CHAPTER 111. I am called.

Otago Witness, Issue 2130, 20 December 1894, Page 2

CHAPTER 111. I am called.

The bustle and stir, the ste.-jdj- routine an 3 hard grind of the hospital work seemed strange to me after the quiet weeka that I had spent at Dr Ingrain's. But very soon I threw myself into the work with all the force and energy of which I was capable ; and after a hard day spent In scrubbing, cleaning, waiting on the patients and the doctors, ruuning here and there, standing till my legs ached, and then running round again and tiring myself again, I was glad to throw myself on my bed and sleep the dreamless sleep of healthy exhaustion. There is nothing like hospital work for usicg up the vital energy and making you feel when night comes as if your body were one big ache and as if thore were nothing in the world so desirable as the bard bed on whioh you are about to throw your limbs. The duties ara so oonstant, so unflagging, thoy succeed each other so quickly, that there is no time for personal thought— every faculty becomes absorbed in understanding and obeying orders, in watching tho cases, in marking the charts, and many other details wbioh, in themselves trifling, make up a considerable urn total.

It i» wonderful how the life absorbs your individuality, how the little interest*, jealouii«B, intrigues, and etiquettes of the hospital loom larger and larger on your mental horizon, until you become a nurse and nothing more — your previous life with its duties, pleasures, and occupations recedes further and farther from your grasp, until you feel tbtvt it might have been lived in another planet and in a previous state of existence I had felfc this in the little hospital a t N , where the matron and I had done all the nursing ; and now the big institution, with its inaay wards, uursc?, patients, anil doctors, would certainly have swallowed up ray identity, llko a great octopus, bat for Di lugram and his Experiment. I tried to forget them, but I could not. Again and again, when I had fallen asleep the moment my head touchbd the pillow, overcome with sheer oxbaußtion, I woke at the end of a few hours with the uneasy consciousness that I was wanted ; that someone had called me. I woke— as nurses and doctors should wake, with all their wits about them— alert and ready, and sprang np to obey the snmmons. 11 1 am here 1 lam ready ! Who called ? "

But no answer came, and I lay down again, listening intently. I heard nothing, for the Nurses' Home is at the lower end of the hospital ground ; no cry from the institution can reach it. And the Home itself was profoundly silent, nothing being audible to my strained senses but the deep breathing of my room-fellow, and the faint hum of the oity, which is never entirely still, even in the quietest hour of the* tv c ty-'cur. This happen ea several ticues, nofc on the same night or on following nights, but et irregular intervals of two or three or more days. When I thus woko I could not remember whose voice it was which called, or what were the exact words it uttered. I had only a vague sense that someone wanted mo, so though I felt willing and anxious to obey the call, I could not do it.

At last I woke up with the answer on my lips: " Coming, Dr Ingram, coining." And I know who had called me. May Bat ton was my only personal friend! in the hospital. I had known her when we were both children. I was glad to racognia© her and claim her acquaintance when I met her again la the Nursee' Homo. She had then been given to me as my room mate, and we were generally on and off duty together ; but during my temporary absence she had been placed in charge of the children's ward ; our hours were different, and we rarely met except at meals, wbfen we were each too busy for anything but hospital gossip of cases and cures, doctors and dtuga. This night when I woke with Dr Ingram'* name on my lips, she also woke and asked what was the matter.

I should not have disturbed her, but I was very glad to bear her familiar voice — it seemed to break the spell of an evil dream. " Did you hear anyone oall me, May 7 " " I heard you call out, and pretty loudly, too. Bid anyone call yoa? Who could it be 7 I heard nothing."

I told her how I bad bceo awakened several nights by a voice calling me ; that I could; never tell whose voice It was; only that night I had heard and answered, and my answer had disturbed her.

If I bad told her this tale In the daytime we should probably both have laughed at it, but in the solemn stillness of the nightj it did not seem at all absurd. A delicious and mysterious awe crept over us. "Rhoda, do you think he really called you?" " I cannot tell ; perbapß It was only a dream ; but then I did not dream anything-* only that someone called me.'* " How often has this happened 7 "

"Four or five times."

" Very atrange. It is like one of Stead* ghosts. Did the voice seem earnest or anxious or in pain 7 " "I do nofc know. It called me, and I woke; that is all." "What did it call you— Rhoda or Miss Thurston or nurse 7 " " I cannot tell. The call was to me, me, myself ; but of the words ana tbo manner of it, I know nothing." We lay still, and the silence wrapped vis round and lay upon us and stilled our baafcIng pulses. " Bhoda 1 are you asleep 1 11 No, I was never more wide awake In my life." " And, I too, feel as if I should not go to sleep again for a long time. Will you tell me all about Dr Ingram and bis household and how you liked being a private nurse." <l There is nothing to tell." " Never mind, tell mo all the nothing. It will interest me, and erne never has any time In the day. How did you get on witb tba two doctors 7 " " Very well with the old man, cofc so well with the young one." " I expected that. And yet all the womeU admire him ; Jbgy _say he is so kaadsomgj!'

