DR IZARD.

Lyttelton Times, Volume XCIII, Issue 10601, 9 March 1895, Page 2

DR IZARD.

[BY ANUTA CATHERINE GREEN, Author of "The Leavenworth Case,” “ Behind Closed Doors,” “ The Forsaken Inn,” “ The Defence of the Bride” (poem).] {All Bights Reserved.) Chapter XIV. The doctor did not return in a few days nor in a few weeks. Two months passed before his gate creaked on its hinges and the word ran through the town, “Dr Izard is hack! ” He arrived in Hamilton at nightfall, and proceeded at once to his office. There was in his manner none of the hesitation shown at his last entrance there; and when by chance he passed the mirror, in his quick movements about the room, ho was pleased himself to note the calmness of his features, and the quiet air of dignified reserve that once more pervaded his whole appearance. “I have fought the battle,” he quietly commented to, himself; and now to face the new order of things.” He looked about the room, put a few matters in order, and then stepped out into the green space before the door. Glancing right and left and seeing nobody in the road or in the field beyond the cemetery, he walked straight to the monument of Polly’s mother, and' sternly, determinedly surveyed it. Then he glanced down at the grave it shaded, and defecting a stray leaf laying on its turf, he picked it up and cast it aside, with a touch of that strange smile which had lately so frequently altered his handsome features. After which ho roamed through the churchyard, coming back to his door by another path. The chill of early September had touched many of the trees about, and there was something like dreariness in the landscape. But he did not appear to notice this, but entered in and sat down at his table with his former look of concentration and purpose. Evening came, and with it several patients ; some from need, some from curiosity. To both kind he listened with equal calmness, prescribing for their real or fancied complaint, and seeing them at once to the door. At- ten o’clock even these failed to put in an appearance, and being tired, ho was about to draw his-shade and lock his door, when there came a low knock at the latter of so timid and so hesitating a character that his countenance changed, and he waited for another knock before uttering his well-known sharp summons to enter. ' It came after a moment’s delay, and from some motive hard to explain himself, he proceeded to the door, and hastily opened it. A tall, heavilydraped figure, clad in widow’s weeds, stood before him, at sight of which he stumbled back, hardly believing his eyes. “ Grace ! ” he ejaculated, “ Grace 1 ” and held out his arms with an involuntary movement of which he seemed nest moment ashamed, for with a sudden change of manner he became on the instant, ceremonious, and welcoming in his visitor with a low bow, he pushed forward a chair, with mechanical politeness, and stammered with intense emotion: “ You are ill! or your son! Some trouble threatens you or you would not be here.” “My son is well, and I—l am as well as usual,” answered the advancing lady, taking the chair he offered her, though not without some hesitation. “ Clarke is with the horses without and I have ventured—at this late hour—to visit you because I knew you would never come to me, even if 1 sent for you, Oswald.” The tone, the attitude, the whole aspect of the sweet yet dignified woman before him, seemed to. awaken an almost uncontrollable emotion in the doctor.

| He leaned towards her and said m tones which I seemed to have a corresponding. effect upon I Her; I “ You mistake, Grace. One word from you | would have brought me at any time; that is if I | could have been of any profit to you. I have never 1 ceased to love you”—he staggered back but | quickly recovered himself —“ and never shall.” "I' do not understand you,” protested Mrs Unwin, half rising. e -1 did not come—l did not expect—” her agitation prevented her from proceeding, ' “I do not understand myself,” exclaimed he, walking a step away. “ I never thought to speak such words to you again. Forgive me, Grace; you hay.e a world of wrong to pardon in me; add another mark of forbearance to your list and make me more than ever your debtor.” j She dropped her head, and sitting down again, seemed to be endeavouring to regain her selfpossession. ! “It was for Clarke,” she murmured, “that I came.” ; “Imight have known it,” criM the doctor. “He would not speak for himself, and Polly, the darling child, has become so dazed by the experience of these last two months, that she no longer knows her duty. Besides, she seems afraid to speak to you again; says that you frighten her and that you no longer love her.” “I never have loved her,” he muttered;hut so ow the words were not carried to the other’s ear. “ Have you learned in your absence, what .has taken place here in Hamilton ? ” she asked. • Bousing himself, for his thoughts were evidently not on the subject she advanced, he took a seat near hers and turned himself, determined to listen ; but meeting her soft eye shining through the heavy crape she wore, he said with a slight appealing gesture: “ Let me see your face, Grace, before I attempt to answer. I have not dared to look upon it for fourteen long years; but now, with some of the barriers down which held us inexorably apart, I may surely he given the joy of seeing your features once more, even if they show nothing but distrust and animosity towards me.” She hesitated, and his face grew pale with the struggle of his feelings, then her slim white hand went up and almost before he could realise it, they sat face to face, “Oh, Grace,” he murmured, “the same, always the same; the one women in all the world to me! But I will not distress you. Other griefs lie nearer your heart than any I could hope to summon up, and I do not know that I would have it otherwise if I could. Proceed with your I questions—they were in reference to Clarke, I believe.”

