of narrow escapes is more real to him than your
deepest troubles or keenest joys. The brain receives but slightly
second-hand impressions.

I had told Olivia faithfully all my dilemmas with regard to Julia and
the Careys; and she had seemed to listen with intense interest.
Certainly it was during those four bewildering and enchanted months
immediately preceding our marriage, and no doubt the narrative was
interwoven with many a topic of quite a different character. However
that might be, I was surprised to find that Olivia was not half as
nervous and anxious as I felt, when we were nearing Guernsey on our
visit to Julia and Captain Carey. Julia had seen her but once, and that
for a few minutes only in Sark. On her account she had suffered the
severest mortification a woman can undergo. How would she receive my
wife?

Olivia did not know, though I did, that Julia was somewhat frigid and
distant in her manner, even while thoroughly hospitable in her welcome.
Olivia felt the hospitality; I felt the frigidity. Julia called her
"Mrs. Dobree." It was the first time she had been addressed by that
name; and her blush and smile were exquisite to me, but they did not
thaw Julia in the least. I began to fear that there would be between
them that strange, uncomfortable, east-wind coolness, which so often
exists between the two women a man most loves.

It was the baby that did it. Nothing on earth could be more charming, or
more winning, than Olivia's delight over that child. It was the first
baby she had ever had in her arms, she told us; and to see her sitting
in the low rocking-chair, with her head bent over it, and to watch her
dainty way of handling it, was quite a picture. Captain Carey had an
artist's eye, and was in raptures; Julia had a mother's eye, and was so
won by Olivia's admiration of her baby, that the thin crust of ice
melted from her like the arctic snows before a Greenland summer.

I was not in the least surprised when, two days or so before we left
Guernsey, Julia spoke to us with some solemnity of tone and expression.

"My dear, Olivia," she said, "and you, Martin, Arnold and I would
consider it a token of your friendship for us both, if you two would
stand as sponsors for our child."

"With the greatest pleasure, Julia," I replied; and Olivia crossed the
hearth to kiss her, and sat down on the sofa at her side.

"We have decided upon calling her Olivia," continued Julia, stroking my
wife's hand with a caressing touch--"Olivia Carey! That sounds extremely
well, and is quite new in the island. I think it sounds even better than
Olivia Dobree."

As we all agreed that no name could sound better, or be newer in
Guernsey, that question was immediately settled. There was no time for
delay, and the next morning we carried the child to church to be
christened. As we were returning homeward, Julia, whose face had worn
its softest expression, pressed my arm with a clasp which made me look
down upon her questioningly. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her
mouth quivered. Olivia and Captain Carey were walking on in front, at a
more rapid pace than ours, so that we were in fact alone.

"What is the matter?" I asked, hastily.

"O Martin!" she exclaimed, "we are both so happy, after all! I wish my
poor, darling aunt could only have foreseen this! but, don't you think,
as we are both so happy, we might just go and see my poor uncle? Kate
Daltrey is away in Jersey, I know that for certain, and he is alone. It
would give him so much pleasure. Surely you can forgive him now."

"By all means let us go," I answered. I had not heard even his name
mentioned before, by any one of my old friends in Guernsey. But, as
Julia said, I was so happy, that I was ready to forgive and forget all
ancient grievances. Olivia and Captain Carey were already out of sight;
and we turned into a street leading to Vauvert Road.

"They live in lodgings now," remarked Julia, as we went slowly up the
steep street, "and nobody visits them; not one of my uncle's old
friends. They have plenty to live upon, but it is all her money. I do
not mean to let them got upon visiting terms with me--at least, not Kate
Daltrey. You know the house, Martin?"

I knew nearly every house in St. Peter-Port, but this I remembered
particularly as being the one where Mrs. Foster had lodged when she was
in Guernsey. Upon inquiring for Dr. Dobree, we were ushered at once,
without warning, into his presence.

Even I should scarcely have recognized him. His figure was sunken and
bent, and his clothes, which were shabby, sat in wrinkles upon him. His
crisp white hair had grown thin and limp, and hung untidily about his
face. He had not shaved for a week. His waistcoat was sprinkled over
with snuff, in which he had indulged but sparingly in former years.
There was not a trace of his old jauntiness and display. This was a
rusty, dejected old man, with the crow's-feet very plainly marked upon
his features.

