CHAPTER X.

THE NEW DOCTOR.

"I learn'd at last submission to my lot, But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot." _Cowper._

"I wonder how women of thirty-five feel under these circumstances," thought Cathy, as she followed the others up the narrow dark staircase leading to Miss Cosie's neat sanctum. "I should have imagined all sentiment would have been worried out of them by this time, in this dismal old mill-pond they call life. It is very odd, but it is amusing too," she continued, with a certain girlish curiosity at the elderly romance that was impending before her eyes. After all it was not without its pathos. "Perhaps he will not recognize her when they meet, or most likely he has a wife and two or three children somewhere; I would not answer for him. It is the women who are faithful in these cases. In my opinion Jacob is the exception, not the rule. Poor old Jacob, how threadbare they have worn him! He was very patient and deep, but I liked Esau best."

Cathy mused on in her rambling fashion. Now and then she and Queenie exchanged glances full of meaning.

"Is it--can it really be he?" whispered Queenie, as she tied and untied Cathy's velvet.

"Not a doubt of it," replied the other. "Hush! we shall hear more by-and-bye."

Miss Faith looked at them both with soft dazed eyes. She had no idea that they were talking of her. "Angus Stewart! there cannot be two of that name," she said to herself, as she smoothed out her ruffles with trembling hands, and tried to adjust her pearl brooch to her liking. "I wonder when I shall see him, and if he will know me again." But here Miss Cosie rushed upon them with a small whirlwind of interjections and exclamations.

"Oh, my dears; there, there, you all look as fresh as rosebuds. What do you think? The most wonderful thing has happened. Just fancy Christopher taking it into his head to bring him here!"

"To bring whom, dear Miss Cosie?" asked Cathy quickly, for Miss Faith's color was varying dangerously.

"Why, Mr. Mac'ivor, or what's his name--something Scotch I am sure. The new doctor, I mean. And there they are talking as comfortably as though they had known each other for years, instead of minutes. Christopher has taken him over to the church already.'

"If Mr. Stewart be here we had better go down," observed Cathy, demurely, but her eyes danced with fun.

"Ah, Stewart, of course. There, there, my dear, my head is like a sieve, as Kit always tells me. 'Why, Charlotte, there must be a hole in your brain somewhere,' as he often says. And there he is, dear fellow, looking as pleased as though he had got some one to his liking; and indeed he seems a pleasant, sociable sort of person."

"Yes; but your tea will be spoiled if we stand talking any longer," put in artful Cathy; and Miss Cosie took the hint, and trotted off in her velvet high-heeled slippers, looking like a little grey mouse of a woman, in her dove-colored gown and soft Shetland shawl.

"There, there, my dear, if I had not forgotten all about the tea!" they could hear her exclaim. as she whisked down the passage.

"Now we will go down," exclaimed Cathy, promptly. "Come, Miss Faith, you are just as nice as possible;" for the nervous fingers were still adjusting the troublesome ruffle. "Think what a loss you have over those last chapters of 'Trench's Parables,' and how Cara will miss you," continued the mischievous girl, as she hurried on her trembling companion. "You have exchanged 'the feast of reason and the flow of soul' just for Miss Cosie's junket and fruit."

"I wish--I almost wish I were back with Cara," gasped poor Miss Faith at the parlor door; and indeed the ordeal was a trying one even to a woman of thirty-five.

Mr. Logan made the necessary introductions as easily as possible. "Here, ladies, is our new doctor, Mr. Stewart; give him a hearty welcome to Hepshaw. This is our girls' school-mistress, Miss Marriott, and this is Miss Catherine Clayton, but Miss Faith Palmer ought to have come first."

"Miss Faith Palmer?" queried a pleasant voice, for the parlor was somewhat dim; "here at least I ought to require no introduction," and the new-comer pressed forward to catch a farther glimpse of Miss Faith's pale face.

"Yes, we are old friends, Mr. Stewart," she returned, putting a very cold hand in his. She was glad of the half-light; he could not see her, she thought. How his voice thrilled her? Was it really ten years ago since she had last heard it?