" Ho, I only asked if you had kept- yourself acquainted with what had been going on in Hamilton since you left. ' Did you know that Ephraim Earle was living again in the old house, and that Polly is being sucked clean and dry by his insatiable demands for money.” “No!” He sprang to his feet and his whole attitude showed distress and anger. “ I told her to make the fellow give her a proof, an unmis takable proof, that he was indeed the brilliant inventor of whose fame we. have all been proud.” “ And he furnished it, Oswald. You mean the medal which he received from France, do you not ? Well, he had it among his treasures in the cave, and he showed it to her one day. It was the one thing, he declared, from which ho had never parted in all his adventurous career,”

“You are dreaming! He never had that I Could not have had that ! It was some deception he practiced upon you,” exclaimed the doctor, aghast and trembling. But she shook her lovely head, none the less beautiful because the looks were becoming silvered on the forehead, and answered s

“ It was the very medal we saw in our youth, with the French arms and inscription upon it. Dr Sutherland examined it and Mr Crouse says ha remembers it well. Besides, it had his name engraved upon it and the year.” .

i The doctor, to whom her words seemed to come a sort of nightmare, sank into his chair and . stared upon her with such horror in hia gaze that j she would have recoiled in dismay from before Mm I! had he been any other man than Oswald Izard, so long-loved and so long passionately borne with,, notwithstanding his mysterious words and startling inconsistency of conduct. “ You do not know why this surprises me,” he exclaimed, and drooped his head. “ I was so j sure,” he added below his breath, “ that this was i some impostor, and not Ephraim Earle.” “I know,” she proceeded, after a moment—as i soon indeed as she thought he could understand (her words—“that you did not credit his claims, ' and refused to recoguise him as Polly’s father., : But I had no idea you felt so deeply on the'i | subject, or I might have written to you long ago, ,t

You have some reasons for your doubts, Oswald; for I see shat your convictions are not changed by this discovery. "What is it ? I am ready to listen if no one else is; for he is blighting Polly’s life, and at the same time shattering my son’s hopes.” “ I said—l swore to Polly that I had no reason,” he declared, gloomily dropping his eyes, and assuming at once the defensive. But she, with infinite tact and a smile he could not but meet, answered softly; “I know that too; but I know you better than she, and I feel that you may have had some cause for refusing Polly that will not hold good with me. Is there not something connected with those old days—something, perhaps, which only you know, which would explain your horror of this man’s pretensions and help her possibly out of her dilemma ? Are you afraid to confide it to me, when perhaps in doing so you would make two innocent ones happy.” “ I cannot talk about it,” he replied, with almost fierce emphasis. “ Ephraim Earle and I- I *-” he started, caught her by the arm and turned bis . white face , toward the - door, “ Hush ! ” he whispered, and stooped his ear to listen.

