CHAPTER XI.

DR. CRAIG'S WISDOM.

A friend who did not obtrude himself upon the departing travellers, but spied from the background, rubbed his hands as the train moved off.

Then as the big Boldero omnibus turned empty homewards, Dr. Craig stood still for a moment in thought, consulted his watch, and finally walked briskly up the street to his own door.

"What is it?" demanded a voice from an upper window; "forgotten anything, Humpty?"--and the attentive wife prepared to fly down.

"No, no; stay where you are." Humpty waved her back. "I have some work to do at home this morning," and he stepped into the surgery, where on this occasion his young a.s.sistant was dutifully busy.

"Hey, I'm going to send you for a run, Tommy; you can finish here when you come in. Take your bicycle, and go to Mrs. Brooks--you know the house? You don't? Well, you know Ashford Mill? It's near by. Any one will tell you the road. Call, and say I'm not coming till to-morrow if all's going on well. Of course, if I'm wanted, I can look in--let's see--some time this evening. But I don't expect I shall be wanted. And Tommy----"

"Yes, sir?"

"You needn't hurry back. Take your time, and get a breath of good air over the downs."

"Thank you, sir,"--but the dejected countenance did not brighten, and the rejoinder was mechanical. A few days before what a prospect would have opened at the above words, now it mattered not to Tommy Andrews what he did nor where he went. He continued to pound away with his back turned.

"Come, be off!" said Dr. Craig, good-naturely. "I came back on purpose to set you free. By the way--ahem!--you need not be afraid of meeting any one; you won't be tempted to break your word--not that you would, of course,--but, well, I thought I'd just mention it--the ladies are off to London."

"The--the ladies, sir?"

"The Boldero ladies. Two of them, at least,--Miss Sue and Mrs. Stubbs. I was at the station just now, and saw them go, with a pile of luggage that meant a longish stay. My boy, this ought not to be ill news to you," continued the speaker, changing his tone of a.s.sumed indifference for one of quiet sincerity; "it's only the natural ending of what ought never to have begun; and you will live to be glad it came so soon, and so conclusively. Take your time upon the road, Tommy. There's nothing to bring you in before dinner."

And at dinner Humpty was in his most genial mood. He was not as a rule genial at the midday repast, to which as often as not he hurried in late, only to hurry out again as soon as he had consumed abstractedly the portion set aside for him; but on the present occasion he subsided into his armchair at the foot of the table with a leisurely, tranquil air that spoke of a mind at ease for the time being.

He enjoyed his roast chicken and green peas. He had himself cut the asparagus and cut it bountifully. Mary was bidden to observe how asparagus ought to be cut--a couple of inches, not more, below the surface of the earth; and it should never be allowed to grow too high; the flavour was lost when it had been long above ground; furthermore, it should be carried straight from the bed to the pot--but here Mary laughed outright.

"What are you laughing at?" demanded he.

"You, who never give your food a chance! Tommy knows,"--and the careful housewife continued to laugh, looking at Tommy, "he has to put down your plate to the fire five days out of six."

"No, no, Mary."

"And often you could not tell me what's on it if I asked! And if _we_ did not look after your digestion----"

"Well, well; I know what's good, when I have time to think about it. And since you are so keen on my digestion, have you a mind to give Tommy and me a treat?" nodding at her--"make us some coffee!"

"And we'll take it out-of-doors," continued the doctor, rising and throwing his napkin aside. "Under the trees yonder. Bring your pipe, Tommy; you and I don't often enjoy a lazy hour, but a man must break his rule sometimes. Come along,"--and he led the way.

Of course Tommy saw, and at first Tommy was inclined to resent. So he was to be treated like a child, a child who has had his toy taken from him and is to be comforted with other things? He had been allowed to go out in the sunshine--(on a bogus errand, he suspected; certainly Mrs.

Brooks had not expected a medical visit that morning)--and now his inner man was being consoled and pampered, and the raw wound which still bled from the knife so unsparingly applied the day before, was to be blandly ignored. He felt both hurt and angry.