•' His features are good certainly, bbunt n « Go on." 11 1 can't tell how to go on. There is something about him, I cannot say what, whioh Itepels and frightens me. He was always kind and polite to me— indeed he took more notice of me than I could have expeoted, and yet"

"You hate him?"

•' No, oh no J How could Ido that, seeing that he has never lrjjured me or anyone else So far as I know. But it seems to me that every human being breathes out a subtle InfiuoDOe, an aroma, an exhalation, a mesmeric force whioh attraots or repels every other human being with whom he cornea In contact, and Dr Bertrand Ingram repels me. fchat is all. 1 *

"That is not all," Baid May earnestly. "There is a drop of black blood in his nature which poisons It all through, like the deadly miorobe of some foul disease, such as pr Jeff explained to us In his last lecture. It has got into his veins In some way — perhaps he waß born with it— and it is eating away the healthy organism, so that In time there will be none ot that left. It will be diseased all through." " What a horrible Idea I " •• It's true, though. Yon know he is not the old doctor's son."

" Yes ; he told me himself more than once. He Bays tbe doctor took him out of the gutter to trj experiments upon him. He likes to oall himself • Dr Ingram's Experiment.' " "It is true to a certain extent. My father knew the tale well ; I have often heard him tell it. Thirty years ago, when the old dootor was a comparatively young man, — he Is nearer 80 than 70 now, you know — a ship came into port bringing a lo& of immigrants, And among them a baby whose mother had filed in giving him birth two or three days before. No one knew anything of her except her name, which was a very oommon one and most likely assumed, and the child was p no-man's ohild. When Dr Ingram beard of it he offered to adopt the baby and bring It up according to his own Ideas. He knew nothing of its heredity any more than anyone else, but he wanted to start without prejudioe, to watch its development, and check its faults and mould its nature into ideal perfection. No parent aver started to train a obild on co perfect a plan. He had no hopes, fears, or prejudices to overcome, no relatives to please pr threaten ; the boy was to develop on his own lines only ; he strove to train and guide, to eradicate the evil, to strengthen the good. Everything was done that could be done: he had the best nurses — the beßt tutors that money could procure, and yet " — — " The experiment was a failure 2 " ** What do you think ? " "Tell me more. You know. I only guess." "80 far, I think it has failed. He was a gelfisb, obstinate, unmanageable child, who drove his nurses to despair. He was a vicious youth, expelled from more than one sohool : old in vice before his beard was grown, and withal a clever man acd a clear-sighted, Capable doctor. " May, how do you know all this 2 " « There was a girl, Rhoda, the child of my own nurse. She was one of his viotims. She died in fchia hospital, and in my arms." ••And he" " He held a post mortem on the body." « Is it possible 2" ♦» It is true." ••Is that why ho never cornea to the hospital ? " " No. No one knew the real truth of that story but me. Alice kept her secret well. But Dr Bertrand Ingram did worse than that. He was accused of practising human vivisection—of trying experimental operations on tha poorer patients. More than one died under the knife who should have been left to die in peace, and others were recklessly maimed and injured. This was five years ago — soon after I came to the hospital. There was a row, but the matter was hushed up, partly on aocount of the old doctor, and partly because of that mysterious thing which they call 'professional etiquette.'Anyhow he has not been on the hospital staff glnce, and he rarely oomes here, but he has a larpe private practice." We were silent. I was shocked, but not surprised by what I had heard.

'• May," I said at last, " do you think he is accountable— do you think we are any of ua Accountable for our heredity? His father may have been a murderer." "I believe in Freewill," she answered Iteadlly. " Tbe devil may be the prince of thit world, but God is over all, and will not puffer evil to triumph In the end ; otherwise it is the devil who is really the stronger, and we must needs worship him as our god."

She spoke with a certain foroe and passion Of which anyone who knew her less well than myself might have deemed her incapable. I knew that this waß a Bubjeot on whioh she had thought muoh and felt deeply. There were circumstances in her own life and in the history of her family which accounted for this special interest. We had often discussed it In all its bearings ; it was not worth while to lie awake and fight our battles over once more.

" No, " ahe oried again, and I knew by the voice that she had raised herself in bed and turned towards me. " No, I will never believe that evil is stronger than good. There must be some way of conquering inherited taint ; otherwise there is no help in man, no justice In God, and the world is given over to the pow«rs of evil." " You forget that good qualities are also inherited," I said quietly. " But generally the good grows weaker and weaker — Is watered down, so to speak — while the bad" T1 _ a The pause was eloquent. I heard a sound &s of a stifled sob, and May lay down again. « I think we had better go to sleep' she said, "or we shall befit for nothing in the morning." But I did not sleep ; every nerve was tingling with suppressed excitement. I was so painfully wide awake that I could aot even cloee my eyes and keep them shut; por could I control my thoughts, for in whatever direotion I strove to turn them, they always returned to one point: Had Dr Ingram called me, or was fhe voice that I had heard merely the outjpflme of my own imagination ! I resolved to find out. The following day was my jnonjthJy.boH'

day, For some hours I was free to go where t liked. It had not been my habit to make muob use of this holiday. I had few friends and did not cars to make new ones. On fine bright days when I could get a oompanion I sometimes went iato the country by train or tram. Generally I remained in the Home and read and rested In my own room. On this occasion I went to call on Dr Ingram.