She watched him with terror and- amazement, but he soon settled back, and waving his hand, remarked quietly: “ The "boughs are losing their leaves, and the vines sometimes tap against the easement like human fingers. You were saying—” “ You were saying that Ephraim Earle and

you—” But his blank looks showed that he neither understood nor followed her. “ Were you not ‘good friends ? ” she asked, “Oyes, O yes,” be answered hastily, “too good friends for me to be mistaken now.” “ Then it is from his looks alone that you conclude him to be an impostor ? ” The doctor did not respond, and she, seeming quite helpless to move, sat for a minute, silently contemplating his averted face. “ I know you did not talk with him long, Nor have I attempted to do so yet, in spite of everybody’s opinion but your own, I have come to the same conclusion as yourself that he is not Polly’s father.” The doctor’s lips moved, but no words issued from them. “ That is why I can press the matter thus that is why I am here to pray and entreat you to save Polly and to save my son. Prove this man a villain and force him to loose his hold upon the Earle estate before Polly’s money is all gone.” “ Is it then a question of money ?” asked the doctor, “ Two months have passed, and you are afraid that he will dispose of twenty thousand dollars.” “He has already disposed of ten of them and the rest—” “Disposed of ten thousand dollar's ?” “ Yes, old gambling debts, pressing matters which Polly could not let stand without shame.” “ The wretch!’.’ leapt from the doctor’s lips. “ Was there no one to advise her—to forbid—” “ You were gone, and Clarke was afraid of seeming mercenary. I think the girl’s secret terror of her father and the lack of filial affection which she feels, drove her to yield so readily to his. demands for money. She was afraid her mother would curse her from the grave if she refused anything her father asked her.” , “ God! ” was the doctor’s sole ejaculation. “ And that is not the whole, Clarke’s career is endangered and the prospect of his carrying out his plans almost gone. Mr Earle—l have to call him so—makes no hesitation of saying that he must have five thousand dollars more by next October. If Polly accedes to this demand, and I do not think we can influence her to refuse him, Olarke will have to forego all hopes of becoming a member of that Cleveland firm, for he will never take her last five thousand even if she urges him to it on her knees.”

“It is abominable, unprecedented! ” fumed the doctor, rising and pacing the room. “ But I can do nothing, prove nothing. Ha has been received as Ephraim Earle, and is too strongly entrenched in his position for me to drive him out.”

The absolution with which this was said made his words final, and she slowly arose. “And so I, too, have failed,” she cried; but seeing his face and noting the yearning look which he regarded her; she summoned up her courage afresh and finally said; “They have told me—l have heard—that this man made some strange threats to you in parting. Is that the reason why you do not like to interfere or to proclaim more widely your opinion of him , The doctor smiled, but there was no answer in the smile and she went vehemently on: “Such threats, Oswald, are futile. No one less sensitive than you would heed them for a moment. You are above any one’s aspersions even on an old charge like that.” “ Men will believe anything,” he muttered. “But men will not believe that. Why, does not everyone know how faithfully you attended Mrs Earle in her last sickness, and how much skill you displayed? I remember it well, if the rest of the community do not, and I say you need not fear anything this man can bring against you. His influence in town does not go so far as that.” But the doctor, with unrelieved sadness, answered with decision, “1 cannot make this man my enemy: he has too venomous a tongue,” And she, watching him, knew that Polly’s doom was fixed, and her sou’s also; and began slowly to draw down her veil. Ohaptee XV. But he, noticing this .action, though he had seemed to be blind to many others she had made, turned upon her . with such an entreating look that she faltered and let her hand fall in dibp emotion. “ Grace,” he pleaded, “ Grace, I cannot let you go without one kindly word to make the solitude which must settle upon this room after your departure, less unendurable. You distrust me—”

, “Does this Tislfc here look like distrust/' she gently asked. “ And youhate me. But—” “ Do I look as if I hated you? ” she again interposed, this time with the look of ah angel in her sad but beautiful eyes. “ Ah, Grace,” he cried, with the passion of a dozen years let loose in one uncontrollable flood, “ you cannot love me—not after all these years. When we parted—- “ At whose instigation, Oswald ? ” “At mine! at mine! I know it. Bo not reproach me with that for it could not have been different, Grace. I thought, 1 dreamed that it was with almost as much pain on your side as mine. But you married, Grace, married very soon.” “ Still at whose instigation ? ” “Again at mine. I dared not keep you from any comfort which life might have in store for you, and the years which you spent in happiness .and honour must have obliterated some of the traces of that love which hound our lives together fifteen years ago.” “ Oswald, Mr Unwin was a good husband and Clarke has always been like on own son to me, hut—”

“Oh,” interposed the doctor, stalling back before the beauty of her face, “ don’t tell me that a woman’s heart can, like a man’s, sepulchre a living passion for fifteen years, in silence and secrecy. I could not bear to know that, to see that. The struggle which I waged fourteen years ago I have not strength to wage now. No, no! woman of my dreams, of my heart’s dearest emotion, loved once, loved now, loved always! tell me anything but that, tell me even that you hate me.”

