CHAPTER XX.

A FLIGHT FROM WAR AND PESTILENCE.

Mr. Norman Winthrop was so like his brother, the physician, that, to a casual observer, he would have appeared to be the same man.

He had the same symmetrical, stalwart form and noble carriage; the same fine, clear-cut intelligent face, and smile, and hair and eyes. But he lacked something that Dr. Winthrop possessed. Perhaps it was the grave, yet gentle dignity which always characterized the latter; or it may have been the frank, honest, straightforward look with which he met the glance of every one, which Norman had never possessed.

They frequently had occasion to laugh over the fact of their striking resemblance and the ludicrous mistakes which sometimes occurred. For instance, Dr. Winthrop and his brother were once invited to a reception which the young physician was unable to attend. When Mr. Norman Winthrop presented himself before his hostess, she inquired for his brother and he explained that an important engagement had detained him. But chancing just then to glance toward the other end of the room, he exclaimed:

“Why, no! there he is now!”

And excusing himself to the lady, he went to meet his brother and walked straight up to a full-length mirror that had been let into one side of the room, to find that he had mistaken his own reflection for the young doctor.

But Miss Sadie Rochester had never yet been guilty of mistaking one for the other, let her meet them where she would.

She had thought, the first time she saw Dr. Winthrop, that she had met her fate, for she had been attracted toward him as no other man had ever attracted her. She recognized in him a nature more lofty, a character more true than other men of her acquaintance possessed, and she believed that if she could win him for her husband and thus secure also the two great fortunes, she would have nothing left to wish for.

But when Norman Winthrop suddenly made his appearance upon the scene she realized at once her mistake.

The moment he greeted her—the moment his hand clasped hers and his eyes looked into hers she recognized a magnetic influence which his brother lacked, and from that hour he began to weave a strange spell about her.

She could not say that she liked Dr. Winthrop less, and had she never seen his twin she would have believed that she loved him; but there was a subtle power in every look, tone, and movement of Norman, which set all her pulses thrilling, as if they had been wrought upon by some weird and fascinating music.

Was it the element of wickedness inherent in both their natures which recognized in each other a kindred spirit?

The young man, on his part, seemed fascinated from the hour of their introduction, and, despite the fact that he knew Miss Rochester had for years been the destined bride of his brother, he devoted himself to her, attending her upon every possible occasion, calling upon her frequently, and constantly sending her fruit, flowers, or some other reminder of himself.

Mrs. Rochester saw danger ahead from all this attention, and the evident pleasure with which Sadie received it. She was very much troubled, heartily wishing that Norman Winthrop had never made his appearance in Paris; but she seemed powerless to change anything, or to prevent the development of the acquaintance, and was therefore obliged to let matters take their own course.

It was a very gay winter, in spite of the fact that death had so recently visited both families.

Miss Rochester wilfully insisted that there was no sense in shutting one’s self away from all life and enjoyment, simply because they happened to be in mourning, while Madame Winthrop and Evelyn declared that Dr. Winthrop owed it to them to act as their escort, since Mr. Winthrop was unable to endure excitement of any kind and they always managed—when Norman did not interfere—so that he and Miss Rochester would be thrown together.

Thus the season passed, and both Evelyn and Miss Rochester became so absorbed in their pleasure-seeking that they utterly refused to heed the warning of their friends to leave Paris, for the signs of the times betokened serious political complications.

They laughed to scorn the idea that Americans could be in any danger, and kept putting off their departure until it was too late, and the insurrection of that ever-memorable year burst upon them, with all its horrors. Every avenue of escape from the city was suddenly cut off, and there appeared no possibility of their being able to leave for a place of safety. Those were experiences which tried the souls of both men and women, and it is doubtful if the Winthrop or Rochester ladies were ever so subdued as when they discovered that they were shut into that turbulent city with unknown dangers on every hand.

One morning Dr. Winthrop called at Mrs. Rochester’s rooms, and his pale face and hurried manner, plainly betrayed that he was laboring under great anxiety.

Miss Rochester was alone in the drawing-room when he entered, for her mother, not feeling well that morning, had not yet made her appearance.

“What is the matter?” Miss Rochester questioned, as she gave her hand to the young physician; then, with a sudden sense of impending evil as she searched his troubled face, she laid her other hand upon his arm.

“I have come to see if you and Mrs. Rochester can be ready to leave Paris at a moment’s notice,” he replied.

“Why; are we in any danger?” she cried in alarm.

“Every one in the city is in danger,” he answered. “There is no knowing what may happen during the next twenty-four hours. I am going to try to arrange for a place of safety for you, with my mother and sister, if you will be guided by me and consent to go with them.”

“Of course I will be guided by you. How good you are to think of us!” Miss Rochester returned, clinging to him and looking up into his face with an air of trust, which she meant should tell him a great deal.

In spite of the strange power which his brother had acquired over her, she was determined to marry Dr. Winthrop if she could win him; the great possessions which the union would secure to her were of more consequence than all the sentiment in the world.