The girl who opened the door greeted me with a emile.

"Oome in, miss; the dootor will be pleased to see you. He is always wondering that you have not been to see him."

" But he is well, is he not ? "

" Ob, yes, he ia pretty well, but he can't do what he used. He seldom goes out to see patients now. though plenty oome to see him. But go upstairs to his own room and I'll tell him yon are here. I think he is In the surgery." I obeyed, crossing the passage and mounting the familiar stairs. Every step was natural and pleasant. It was like going horne } the touch of the carpeted steps, the varnished handrail, the light from the stained window whioh fell in patohes of crude colour on the more sombre tints of the staircase, investing it with a glory not its own. Every one of these details was delightful to me. The door of the ante-room was open, and the window also. I fancied it was empty, and I entered without knocking. The dootor was sitting by the writing table, whioh was oovered with papers ; his head was bent upon his hands in thought or grief. Ashamed at having thrust myself thuß upon him unannounced, I tried to creep softly baok, that I might knock at the door. The rustle of my dress betrayed me. He looked quickly up, and I saw a smile of recognition dawu in his eyes. "Khoda," he said, stretching out both hands, " have you corce at last 2 That is good— very good." I knew then that I had been neglectful, and that he had been hurt by my long absence.

"Dear Dr Ingram, It is good of you to want to see me; if I had known that I would have come before. But I am always busy, you know." "Of oourse, of course— so are we all, or we ought to be, for thore is nothing so good as honest work honestly done. It is the one thing that makes life worth living. But oome, sit down and tell me all the news. How are things going at the hospital 2 I miss my hospital work more than anything." We were soon deep in a thousand details of hospital life and work, which would be absolutely without interest to outsiders, but which pleased the dootor very much. While he was talking thus in the most animated manner, his interest suddenly flagged, he grew pale and leaned back in his armohair. I thought he was about to faint, and sprang to his assistance ; but he motioned me on one side, and after a few seconds the colour slowly returned to his lips and cheeks. "Failure of the heart's aotion," he said quietly. That is the worst of being a doctor— one knows too muob. No friendly glossing over of unfavourable symptoms is possible with them.

He made me lay aside my hat and cape and stay to luncheon. This hearty welcome thrilled me with pleasure. Surely here and not at the hospital was my right place. My host was gay and charming, with an old-world courtesy which no young man of the present day can npproaoh. He opened a bottle of his rarest wine and Insisted on filling my glass.

" For," he said archly, " I know you are an advooate of temperance and not of total abstinenoe. No people are so truly intemperate as prohibitionists, Young people can do without wine— lt is a luxury for them, like many other good things; to people of my age it is more neoessary than food." Then Dr Bertrand Ingram came in. He also reoeived me with apparent) pleasure. This surprised me, and I oonld not at first decide whether it was sincere or not.

" dome to look after your patient, eh, Miss Thurston 2 "

"He wants looking after ; he does not pick up as he should." " You had better come and look after him altogether, then. He does not mind me." The old doctor smiled, and emphasised the request. "Yon see, Rhoda, that we all want you."

" But all that's of no use unless I want to come too." "And don't you I" " I am not sure."

" She is half persuaded, father," said Dr Bertrand. " She only wants a little more pressing." 11 If you press me I shall only Bay • No, " off hand."

And something in his eye told me that he knew this as well as I did ; and I determined to Bay ' Yes,' and not ' No. 1 "

It did, indeed, seem as if my duty lay there rather than at the hospital, where there were many who could do my work as well as I oonld, while in that house it was clear to me that I was really wanted, so I promised to stay for a time.

The old doctor seemed as pleased as a child. He chose the Bunnießt, brightest room for me, and insisted on personally superintending certain alterations in the fnrniture, whioh he thought would add to my comfort, and in a thousand ways showed his pleasure and content.

11 1 have wanted you very much, Rhoda," he repeated more than once; adding: "Lately I have suffered greatly from insomnia, and night after night I have lain wide awake and restless, and then I have felt such an overpowering desire !to have you baok that I have found myself crying out aloud in the stillness, ' Rhoda 1 I want you. 1 " " Did you cry out like that last night?"

11 Yes ; and strange to say I could have sworn that I heard your voice in answer, • I am coming, Dr Ingram ; lam coming."

" I heard you call, and it was that whioh brought me here to-day) I felt that you wanted me."

" Indeed I do. lam 20 per cent, better already since you came. You have the true mesmeric touoh of the born healer. I felt it the first time you came Into my room six months ago tm many times iloce than* and

never more strongly than when you laid your hand in mine to-day : there was healing in the cool, firm touoh."

" You think, then, I have some hypnotic power."

"Ah! that is another thing. I don't Interfere wi'h the occult sciences; thoy assume just a little too much. Hypnotism is as yet only in its infancy; it may be one of the potent forces of tho future, Bertrand thinks so. He has a great deal of power."