"Father!" I said.

"Uncle!" cried Julia, running to him, and giving him a kiss, which she
had not meant to do, I am sure, when we entered the house.

He shed a few tears at the sight of us, in a maudlin manner; and he
continued languid and sluggish all through the interview. It struck me
more forcibly than any other change could have done, that he never once
appeared to pluck up any spirit, or attempted to recall a spark of his
ancient sprightliness. He spoke more to Julia than to me.

"My love," he said, "I believed I knew a good deal about women, but I've
lived to find out my mistake. You and your beloved aunt were angels.
This one never lets me have a penny of my own: and she locks up my best
suit when she goes from home. That is to prevent me going among my own
friends. She is in Jersey now; but she would not hear a word of me going
with her, not one word. The Bible says: 'Jealousy is cruel as the grave;
the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.'
Kate is jealous of me. I get nothing but black looks and cold shoulders.
There never lived a cat and dog that did not lead a more comfortable
life than Kate leads me."

"You shall come and see Arnold and me sometimes, uncle," said Julia.

"She won't let me," he replied, with fresh tears; "she won't let me
mention your name, or go past your house. I should very much like to see
Martin's wife--a very pretty creature they say she is--but I dare not. O
Julia! how little a man knows what is before him!"

We did not prolong our visit, for it was no pleasure to any one of us.
Dr. Dobree himself seemed relieved when we spoke of going away. He and I
shook hands with one another gravely; it was the first time we had done
so since he had announced his intention of marrying Kate Daltrey.

"My son," he said, "if ever you should find yourself a widower, be very
careful how you select your second wife."

These were his parting words--words which chafed me sorely as a young
husband in his honeymoon. I looked round when we were out of the house,
and caught a glimpse of his withered face, and ragged white hair, as he
peeped from behind the curtain at us. Julia and I walked on in silence
till we reached her threshold.

"Yet I am not sorry we went, Martin," she observed, in a tone as if she
thus summed up a discussion with herself. Nor was I sorry.

A few days after our return to London, as I was going home to dinner, I
met, about half-war along Brook Street, Mrs. Foster. For the first time
since my marriage I was glad to be alone; I would not have had Olivia
with me on any account. But the woman was coming away from our house,
and a sudden fear flashed across me. Could she have been annoying my
Olivia?

"Have you been to see me?" I asked her, abruptly.

"Why should I come to see you?" she retorted.

"Nor my wife?" I said.

"Why shouldn't I go to see Mrs. Dobree?" she asked again.

I felt that it was necessary to secure Olivia, and to gain this end I
must be firm. But the poor creature looked miserable and unhappy, and I
could not be harsh toward her.

"Come, Mrs. Foster," I said, "let us talk reasonably together. You know
as as well as I do you have no claim upon my wife; and I cannot have her
disturbed and distressed by seeing you; I wish her to forget all the
past. Did I not fulfil my promise to Foster? Did I not do all I could
for him?"

"Yes," she answered, sobbing, "I know you did all you could to save my
husband's life."

"Without fee?" I said.

"Certainly. We were too poor to pay you."

"Give me my fee now, then," I replied. "Promise me to leave Olivia
alone. Keep away from this street, and do not thrust yourself upon her
at any time. If you meet by accident, that will be no fault of yours. I
can trust you to keep your promise."

She stood silent and irresolute for a minute. Then she clasped my hand,
with a strong grip for a woman's fingers.

"I promise," she said, "for you were very good to him."

She had taken a step or two into the dusk of the evening, when I ran
after her for one more word.

"Mrs. Foster," I said, "are you in want?"

"I can always keep myself," she answered, proudly; "I earned his living
and my own, for months together. Good-by, Martin Dobree."

"Good-by," I said. She turned quickly from me round a corner near to us;
and have not seen her again from that day to this.

Dr. Senior would not consent to part with Minima, even to Olivia. She
promises fair to take the reins of the household at a very early age,
and to hold them with a tight hand. Already Jack is under her authority,
and yields to it with a very droll submission. She is so old for her
years, and he is so young for his, that--who can tell? Olivia predicts
that Jack Senior will always be a bachelor.

THE END.

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