Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, June 13, 1896, Page 6

{ | | | © MAIER ASAISI AREAS HASSAN, ==- THE+=} Professor's Seeret. CHAPTER IX. A Drawn Battle. Both Amelia, and Mr. Philbrick turned toward the doctor, the former with a look of consternation, the lat- ter with an enigmatical, half quizzical expression, that he promptly modified to indifferent curiosity when he saw that Amelia, too, was anxious to ob- serve the effect of this announcement on the doctor. The latter started for- ward impulsively, but checked him- self at once, and maintained a fair semblance of composure. Louise finished reading the note and turning to the boy. “Where is she?’ she inquired, “the lady mentioned here?” “] dunno,” rplied the boy, rather stupidly, “Miss Williams said she’d be up bimeby.” “It isn’t so bad after all,” said Louise, brightly. She addressed her- self to the doctor. “What isn’t so bad, Miss Drum- mond?’ he asked. “Papa’s going away. Go into the ing room with Amelia, Mr. Phil- I’ve got something very, very important to say to Dr. Williams.” “Always your obedient, Miss Drum- wond,” responded Mr. Philbrick, with an extravagant gesture of humility. He stalked to the dining room door, held it open for Amelia to pass, then entered and closed it. “The shortest way,” said Louise, “is to show you papa’s note.” The doctor said: “My Dear Daughter: I find that the business that took me from the house will also take me from town, and I must go in a hurry. I may be gone several days, poasibly weeks. There is no time to return to say good-bye, but I have managed to provide you with company and protection during my absence. A lady whom you know well and like, and who is interested in you, has agreed to take up her resi- The Doctor Read. dnce at Fairview until I can send on a housekeeper to take Betsey’s place. Thre is no doubt that I can do this in short order, as I think I know just where to look for one. Have no anx- iety about me, therefore, for I shall return as soon as possible, and until then I am sure that everything will go well at home. The lady to whom I refer will doubtless accompany the boy who will return with the horse and carriage. Your affectionate father, —“Nathan A. Drummond.” “Who do you suppose the lady is?” asked Louise, immediately adding: “Oh, I know! it must be your mother. How nice!” “My mother?’ repeated the doctor dubiously. “Yes, the boy mentioned Mrs. Will- iams. Is there any other Williams in Belmont?” “My uncle—” “Where is that boy?’ and Louise ran to the door. The boy was skip- ping stones across the Miniski. “Here, y,” she called, “who was the lady alled on to bring here?” “Mis’ Williams, I told yer,” he re- plied; “Mascn’s mother there. She'll | come "bout 4 o'clock.” “What did I tell you?’ cried Louise. “How funny to hear that youngster | ur first name.” S, d the doctor, frowning, “it’s one of the disadvantages of being | a professional man in one’s native place. Nobody allows you any dignity, not even the urchins of the street.” “Oh, well, they never do, you know. Come, let’s tell the others about it.” “Miss Drummond,” began the doc- tor, nervously, feeling that, shallow as the opportunity was, there might not be a better one. “Oh,” exclaimed Louise, “there is a postscript to the letter that you have | not read. I forgot to show it to you.” The doctor, who still held the note, looked at it blankly and turned the paper over. There, hastily scrawled in pencil, were the words: “My best regards to the doctor, and tell him if he can make it convenient to look in on you every day or so I shall feel under obligations to him.” “The obligation shall be on my side,” said the doctor, his face brightening momentarily. He was about to begin again, but Louise already had opened the dining room door and was waiting for him to enter. With a sigh the doc- tor saw that he must postpone his dec- laration, but he reflected that with his mother in temporary charge of Fair- view ,and Prof. Drummond’s note making him an expected caller there, he could not well lack fitting oppor- tunity. “The doctor’s mother is coming up to stay with us,” said Louise as she went into the dining room, “and papa’s go- ing to send a new housekeeper soon.” “How long is the professor to be away?” asked Mr. Philbrick with just enough show of interest to be within the bounds of politeness. “There is no telling. Several days at least, he says. Let us sit down or