“Of course I should think of you, when you and Mrs. Rochester, have no protector,” the young man replied. “I am only sorry now that I did not insist upon your all leaving Paris when I first proposed it.”

“Where can we go?” she asked.

“I do not know yet,” he said thoughtfully; “I am on my way now to see what arrangements I can make with the American Consul for your safety.”

“For our safety!” she repeated. “Surely you are coming with us,” and Miss Rochester’s white fingers closed almost convulsively over his arm, while her anxious eyes searched his face.

“Yes, I shall not leave you until you are all comfortable somewhere, but——”

“You will not then return?” she cried in a startled tone.

“Yes,” he reluctantly admitted, “I did not mean to tell any one of my intention, but since you have suspected it, I may as well own that I am coming back to offer my services as surgeon and physician in the hospitals.”

“Oh, pray do not! think of the danger!” Miss Rochester pleaded in tones of distress.

“I have no fear,” he said gravely, while he added to himself that it could not matter much to him what danger or fate awaited him, for life had few charms for him without Salome to share it.

“No, perhaps not for yourself,” his companion returned, in tremulous tones, “but for the sake of others you should guard your life. If—if anything should happen to you! Oh, Dr. Winthrop, I could not bear it.”

She had spoken very rapidly, and almost passionately—apparently driven on by feelings which she could not control, while the look in her eyes revealed to him just what she had long been trying to make him understand, that he had become all in all to her.

Then all at once, she appeared to become conscious of how much she was betraying. A look of consternation and dismay swept over her face—the rich blood rushed in a crimson tide over cheek, neck, and brow, and the next moment, as if overcome with shame for such an unguarded confession, she dropped her head in graceful humility upon the hand which still clasped his arm, and murmured brokenly.

“Forgive me—forgive me!—I forgot—I did not mean——”

At that instant a door, close by which the young couple were standing in such a suggestive attitude, opened, and Mrs. Rochester appeared upon the scene.

Her face lighted with glad surprise, as, at a glance, she seemed to take in the situation.

It was too late to beat a retreat, for Dr. Winthrop had already seen her, so she thought she might as well take time by the forelock and give the young man to understand that she believed him a happy accepted lover.

“I hope you will pardon me,” she said, with a frank, delighted smile, “I would not have intruded had I suspected the nature of this interview; but you will at least allow me to express my pleasure, and offer congratulations.”

“Oh, mamma!” burst from Miss Rochester, and then, as if overcome with confusion, she darted through the open door, telling herself with a feeling of triumph, that Dr. Winthrop, having been caught in such a compromising position, could not do otherwise than yield gracefully to his fate and ratify the engagement which both families so much desired.

Dr. Winthrop, whose mind was intent only upon getting safely out of Paris, did not realize that then was the proper time to disclaim the honor which was being thrust upon him. He pitied the fair girl, who had so thoughtlessly betrayed her love for him, and felt that it would perhaps be best to leave her to make her own explanations to her mother.

So he only bowed gravely in reply to Mrs. Rochester’s greeting, though a deep flush swept across his brow; then, ignoring her remark entirely, he said.

“I came this morning to ask Miss Rochester if you and she could be ready to leave Paris at short notice. The city is in such a turbulent state that we all feel it would be best to get away as soon as possible.”

“Is it so bad as that?—are we in danger personally?” she asked, growing pale with anxiety.

“I will not deceive you—yes. The people are so excited and unreasonable that there is no knowing what they may do.”

“Then let us go at once—I can be ready in less than an hour,” said Mrs. Rochester, all her native energy and courage rising to meet this emergency.

“We will if we can—if every avenue is not closed against us,” he replied. “Get your trunks packed and be ready when I come, or send for you.”

“We will,” was the decided answer, “and,” with a significant smile, “Sadie is, of course, perfectly willing to be guided by you, now.”

He made no reply to this, but took his leave at once, although not in a very comfortable frame of mind, for it was very evident that Mrs. Rochester regarded him as a prospective son-in-law and was very much delighted in the belief.

“Surely Miss Rochester will not allow her mother to imagine that I have made her an offer of marriage; she will of course explain our unfortunate position,” he mused, as he went out. “It was very disagreeable, and I am surprised at her for losing her self-possession so completely. I did not imagine that the girl really cared for me in any such way, she has always been so frank and friendly. I did not dream that she would fall in love with me; I half suspected that she was getting fond of Norman.”

“Well, since she has fallen in love with you, why shouldn’t you marry her? You are free, and you are not likely to meet another woman so loving and accomplished as Sadie Rochester; and then you could settle at once and forever the vexing question of the Hamilton-Rochester contract,” was the question which arose in his mind in answer to his previous musings. He thoroughly believed in Sadie Rochester, never once suspecting that she had been playing a part during all these months. Though he recognized her beauty and many accomplishments, and knew that she would shine in any position, he had an instinctive shrinking from an alliance with her.

But these thoughts could not long remain uppermost in his mind. His chief anxiety now was to get his family to a place of safety, and in this undertaking he was peculiarly fortunate.