I knew it, and had already experienced it on more than one occasion, and I was not altogether free from the fear that Dr Bertrand's power was stronger than my own, and that he might exeroise it in a manner not altogether for good. We talked thus for a while, and then I returned to the hospital to obtain the matron's pßrmiseion to remain with Dr Ingram. If she had refused I was prepared to tender my resignation: but she did not refuse. So I took up my abode in the pleasant, luxurious home of my dear old friend. The life was an easy and a congenial one, and a great contrast to that which I had hitherto led. I was no longer one of the toilers ; my duties were so light and easy that they did not deserve the name of tasks. I was the old dootor's constant companion j I oopled papers, wrote letters, end aoted as his amanuensis t I walked with him in the garden and listened to his words of wisdom ; I sat beside him in the stndy and wrote to his diotation. Only during some few hours of the forenoon be sat alone in the surgery, ooelDg poor patients and prescribing for their aliments, for he no longer attended the wealthy in their own houses or reoaived fees. The wealthy patients were handed over to Dr Bertrand, Ingram, who seemed always busy. After luncheon the dootor generally went for a drive and took me with him, and after dinner he would play piquet for an hour or two and then to bed. Ifc was a quiet, uneventful life— some people would have oalled It dull. The presence, tho coming and going of Dr Barfcrand Ingram, prevented anything like stagnation ; there was an intense, even tragic element about him which made it impossible to be dullwhere he was. For some time I oould not tell how he regarded my presence in the house. Certainly he had urged me to come as strongly as the old man himself, but with him that stood for nothing, as he was a disciple of the oynioal Frenoh school, which believe, that " epeeoh is given to us to conceal our thoughts. " It was evident that the old dootor loved him passionately j it was also evident that this love woe troubled by a constant fear and dread— not a fear of the young man himself, but of something whioh he had done or was about to do. What that something was I did not know or -^«peot for a longtime. Whether or not he approved of me personally troubled me little. Sometimes I scarcely saw him for days, and those days glided by with the unruffled oalmness or a dream ; or, again, he would upend whole evenings with us, watching the gama of piquet and prompting my play, and when his father had gone to bed he would linger for awhile talking on all kinds of subjects, but chifflj on that tenible one " heredity." These days were marked with a white stone in ray montal diary, th«y were so full of tha thrill and movement oi his own strong vitality that they strung one up, like a musioal instrument, to the highest pitoh. Tho old dootor grew daily stronger. Tbo weakness of the heart rarely troubled him. Beally it seemed as If my presence had done him good, " You are a witoh, Miss Thuroton," said Dr Bartrand, commenting on his father's improvement. " I amuse him a little, and he'has not bo much time to think of his own ailmentß, that is all."

" Whatever the oauie, there oan be no doubt as to the effeot. But it seems to me that you youruelf are not well." "I am not very well. The dootor is treating me." "Ah, what did I tell you? Another exment." " No," I oried hotly } " not an experiment ; only a small dose of a well-known drug whioh I should have taken myaelf." " But whioh you did not take or require before." i " What of that ? Dr Ingram does not believe in human vivisection." ' I do not know what demon prompted me to say that, and when I had said it I would have given all I had in the world to reoall my word 3; but it was too late. He gazed at me with the strangest exprassion thai I have ever sten in any face. A look of anguishalmost of despair— flashed into his dark eyes. " What do you mean 2 Of what do you accuse me ? " "Nothing, nothing; I meant nothing. The words escaped me." " That is false. You have heard it at the hospital, this of which they acouse me. Vivisection is no crime. It is the life of the medical profession ; it is based on the same foundation as your boasted Ohristianity. One suffers that many may live. Now, as always, it has been found expedient that ♦ one man should dio for the people.' You should know better than bring such an accusation. It is made against all earnest medioal men at some time or other. We expeot it. But from your lips " Again I endeavoured to excuse myself, but he would listen to nothing. " How can you, who believe in vicarious suffering and gloat over the details of the death of a sinless victim, join a crusade against vivisection, without which not one of the great discoveries of modern medicine would have been made, and the profession itself would have remained as it was In the middle ages— half guesswork, half oharlatanry. It Is absurd ; but women have no sense of reason and pure logic. They are entirely led by their feelings. They will never make good doctors, though they are excellent nurses." " I think modern experience is against you there," I said quietly. But he would not yield. He was a steady opponent of the female franchise and women's rights generally, and we bad had many arguments on the subject, whioh left us, as Buch arguments generally do, each unshaken in his or her original opinion. How and why I know not, but gradually I began to think more and more of Dr Bflrtrond logwa. At flrafi X had disliked