Mr. Philbrick’s luncheon will spoil.” They took chairs at the table, Mr. Philbrick, by accident or design, taking the place usually occupied by the professor. The doctor noticed this and though he no longer felt any anx- iety as to what might be discovered by Philbrick, he furtively watched the man all through the meal. He ob- served a plenty to distress his heart in Philbrick’s assiduous attention to Lou- ise, and it may be that his resentment led him to think he saw Philbrick keep his hands unnecessarily below the table level. Perhaps that gentleman’s hands were behaving as they would at any other table, but to the doctor they seemed always to be searching for something out of sight. It was just as if he believed that the professor had operated an electrical contrivance from his chair, and he was now trying to discover the mechanism. “If that is what he is after,” thought Dr. Williams, with bitter satisfaction, “his search will be fruitless.” Louise seemed to be somewhat elated by the absence of her father. She chattered gaily about what they would do while Mrs. Williams was acting as guest and chaperon, and expressed a hope that the housekeeper might be long in coming. Amelia gave a quiet, perfunctory assent to all her cousin’s suggestions when called on to do so, and Mr. Philbrick made various ab- surd suggestions relative to fortifying the house during Prof. Drummond’s absence. Louise found his remarks immensely amusing, and now and again she retorted with sallies that were saucy rather than witty. Mr. coming graciousness, his eyes testify- ing more eloquently than his words did to his admiration for his hostess. Dr. Williams tried vainly to shake off the lugubrious discontent that had settled upon him and to appear cheer- ful. He really brightened when Lou- ise rallied him a bit about being de- prived of home comforts, and with mocking tenderness assured him that he must make Fairview his home dur- ing the time that his mother would be installed there. It was mockery, but sweet at that, and the doctor felt that he would give half his life to be able to call from her some similar expres- sions in earnest. “I shall take every advantage possi- ble of your hospitality, Miss Drum- mond,” he said. “I would take you at your word literally, if it were not for my professional duties.” Mr. Philbrick heaved a prodigious sigh. “Professional duties do interfere with a man’s highest pleasures, and no mistake,” he remarked solemnly. “I tried to induce the doctor to take a day’s sport with me, and he declined even that on the score of patients.” “It is a fact,” replied the doctor with freezing dignity, “that my vocation prevents me from throwing away time in idle sport.” “Lucky man!” exclaimed Mr. Phil- brick, “but for the life of me I cannot see how there can be illness enough in this glorious neighborhood to keep even one physician busy ,and I believe there are two, aren’t there’ doctor?” “Dr. Meadows has retired from active practice,” said the doctor, with his eyes upon his plate. “Think of that!” cried Mr. Philbrick, rapping on the table with his knife, as if to call particular attention to his re- marks; “Belmont has actually furnish- ed occupation enough for a physician to enable him to retire from business. Of course, doctor, you have received the mantle of Meadows—observe that fine alliteration, ladies, ‘Meadows’ mantle!’ and think of it as resting upon the worthy shoulders of Dr. Will- iams. I congratulate you, doctor, and, to continue the alliteration, permit me to hope that it may mean many mil- lions to you. here! that’s what I call a triumph.” Had these jibes been uttered in any other presence than that of Louise and Amelia the doctor would have disre- garded them. They would have made him smart, to be sure, for he was over- sensitive as to his dignity as a profess- ; jonal man; but he would have swal- lowed them as one of the unavoidable | ills of professional life. Here they | were nothing short of rank insults, and his anger raged hot within him. Of course, he appeared to ignore them, | even now, but his pale face and down- cast eyes revealed the resentment that he expressed. Amelia regarded him anxiously, and when Louise laughed merrily and was for continuing the vis- itor’s jocose congratulations in her own way, her cousin suddenly gave a little ery of pain and wrapped her nap- kin around her finger. What’ sthe matter?” cried all three at once. “Nothing