"You are the last person I expected to see to-night," he continued, still standing near her. "It was very forgetful of me. I remember now that you said you lived at Hepshaw, but all sorts of things have driven it clean out of my head."

"All sorts of things! He is married then," argued Cathy, shrewdly. "Oh, you men, you men!"

"Ten years is a long time, a very long time," faltered Miss Faith. She experienced a chill feeling at the same moment. Was it a presentiment?

"Is it ten years since we met? I had no idea it was so long," he returned, pulling his whiskers reflectively. "Do you recollect the hospital and the boys' ward. What a capital nurse you used to be, Miss Faith, and how attached your little patients were to you!"

"Is it--is everything just the same?" she asked, nervously.

"As when I was house surgeon there, do you mean? I don't know; I have been away from Carlisle a good many years. The hospital work got humdrum somehow, and I had a berth offered me as army surgeon in Bombay; and as Alice was married, and my mother was dead, I thought I might as well try my luck. I got tired of it though."

"Alice married!"; with a quick flush of interest. They were sitting at Miss Cosie's tea-table now. Mr. Stewart was by his hostess, but he had found room for his old acquaintance beside him.

"You can't think how pleasant it is to meet an old friend in a strange place," he had observed confidentially to Miss Cosie, and the little woman had nodded and smiled delightedly.

"Yes, Alice is married; pretty girls will sometimes," with the humorous sparkle in his eyes that she remembered so well. "She married a clergyman in Lincolnshire, and has two fine boys of whom she is very proud; I have just been staying with them in their pleasant vicarage. By-the-bye, she asked after you."

"After me?" with another rush of sensitive color that made her look years younger.

"Yes; she asked if I had seen you, but I could not satisfy her on that point. Don't you think it was a shabby trick, Miss Faith, vanishing from Carlisle as you did, and never coming back? I always meant to ask you that question if we ever met again."

"I hoped to come back; I never meant to leave like that," she returned in such a low voice that Dr. Stewart had some trouble to hear her. "It was my sister's accident. You remember that I told you when I wished your mother and Alice good-bye."

"Yes; but I trusted that it was only a temporary affair, and that you might soon have been set free."

"I am not free yet," in a sad voice that went far to explain to Dr. Stewart the meaning of the worn, patient face and set lines.

The Faith Palmer of ten years ago had been a fair, pretty girl, with the lightest step and the happiest laugh imaginable, and all manner of bright winning ways. It was a sweet face still, he thought, only so thin and careworn, and all the soft coloring faded. Even her voice was subdued and quieted past recognition; the despondence of the key had touched him painfully from the first.

Faith's scrutiny had not been half so severe. Dr. Stewart was older, of coarse, and browner; well, and stouter, and he was becoming very grey; but what did that matter? There were the pleasant outlines, that had lingered for ten years in her memory, the shrewd, twinkling eyes, with their touch of humor, and the clear, genial voice.

"What does that mean? we are none of us free, for the matter of that," he asked abruptly, but not unkindly. "Here I am tying myself down for life in this northern village, because an Indian sun chose to play the most confounded tricks with my liver, and to make my existence a burthen to me. Do you mean that your sister is still an invalid?"

"Yes; I have been nursing her for ten years. There are the others, but she has got used to me. Poor Cara, she is to lie down all her life, they say."

"Humph! that accounts for it," with a dissatisfied glance, and pulling his whiskers rather fiercely. "Well, Miss Faith, I can't say home-nursing has agreed with you."

"That means that you find me changed," thought poor Miss Faith, trying to swallow down a very large lump in her throat. She had sustained her share in the conversation with tolerable success up to the present moment, but now the chilliness was creeping over her again. Why had he not tried to find out what had become of her? Hepshaw and Carlisle were not so very far apart after all. True, she had promised him to return, and had left him in perfect confidence that she would redeem her promise; but she had not been to blame for her failure. "I gave it all up, all that I knew was waiting for me, because Cara wanted me," she thought; "but he never tried to find out what had become of me."