him, and his manner had appeared to me unpleasant and repel lan t. Now that I was living in tho houao vtith him on more intimate terms, I found his conduct and character a problem whioh became daily more interesting. It was a strong character, compounded of many and glaring contrasts. In some of its elements it appeared to me strangely erode, such as one might expect from the son of a half savage race, whose original characteristics had not been blunted and toned down by the orußhing power of the levelling machine whioh we call civilisation. Brought up according to the dootor's theories, two things had been wanting in his early training — religion and natural affection. Dr Ingram loved his adopted son with a passion greater than that shown by many parents, but this love had been of slow growth and not part of his soheme, and I could well believe that it had not been allowed to interfere with it in any way; at the most plastlo period of its life the young, etronj? nature had learned to be self-reliant — neither to Beck for, nor to give, afEeotion and sympathy. So the delicate tendrils were cheoked and warpod from their due oourse. and the boy became self-centred, self-suflloing, and yet not perhaps selfish in the ordinary aooeptation of the term; a law unto himself and yet not careless of the rights and privileges of others ; only hard and unloving — a kind of social Ishmael, since he believed that every man's hand was against him. He gave bis putative father the obedience but not the affection of a son, and I soon saw that the demands of the elder man on his time and attention were infinitely wearisome to him. His whole soul was given to hi» profession, and he found his chief if not his only pleasure in those researches and experiments of whioh May Burton had spoken, and which, from their very nature, admitted so readily of exasrgeration by the uninitiated ; so that in spite of his acknowledged oleverness, many patients, both inside and outside of the hospital, fought shy of hia ministrations, and his good was evil spoken of. The reputation whioh he had earned— whether rightly or wrongly— brought with it to a great extent its own justification \ for it seemed as if he j took a certain malicious pleasure in thus av9nglng himself upon the world for the fact whioh he so often repeated and bo bitterly resented, that he himself was " An Experiment."

Ohaptbb V. M TTnto the third and fourth gonoration."

People who are much thrown together, especially when they live In the same house and are virtually members of the same family, cannot help observing each other'B oharactere and peculiarities, and, if they have a tasfce that way, the study becomes in time very absorbing. So it was now with me, aa I watched and studied the two men whoaa society bulked so largely agaluat the horizon of my life, so that by degrees they completely shadowed and absorbed it. Nor was I the only observer, for when we sat togethwr in the avening I often caught Dr Bertrand's eyes fixed on me with a Wen, interrogative gaze, as if he were seeking to understand the why and the wneioforg of some eimpla action.

Ouce he soid :

"You must bo terribly bored with my father, Miss Thurston, How do you manage to hido it as you do ? " " I aru not bored. What makes you think so? )T

" That eternal piquet 1 and those prosy old stories repeated night after night. They would worry me to death. You have wonderful patlenoe." •'No, indeed; it is there that you make the mistake. lam grateful to your fathernay, more, I love him; and to give him pleasure does not weary me, but gives me the truest happiness." " You love my father ? J do not understand." And ho knit his dark browa and looked keenly at me. " Indeed, t think it is very easy to understand. I have no father ; ho has no daughter. But when we are together we forget that fact— he Is my parent } lam his child. If it were only gratitudo I felt for him, I might weary sometimes, but • the labour wo delight in, phyßioa pain.' " " He wearies ma to extinction.

"Ah I but you do not love him." " Love, love 1 Always that word. What do you mean by It ? I understand passion between man and woman, which is followed only too quickly by satiety j and gratitude between parent and ohild for favour received — or rather, to be received — but love, as you deuoribe it, seems to me mere folly. How can any feeliDg for another make a thing agreeable which is in itself objectionable?" Then I looked at him with great pity, and I understood wherein Dr Ingram's notable experiment had failed. Strong, olever, handsome, and prosperous as he waß, I felt myself in this one respect his superior, for I knew how to love another better than myself. " If you don't know, no one can explain — at least I cannot. And yet it is very aimplo." "You are enigmatic. I oan understand your bearing with the old chap's whims and fancies if he makes it worth your while 5 but this would not give you the cheerful air which I admired to-night."

" No ; I don't think it wonld. lam not quite so mercenary as that," The problem still appeared to puzzle him. I should have been more sorry for him had I not remembered the story of the girl who died in the hospital, and judged that for some reason he was trying to play on my oredullty. " Have you never loved 2 " I asked quietly. " Never in your sense of the word." " But my sense is the same as everyone else's, is it not ? " « No— a thousand times no. Love, a« I have hitherto understood the word, meant the gratification of some purely selfish desire. According to you it la something very different." " No, indeed ; It Is an insult to name them in the same breath. Have you forgotten your mother 2 " "It Is you who forget. I never had a mother."

He turned gloomily away as from a discussion which had ceased to interest him, and from whioh he was anxious to escape. From thafc daj 2 thought of him more fre-

quentty and atwoyo with » reeling of pttf aa fur one who, in all his outward prosperity, had missed the greatest thing of all — the touch of pure gold whioh oan elevate and ennoble the most sordid life, and without whioh all the treasure* of Golconda are as fairy gifts.

As I watched him I became convinoed that there was in his mind some ever-present trouble or difficulty. It seemed an absurd and romantio idea. What was likely to trouble this successful young doctor who had already made for himself a name and a position? Possibly he might be anxious conoerning some special case, and yet I soaroely thought ir. likely. He did not seem to me a man who would allow such things to upset the even tenor of bis way.

One morning after breakfast he stopped me as I was about to quit the room, saying!

" If my father does not intend to monopolise all your time I should like to enlist your sympathies on bsbalf of a patient of mine. I think you would do her good."

" It is a woman then 1 " "Certainly, and a young one too. Will you come and see her 1 "

" I can go this afternoon if that will suit) you."

In the afternoon he took me on his rounds. It was a pleasant drive ; the air was dear and pure and bracing, and I liked the open buggy better than the old dootor's closed brougham. When we got out in the country I took off my bat and let the wind blow on my face and bead. The ewift movement, the keen, sweet air delightod me.

