Copyright Story. DR. CRAIG’S WOOING

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLII, Issue 20, 19 May 1909, Page 47

Copyright Story. DR. CRAIG’S WOOING

By

E. M WHALLEY

IT is a fearfully foggy night, Doctor, had you not better wait and let me send for your motor?” Dr. Craig laughed and replied, as he shook hands with the husband of his patient, ’ Thank you, but I muelr prefer walking to motoring—in a fog. Good-night,” and before his friend could further remonstrate with him. the fog had swallowed the doctor's handsome person in its gloomy arms, and his brisK step re-echoed in the deserted street as he hurried home to the bright- fire and cosy dinner he knew awaited him in his comfortable bachelor abode over which his good housekeeper, Mrs. Holmes, presided. . Gossips said that every marriageable woman in Middleville had done her best to win the heart of the papular young doctor, but so far he still remained free with no deeper love in his life than that which he gave to bis beloved profession, in which he was rapidly making a great name for himself. The fog began to lift as Dr. Craig neared his house, and as he reached hio gate he was surprised to see what looked like a huge bundle lying across the pavement. Hurrying towards it the doctor found it to be a neatly dressed woman, evidently a lady by her appearance, lying apparently lifeless, her bloodless face turned towards the skies. Making as complete an examination as the fog would permit. Dr. Craig decided that the woman had merely fainted, and without a moment’s hesitation he lifted her up in his strong arms and rallied her into bis house. Mrs. Holmes hurried to meet him as was her habit on rainy evenings to take his coat, and seeing his strange burden she at once led the way into the library where a bright fire was.burning in the hearth. It was tvnieal of the excellent terms upon which' Dr. Craig and his housekeeper lived that- neither spoke until the frail stranger was comfortably placed upon the youeh and had rewarded their efforts towards restoration by giving simis of returning consciousness. Then the doctor, feeling Mrs. Holmes deserved an explanation, recounted in low tones the way lie had stumbled upon the unfortunate woman. and added, “There is no doubt-but that faintness was caused by exposure- and lack of food.” Mrs. Holmes’ voice was very tender as she replied. "Poor young creature, and she is a lady without doubt, every line of her beautiful face speaks of gentle breeding and refinement.” As she finished speaking the patient moved, and as the colour came into her lips her eyes slowly opened. Glorious eyes they were, of a deep violet blue shaded with lashes as dark as the heavy folds of hair which fell away from her smooth white forehead. The girl gave no sign of fear as her eyes wandered round the unaccustomed room, much as a waking child slowly, and half-unconsciously views its surroundings. Mrs. Holmes had stepped away from the couch, her instinctive delicacy telling her how painfully the knowledge of her plight must prove when the girl should awaken to a full realisation of the situation. Dr. Craig never took his eyes off the face of his patient, and at last those roving violet eyes met his. Like a Hash full consciousness cama back to the girl, and with a half ary she attempted to regain her feet. Placing a hand gently but firmly upon her shoulder the doctor begged her to lie still, and then as she sank feebly back upon the couch, and with a sob covered her face with her hands, Mrs. Holmes came to her side, and Dr. C raig passed out of the room, leaving the two women together. “You are with good friends,” Mrs. Holmes tenderly assured the poor girl, who, comforted by the good woman’s kindness, soon ceased to weep, and triad

to explain how she came to be where she now remembered &he had sunk down utterly exhausted. At that moment the door opened, and as the girl started to her feet with a cry of terror. Dr. Craig entered the room bearing a tray of light refreshments which he placed on .a small table by the couch, and speaking in his most kindly professional manner, ordered the girl to eat what he had brought her. She tried to thank him and explain, but he would not hear a word. "We vill leave this lady to enjoy her supper, Holmes,” he said, as he opened <he door for his housekeeper. Before following her he said gravely to his visitor, •’When you are refreshed if you will ring the bell, I shall be glad to come ami hear anything which you may care to tell me.” then he bowed politely, and passed out of the room. An hour later, when the % doctor had finished his dinner, Mrs. Holmes came to tell him the young lady was much refreshed, and would like to speak to him. Be went to her at once, and found her seated in a chair by the fire, her hands clasped nervously in her lap, her ’beautiful head bent as though she wished to )>e seen as little as possible. The girl’s whole attitude was one of utter dejection and timidity. As the man looked at her he felt almost ashamed to intrude upon her grief,- but his sincere wish to help her in her helplessness made it necessary for him to hear her story, and sitting down in a low chair on the opposite side of the fireplace,, he waited patiently for the girl to speak. The glow from the fire lit up in fitful shadows the white, sad voung Dr. Craig was a strong man in every sense of the word, and with a strong man’s feeling weak and helpless. Never before Ir!id that pity been more keenly awakened in the man titan it was for the slight girlish creature who crouched by his hearth in so sorry a plight. For some moments neither spoke, then without raising her bowed head the girl said nervously, in a low, sweet, refined voice: *’l am not going to attempt to thank you for your kindness to me this night, but it you care to hear my story. I will tell it to you before 1 go from your house, comforted, and thankful to you for your hospitality.” The doctor answered gravely: "T shall be glad to hear anything that you may care to tell me.”

