Doctor Luttrell's First Patient

  CHAPTER IX.

  THE CHRISTMAS GUEST.

  "This life of ours is a wild Aeolian harp of many a joyous strain; But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, as of souls in pain."--_Longfellow_.

  Olivia felt a little nervous as she sent in her name by Phoebe; thegirl had looked at her dubiously.

  "I am not sure whether master will see you, ma'am," she said. "Henever sees anyone on Christmas Day; and Mrs. Crampton says he is butpoorly;" nevertheless, at Olivia's request, she had taken the message.

  After a brief delay she returned. Her master would see Mrs. Luttrell;but Olivia's heart beat a little quickly as she entered the library.For the first time she was not sure of her welcome.

  The grand old room looked unusually gloomy. The tall standard lampswere unlighted, and only the blazing fire and a small greenreading-lamp made a spot of brightness. Deep shadows lurked in thecorners, and the heavy book-cases and window recesses only seemed toadd to the gloom.

  Mr. Gaythorne sat in his great ebony chair--with its crimson cushions.His face looked more cadaverous and sunken than usual; the finefeatures looked as if they were carved in old ivory, they were so fixedand rigid; as he held out his hand to Olivia there was no smile ofwelcome on his face--the melancholy deep-set eyes were sombre andpiercing.

  Mr. Gaythorne sat in his great ebony chair.]

  "This is indeed a surprise, Mrs. Luttrell."

  "I hope you will not think it an intrusion," she returned, a littlebreathlessly. "I wanted so much to see you and give you Aunt Madge'smessage. Somehow I could not bear to think that we were so happy andthat you were sitting alone and feeling sad. Are you vexed with me forcoming?" she continued, in her winning way; "I can see you are not abit pleased to see me."

  "My dear Mrs. Luttrell," he said, in his harsh, grating voice, "it isone of my bad days, and nothing on earth would yield me pleasure. Igave you warning, did I not? You are visiting a haunted man! TheChristmas ghosts have been holding high revel this evening; one of themhas been pointing and gibing at me for ever so long: 'You are reapingwhat you have sown,' that was what it said. 'Why do you grumble atyour harvest--there is no ripening without sunshine? Young hearts mustbe won by love and not severity; it is your own fault, your ownobstinacy, your own blindness'--that is what it has been saying overand over again."

  He shivered slightly as he said this, and held out his thin hands tothe blaze. He had not asked her to sit down, but Olivia drew a smallchair forward and seated herself.

  "Do not listen to them any longer," she said, gently. "You are ill andsad, and so everything looks black and hopeless--let me talk to youinstead; I want to tell you how we have spent our day."

  Olivia had a charming voice. As she went on with her simple narrativethe muscles of Mr. Gaythorne's face insensibly relaxed; hesitation,nervousness, a touch of self-consciousness even, would have repelledhim; but her gentleness and childlike directness seemed to soothe himin spite of himself. And as she repeated Mrs. Broderick's message,though he shrugged his shoulders and muttered "Pshaw," she could seethat he was gratified; and even his remark--"that Mrs. Broderick mustbe a very emotional person"--did not daunt her.

  "If Aunt Madge is emotional, I am too," she said, softly. "Do you knowwhat I said when I saw that picture of the old shepherd looking at therainbow? 'I love him for this,' and, dear Mr. Gaythorne, I meant it."

  "Tut, nonsense!" but as Olivia took his hand and held it in her firmgrasp, there was a sudden moisture in the old man's eyes.

  "No one has loved me since my two Olives left me," he muttered. "Ifonly one had been spared to me, only one; but I am left here alone withmy sorrow and remorse."

  "You are not really alone," she returned, soothingly. "Why do youspeak as if your wife and daughter had ceased to love you? Do youimagine for one moment that they forget you? It would do you good totalk to Aunt Madge; she has such wonderful ideas about all that. Somepeople--people like Mrs. Tolman, our vicar's wife--laugh at her andcall her fanciful, but to me she is so real. Why should it not betrue?" she went on, with gathering excitement, "nothing that is goodcan die! Love is eternal, and it is only pain and grief and sin thatcan come to an end. That is what Aunt Madge says, and she does morethan say it, she lives it. Of course she misses her husbanddreadfully--they were everything to each other--but he never seems deadlike other women's husbands, if you know what I mean by that. Sheseems to keep step with him somehow, and think his thoughts. I haveheard her say once that it is just as though a high wall separatedthem. 'I cannot see him or hear him, but I know he is just the otherside of the wall; only he has all the sunshine, and I have to gropealone in the shadows.'"