He smiled.

"That's better} you look younger and brighter. It is a mistake for women to grow old,"

"No one knows It better than we do. But, alas I it cannot be avoided, unless, indeed, you can, among your other experiments, discover the elixir vitro."

" More difficult things than that have been done/ ho answered quietly, " aDd, indeed, are done every day, as you must know. The discovery of anesthetics alone was a greater boon than the water of life would be. Disease and pain are the true enemies of mankind, and not death, whioh is merely A chaDge of state, and, for all we know, a ohacge for the better." " Yes, that is true. I wonder why we are all bo afraid of death 2"

"General ignorance and fear of the unknown. Ah ! here we are. Hold the reins while I Jump down.* I did bo. As the buggy was a single one he had brought no 3ervant, and now, as we both intended to get down, it was necessary to tie the horse or find someone to look after it, When thli had been arranged to his satisfaction we entered the house, which was a quaint fern-tree structure oovered with areepcrs, chief among whioh was a banksia rose, not yet in bloßsom, but beautiful exceedingly with the exquisite tender green of its olußtering leaves whioh festooned the rastio verandah in wild profusion. A Frnnoh honeysuckle and a Bmall-leavtd ivy disputed the bank&ia's solitary reign, and the garden was fnll ot spring flowers, the delioate penetrating odour of which ro*e like inoense. " What a lovely spot 1 " I cried enthusiaitloally. Dr Bertrand looked round as one who sees a place for the first time, and sees it with indifference. " Yes, it is pretty," and he entered the house without knocking The patient we had come to see appeared to be in the last stage of consumption ; her exquisite pink and white complexion, he* large liquid eyes, and scarlet lipß could not hide the ravages of the fell disease. Her beauty was the beauty of death. She was lying on a sofa near the window, and had seen our approaoh. This was why the doctor had not knooked. " I saw you," he said, " and I did not wish to disturb your mother. I thought she might be busy. I have brought you a visitor." He introduced us, and I sat down by her aide, and we spoke of many things, but never onoe did she allude to her illness in any but the most perfunctory terms ; and more than once she spoke of plans for the summer, and oomlng gaieties in whioh she hoped to bear * part. It was ghastly. I wondered why Dr Bertrand had brought me there. Did he exnect me to break the 111 news or preaoh to the dying girl ? If so, he had made a great mistake. I settled her cushions, held her hand, and talked of the outside world, and tried to turn away her thoughts from the forbidden pleasures for which she craved. While we talked the dootor was busy at the other end of the room, and after a time «^Your side is paining you?" he said abr^otly. " A little," she confessed, "but nothing towha* it nsed to do. You have nearly oured me." He frowned. ti " I oan relieve you ; that is something. And he administered a hypodermic injection which he had just prepared. "Ah 1 that iB good I that is delightful ! I shall sleep to-night, and to-morrow I shall »o into the garden and gather some flowers. I wanted to go to-day, but mother would not let me." "You must not tire yourself. You are scarcely strong enough for that yet." " Ah, you don't know how strong I am. I could do lots of things if you would let me. Are you going, Miss Thurston 1 But you will come again ? " I promised, and we went out. The garden looked less bright ; the flowers smelled less sweet, a cloud had come over the sun. I sat demurely in my place, without any further desire to take off my hat and battle with the breeze. "Why did you take me there?" I said at last, " I thought It would please her, and There was more to come, I waited. " That girl ia dying of phthisis," he said abruptly. " So I saw." " Two brothers and three sistere have gone the same way. The mother would have died years ago bad she not married and had ohil. dren. She will probably go off as it is in « rapid decline, as soon a» she has buried thU child." . "How terrible 1$

•• I enppOß&sv. iktt-tHa auction Is, Who Is to blame?"

*• The mother, of course. She had no right to marry," I cried hotly.

" But the did not know- -or, knowiDg, did Hot understand. Bhe might have had no children or they might have escaped the hereditary taint." 11 It was Impossible for them to esoapff," I cried passionately, for what I had juat seen had affected nee deeply.

41 1 thought you would cay so," ko answered, wbippirg up Mb hor«e>. "The world is full of unsolved problems—that is one." After a time be abruptly demanded : '• Then you don't think she is to blame ? "