The sympathy in the man's voice brought the tears into the girl's eyes, with an effort she kept them back, and speaking quickly, as though fearful lest the mastery she strove to gain over herself should desert her she began her story. "Sly father is 'Mr. Holt, of Carey Hall, Westmorland, I am his only child. My dear mother died when 1 was a girl about ten years of age. A year ago my father arranged a marriage for me. I hated the man. Yes!” she repeated in a tired voice, "1 hated him, so 1 ran away from home, and went to London. My friends had always told me how well 1 acted, and I hoped. with the help of the money 1 should obtain by the sale of my jewels, to keep myself until 1 could get an engagement in some touring company. I took rooms in a house where 1 was told theatrical people lodged, ami every day I went round to the agents. They took their fees, telling me I should soon hear of a good part, but weeks went by. and still they could not get me an engagement. Oh! it was too terrible! Day after day I spent going from one agency to another, sometimes sitting in the waiting rooms for hours, hoping that a manager might he there who would engage me. but there were so many actors and actresses who seemed equally anxious to find employment, that 1 do not wonder no one wanted me.” Here two big tears rolled down tile worn young face, and fell upon her pretty hands, folded listlessly in her lap. With a brave effort, she controlled herself, and went on, more slowly, and rather shyly: "There was an actor staying in the same boarding-house where 1 lodged. 1 often met him on the stairs and at the agents, and one day he walked back with me, and we had tea in the sitting-room together. 1 was so lonely, and lie was so very kind,” she added wistfully, looking timidly into the doctor’s face. He nodded back at he*_ with a kind smile, and said gently: “Go on with your story. I’m very interested.” "We soon became very friendly.” she continued, “and one day I to*J him all about my leaving home. He said that he thought 1 had done quite right, and spoke so beautifully about the seriousness of marriage and the beauty of true love, that I felt he must be a very good man, and T learned to trust him more ami more, so that when he asked me to marry him, 1 quite thought I loved him, and two weeks later we were married.” The Doctor, sitting quietly listening in his easy chair, could not have explained for worlds why, when the girl made the last statement, he suddenly felt as though something had slipped out of his life which he would have given al! his medical knowledge to have been able to hold. There are still some few things in work a-day world which science has yet to solve. Had a woman experienced a like sensation her intuition would have told her that she was in love. As to Doctor Craig, being a man, and an educated. healthy man. such an idea never entered his head, and even if, by any chance it had, he would have laughed at himself for a fool. And yet