Her eyes which had fallen before his swam suddenly with tears, and she started as if for proteo-. tion toward the door.

•“ Oh, I must go,” she cried. “ Clarke is waiting; it is not wise; it is not seemly forme to be here.”

But the doctor, into whom a fiery glow seemed to have entered, was beside her before she could reach the threshold. “No, no,” he pleaded, “not till you have uttered one word, one whisper of the old story; one assurance—Ah, now I am entreating for the very thing I deprecated a few minutes ago. It shows how unbalanced lam. Yes, yes, you can go; but, Grace, if you have ever doubted that I loved you, listen to this one confession Ever since the day we parted, necessarily parted, fourteen years ago, I have never let a week go by till these last few ones during which I have been away from Hamilton, that 1 have not given

up two nights a week to thinking of you and watching you.” “ Watching me?” “ Twice a week for fourteen years hare I sat for an hour in Mrs Fanning’s west window that overlooks ybur gardens. Thence, unnoted by everybody, I have noted you, if by happy chance you walked in the garden; and if you did not noted the house that held you and the man who Lettered your youth.” “ Oswald,”—she seemed impelled to speak—“if—if you loved me like this, why did you send me that cruel letter two days after our engagement? Why did you bid me forget you and marry some one else, if you had not forgotten me and did not wish me to release you that you might satisfy your own wishes in another direction ? ” “ Grace, if s l could explain myself now, I couldhave explained myself then. Fate, which is oftensat cruel to the most loving and passionate hearts, has denied me the privilege of marriage; and when I found it out—” “ True you have never married. Cruel, cruel one! Why did you not let me know "you would always live single for my sake; it would have made it possible for me to have lived single for yours—” . The doctor, with the love of a lifetime burning in his eyes, shook his head at this, and answered, " That would have shown me to be a selfish egotist, and I did not want to be other than generous to you. Kb Grace, all was done for the best, and this is for the best, this greeting and this second parting. The love ■which we have acknowledged to-night will be a help and not a hindrance to us both. But we will not meet again—not very soon, for I cannot, trust a strength which has yielded so completely to your first smile.” “Farewell,, then, Oswald,” she murmured. “It has taken the sting from my heart to know that you did not leave me from choice.” And he, striving to speak, broke down, and it was she who had to show her strength by gently leaving him and finding her own way to the door.

No soonfer liad the night-blast blowing in from the graveyard struck him, than he stumbled in haste to the threshold, and drawing her with a frenzied grasp from - the path she was blindly taking toward the grave?, led her down the > path to the high-road, where Clarke was waiting in some anxiety for the end of this lengthy interview. As the doctor gave her up and saw her taken in charge by her son, he said with a thrilling emphasis not soon to be forgotten by either of the two who listened to him; “ Try every means, and he sure you hid Polly to try every means, to rid yourselves from the bondage of this interloper. If all fails, come to me. But do not come till every other hope is dead.” Chapibe XVI, Two months bad passed and the first snow was whitening the streets of Hamilton. It was fallin thick on Carberry Hill, up which Clarke Unwin was plodding one early evening on a visit to Earle cottage. His errand was one of importance. A crisis was approaching in his affairs and he was determined to settle, once and for all, whether poor Polly’s money was to be sacrificed to her father’s increasing demands, or whether she could safely be allowed to follow her own wishes and give five thousand dollars of it to the lover whose future fortunes seemed to depend upon the possession of this amount. Ephraim Earle had told her with something like a curse, that he should expect from her this very sum on the first of the month, hut if this demand were satisfied, then Clarke’s own hopes must go, for his friends in the Cleveland works were fast becoming impatient and Mr Wright had written only two days before, that if the amount demanded from him was not forthcoming in a fortnight, they would be obliged to listen to the overtures of a certain capitalist who was only waiting for. Clarke’s withdrawal to place his own nephew in the desired place.