worth mentioning,” she re- plied, with a shamefaced smile. “I | was toying with a toothpick, and a sliver went under my finger-nail.” “Let me see,” said the doctor, going to her. “Let Me See,” Said the Doctor. It was as she had said. A tiny | piece of wood lay under her nail, dis- coloring it, and the doctor had some difficulty in extracting it. He noted | | her admirable nerve as he worked, for a sliver in such a place is far from easy to bear, as we all know, but had no suspicion that Amelia had inflicted the wound purposely to break the cur- rent of conversation. , Philbrick received her shots with be- | i i { The ruse was entirely effective, and as luncheon was over, they all left the table. With all his bonhommie and assurance not even Mr. Philbrick could invent a reasonable excuse for remain- ing longer, and he prepared to go, ut- tering many expressions of his pleas- are at the visit, and his hope that he would be allowed to continue the ac- quaintance. Louise laughingly re- ferred him to Mrs. Williams. “She is my guardian now,” she said; “if she says you may call, I will prom- ise never to be ‘not at home, when you come.” “I shall proceed to cultivate Mrs. | Williams’ good grazes at once,” re- sponded Mr. Philbrick, and he went below to put on his own clothes. While Louise was busying herself about the table Amelia found occasion to speak to the doctor. “You're not going, too, are yon?’ she asked. “Yes,” he answered; “I have stayed much too long, as it is.” She looked genuinely distressed. “Forgive me,” she faltered. “I pre- sume too nuch on short acquaintance, but please be careful.” Pr. Willianis opened his eyes a bit. He really did not understand her. He Seized Mr. Philbrick. “I think I understood,’ ’she coutin- ued, hastily, “and I almost wonder how you controlled yourself so well. You musn’t let idle talk disturb you. I hardly know what I’m saying. Lou’s talk is bright ,but her heart is in the right place.” The doctor flushed and looked away. | “You won't do anything rash,” she replied. “Miss Willis,” he responded, at last, “J shall not endure another such scene. He must chang ehis course if he and I are to meet here, or if I am to come at all.” Amelia gazed at him in despair an instant, and then joined Louise in clearing the table. Mr .Philbrick came up in a moment, and both men took leave of the young ladies. Mr. Philbrick with only such ordinary words as common courtesy demanded, the doctor saying that he would accompany his mother to Fair- view if possible. “Delightful girls,” remarked Mr. Philbrick, when they had walked a sbort distance in silence. The dector made no reply, and his con:panion added: aes: “Especially Miss Dru:mmond. She's so bright and unaffected, you know.” Dr. Willams glanced over his shoul- der at Fairview. The house was in full vicw, and Amelia stood on tbe pi- azza watching them. He strode on more rapidly, keeping his teeth shut hard together. “Yd like to walk you ten miles for a supper, doctor,” said Mr. Philbrick, keeping pace with him; “I believe that stride would weaken after a while.” “Tf should demand that we walk in opposite directions,” growled the doc- tor. Mr. Philbrick looked sideways at his companion and a broad grin twisted his face, in spite of his efforts to re- press it. He started to reply, thought better of it, and trudged along silent- ly. They passed over the low hill that separated Fairview and Belmont, and when they came to the branch road, where the doctor had left the profess- ors earriage earlier in the day. Dr. Williams suddenly halted. Mr. Phil- brick halted. too, and waited with un- disguised and expectant curiosity. His perfect tranquillity inflamed the doctor more than ever. “Mr. Philbrick,” he began, with shak- ing voice, “you and I may, unfortun- ately meet again in that house. If you must pick a quarrel with me, do it here. Be a gentleman, if you can, and behaye yourself when you are with ladies.” : The imperturable Phitbrick bit his lips, but a smile would show itself here nevertheless. ‘ “Come, sir,” exclaimed Dr. Williams passionately, “let's have some kind of understanding.” < “My dear fellow,” returned Mr. Phil- brick with mild earnestness, “you can’t know how profoundly I wish that we could have just that. I am afraid it is impossible.” The doctor glared at him an instant, and, interpreting his attitude as an indirect acknowledgment of rivalry for Louise’s favor, said: “I will