Mr. Tillinghast met him soon after he left Mrs. Rochester, and told him that he knew of a couple of families who were going outside the city limits that very evening. They had secured passes through some one in high authority, and were to occupy a portion of a large villa that was almost a palace, on the banks of the Seine, about ten miles out. He believed that Dr. Winthrop might succeed in getting his family and the Rochesters passed out with them.

It was an opportunity to be instantly seized upon. He sought the parties at once. They were very kind and sympathetic, and consented to take the frightened Americans in charge. Everything was arranged with comparative ease, and the next day they were all safely housed in the spacious villa, and delighted to be out of danger.

When Dr. Winthrop had seen them comfortably settled, he informed his mother that he was going to return to Paris to resume his practice in the hospital or wherever he should be most needed.

Madam rebelled violently against this plan.

“You have no right to do it—no right to thus rashly risk your life, especially now,” she vehemently asserted with significant emphasis on the last word.

“What is my life?” he demanded bitterly, with a slight quiver of his lips; “and what especial value can it have at this time?”

“Can you ask,” his mother inquired, astonished, “when at last you have come to your senses?”

“What do you mean?” he questioned, astonished, in his turn.

“Why, that you are finally going to do the proper thing, and marry Sadie Rochester.”

“Who said I was going to marry Miss Rochester? Did she tell you so?” Dr. Winthrop gravely inquired.

“No; of course not. Such an announcement should come from you. But Mrs. Rochester has told me what happened in her drawing-room the other morning. She said that you might not be quite ready to formally announce it, for she could get nothing definite from Sadie; but she was confident that you were engaged.”

“Mrs. Rochester is surely very good to arrange everything so comfortably for me,” Dr. Winthrop replied with a curling lip, while in his heart there arose a feeling of contempt for Miss Rochester, because she had neglected to set matters straight.

No matter what her own feelings might be, she at least should have exonerated him from the suspicion of having proposed to her and been accepted.

He turned abruptly and left his mother, without attempting to explain further, and returned directly to Paris. Certainly no one could have thought him very lover-like to depart without taking leave of his supposed _fiancée_.

Madam spent the remainder of the day in tears; for the estrangement of her son was a great trial to her, since it proved that he had not forgiven her for the part she had taken against Salome.

Several days passed, and then the terrible crisis came—a crisis the memory of which makes many a Frenchman shudder to-day—and then, before the horrors of the insurrection had fairly begun to subside, there went abroad the paralyzing rumor that cholera had broken out in the doomed city.

Who shall describe the weeks that followed? The terrors of riot and of war were as nothing compared with the onward march of that silent and stealthy foe, that mowed down thousands with its invisible but deadly weapons.

Dr. Winthrop was in Paris through it all, and had thrown himself heart and soul into caring for the perishing ones around him.

He had advised his father and brother to take the family and go to England or Scotland, or to some other healthful resort, where there would be little or no danger of the dread disease.

But his mother obstinately refused to go, while he remained, and of course the other members of the family would not leave her.

Every one else had fled from the villa upon the first rumor of cholera, and Mrs. Rochester would have been glad to follow, but her daughter was as obstinate as Madame Winthrop herself. She had so set her heart upon winning Truman Winthrop, so determined to secure the prize for which she had schemed and humiliated herself, that she resolved to boldly face death rather than run the risk of losing him. Besides, Norman Winthrop was obliged to remain.

So the Winthrops and the Rochesters had the magnificent villa to themselves, and a charming place it was.

It was finely and healthfully situated, and Dr. Winthrop said that if they were bound to remain in France they could not be in a better place. Still he would have much preferred that they should go to Scotland, and it was a continual cause for anxiety to know that they were in danger from the pestilence.

Mr. Tillinghast, too, had refused to leave his friend, but he was also one of those heroes who never think of self, and he had insisted upon going into the hospital to act under the direction of Dr. Winthrop.

But in his enthusiasm he overtaxed himself, and one day he was stricken with the dread disease.

Dr. Winthrop felt as if the “tug of war” had set in, in good earnest. He could not devote himself exclusively to his friend, for the entire care of some of the wards of the hospital devolved upon him during certain hours of each day, while nurses were very scarce, and he found it impossible to secure the constant services of any one in the private room which he had, by paying an exorbitant price, managed to secure for Tillinghast.

“I must have a nurse and a competent one,” he exclaimed, almost in despair, after searching for more than an hour one day, and an hour in the race with death was very precious.

He had just come into one of the wards where he belonged, and was about to begin his rounds, when his eye fell upon a couple of nuns, who were in the habit of coming every day to assist and relieve some of the nurses. They belonged to the order of Gray Nuns, and were clad in the loose and homely garb worn by that sisterhood. But little could be seen of their faces, for they wore the close, gray bonnet, with a wide frill of black tissue plaited about the edge of a little black silk cap worn underneath, and white bandages about their foreheads and chins. The only way that they could be distinguished from each other—for they were of the same height—was by a pair of double blue glasses which one of them wore.

But they were very helpful, very sweet and gentle in their ways, particularly the sister in blue glasses, who was known as Sister Angela, or “The Angel in Gray,” as the poor soldiers and patients soon learned to call her.