"Who?" •' That girl yonder— Miss Thompson." " No, indeed. How could she be to blame ? Bhe is the victim of the faults and follies of a past generation. But she would be to blame, terribly to blame, if, in her turn, sho should marry and give to others this fatal heritage." "Ab,"he said quietly, "that 18 what I told her mother more than & year ago when % was firgt called in to the case. I said, t fetter that ehe should die cow in your arms than be tee means of adding to the 'inhery of the world, which ia already so great.' Mrs Thompson was doubtful of tbe wisdom of my words, and would have dismissed me had ehe dared. She belongs to the old school who think that health and disease are the result of accident. Such women driva tt« to despair." Ha spoke paesionaUly, and I did not answer him, ior I wrb amazed at this new revelation of character. Could this be the man WDom May Barton and others accused Ofreckleusexpcriniente— of human viviaection. g> Be Called at several houses to ice his patient*, and left me sitting in the buggy holding the reins. He did not apologise for his frequ«nt absences, which would indeed ha\e been absurd, but at last ha smiled pleasantly *s b« sprang into the high driving Beat, end exclaimed : 41 There ! I have only one more visit to pay, and then my work will be ovor for to-day, and on this visit I shall invite ycur company. After that I will drive you round by tho Junction wad ahovr you the fumou* view." In this bouse we found tyro poor little children. One of them bad hip disease, and was smaller and lighter at twelve than he should have been at eight ; his pinched white face and staring eyes ppoke of perpetual suffering. The younger child was f carcely lefs fifflicted— Jiifl large misshapen head and rickety limbs told rheir own tale. These children were in a woJl appointod room and surrounded by every comfort. The doctor Bpoke to and examined tbem with wonderful care and tenderness, but when their mother, clasping her hand#, exclaimed :

"Ob, Dr Ingiam! what is the matter •with my children 7— why are they so different to other people's 1 " He did not say, •• Madam*, tbose ohllren should never have been born," but :

" They are naturally delicate ; we mu6t try to strengthen them with plenty of fresh air and proper food." Once more we w*re in the bupjry and driving along tho well-made road. On one Bide •was the wide panorama of the ooaat, broken and indented into a thousand miniatura bays, peninsulas, and oapes, with numerous pretty cottages and neat farmhouses surrounded by cultivated fieldi, now vividly green with the intenee colour of HprlDg crops, in strong contrast to the gloomy foliage of the bluegum plantations of which the Battler* sire io fond ; on the other side was an almost unbroken wail of dense and varied buab, whore the delicate frondi of the tree fern and the ragged red *ttims of the fuchsia barmoniead with a thousand other exqnkite plants of which I knew not even the name. At another time I should have been wild with delight at the sight of so many rare and beautiful things ; now I saw them with my eyes only— my cniud wae occupied with other tbiugs. I was out of tune with this beautiful Nature, which oould be at the same time go lovely and bo cruel.

For a time we drove on in silence. Then be spoke, tcswering my thoughts, as he so often did i

"T'cait father was an habitual drunkard. Ho i* dead now, but— his heritage rexaaine."

14 It i 3 awful!— it la cruel I— ifc is horribly unjust 1" I cried. "It ie the law of Nature. Given certain causes and the effects must follow. We do things with our eyes open, and complain of the inevitable reßults. It is scarcely logical"

" • " These are terrible examples."

- 4I Bad as these are, fcher« are worse. What <pf madness, whioh claims its victims to the iMrd and fourth generation ; murder, theffc, Adultery, lying— are they not all equally fcereditary, equally inevitable 2 Are we not ill foredoomed to misery ? " ■ Then I shook myself free from the spell 'that was upon me, and I answered him soul 'lo eouL v4INo J " I cried ; " our bodies are of the earth, earthy, and they follow its laws; but tour bouls are free ; they oan struggle, and Jinally overcome even the deadliest of hereditary pins. They are not fore-ordained to oeßtructioD. Man is a free spirit. He can Struggle ; be can fight ; he can overcome." i 4l He has mighty little ohance. Every'tblng iB against him." v "Not bo} for greater are those that are jwith him, than those that are againsb flbim." - " How oan you say that 1 " *' Because I believe in God ; and believing fa. Him, Tcannot think tbat His work is foredoomed lo failure, If that were bo, one tyould indeed bo tempted ' to ourse God and oie.' But the voice of my soul tells me a different tale. Suffering can never be the final end of all. Of course it is true that the natural laws operate in the spiritual world ; fcnt there i» another law, beyond and above jfchese, which makes for righteousness and fche final triumph of Good. lam as sure of It as I nm of the irnmortaKfcy of tha soul, and ell the arguments of all the materialists in the world could never shake that belief."

" And yet you havo absolutely no foundation for it."

11 Every example of true, unselfish love ia B proof ox ifc. Nothing is created except for some use ; when that use is served it ceases ifi exist or is taraed into so»e other cbwmsl,

Amofcg tiio lower acimals love— say the love of parsnt and offspring — ceases as aoon as tbe young ones own pro-rid© for themselves. With ns it fa different— a mother loves her child till death scd— beyond it."

" You mean tbat she grieves for ita loss and desires to have it restored to her 1 "

"I do not mean that. I tbiak there are few instances in which wa should dare to bring the dft&d to life even if we bad the power. Death holds them for us. They may I tUink they do— rise afterwards to higher planes ; but at any rate in His mighty bands they are safe— they cannot change or fall away." 11 Such a belief must be a great comfort ; I woum not shake jour faith if I could."

