CHAPTER XVIII.

ACCIDENT DISARRANGES DR. WINTHROP’S PLANS.

While Mrs. Rochester and her daughter were absorbed in the contents of Dr. Winthrop’s letter, the young physician and his friend, Mr. Tillinghast, were rolling rapidly through the streets of Paris, intending to have a long day in the suburbs.

It was a fine, bracing day near the last of October; the country was in its glory, the roads as smooth as a floor, and Dr. Winthrop, feeling finally released from the Rochester-Hamilton contract and proportionately relieved, seemed more like himself than he had since his great trouble.

The two gentlemen enjoyed their excursion exceedingly; they visited several points of interest, drove over many miles of beautiful country, and finally returned to the city just as the sun was setting.

As they were passing through one of the crowded thoroughfares to their hotel, they came upon a carriage that had just been overturned.

A number of people were gathered about it, and they could see some one assisting a woman from the _débris_.

Mr. Tillinghast put his head out of the window and told the driver to ascertain what the trouble was.

The coachman made the inquiry and replied that two American ladies had been driving; their carriage had been struck by a heavy team and been overturned. One lady had been injured and was now lying unconscious, and the other one was badly frightened.

The sympathies of both men were at once enlisted. They sprang to the ground and made their way through the crowd to see if they could be of any assistance to their unfortunate countrywomen, and the next moment Dr. Winthrop found himself face to face with Miss Rochester.

For an instant a feeling of annoyance and dismay came over him; then his native chivalry, as well as his professional instinct, was aroused, the more so as he caught sight of a middle-aged woman of fine appearance lying unconscious upon some cushions, the sleeve and front of her dress saturated with blood.

“Miss Rochester! can I be of any assistance?” he inquired, in a grave, courteous tone, for he would not force his services upon her even in an emergency like this.

The girl shot a quick, startled look at him, for she had not seen him until he spoke her name; then a faint smile broke over her pale face, and she cried eagerly:

“O Dr. Winthrop! if you will be so kind as to see how seriously mamma is injured I shall be very grateful.”

He was on his knees before the unconscious woman, making an examination before she had ceased speaking. He found that Mrs. Rochester’s left arm had been broken, and was also badly cut by the glass from a shattered window, while he feared there might be some internal injury, the nature of which he could not determine without a more thorough examination.

“Tillinghast,” he said to his friend, “lend a hand here; we will put her in our carriage—that is, if Miss Rochester approves,” he added, glancing at the anxious girl.

“Certainly. Please do just what you think is best, and believe me I am very thankful to have you come so opportunely to our aid,” she returned earnestly.

Dr. Winthrop tied a ligature about the bleeding arm, and then Mrs. Rochester was borne to the carriage, the daughter following, while, having given the driver the street and number, the young physician sprang upon the box beside him, telling him to drive with all possible speed to their destination.

They had not far to go, and fifteen minutes later the injured woman was lying upon her own bed, and Dr. Winthrop was making a careful examination of the case.

He found nothing more serious than the broken bone and the cut, which was an ugly one, although there was also quite a severe bruise upon her shoulder.

The broken bone was soon skilfully set, a few stitches taken in the gaping wound, and then the woman was restored to consciousness and made as comfortable as circumstances would permit, after which Dr. Winthrop turned to Miss Rochester and gave certain directions about the treatment to be pursued during the night.

These matters settled, he quietly inquired:

“Do you know of any skilful surgeon whom you would like to have for Mrs. Rochester?”

Miss Rochester looked up at him surprised.

“I am sure no one could do better than you. Why should I not leave her in your care?”

“Thank you for the confidence you manifest,” he replied, “but I leave Paris to-morrow morning, and would like to place Mrs. Rochester in good hands before I go.”

She understood; she knew that he was hurrying away from Paris because he felt that it would be awkward to meet her, and she flushed at the thought.

But beautiful Sadie Rochester was an accomplished woman of the world, young as she was. It was her delight to conquer the hearts of men—the more difficult the conquest the greater her pleasure in the victory—and now she felt an uncontrollable desire to bring this man also to her feet.

She had been very much prepossessed with Dr. Winthrop when she was first presented to him by her friend; she had rarely met any one who made so strong an impression upon her, and as she had stood before him looking into his fathomless eyes and reading his grand face, she had congratulated herself that he, with his great fortune, was the man who was destined to be her husband.

She had therefore been terribly disappointed when, that very morning, she had learned the story of his marriage, of his disinclination to fulfil the conditions of his uncle’s will, and of his intention of leaving Paris without even the courtesy of paying her a call.

Now accident had thrown him again in her way. Men did not grieve always over the loss of their wives; they were often consoled by taking another; and why should she not set her wits at work to win him from his sorrow, and thus secure for herself the position and fortune she so much coveted?