not de- scend to meet you on your shifting, evasive ground. One thing, at least, we can arrive at. I will not tolerate your insults a second time.” “Insults? Now, doctor, I intend no insults.” “Your ignorance is as unbecoming a gentleman as is your conduct, sir.” Mr. Philbrick’s eyes lit up slightly. Anger is more or less contagious, and it is a very strong man who can keep himself uninfluenced by another’s pas- sion. “I don’t know how I can change my nature,” he said quietly. “I take life more humorously than you. What would you do, doctor?” “Do! At the first sign of your re- peating your impertinence I’d thrash you.” “H’m! h’m! It’s a funny situation. I don’t know how to restrain my—im- pertinence, as you call it. 1 certainly shall avail myself of the privilege of visiting Fairview, and Miss Louise has actually referred me to your mother—” “T forbid you to drag either of those ladies into this discussion!” cried the doctor; and, letting go all restraint, he seized Mr. Philbrick by his collar and shook him violently, raising his right arm to strike. Perhaps Mr. Philbrick wasn’t really angry. He may have acted then solely from the instinct of self-defense. At all events, he freed himself from the doctor’s: ctutch and struck him back with a vigor that astonished the physi- cian. For a minute or so they fought furiously, and as each knew something about boxing, the few blows that land- ed were effective. Once Mr. Philbrick was forced to his knees, and again the doctor, in turn, staggered and would | have fallen but for coming against al tree. Byentually they clinched and stood face to face, feeling one another’s hot breath. Then, as if by common im- pulse, each threw the other from him, and the battle was over, with honors, if so they may be called, easy. The doctor, mortally ashamed of | himself, now that his passion had had , its vent, strode off along the branch | Toad. Mr. Philbrick sat down on the ground, wiped his perspiring face, ex- amined his handkerchief to see wheth- er it was stained with blood, and then fell to laughing immoderately. He was so supremely tickied that he lost his balance and rolled over on the grass, shaking and gurgling and emit- ting little falsetto shrieks between his gasps for breath. One might have thought that he had just heard the funniest story in the world. CHAPTER X, A Girl’s Triumph, After a time Mr. Philbrick picked himself up, controlled his laughter and went on to the hotel, but all the rest of the day he gave way repeatedly to broad smiles, relapsing after them into profound and serious thought. The humorous view of what had happened and of what might happen seemed to be dominant, for the hangers-on at the hotel, accustomed to his cheery, famil- iar ways, noticed that he was more jocose than usual. Meantime Dr. Williams had marched up the branch road for two or three miles, stopping only when he realized the nervous exhaustion that followed his great passion. It was not that he was fatigued by exertion, for he was a powerful young man, and all through his boyhood he had been ac- customed to hard work. It was sim- ply nervous reaction that had set in and made him pause to catch his breath and he sank wearily upon a rock by the roadside. He understood _ himself in this respect, and, his mind ‘clear from the fumes of passion, he | resolutely endeavored to think out his | situation. | It too him an hour or more, and it is not necessary here to review the | mental processes by means of which he arrived at a decision. In brief, he ; thought of his love in its relation to the tragedy at Fairview, the truth of | which he must learn if for no other purpose than to prevent Louise from knowing it. He must feel free to call there, and to this end he must know in what light he was to regard Mr. Philbrick. It seemed to him altogeth- er the more manly course to have an | understanding with Louise before she | Should be nominally under his moth- |er's care. So he started once more for Fairview, making two professional calls on the way. In one of the houses he asked the privilege of washing his hands. It seemed to him that they must be stain- ed from contact with Philbrick, the very thought of whom he loathed. The doctor naturally glanced into a mirror as he was wiping his hands, and was somewhat disturbed to ob- serve that one of his eyes was swollen, and that there was a red mark on his chin. “I hadn’t realized that he hit me at