that is exactly what happened. He had fallen in love with this girl who had come so strangely into his busy life. It is the fashion, nowadays, to laugh at love, as one does at ghosts, and 1 *ui not surprised, for there are so few people who are capable of loving. But there are still hundreds who can love, and who do love. And when love comes to such a one, more often than not it comes suddenly, without warning, and respects neither law- nor persons, anl death alone can quench it; nay, I dare not say that death itself can pm it out. for if there he anything in this world that we may take with us into the next, surely it is love. For a few minutes neither spoke; they were both looking vacantly into the fire; the -woman with her body bending forward. her hands unconsciously gripped together, her eyes with an expression in them, half of shame, half of terror. The man also gazed into the fire, for he felt instinctively, that the girl would rather he did not look at her. At last she continued: "We walked back from the church to the boarding-house, intending to leave later in the day to visit a sister of his, who lived at Brighton, but a* we entered Ine house the landlady told Mr. Merton a lady was waiting to speak to him in the dining-room. "‘A lady!’ he cried, anl his face went so white that I thought he must be ill. "He told me hurriedly to go up to my room, ami he would call me if .the lady was anyone that I should care to see. Then he went into the dining room. «an<l shut the door loudly behind him. 4, 1 thought his manner rather strange, but, imagining it might be -omeone on business, 1 went up to my rooms, and completed my packing for the journey. "In about an hour's time he joined me, looking very excited and worried, and coming over to where I was sitting, he took my hands in his. and told me. with tears in his eyes, that unless I at once consented to go to my father’s house in town, where we had seen from the paper* that he was staving, and tell him of our marriage, ami ask him to lend, or give us r five hundred pounds, he would be a ruined and dishonoured man. ‘‘(’an you oh! can you. imagine my consternation?” excitedly continued the girl, her face ablaze with the memory of the scene she seemed to be living over once again. ‘‘l told him that the thing was impossible. and that I would rather dio than a-k my father for one penny. I reminded him of t he way I had left my borne, and how he himself. who now begged me to return in such an ignoble manner, hid approved of my so doing. He would hardly li-fen to me, but continued to implore me. for his sake, to subdue mv pride, and rememl>or that, afi bis wife. I owed him obedience. At last 1 grew angry, and told him that he bad no right to ask such an impossible thing of me, and then—oh! God! can 1 over forget it! He—struck me in the face with his clenched fist and as T fell to the floor dazed by the blow, ho walked out of the room, cursimr me as slammed the floor behind Tfim.” Here the poor, overwrought girl btirir

•d her faee in her hands, and sobbed aloud, whilst the Doctor said never a word, knowing that nature demanded her own way, and that tears alone would ease the pain and the shame from Which the outraged girl was suffering.

When at last she became calmer, he brought her a glass of sherry, which he quietly begged her to drink, and then, feeling stronger, she went on with her sail story.

“I don't know how long I lay there, but when I came to my senses I found that daylight was fading. In terror lest he should return, I seized my hat and cloak, and with my last few shillings in Jny purse, I hurried from file house, not caring where 1 went, so long as he could not follow me. 1 walked about all that night, and in the early morning I came to a railway station, and the thought occurred to me to go by train somewhere — anywhere—l cared not where. There was a train waiting at the platform. and I got into it, and seeing the name Middleville on the carriage, I asked a porter to get me a ticket for that place. The ticket took all the money, with the exception of one sixpence,which I gave to the man for his trouble. When I reached here it was getting dark, and I walked about thinking that I should come across some place where I could sit down and wait and rest until the daylight, but—” At that moment the house echoed with * violent ring at the hell, and with a scream pf terror the girl rose to her feet, exclaiming: "It is <he. Oh, my God! He has found me.” She would have rushed from the room, but the Doctor seized her arm, and firmly placed her in her ehair, and he assured her it was merely someone coming to fetch him to see a patient, the door was pushed open, and a man Strode into the room. Doctor Craig knew, instinctively, as he looked at the man that he was the villain who had so terribly ill-used the poor girl who clung in piteous terror to his side. The two men measured each other with their eyes for some seconds, and then the intruder, cowed by the cool gaze of the man before him, burst out, “At last, madam, I have found you! May I ask you to explain your strange and truly unladylike behaviour?” The girl shivered, and drew her hand from the Doctor’s arm. “May I ask if you are this lady's husband?" inquired Dr. Craig. “I have that honour.” sneered the man. “I need hardly ask who you are: a lover is never to be mistaken: we husbands are less fortunate.” The Doctor controlled himself with a inightv effort and replied. •T have just heard this lady's story, so your present behaviour is hardly a surprise to me.” "Her story, indeed,” blustered the num. "She's pretty good at story telling: she got me to marry her through one of her varus. curse her for a fool.” The insult served to strengthen the girl, drawing herself to her full height, the faced the man proudly. “Cease to further insult me and this gentleman, whose name you are not fit <o mention, and tell me why you have followed me,” she demanded. "If you still hope to obtain money from me through my father, I assure you you are mistaken. I will die before I will own vou as my husband, or return to my lather's house to beg for you. ’ "Thank you! 1 do not think we will trouble the gentleman you honour by claiming as your father,” sneered the man. “As 1 told you I must have five hundred pounds, but as you have so very obligingly led me to your lover, I think I will trouble him for that small sum. and then I’ll no longer intrude upon your —” He did not finish hie sentence, for at that moment Doctor Craig seized him by the throat, and fairly lifted him out of the room, through the unclosed door, Into the midst of the wondering servants, who. bearing the unaccustomed noi-e following the abrupt entrance of tfi“ -ir.mgvr. had collected iu a silent rn! o we stricken group In the hall. "Morris, fetch a policeman." ordered the doctor, still retaining a firm hold upon the throat of his captive, who, by this time was in a state of utter collapse. 'Morris quickly opened the street door, a: I almost fell into the arms of a police otli ’-r. who was at the moment about to 't he officer entered the hall, and taking in the situation at a glance, walked up to the half-suffocated Merton, and touching his cap to Doctor Craig, produced a