Clarke Unwin had not visited the Earle cottage since Ephraim took up his abode in it. Polly had refused to go there, and he himself felt no call to intrude upon a man who was personally disagreeable to him and whom he could not but regard as a tyrant to the sweet' girl whose life had been all sunshine till this man. came into it with his preposterous demands and ever-growing avidity for money. On this day, however, he had received her permission to present her case to her father and see what could be done with him. Perhaps when that father dame to know her need, he would find that he did not want the money as much as he made out; at all events the attempt was worth trying, and thus it was that Clarke braved the storm this October night to interview a man he hated. As he approached the brow of the hill he heard a noise of mingled laughter and singing, and gla&cing from under his umbrella, he perceived that the various windows of the cottage were brilliantly lighted. The sight gave him a shock. “ Ho is having one of his chess and checker orgies,” he commented to himself, and demurred at intruding himself at a time so unfavourable. But the remembrance of his mother and Polly, sitting together in anxious expectation of the good effect of his visit, determined him to proceed; and triumphing over his own disgust, he worked his way as rapidly as possible and soon stood knee deep in the snow that was piled up before the cottage door. The wind was blowing from the north, and it struck him squarely as he raised his hand to the knocker, hut though it bit into his skin, he paused a moment to listen to the final strains of old Cheesehorough’s voice, as he sang with rare sweetness a quaint old English ballad. When it was over, Clarke knocked. A sudden pushing . back of chairs over a hare floor announced that his summons had been heard, and presently he had the satisfaction of seeing the door open, and the figure of Mr Earle standing before him v Clarke did hot wait to be addressed. “ I am Clarke Unwin,” he announced. “ May, I be allowed the pleasure of a few minutes’ conversation with you P ” “ A few minutes,” emphasised the other, drawing hack with almost Wo free an air of hospitable welcome. “I hope you'will not limit yourself to a few minutes my boy; we have too good company here for that.” And without waiting for any demur on the part of his more than unwilling guest, he flung open a door at the right, and ushered him, greatly against his . will, into the large parlour where Clarke had last stood with Polly at his side. k Just now it was-filled with the choicest of the convivial spirits in town; most ofwhpm had been playing checkers or chess, and smoking till not a face present was visible. Yet Clarke, in the one quick-glance he threw about him, recognised most, if not all, the persons present—Morton by his oaths which rang out with more or less goodnatured emphasis with every play ho made, and the three cronies in the comer by various characteristics well known in Hamilton, where these men passed for the three disgraces. One person only was a perfect stranger to Clarke, but him he scarcely noticed, so intent was he on his |own errand and the desire he had of speaking to Mr Earle alone. “ Hufrah! Come, here’s Clarke Unwin ! ” shouted a voice from the depths of the smoky pall. “ Brought your flute with you ? ” Nobody comes here without some means of entertaining the company.” “ Off with your coat, there’s snow sticking to it. Ugh! you’ve robbed the room of all the heat there, was in it,” grumbled old Cheeseborough, whose fretfulness nobody minded, because of the good-nature that underlay it. “ Freedom’s hall, this,” whispered Earle, still with that over-officious air Clarke had noticed in him at the doorway. “ Sit with your coat on, or sit with it off, anything to suit yourself, only one thing we insist on, and that is that you take a good glassful of this piping hot cider before you

speak a word. So much for good fellowship. Afterwards you shall do as you please.” “But I have not come for enjoyment, but business,” put in Clarke, waving the glass aside, and looking with some intentness into the face of the man upon whose present. disposition depended so much of his own happiness and that of the young girl ho had taken to bis heart. “Earle, who liad a secret priao in Lis owa personal appearance, which, now that he was in good physical condition, was not without a certain broad handsomeness, strutted back a pace and,surveyed Clarke with interest. . “Ton are looking,” said he, “to see how I compare with that picture over your ' head. Well, as I take it, that picture, (hough painted sixteen, years ago, does not do, me justice. What do you think?” ■■ ..-Clarko. Eomewhat taken aback, as much by £he smile which acccmpanied these words as by the words themselves, hesitated for a moment and then boldly said:

What you have gained in worldly know* ledge and intercourse with men, you have lost in that set purpose which gives character to - the physiognomy and fills all its traits with individuality. In that face on the wall I see the inventor, but in yours, as it now confront* me the——”

“Well, what?” “Thecentre otthis very delightful group,” finished Clarke, suavely. / It was said with a bow which included the whole assembly. Earle laughed, and one or two abont him frowned, but Clarke heeding nobody ask£d if he could not have a moment’s conversation with his host in the ball.

Earle, with a side glance directed, as Clarke thought, toward the one slight man in the corner whose face was unfamiliar to him, shook his head at this suggestion and blurted out: ,■ .

against the rules. When the H.F.W.iLmeets it is as one body. What is whispered in one corner is supposed to be heard in the next. , Out, with your business then, here, I have no secrete and con scarcely suppose you to have,” If this was meant to frighten' Clarke off it did not succeed. He determined to speak,/and to speak as he was commanded, right there and then.

“Well,” said he, “ since you force me to take the town into our confidence, I will.' Your daughter—” ' “ Ah,” quoth Earle, genially, “ she has remembered, then, that she has a fa( her. She sends me her love, probably. Dear, good girl, how kind of her on this wintry night.” “She sends you, her: respects,” Clarke corrected frankly, “and wants to know if you insist upon having the last few dollars that she possesses.” -i “Oh, what taste!’ broke in the father, somewhat disconcerted. “I did think you would have better judgment than to discuss money matters in a social gathering like this. But sinpe you have introduced the topic you may say to my dutiful little girl, that since I have only asked her for such sums as she is perfectly able to part with, I shall certainly expect her to recognise my claim upon her without hesitation or demur. Have you anything more to say, Mr Unwin?” Clarke, whose eye had wandered to the stranger in the corner, felt no desire to.back out of the straggle, unpleasing as this publicity was. He therefore, answered with a determined nod, and with a few whispered words which caused a slight decrease in the air of bravado, with which his boat regarded him. r ... .... ... ;

“You persist,” that individual remarked, “notwithstanding the rules I ; have had ’the honour of quoting to you? I should not have expected it of you, Mr Unwin; but since your time is short, as you say, and the subject mustbe discussed, what do you advise, gentlemen? Shall I listen to the plea of this outsider—outsider as regards this meeting, I mean, not as regards my feelings towards him as a and break our rules by; taking him into anothar room, or shall I risk a blush or two. for. my charming little daughter’s perversity, and hear him out in your very good company and perhaps under you? equally good and worthy advice? ”’ - -

: “ Hear him fibre!” piped up Chceseboroagh, whoso wits were somewhat befuddled by something stronger than cider. ' "No, no, shame!” shouted Emmons. “Polly is a good girl, and we have no business meddling '• with her'affairs. Let them have their talkupt ' stairs. I can find enough here to interest me.” "Yes, yes, there’s the game!; let’s’ finish the game! Such interruptions - are enough to spoil the nicest calculations,” “You were makingfor-theking-row.” “ Cheek in three moves!” " Here, fill up my glass first!”. “ I declare if my pipe hasn’t gone out!” Clarke who heard these various exclamations without heeding them, glanced at Earle for his decision; but Earle’s eye was on the man in ths furthermost comer. ' “Well, we’U go up stairs!” he announced shortly, wheeling about and leading the way into the hall. ' Clarke followed, and was about to close the door. .. behind him, when a slim figure intervened between him and the,door, and the stranger he had previously noticed, glided into the hall. - < “Who’s this?” he asked, noticing that this man showed every symptom of accompanying them. “A friend,” retorted Earle; “one of the devoted kind who sticks closer than a brother.” Clarke, astonished, surveyed the thin young man who waited at the foot j)f _the and remarked nonchalantly: , . - * - i “ I do not know him.” Earle, with a shrug of bis shoulders, went upstairs. . - “ You may have the opportunity later,” he dryly remarked; “at present, try and fix your attention on me.” (To he continued.)