all,” he reflected. “I wonder if Louise will notice it?” He argued that she wouldn’t. The marks were not very prominent; neither of the patients on whom he had called had spoken of them, and when it came to that, much as he re- gretted the fight, he felt that he should feel better to confess his aggressive share in the encounter to Louise. Lit- tle as she was honored by the affair, it was all for her sake that his passion had flamed. “Whether she thinks ill of me or not,” he said to himself, “it is only fair to her that she should have every opportunity to know me as I really am, weaknesses and all.” With this honorable reflection he continued on his way. He had count- ed on finding the young ladies together very busy over something or other; he had assurred himself that some- thing would be in his way, some un- foreseen obstacle that he must over- come, and he was resolved to over- come it, to speak at once, even if he had to do so in the presence of Amelia. So he mounted the steps with desper- Naturally Glanced Into a Mirror. | ate firmness, much as a soldier might advance against a line of leveled inuskets. Fortune, it seemed, had favored him. Amelia was upstairs making | ready a chamber for Mrs. Williams, | and Louise was busy between dining | yoom and kitchen. Amelia saw the doctor from an upper window, but she | did not descend. She surmised the | nature of his errand, and though she wondered whether anything had oc- curred between him and Mr. Philbrick, | she could not at the distance see any sign of the conflict. The doctor saw Louise in the dining | room, and as the front door was open he walked in upon her without ring- ing. “Anh!” she exclaimed with a natural, cheery smile, “where is Mrs. Will- jams? It’s a little earlier that the boy said.” “Mother isn’t with me, Miss Drun- mond.” “Oh! but she will come, won’t she?” “I have no donbt of it. I haven’t seen her.” “Haven't you been home? Why! What’s the matter with your face, doctor?” “I’ve been to call on some patients. I'll tell you about my face later. I’ve something else to say first.” Like ail honest lovers, Dz. Williams was conscious of some trepidition as he began the fateful interview, but he squared himself for the ordeal and spoke earnestly and straight to the point. Louise, of course, saw what was. coming. She lowered her eyes at first, thinking of her house dress, a well-worn garment that she had put on after the gentlemen had departed. “Miss Drummond,” he said, after a slight pause, “I am compelled by cir- cumstances to speak sooner than per- haps I would have otherwise, but I feel that it is my duty to tell you, and tell you now that I love you.” “Your duty?’ she repeated, inquir- ingly, as she raised her eyes. “Yes. My mother is coming here. I shall be a frequent caller, and while her presence would justify mine to a degree, I do not feel that it would be right to conceal further my own feelings for you. I hate subterfuge, Miss Drummond, and I couldn’t bear to have you or anybody else think that I had utilized my mother’s guard- ianship, as you called it, to cloak or foster my own desires.” Louise, apparently, had nothing to say when he paused, so he continued: “Even if she were not coming to stay with you, I should probably be not long in speaking, for other rea- sons that I do not need to tell you. I must know how I stand, Louise— pardon me, the name slipped out un- awares.” “I don’t see why friends shouldn’t speak to one another by their first names,” she murmured, a little incon- sequentially. “1 shouldn’t want to use your given name,” he responded, “unless I had the best right in the world, a right that is greater than friendship can bestow. 1 presume I may be telling you nothing new. Perhaps you felt all qjons that I loved you.” “I Know You Will Despise Me, Ut- terly.”