  "Oh, she is right there; I know what it is to grope among shadows. Mydear young lady," laying his hand heavily on her arm, "Mrs. Broderickmust be a wonderful woman, and I hope to see her some day; and I am notabove caring for a good woman's prayers, but our cases are not exactlysimilar."

  "I daresay not," returned Olivia, hesitatingly.

  "No, indeed"--and Mr. Gaythorne's heavy eyebrows drew together--"lookhere, Mrs. Luttrell, what sort of comfort do you suppose a man can havein thinking of his wife, when he knows he has acted contrary to herdesires, when he has failed to carry out even the wishes expressed onher deathbed. What would you say to that man?"

  "I would say that he must be very unhappy, and that no doubtcircumstances were too hard for him. Perhaps he did his best; but itis not always possible for dying people to judge rightly, they may makemistakes."

  "No, it was I who made all the mistakes," and there was such anguish inthe old man's eyes as he said this, that Olivia almost started; "butGod help me, if it were to come over again I should do the same. Mrs.Luttrell, you do not know me; it is my whim to be generous now andthen. I like to give and it costs me nothing, but I am a hard,domineering man; when people oppose and anger me, I can be relentless;it is not easy for me to forgive, even when the offender is my ownflesh and blood, and I am no hypocrite. I must speak the truth at allcosts."

  "And yet we expect our Father to forgive us," returned Olivia, almostto herself, but Mr. Gaythorne heard her, and a strange expressioncrossed his face.

  "That is what she always said--my Olive, but it never seemed to makeany difference to me. Ah, well, it is no use talking, some spiritsrefuse to be laid, but this is poor entertainment, my dear, and on yourbirthday too!"

  "Please do not say that. I should love to stay, but I must not; it islate now, and Marcus will be waiting for me," and Olivia rose as shespoke. "And now before I go may I ring for the lamps to be lighted?there is something uncanny in this darkness, and the fire is gettinghollow too."

  "Well, well, do as you like," was the abrupt answer. "I am going tohave my dinner here tonight, it is warmer," and so Olivia had her way.As she bade him good-night, he said, a little wistfully, "You can cometo-morrow afternoon if you like. I have those views of Venice andFlorence to show you. I had an old Florentine palace for six months,the year before my little Olive died; that was our last happy year."

  "Of course I will come," she replied, smiling at him. But as she leftthe room she sighed; had she really exorcised those evil spirits? orwould they return again, with tenfold force? "remorse;" that was theword he used, this was the canker-worm that was robbing him of peace."It is not easy for me to forgive even if the offender is my own fleshand blood." How sad it was to hear him say that.

  "I think, after all, I did him some little good," she thought, as shegroped her way cautiously through the dark shrubbery. "That hard,rigid look had quite disappeared before I left. I have a feelingsomehow that one day he will open his heart to me and tell me histrouble. Every now and then he drops a word or two; perhaps thisevening, if I had not been so hurried, he would have spoken out."

  Olivia's warm heart was full of pity for the lonely man sitting besidehis desolate hearth, but she was young, and as the heavy gate closedafter her, and she hurried across the road, a sudden vision of her ownbright little pa
rlour with Marcus waiting for her rose blissfullybefore her.

  Marcus would have returned long ago and would be wondering at herdelay. She knew what he was doing--cutting the pages of _Esmond_ fortheir evening reading. How charmed he had been with her gift, althoughhe had pretended to be angry at her extravagance.

  A few particles of snow powdered her as she rang the bell. Marcusanswered it himself.

  "Livy, my dear child," he said, quickly, "what an age you have been!Come into the kitchen a moment, I want to speak to you, and Martha isupstairs. No, not there," catching hold of her arm as she absentlyturned the handle of the parlour door. "I said the kitchen."

  "Oh, Marcus, what is it?" in an alarmed voice, as she suddenlyperceived his grave, preoccupied look, "there is something wrong--withbaby," but his smile reassured her.

  "Nothing is wrong, I am only a little perplexed. Dot's all right, andthe house is not on fire, and Martha is enjoying her usual health, butwe have got a Christmas guest, that's all."

  "Marcus, what can you mean, when we know no one here? Is it one ofyour old hospital friends? And why may I not go in and see him?"

  "So you shall, but I must explain matters first. I have a poor fellowin there whom I picked up off a door-step. At first I thought he wasdrunk, and I meant to call a policeman, but I very soon found out mymistake. The poor wretch had fainted from cold and exhaustion, he wassimply starving."

  "Oh, how dreadful!" exclaimed Olivia, much shocked at this. "Have yougiven him some food? But why is he not here instead of in thesitting-room? Martha has a capital fire."