paper from his pocket aud arrested Charles Merton on a charge of embezzling five hundred pounds belonging to Jiis wife, Jane Merton, ou the 4th day of May, 1900. Doctor Craig passed the prisoner over to the officer, who at once haudeuffed the man, and was preparing to take bun off the premises, when he found his arm seized by an excited girl, who gasped out:

"You said his wife, Jane Merton, Who is she? Oh, don't tell me she is dead! Oh! answer me, answer me!” “No, Miss, she ain't dead, that I can swear,” answered the astonished policeman, "she’s been after him this last week, and only yesterday she found him iu London, and it's owing to a wire from her that I tracked the prisoner here this blessed evening, after he'd given them ehaps in London the slip.” The girl turned as though to walk back into the room from which she had darted like a being demented, upon hearing the charge upon which her tormentor had been arrested, but the relief proved more than her overtaxed strength could bear, and with a murmured “Thank God,” she would have fallen to the ground, had not the Doctor caught her in his arras, and carried her. for the second time in that eventful evening, into the cosy library where he again placed her upon the sofa, and with the help of the good Mrs. Holmes, once more restored her to consciousness. The miserable Merton was at once taken to the police station, and after Mrs Holmes had managed to restore the excited domestics to a reasonable state of order, she took the poor young guest to her own comfortable room, nor did she leave her until the tired eyes closed in the sleep her- weary body so much needed. Surely her guardian angel had watched well her wandering steps that awful day, or it had .been well for her that she had never been born. Doctor Craig, after having given strict orders to his housekeeper not to permit the strange visitor, on any account, to leave the house until his return, departed by train for London, to call upon Mr. Holt, in Queen Anne’s Gate. It was a glorious afternoon in August, and Mr. Holt was sitting reading his newspaper iu the dining-room of Carey Hall. He was a tall, finely-built man, with a face that would have been handsome had it not been marred by an expression of utter ill-temper and moroseness. People who knew Mr. Holt were much shocked, but by no means surprised, when, some months before, it was rumoured that his daughter Beatrice had left her home secretly, owing to a rupture she had had with her father, concerning a marriage he had tried to force upon her. AV hat did surprise Mr. Holt's acquaintances, for friends he had none, was Beatrice's return to her father’s home in London, and her subsequent visit to the Continent with him. Had those people known Dr. Craig, and his uncommon personality, and had they been present at a certain interview which took place between Mr. Holt and himself the preceding March, they might have ceased to wonder, and have taken Beatrice’s return more as a matter of course. Mr. Holt put down his paper, took out his watch, noted the time, then rang the bell. When the footman entered the room, his master asked where Dr. Craig and Miss Beatrice were. “They have taken a boat, and gone for a row on the river, sir,” answered the man. Something very nearly akin to a smile passed over Mr. Holt's countenance, and motioning to the man. to leave the room, he resumed his paper. The servant closed the door behind him noiselessly, and hurried down to the servants’ hall, and informed the various domestics that he foun.l there that “tlie old man” wanted to know where Mias Beatrice, and the Doctor were. "And I'm blessed,” said the man. “if he didn't try to squeeze a smile out of his old headpiece when I told him as how they were out on the river together.” "Thank Heavens for that.” ejaculated one of the maid servants; "if only Miss Beatrice will f-.iill in love with the Doctor she may be happy yet. For anyone can see he fair worships her.” "If Miss Beatrice will fall in Jove with the Doctor,” reiterates Sally, the young parlour maid, with an emphasis on tire "if,” "I’d like to see any girl, were she twenty times Miss Beatrice Holt, of Carey Hall, refusing to marry Dr. Craig if he chose to ask her. If you ask me, I think she is as much in love with the