* “T didn’t know it—I wasn’t cer- tain——” “But you “guessed Louise.” She looked up at him with wide open, ingenuous eyes. “What shall I tell you?’ she asked. “Whether you love me.” She patted her foot on the floor and looked wistfully at the mountains far beyond the Miniski. The doctor felt as if he could not catch his breath, so great was his anxiety. “What are the other reasons that you say you do not need to tell me?” she asked. The question was a poser for Dr. Williams. He felt that he was man- fully prepared for a direct rejection, and it passed his comprehension that there could be any doubt on such a subject in a girl’s mind. If there was no doubt, why shouldn’t she say one thing or the other at once? He had no doubt as to his ewn feelings; how could she pussibly have any doubt as to herself? Especially when, as she partially admitted, the fact that he was in love had been perceived by her? These vain questions, natura! enough te a young man who was outspoken to a faull, fitted confusingly through his mind while le tried to frame an an- swer. “I suppose you will anderstand at once,” he replied at last, “and would spare me the necessity of stating them A man cannot help wanting to know where he stands, Miss Drummond, when he sees the possibility that an- other may take the place he would like to oceupy.” Louise smiled slightly. “You mean Mr. Philbrick?’ asked. ? 4 “Who else could I mean?” Her checks slowly suffused with red as she looked at her folded hands and thought. She was reviewing the events of the morning subsequent to the entrance of Mr. Philbrick to Fair- view via the Miniski. So the doctor had felt that she had made an im- pression upon the agreeable stranger. She had not thought that she could be mistaken. He was undoubtedly well versed in making his way with wo- men; quite likely he was an incorrigi- ble flirt; such men usually are; but he was bright and interesting, and it had really seemed as if he found her so, too. What if it should really be the ease that Mr. Philbrick hed been seri- ously smitten? Such a thing would not be impossible. She wondered who he was. Aan so, while the doctor waited pa- tiently, but with growing anxeity, for his answer, Louise was thinking in- tently of the other man. All at once, she looked up with something like roguishness in her eyes, and said: “You haven’t told me abeut your face yet.” “Tl tell you, Miss Drummond,” re- sponded the doctor, taking a sudden resolution to confess everything at once and stand or fall by the truth. “I it? Tell me, she | quarreled with Philbrick —~” “About me, Dr. Williams’ ’she inter- rnpted, with dignified reproach. “No; not about you, Girectly, and yet you were concerned in it. Tf it hadn’t been for you * shouid probably not have taken offense at his sneers. I say It in explanation, net justification, of by conduct.” "Tt was very :vrong of you to permit a quarrel tu occur about me, even indi- rectly. You had no right to.” Louise pouted, and looked, indeed, of fended, but the doctor ,who blushed and stared uneasily at the floor, did not see the sparkle in her eyes that she could not repress. She was thinking again of Mr. Philbrick, and of the doc- tor, tov, but she was trying to remem- | ber how they compared in size, and she wondered how the other had fared in the quarrel. “IT know it.” responded the doctor, huskily; “and that isn’t the worst of it, T struck first.” ‘At that moment Louise was pot struck with the downright honesty ct this confession ,made, as it was, with- out any attempt at palliation; not a word about provocation; before her somewhat stariled mind there fiashed a vision of two stalwart men battling fiercely against one another; and while 4 she felt a glow of exultation at the thought that it was love for her that inspired them, she was consumed with anxiety to know whether Mr. Philbrick had come out of it as well as the floc- tor had. “Did Mr. Philbrick ——’ she began, then halted, smiled in pitying con- tempt, and concluded: “But I see that he did strike back. Did you suc- ceed in hurting him, Dr. Williams?” q “T hope not, Miss Drummond, and I think not. He seemed to have come off as well as I did.” Louise was conscious that her heart was beating too rapidly for the perfect assumption of composure that she wished to show. She had been stand- ing up to this time. Now she sat ¢ewn acd turned her head aside. “T know you despise me, utterly,” faltered the doctor.” but I want you to Know that it wasn’t merely a gronnd- less jealousy that made me lose my temper, T thougat Mr. Philbrick made very oftensive remarks to me, and -I supp have let them pass.” ae “It would nave been the more digni- fied way,” said Louise, severely. “I am very much surprised, and—and shocked, Dr. Williams.” The doctor sighed almost inaudibly, but Louise heard his trembling breath, and her exultation grew. What a thing it is, to be sure, for a young woman to feel conscious of her power over a strong man! It is no wonder that she delights to prove it, to con- vince herself that he really is her