  "Yes, she has been making him some tea, and luckily there was some coldbacon. He has had nothing but a penny roll and some coffee sinceyesterday morning. Another night of exposure and want would havekilled him. I took him into the parlour because the couch was handy,but directly he spoke I saw he was a gentleman--at least an educatedman, but his clothes are threadbare. He has parted with his waistcoatfor food. Now you know why I brought you in here, to save you a shock."

  "But, Marcus, what are we to do with him?"

  "Ah, that is what puzzles me. I have fed and warmed him, and couldgive him money for a night's lodging, but he is not fit to move. Whenhe tried to sit up just now, he nearly fell back from exhaustion. Ishould say from the look of him that he has been ill, perhaps in somehospital, and has not got up his strength. And he is quite youngtoo--not more than five-and-twenty, I should say."

  "May I go and look at him first, and then we will think what is to bedone."

  "Yes, dear, that will be best. But, Livy, I really cannot wait justnow. All this has hindered me so that I have not been to theTraverses'. I shall not be long--not more than half an hour."

  Olivia looked rather troubled at this, but it was no use making a fuss.Marcus must do his work, but her vision of a cosy evening was sadlymarred. Instead of listening to _Esmond_ she had to interview astrange man.

  Directly Marcus had gone she went into the sitting-room; the couch hadbeen drawn near the fire and Marcus's easy chair was pushed back, andthere in the warmth and firelight, with an old plaid thrown over him,the forlorn wanderer lay sleeping as placidly as a child.

  Olivia trod on tiptoe as she crossed the room and stood beside thecouch, and studied him attentively.

  Marcus was right; of course he was a gentleman; in spite of hisemaciated appearance and poor, threadbare garments, this was evident;the features were well-cut and refined; the wasted hands bore no signsof manual labour, and the filbert nails were carefully attended.

  Some poor prodigal fallen to low estate lay before her, and yet helooked so boyish and innocent in his sleep, that Olivia's heart grewvery pitiful over him.

  Turn him out in the winter's cold, and on Christmas night, too; whenall the merciful angels were moving betwixt heaven and earth. When thebond of brotherhood that linked human beings together was drawn closer,and the rich man's gift and the widow's mite were paid into the sametreasury of love, it was impossible!

  How soundly he was sleeping, poor fellow, lulled by the very fulness ofcomfort, his sick hunger appeased, and his bones no longer aching withcold. A fair moustache covered his mouth, but Olivia, who pridedherself on reading character, soon decided that the chin and lower partof the face showed signs of weakness, but as the thought passed throughher mind a pair of deep blue eyes opened full on her face, and gazed ather in bewilderment.

  "Where am I?" he said, feebly; "oh, I remember, I fainted on adoorstep, and some good Samaritan carried me in;" then in the same weakvoice, "Forgive me, madam, but I am afraid to rise."

  "Lie still--please lie still until my husband comes back," returnedOlivia, a little nervously. How ill he looked--the eyes lookedpreternaturally large in the wasted face. "It is sad to see anyone insuch distress," she continued, gently, "and on Christmas night, too."

  "Yes, I am down on my luck," returned the stranger; but even in hisfeebleness he spoke a little recklessly; "I was always 'Murad theUnlucky;' it would have been all over with me in a few hours if thedoctor had not found me. I was just at the end of my tether,"--buthere a hard cough seemed to tear him to pieces.

  "Lie still and try to sleep again," returned Olivia, hurriedly; thenshe went out of the room and summoned Martha.

  When Marcus returned and went in search of her, he found her airingsome sheets at the kitchen fire.

  "Marcus," she said, "Martha has been lighting a fire in that littleempty room, where the iron bedstead is; there are the mattress and thetwo blankets Aunt Madge lent me when I was ill; I am going to make up abed there for to-night."

  "You think we ought to keep him, then," returned her husband, lookingat her questioningly. "To be sure, I hardly know how we are to turnhim out; but if he falls ill on our hands, eh, Livy?"

  "If he be very ill, you would have to take him to a hospital," shereturned, quickly. "We have not got the cruise of oil, remember, and,as Aunt Madge says, we must be just before we are generous--but he hassuch a terrible cough, Marcus."

  "Oh, that is from cold and exhaustion, and, as I told you before, hehas evidently recovered from some severe illness, probably pleurisy orpneumonia. Well, Livy, I think you are about right; we must do ourbest for the poor beggar; now and then one must help 'lame dogs overstiles,'" and Marcus, whose bump of benevolence was largely developed,and who believed in practical religion, was sincerely grateful that hiswife had fallen in with his views.

  "I think you were sent to him to help him," returned Olivia, softly."'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren.'Oh, Marcus, you know how that finishes," and Marcus smiled back at heras he left the room.