But the roast chicken was very good, and so was the currant tart with cream--and he had covered many miles on an empty stomach, and was young, and as a rule, ravenous. For the life of him he could not help clearing his plate.

And next he found himself responding with alacrity to the suggestion of coffee in the cool shade without, for the atmosphere of the little dining-room had grown somewhat warm and odorous, pervaded by hot dishes--while even a prospective _tete-a-tete_ with his host was not altogether distasteful, since he was to be permitted to smoke.

And though he told himself he would not for worlds have Leonore's name enter into the conversation, in reality he was listening for it, waiting for it.

He had to wait however.

"It's a queer life, that of a country doctor;" the elder man laid down his pipe musingly. "A queer life--but it has its compensations. There's much to be given up, much to be done without,--there's struggle and hardship to begin with--strain and anxiety always,--but taken as a whole, it yields a satisfaction--Tommy, I often think there's no life on earth meets with such clear recompense for the outlay, be the outlay what it may."

"Yes, sir; I suppose so, sir;" absently.

"Human nature craves appreciation," the speaker slackened his big-limbed frame afresh, and puffed luxuriously, "to be watched for and welcomed and--and appreciated--there is no other word for it--wherever one goes, _is_ something, who can deny it? One may never rise to eminence, one may be humble and obscure, as the world has it, all one's days, and yet----" again he paused.

"Yes, sir?" But at the second "Yes, sir," Dr. Craig roused himself.

"You aren't following me, Tommy. You think you knew all this before, and it sounds like a dull droning in your ears. Isn't it so, my boy?"

"I'm afraid I'm very poor company, sir. But you--you know what makes me so."

"And you would like to talk about it, and find every other subject uninteresting? Maybe you're right. What is it then? _Her_, I suppose?"

And a faint smile, not unkindly, accompanied the last words.

"I do want you to believe that she is not to blame. I can't get over it, your saying what you did. You seemed to infer that I had been befooled and----"

"If you had, you are not the first--but let that pa.s.s. I own I cannot understand how otherwise you could have presumed to think at all about a lady so high above your head."

"I did presume, sir."

"And----?"

"And I think I showed it, sir."

"Wilfully?"

"No, unconsciously. But it was _my_ fault--not hers."

"And you acquit her, absolutely?"

Tommy was silent, colouring.

"You would like to acquit her, and you hoped I should do so, without the need of more? You have a chivalrous soul, and you may thank G.o.d for it, young man; it is a great possession. Respecting Leonore Stubbs, I may be too hard upon her----"

"Indeed, sir, indeed----"

"I _may_ be, but time alone will show. When she first came back here, a poor bit widow-creature, more child than woman, it would have touched a heart of stone to see her and what's more, I saw they were not going the right way to work with her. She was put into a sort of strait-jacket.

She was made to appear just what the Bolderos thought she ought to appear. They made no account of the sort of la.s.sie she really was. I saw, for I was often at the house that winter. And I think Leonore was glad to be ill sometimes--(she caught colds and chills that year)--just for the sake of having something to think about, and even old me to talk to. But of late--I don't know--I seem to fancy she's altered. She breaks loose. Her face has a kind of reckless look. And it struck me she'd been angered and fretted till she was ripe for mischief. Did she--did she let you make love to her, Tommy?"

"Never, sir. There was never a word of the kind between us. I told you so before."

"Aye; words aren't always needed. You and she were walking in a maze, and a maze neither of you had the wit to look beyond. Heaven knows where you would have found yourselves--or, rather, where _you_ would have found yourself--if I had not brought you up sharp. But don't imagine I think the worse of you for it, Tommy; and don't you go and fret and gloom by yourself. The thing's done and can't be undone, and I'll not deny I'm sorry it is so. Still--" he rubbed his chin thoughtfully,--"perhaps you have learnt something you would have learnt no other way, and for the rest, my advice is--forget. Forget as fast as you can, for," a grim smile, "of one thing you may take your oath, Tommy Andrews, however quick you may be, the little lady who's gone to London to-day will be quicker still."