It was well for Faith Palmer that Cathy, who was watching them from the other side of the table, struck in boldly at this juncture; it gave her time to swallow down the troublesome lump, and regain her lost self-command. During the animated talk that followed, and in which Dr. Stewart bore a chief part, she sat plaiting the snowy table-cloth with her slender fingers, and saying over and over to herself, "Ten years, and he never cared to know whether I was alive or dead."

When tea was over she moved away from him, and took refuge beside Miss Cosie and her knitting. He would amuse himself with the younger ones of course. She had noticed already that Cathy had seemed to interest him with her frank liveliness, and then there were Langley and Queenie. Queenie was looking so pretty this evening, with those deep-colored roses in her dark dress. If only she could sit quiet in her corner, and watch him unobserved! It was hard work finding appropriate answers to Miss Cosie's somewhat rambling remarks.

"Of course he will take a fancy to one of them," she thought, taking advantage of a pause during which Miss Cosie counted her stitches, and quite ignoring the fact that there might possibly be a Mrs. Stewart somewhere. "I wonder which it will be. Queenie Marriott is far prettier to my taste, her eyes are lovely; but then Cathy is very taking. Men of forty generally fall in love with young girls; and then he is such a young-looking man, and does not look his age," and Faith sighed as she thought of her faded youth.

"Did you speak, my dear?" asked Miss Cosie, at this point. "Knit one, purl two, and knit two together. There, there, I am a stupid companion. Why don't you go and join that merry party opposite? Look at Kit; how delighted he seems with the doctor."

"Miss Cosie," stammered Faith, "did he--did Dr. Stewart say anything about his being married. He did not mention his wife, I mean. Cathy was wondering, and, and----"

"Married! why, to be sure, how stupid of us! I never thought of such a thing for a moment. Of course he must be; and not one of us has asked after her," and the little woman patted her big curls in a flurried manner. "Kit, Kit, my dear," in a loud whisper, "do tell Dr. Stewart that I want to speak to him."

"Oh, Miss Cosie, pray don't. How can you think of doing such a thing?" exclaimed Faith, in a perfect agony at this unexpected proceeding. "He is such a stranger. What will he think of us?" But her protestations were in vain, for Dr. Stewart had left his place with alacrity, and had come up to them with the brightest possible face.

"Did you send for me, Miss Logan?"

"Dear, dear, to think of that, when I have not been called Miss Logan for the last twenty years. Why even the Bishop says Miss Cosie; but then, as Faith says, you are a stranger among us, and don't know our manners."

"Did Miss Faith say that? Well, I shall hope not to be a stranger long. I will promise not to offend again, Miss Cosie."

"There, there, my dear, if he has not got it as pat as possible, as though he had known me all my life. Why even the school-children, bless their little hearts, call me Miss Cosie; I don't know myself under any other name. But talking of names, Dr. Stewart, and you have a nice funny, outlandish one of your own, here we have been together for two whole hours and not one of us has asked after Mrs. Stewart."

"My mother is dead, Miss Cosie," he replied, very gravely, while Faith flushed and grew white, and wished herself home again with Cara. It was too dreadful of Miss Cosie. What would he think of them?

"Poor thing! well, well, she is better off," returned his sympathizing questioner; "she is where the weary are at rest, you know, one must think of that. But I was not speaking of your poor dear mother, Dr. Stewart, but of your wife."

For a moment Dr. Stewart looked at her in some perplexity, and then he got red, and glanced at Faith; but Faith had taken possession of Miss Cosie's knitting, and was doing her best to reduce it to hopeless and intricate confusion, and then a decidedly amused expression crossed his face.

"What makes you saddle me with a wife, Miss Cosie?"

"There, there, you must not take it amiss of us," returned the little woman earnestly, laying her hand on his arm. "Of course we shall be glad to know her; and if there is anything that I can do to make her more comfortable when the poor thing comes amongst us a stranger, I will do it with all my heart."

"But, my dear Miss Cosie," with a smile, "I have no wife."