" But you do not share it ? " 41 Yon Bee I have nevsr made the acquaintance of this spiritual love of which you speak. All that I have Been bitherto has been of the earth, earthy. Tbat it ehould die seems to ma natural and inevitable. As a proof of immortality I want something stronger." I sighed and turned away. Below us lay the harbour like a lake studded with ial&nds. The blue sparkling water shone with io tense luminous brlilianoy and reflected every cloud and every paeslDg vesMl. Further in the distance tlieniUa took soft puxplsgrey tint#, and nearer the subdued gre«nß and brovrn, reds and purples of the bu«h vegotatioa rested and fed the eye. It was all so bea«tifol— »o full ot delight and satisfac-tion—-that I felt as if I oould cry out against it. What bo«ipo?« had Nature to be so fair and man bo vile ?— unless Indeed it w«reaa ev«rreoarrir g Mgn of the goodueas of God, and a promia* of the admirable final result of His slow prooe«s«3. I tried to put this thought into words, but I could not, and we drove on in eilenoo. Then Dr Bertv»Kd began to point out different objects of interest, and more than once he g-ct out of the buggy to get me some rare ferns aud orcbids, arid he explained their growth and structure, and grieved, as we all do, that the carolers foot of nun and bia socalled progrttfe should end ia the destruction of these delioate treasures. " Why, and for whom, were they created ? The tiniest, flower, the enmlksi insect wems to falfil its destiny more perfectly rh*n mso, the crown ot til. Is not that alor.o a proof that his pcrftiction must be Bought in anothar jspbere 1 " I ventured to pay, lviibing my eye& from the prcbid to bte face. •'Well," be answered, "tho greatest optimist would eoarcely resent your premises, though the conclusion you draw from them is uawurrantablo. The world is full of preventable sickness, nmery. and sin. Way? Because the eitnpleat laws of byjrieno Are broken on fell sides. Wfe do it oorsfclvae, and then blame a mysterious thing that vro call Providence for the result o£ our owaacts. The flowers and animtls ob^y the laws of Nature, and the fit Lett umive. We disobey her laws, and do our beifc to preserve and perpetuate the abnormal resnlte. Failure is the natural consequence, and it uoqb not eeem to me that, we have auyone to blame but onr*elv«B."

I sighed. I cculd not answer the argument, but I feit that there was soinethirg to be said on Uie other side.

After that I went several times to see poor Ida Thompson. It pleaßcd her to see me, and she thought that I did her good. "No one ma&ea m« so comfortable as you do," she murmured gratefully as I turraugod her couch or brushed her soft hair. " They are very kind, but they don't know wh»t to do or bow to do it. Sometimes they hurt me and sometimes they tire me."

Whiah was no doubt true, for I have often observed that the untrained nurse, howevs* willing and anxious, rarely succeeds in eoothing her patient. Gradually Ida ceased to talk of and plan for the luturo, the dear delights of summer pie azures and winter games in which she YfcraM r.ever again share. Slowly and by imperceptible degrees her epirit rose to a higher flight, to where "Beyond these voices there is peace." She was very sweet, and gentle, and wonderfnlly patient; but it was pitiful to witness her suffariog and to be unabl« to relieve the rackiDg cough, the sharp pain in the lungs, the struggle for breath, and then the exhaustion, which is ia itself as trjing as more acute psin. Those who talk and think of consumption as an "interesting disease" should sea it as I have seen it, in all its painful and repulsive details, and watch the long-protraoted suffering, and then remember that it is one of the preventable dißeaeeß, and that by the exercise of a little self-control it could be stamped out in a single generation. Ida Thompson learned this before she died.

Ones, in my presence, her mother openly regretted that she had not married. " It might bave saved your life," shß said. 11 Bat Dr Ingram would not hear of It. lam sure I can't tell why."

Tho sick girl raieed herself on her arm.

"He was light," she said impressively. "Thank Gcd, I die alone. No child shall curse me for ths cruel gift of hereditary disease."

In her excitement she appeared to forget to whom she was speaking, but with an exceeding bitter cty the older woman burefc into tears, and laid her grey bead upon her daughter's hand.

" Ob, Ida I Oh, my child ! Do yon blame me for what you are now suffering 1 "

" No, mother, no. You did not know. It was not your fault. Women knew so little in the last generation. We are wiser now ; and if we sin againsb light and knowledge, our punishment will be the greater. Don't cry — it breaks my heart. Mother I dear mother, I love you so ; you have been so good to me. It is not your fault— it is the fault of the system whioh keeps a woman all her life tied band and foot in ignorance, and then punishes her because she does not know." The excitement brought on a fit of coughing more violent than usual, and tho fatal hemorrhage burst in a red torrent from her pale lips. Mrs Thompson and I both hastened to her assistance, and after a time we laid her back upon her pillow, faint and almost lifelees.

It waa terrible to Bee the tortnre on the mother's face, as for tho first time in her life she recogniaed that this was her handiwork. "Oh God, forgive me I " she wailed. " jffc is my fautt^teluel I brought foer intothd

world with ouch pain, and I have loved her so well— better than my own life— and now to sec her die like this, and learn that it is my fault, and that sha blames mo." Ida was too weak to speak, but the pressed her mother's baud, and feebly laid li against her lips. Bat a bitter and unavailing remorse ate from that day into the elder woman's heart, and never allowed her any rest or peace. "If I had known," Bhe moaned — " if I had only known." And again, "Why did I not know 1 Why waa I not told 1 Why was I enjoined, almost forced, to marry, and for this — to see my children perteh one by one, and know at last, now that it is too late, that it is my own fault. Why was I not warned 1 " Ah, why Indeed !