Doctor as-he is with her. And I think 1 know something of these matters,” she added with a coquettish smile at handsome James, the footman, who promptly tried to steal a kiss on the strength of such encouragement, and was rewarded for his temerity by a sound box on the ears. On the river the subjects of this conversation were lazily drifting with the current, the day being too hot for any needless exertion, and as they did not wish to journey anywhere in particular, but merely to be together, why row? Why, indeed? Dr. Craig had been staying at Carey Hall for the past week, and was now no longer in doubt as to the curious sensation which he experienced on that eventful evening when Beatrice told him that she had married Charles Merton. He realises that he loves this girl with all the strength of bis matured manhood, aud he is only waiting until he thinks that she returns his' love before asking her to be his wife. He feels conscious that the knowledge of that terrible night comes between them like a cloud, and he is trying to wait patiently until time shall have softened the recollection, and she shall have learned to love him, so tlnV he shall become the man she eares for, and. shall cease to be merely a friend upon whom she lavishes her gratitude for the part he played in the most awful incident of her young life. Any ordinary man would have accepted that gratitude as love, and been content, but Dr. Craig, being very far above the ordinary man, is not conceited, and is, therefore, the last man on earth to imagine a girl in love with him, and he is too thoroughly in love himself to be satisfied with anything less than love in exchange for that which he has to give. Beatrice was looking very beautiful as she rested in the stern of the boat, her slim, graceful figure, in her dainty white dress, clearly outlined against the crimson of the boat cushions, and her dainty young face shaded' by her parasol. The man opposite to her would give worlds to take her hand, which is resting on the side of the boat, in his, and tell her of his great love, but with a mighty effort he controls himself, and talks to her of the beauties which Nature has so lavishly spared around them. Oh! .the pity of it! For whilst he talks of vivid blues, and greens which Sparkle in the glorious sunshine, the girl is longing for him to tell her all that she knows is seething in hie heart, and to breathe put to him, in the shelter of his strong arras, the words he longs to hear. Surely no girl was ever more sorely tried. She knew that this man loved her, and she knew that she loved him, she realised too, the way' he mistook her love for gratitude, and try as she might, and did, to tell him of her love, her efforts only seemed to further muddle the situation. She ceased to reply to his polite conversation, in fact she failed to hear what he was saying. She was busy thinking, thinking if there was any way out- of the tangled skein. He, seeing her gazing absently at the water, as if unconscious of his presence, asked her if she were tired of the boat, and would like to land, and walk back to the Hall by the riverside. “Oh, yes,” she answered almost crossly. “I am very tired of this stupid boat. Let us walk home, by all means,” They landed and walked along the petty winding path slowly and silently. At last he broke the silence, saying gravely: “May I hope to see you in the morning. before I leave?” "Before you leave?” she repeated. “I 1 did not know that you were going so soon.” “Why! I have been here a week! I feared you were growing tired of my presence, as my poor patients are of my absence,” he replied, watching the halfbowed head, so near his shoulder, with a very tender smile. She looked up quickly, ready to deny his imputation, and caught the look upon his faee. Throwing all reserve to the winds, she impulsively held out her two hands to him, exclaiming in a voice, tremulous with the love it failed to hide. "Oh! my dear! How can you say such things to me.” And then the shame of her confession rushed upon her, and with a startled exclamation, she turned to run from him, but she was too late. He has seen the look in her eyes, he has heard the note in her voice, and with one spring he caught her in his arms,

ano holding her so that their eyes meU he demanded almost roughly, “Beatrice! Don’t fool with me. Tell roe 1 Is it true ? Is it true ?” She tried to free herself, but his anna did not loosen their hold, and. his eyed still sought hers, as if they were a glass wherein he would read her inmost soul. “Is what true?” she whispered. “You are playing with me,” he said, letting go of her, and half pushing het from him, and then she realised that sha' roust tell him of her love or he would never ask fyr it again: so she turned gently to him, and looking gravely into his faee, she said quietly, “Yes! it is true.” She was in his arms once more. And thus they stood tasting the sweetest moments of their lives. The river murmured at their feet, and the birds twittered happily in the trees above their heads, but they heeded neither the one nor the other. They were alone together, nothing else in the wide v orld mattered. That evening, as they sat alone in thh drawing-room, after duly receiving Mr. Holt’s sanction to their engagement, they talked of their, strange and awful first meeting, andt he begged her to forget the whole terrible circumstance, but she silenced all his fears on the subject by gently? remarking, “My dearest! Do not ask me to forget’ my life’s lesson, rather let us ever remember it, so that whatever trials may; befal us in the years that are to come, wc may- remember that-what seemed, td us, in our ignorance, to be great calamities, may, in reality be. the road by whiel£ it shall please God to lead us. as in thia case, to tlie greatest happiness our lives ear. ever know.”