slave, by stretching him upon the rack and watching him writhe without an effort to free himself. Louise began to feel a little sorry for the doctor. He was certainly as penitent as a man could be. How would Mr. Philbrick act in such a con- tingency? How she would like to see whether she could humble his assur- ance and make the tell-tale blushes of shame mount to his cheeks! Why shouldn’t she? The doctor himself feared Mr. Philbrick as a rival; they had had a fight, which, in spite of the doctor’s way of looking at it, was about her. Then, if Mr. Philbrick were in the least in earnest he would the more quickly be incited to declare him- self. That was the way it had affected the doctor. Really, it seemed altogethA, er probable to Louise that the next day, or shortly thereafter, she would have the loquacious, ready-witted Phil- brick at her feet also Dr. Williams moved slowly toward the door. “You are not going?’ said Louise, and the uneasiness in her tone made the doctor's heart bound hopefully. Would she after the castigation for- give him? “I dare not hope, Miss Drummond,” he said, “that you will pardon my very unmanly conduct, but I assure you that you cannot think worse of ing than I think of myself.” “I am not so sure that I cannot par- don you, doctor,” she responded. “I think you were—ahem—very foolish, but you have been very honest, too, in owning to it.” “I don’t want to take any credit for a virtue without which a man would be utterly contemptible,” said the doc- tor, “but if you could really know—” He was about to tell her something with respect to the enduring quality of his love, its depth and other things» that he had felt and dwelt upon in his mind recently, but when he looked into her eyes the words died in his throat. He did not know what he read there; he was not even conscious of a waver- ing in that supreme passion that had led him to this declaration, but it was as if some subtle force intervened to prevent him, as if he were warned that his honesty might some day be called in question if he apostrophized his attraction for this beautiful girl, whose sentiments.at that moment were almost wholly confined to unadmirable personal triumph. " So he paused in confusion, and Louly ise waited in surprise for him to con- tinue. This he did after a moment. “With all your condemnation, Miss Drummond, there may be love. I can- not go away without an answer to my question. Do you think that you can love me? I put it very mildly, you see, Do you?” The triumph died down and Louise answered; “T don’t know.” Strange as it may seem to the unini- tiated she told the whole truth. “Then you do not altogether reject me?” “No, doctor. How can I tell? Yo¥ must give me time to think. I don’t know what papa would say.” She smiled brightly as she said this, and the doctor’s heart glowed with hope, not as buoyant as he would have expected, but hope it was, neverthe- less, and very pleasant to him. Yet, almost at the same instant, he seemed to see the ominous edge of another cloud, for at the mention of her father he recalled for the first time since the exacting conversation began the tragic mystery that overhung the house. “What would she say,” he thought, and his hand involuntarily sought his pocket and touched the brass switch, “if she knew that I was standing tween her and her father’s disgrac perhaps saving him from death?” He dismissed the reflection as well as he could, for it had no weight with him in the present affair. It was not a means that he would stoop to use with either father or daughter, but he veiled apprehension in his heart when he suggested: “Shall we let the matter rest until he returns or until, if you make up your mind earlier, you can write to him?” “Yes, let it be that way,” sie re sponded eagerly. The doctor felt immmensely relieved, Louise rose to resume her work. q wandered out to the piazza ha: knowing what to do, for the interview seemed somewhat incomplete. He would have liket at least to clasp her hand in token of the fact that there was an understanding between them. but it was too late for that unless he were content to appear mawkishly sentimental. He wished that he had | quietly insisted cn that little formal As he stood in the open air he saw his mother midway between the hill and the house, and just coming over “ the brow of the hill was the impertur bable, and, it seemed omnipresent Philbrick. Ym too sersitive. 1 should x