"No wife!" and Miss Cosie's eyes grew round, and she threw up her plump little hands in astonishment; "no wife! do you mean she is dead too, Dr. Stewart?"

"I mean that I never had one," laughing now outright. "Don't you know poor men have no right to such luxuries? When one has a mother and a sister to maintain, one must put away those sort of thoughts, however much one is tempted," and Dr. Stewart spoke now in a curiously constrained voice.

"Miss Cosie, I must go home now, Cara will be looking for me," exclaimed Faith, rising hurriedly. There was a misty look in the soft blue eyes, and the color had returned to her face.

"May I take the right of an old friend, and come and see you and your sisters to-morrow," asked Dr. Stewart, as he held her hand. "May I come and talk to this Cara, of whom I have heard so much?"

"Yes; we shall be very glad," she replied, almost inaudibly, and then he let her go.

He left Miss Cosie after that, and went back to the little group gathered round the window; but a change had come over them; they seemed talking seriously.

"Miss Catherine, are you in earnest?" Mr. Logan was saying, in an incredulous voice. He pushed his spectacles up to his forehead as he spoke, and the keen, near-sighted eyes seemed to probe the girl's soul as he spoke.

Cathy winced, but she maintained her ground unflinchingly.

"Ask Garth and Langley what they think on that subject."

"She is leading us a sad life about it," returned Garth, tilting his chair that he might have a better view of Queenie. Somehow the combination of the dark dress and roses took his fancy. Miss Marriott was certainly very pretty to-night; even Dr. Stewart seemed to find a certain witchery in the dark eyes, at least Garth thought so, which put him a trifle out of humor. He had been so long without a rival in Hepshaw, that the introduction of this sudden new element of manhood was likely to disturb his equanimity. "Langley says there are no valid objections, so I suppose we shall have to let her go."

"Let us ask Dr. Stewart what he thinks of it," put in Langley, and, to her sister's relief, she quietly turned to him, and gave a brief sketch of Cathy's plan, to which he listened with ready interest, asking a question here and there in a skilful professional manner. When he was in possession of all the facts, he turned to Cathy.

"I don't see why it should not answer; at least you might give it a trial. I like your idea of every woman being trained to a definite employment; I never could understand the enforced helplessness of the sex. I have known pitiable examples of women being left dependent on over-taxed brothers, or turned upon the world absolutely without resources."

"Your rule holds good with generalities, but in Miss Catherine's case," began Mr. Logan, but Cathy somewhat proudly interrupted him.

"If it be Miss Catherine's wish to be independent, and hold her own against the world, no one has a right to interfere. No," speaking with sparkling eyes, and a certain storminess of manner, "I am not one of those women who could bear to be cramped and swathed with the swaddling-clothes of conventionality; I claim my right to work for work's sake, and to be as free as any other of God's creatures."

"You are quite right, Miss Clayton; I admire your sentiments," observed Dr. Stewart.

"Hear, hear," from Garth, somewhat sarcastically. He did not wholly approve of his wilful little sister's plan. "Bless me, child, you are hardly more than eighteen; you seem in a vast hurry to make yourself independent of your brother; no one wants to get rid of you, you little monkey."

Cathy melted a little at that. She gave him an affectionate glance.

"All the same, you will be wanting to get rid of me one of these days," she returned, meaningly, and Garth reddened. "Besides, I don't mean to leave home for good and all; I want to go up to London and learn nursing in all its branches, and then I shall know if I am fit for it. A fair trial is all I ask; and if Garth consents, no one has a right to raise an objection," in an injured, appealing voice.

"You have chosen a noble profession," began Dr. Stewart warmly, but Mr. Logan quietly interrupted him.

"Granted, my dear sir, provided the motives are equally noble."

"Now, Cath, you are going to catch it from your Mentor," observed her brother in an amused tone. "Mr. Logan has discovered a flaw in your grand scheme."

"I suppose one can discover flaws in everything," returned the Vicar in a musing tone. "Youth is the time for great projects; sometimes they are another name for restlessness and discontent. Youth lights a candle,--a farthing dip-light sometimes,--and sets out through the world to look for duties, and leaves the hearth-stone cold, and old hearts growing chill round it. I have an old-fashioned notion, that woman's mission, in its perfectness, very rarely lies beyond the threshold of home."