Such thoughts as these had been busy in her brain ever since he had come so opportunely to her aid, and now she suddenly resolved to make the most of her opportunity.

“O Dr. Winthrop, must you go to-morrow? Is it absolutely necessary?” she cried appealingly, while she glanced anxiously toward the room where her mother lay.

It was not absolutely necessary; his time was his own, and he had intended to stay longer in Paris before his meeting with her.

He flushed slightly with the consciousness of this, and evaded a direct reply.

“I had arranged to leave for Italy in the morning,” he said.

“I am very sorry,” Miss Rochester returned, with a slight tremor in her voice; “because, although you are a stranger to us, the fact that you are one of our countrymen makes me have more confidence in you than I could have in a native surgeon, however skilful he might be.”

She was very beautiful. She had exchanged her street dress, which had been torn and soiled in the overturning of the carriage, for a white cashmere tea-gown, that was simply trimmed with black watered ribbons, and was very becoming to her, while the appealing expression in her glance and that pathetic little quiver in her tone touched the young physician to the heart.

“It is not as if we had papa to depend upon now,” she added, with a sigh, and then suddenly stopped.

Dr. Winthrop started, and glanced sharply over her black and white dress, a sudden light breaking upon him.

“Do you mean——” he began, interpreting her emotions rightly.

“Yes, that papa died in Berlin last fall; of course you did not hear of it,” she said, remembering the letter received that morning.

“No,” and instantly his mind also reverted to the epistle that he had written to Mr. Rochester. “I am surprised; I had heard nothing of it. It was very sudden, was it not?”

“Yes, and it left mamma and me quite dependent upon ourselves. So it seemed almost like a special providence to me when you appeared this evening to help us in our trouble. Perhaps, however,” she added, with another sigh, as if she was trying to be resigned to what she could not help, “you may know of some surgeon whom you could recommend to us—some one whom you know to be reliable. Mamma is quite delicate, and I should not like to trust her with one who was not both skilful and conscientious.”

How tenderly she spoke of Mrs. Rochester, and Dr. Winthrop, knowing that the lady was Mr. Rochester’s second wife, and consequently Sadie’s step-mother, was impressed by this apparent goodness of heart.

Why should he not remain and do what he could for these two lonely women? He might at least postpone his departure for a few days, or until he could be sure that Mrs. Rochester had suffered no internal injury; then after her arm began to knit she would not need very close attention, and he could be spared.

“I will stay,” he said gently, “at least until Mrs. Rochester recovers somewhat from the shock of her accident.”

Miss Rochester lifted her expressive eyes with a thrilling, grateful glance.

“You are very good,” she responded simply. Then after a moment, as if she had suddenly resolved upon the performance of some difficult duty, she continued, speaking rapidly, though she flushed a vivid crimson. “And, Dr. Winthrop, if you will forgive me for speaking very freely, though I know it will set us both more at ease, I would like to tell you that mamma read the letter you sent to papa this morning, and, as we have no secrets from each other, I also know its contents. Nay, I beg you will not allow the fact to make you uncomfortable,” she interposed, as he flushed and winced, “it is far better that we should clearly understand each other. It was a foolish and arbitrary thing for two men to make such a contract as papa and your uncle made years ago; as if a couple of young people who had never seen each other could assume such sacred relations to gratify a mere whim. Let me thank you for being so frank in your letter, and—and may I not number you among my friends? unless,” she concluded, with a silvery little laugh, that rang like music through the room, “you regard me as an object to be dreaded and shunned.”

Dr. Winthrop saw that she understood why he had planned to leave Paris so suddenly, and he thought her charming in her frankness and in so courageously attacking the subject of the contract. Probably she had dreaded the union as much as he, and had gladly welcomed the release which he had been so tardy in tendering her; perhaps she even loved some one else, and would now be free to follow the inclination of her heart.

This view of the matter hurt and irritated him a little, and yet he admired her for being so outspoken, and for trying to put him at his ease, when she could not fail to understand the embarrassment of his position.

“You are very good, Miss Rochester, to meet me so openly upon this subject, and you do me honor in requesting my friendship, which I assure you is most heartily accorded. I am free to confess that when I met you yesterday, I almost felt myself a cumberer of the ground, as if I was a blot upon the otherwise fair sky of your life,” the young physician concluded, with a deprecatory smile.

Again his companion laughed sweetly.

“There was no need of such self-condemnation as that, I assure you,” she said, “for you were not to blame—neither of us is to blame because our natures recoil from obedience to the arbitrary wishes of our friends. But,” with a roguish glance, “if you feel uncomfortable about remaining to treat mamma, on my account, I promise you you shall not once set eyes upon me—you shall not have cause to know that I am in Paris.”

He knew that she did not mean it, yet it told him how cleverly she had read his feelings.