"How about Florence Nightingale?" interrupted Cathy.

"Or Sarah Judson?" from Langley.

"Or Mrs. Fry? or Joan of Arc?" commented Dr. Stewart.

"Or we might add Grace Darling, and a score of others," put in Garth.

"All typical women, raised up in their generation to perform a certain work, and performing it right nobly. The world calls them heroines, and with reason. They are heroines in the true sense of the word, for they have discovered the needs of the world, and, recognizing their own power to remedy, have fearlessly dared to cross the threshold of home duty for the larger arena, where only the strong prevail and the weak go to the wall."

"Cathy does not pretend to be a Florence Nightingale," put in Langley, quietly.

"I thought you always told us to elevate our standard?" a little defiantly, from Cathy.

"The higher the better," with a benign glance at her; "but it must be a true standard, unselfishness and self-sacrifice for its base, and built up of pure motives. If it be one-sided it will topple over."

"Ah! I can't read parables," rather crossly.

"Are you sure that you are really trying to read mine? You remind me of some little child, Miss Catherine, gathering shells by the sea-shore, and throwing all the pearls away. If you look far enough into the meanings of things you will perceive their value. About your plan, now?"

"I will not hear a word against it," she returned wilfully, and going over to Miss Cosie. "It is bad enough to have to argue with all one's home people; but to be lectured in public, and before Dr. Stewart--no, indeed, Mr. Logan."

"Very well, I will reserve what I have to say in private," he returned, looking after her with a sort of indulgent tenderness, as though she were the little child to whom he had compared her; and Queenie, who was near him, saw a certain vivid brightness in his eyes as he watched her.

The circle broke up after this; but, though it was tolerably late for Hepshaw hours, they did not yet talk of separating. It was a lovely moonlight night, and, at Garth's invitation, Queenie strolled with him up and down the Vicar's steep, narrow garden. Dr. Stewart joined them, and talked for some time about his Indian experiences.

They were both novel and interesting, and engrossed them wholly. Queenie was so fascinated by his description of Indian scenery that she with difficulty remembered the lateness of the hour, and that Langley and Cathy would be wondering at her absence; but she at last made an excuse to leave them.

She lingered for a moment under the shadow of the house to watch the two dark figures still pacing up and down the steep path. This evening's excitement had quickened her pulses. The arrival of the stranger, Miss Faith's repressed agitation at the sight of him, Cathy's strange restlessness and plan for leaving home, had disturbed the even current of events. The moral air seemed charged with electricity and rife with disturbance; somewhere a storm seemed impending. This sense of movement, of vitality, was not unpleasant; youth dreads nothing more than monotony. It is only in age that one sits with folded hands expecting nothing. Garth's manner, too, had given her pleasure; it had been more than usually friendly. There had been appreciation in his glance, a certain cordiality in his tone, that had fallen pleasantly on her ear. "If he will only remain my friend I shall envy no girl her lover," thought Queenie, with a sudden fulness of heart; but at that moment she was startled from her reverie by the sound of voices in the dark entry behind her.

She could hear Mr. Logan's quiet tones, and yes, surely that voice answering him was Cathy's! Before she could free herself a sentence or two reached her ear.

"You will think over what I have said, my child? You will be good and give up this, to please me?"

"No, no," returned the girl passionately, and the low, vehement tones gave Queenie a shock, for they were broken as though with weeping; "you must let me go. I will not stay and make you wretched, as I know I should do."

"You would make me very happy, Catherine."

"No, indeed, Mr. Logan, you are too great, too high for me; I cannot reach to you. I should tire myself and you with my efforts to be good. Oh, you must let me go! I must be free! indeed, indeed, I must be free!"

"Then go, my wild bird, and take my blessing with you; only--" but here the tones were too low to be distinguished; only as Queenie moved away a figure brushed past her, and glided down the garden path.

It was Cathy.