“Pray, Miss Rochester, do not imagine that I am so unreasonable as that. I will gladly remain to look after Mrs. Rochester, but you must not allow my presence to banish you from attendance upon her for a single moment. You have treated me with too much candor to-day for me to entertain any other than the most friendly sentiments,” Dr. Winthrop earnestly replied.

“Thank you for the assurance,” Miss Rochester answered, with a charming smile. Then she added gently, and with visible feeling: “Mamma and I were both deeply touched by the sad story in your letter, and I want to tell you how sorry I am for your great bereavement; you perceive I am assuming the prerogative of a friend in expressing my sympathy.”

Her voice faltered, and there were tears in her eyes as she held out her hand to him.

He clasped it, and seemed greatly affected by the feeling which she manifested.

He could not speak, but he looked the appreciation of her sympathy which he could not express.

With great tact she changed the subject, and kept him talking for some time upon topics of mutual interest, and when he finally took his departure he found, to his surprise, that he had spent more than half an hour in her society, and enjoyed every moment.

The next morning he felt a strange impatience to learn how his patient passed the night, and wondered if his former interest in his profession was not returning to him.

He found Mrs. Rochester much more comfortable than he expected. She was bright and smiling, and he saw at once that she was a woman possessing more than ordinary character, with great energy and natural ability.

She greeted him with charming cordiality and thanked him heartily for having promised to remain in Paris on her account for a few days longer.

“Though,” she remarked, with a resolute nod of her head, “I am not going to be ill; I believe I should have got up this morning, before this, only I feared a reprimand from you.”

It would be better, he told her, to lie quietly in bed, for two or three days at least, until she should fully recover from the nervous shock to her system.

“But I am in no pain. I am only a trifle weak and a little lame in this shoulder from the hard knocks I received, and I warn you, Dr. Winthrop, that I cannot consent to lie inactive here for any length of time. Poor Sadie is worse off, I believe, than I am this morning,” she concluded, with a sigh.

“Is Miss Rochester ill?” Dr. Winthrop questioned, with a look of concern.

He had missed her when he first entered, but kept hoping that she would make her appearance before he left.

“I cannot say that she is really ill; but she, too, is quite lame from a wrench which she received in yesterday’s accident,” Mrs. Rochester replied.

“I am sorry; can I do anything for her?” Dr. Winthrop eagerly asked.

“Thank you, I do not imagine that she needs any special treatment. She thought that complete rest would do as much for her as anything,” the invalid returned, a little gleam of amusement in her dark eyes, as she observed the grave interest that the young physician manifested in her daughter.

He had confidently expected to meet Miss Rochester, and had looked forward to the frank, pleasant greeting which he felt sure he should receive from her.

But Mrs. Rochester had no intention of allowing him to go away moping, and adroitly started a conversation that kept him chatting for some time by her bedside. She was a fluent and intelligent talker and a woman who always made the most of her opportunities, especially when she had any particular object in view.

She referred, in a casual and delicate way, to what she termed the foolish whim of his uncle and her husband; seemed to assume that it was perfectly natural that two young people should revolt against any such unnatural arrangement, and did not once hint at any personal regret for the pecuniary loss which the non-conformance to the contract would entail upon herself or her daughter. She touched upon his peculiar sorrow in a feeling way, mentioned some of the particulars regarding her husband’s death, and then passed, easily and gracefully, to more cheerful topics. She was altogether so genial and entertaining that she seemed less a stranger than an old friend when the young doctor finally rose to go.

Mrs. Rochester laughingly remarked, as he shook hands with her, that if he did not think she needed professional attendance every day he must intersperse such visits with social calls, for she found it very refreshing to meet one so recently from America, notwithstanding they were comparative strangers.

He did not see Miss Rochester the next time he came, nor even the next, and he grew quite impatient and half-suspicious of the “wrench” which confined her to her own room.

But when he made his fourth visit he found her sitting in their pretty parlor, and Mrs. Rochester with her.

Both ladies looked a trifle pale, but exceedingly interesting in their simple but elegant morning robes.

Both greeted him cordially, and after he had given his attention for a few moments to his patient he made some inquiry of the younger lady regarding her own mishap.

“It was not much,” she carelessly replied, a slight tinge of color suffusing her face; “just a little strain, perhaps, caused by the overturning of the carriage.”

Then she began to talk of something else, and an hour passed in delightful conversation, before Dr. Winthrop realized that he was making an exceedingly unprofessional call.

The few days during which Dr. Winthrop had consented to remain in Paris lengthened into a fortnight before it occurred to him that he was no longer really needed by his patient—that any one else, with even ordinary skill, could now attend to the injured arm as well as he.

Then he excused his disinclination to leave by telling himself that perhaps it would be as well for him to remain until it was time to remove the splints and bandages, and besides, he really did not like to go on without Tillinghast, who was such a pleasant travelling companion, but who seemed to be especially devoted to Miss Savage and strangely indifferent to the attractions of Italy.