"Mr. Linden,"—said Faith looking at him now fearlessly—"I am going to come myself."
"You are!" he said, looking at her—and then his eyes went from her to the fire, and back again to her face. "Then if you faint away, Miss Faith, and I jump up to take care of you (which I shall certainly do) I may faint myself—at which stage of the proceedings Dr. Harrison will have his hands full."
"I shall not faint—before nor after," she said, shaking her head.
"I should not like to count too much upon your unfeeling disposition," said Mr. Linden, in whose face different currents of thought seemed to meet and mingle. "And then you see, my senses may be guilty of as great a breach of politeness as the warder in a German story I was reading yesterday."
"What was that?"
"It fell out," said Mr. Linden, "that a lady of surpassing beauty arrived at a certain castle; and next day, the lord of the castle brought before her his warder, bound in chains for a great breach of politeness; he having failed to give his lord notice of the lady's approach! The warder thus defended himself: he had indeed seen the lady, but his dazzled eyes mistook her for another sun! So," added Mr. Linden smiling, "if my eyes should mistake you for a sunbeam or a maple leaf, I might forget myself, and not keep my patience so perfectly as I ought under the hands of such a chirurgeon."
"What is going to try your patience, Mr. Linden?—I?"—said Faith, now indubitably in a puzzle.
"Do you really want to do this for me?" he said in a different tone, looking at her with that same grave, kind look which she had seen before.
"I think I can—and I should like to do it, Mr. Linden, if you are perfectly willing," Faith answered.
"I am willing, since you wish it,—and now you must get the doctor's leave—or rather I must get it for you; but in the mean time, Miss Faith, we may go on with some of our studies, if you are at leisure."
Faith went to get the books, but returned without them and with a disturbed face.
"Mr. Linden, one of the boys wishes to see you."
"I suppose it never was heard that a boy came at the right time," said Mr. Linden. "Well Miss Faith—I believe I must see him—will you write another exercise for me? Here is your pen and paper—I will try not to be hindered long."
Faith mutely took the pen and paper, and went out with a divided mind, for the boy whom she let in, Cindy being nowhere visible, was Phil Davids. Phil had thought better of his determination, and wisely judging that if Mr. Linden wanted to see him he probably would accomplish the measure some time, concluded the shortest way was to see him as smoothly as possible. So in he walked and made his bow, grumly civil, but civil.
Mr. Linden's opening remark, after he had given the boy his hand (which even he liked to touch) was at least peculiar.
"Phil—do you know what a smart boy you are?"
And the answer was a strictly true, though blundering, "No, sir."
"I don't knowhowsmart you could be, myself," said Mr. Linden, "but I know you are very smart now. You always make me think of the man who found a bag of jewels lying in the road and didn't know what they were."
It occurred to Phil's mind that not to know jewels when they were seen was a doubtful proof of smartness; so he answered with a somewhat surly, "How, sir?"
"This man," Mr. Linden went on, "instead of having his jewels set in gold, to wear or to sell, went round the town flinging them at his neighbour's windows—or his neighbour's cats,—as you do, Phil, with your very bright powers of head and tongue. Why don't you make a man of yourself—and use those powers for something worth while?"
"You never see me doin' it, sir!" said Phil, answering the most interesting part of Mr. Linden's address.
"Don't I?" said Mr. Linden,—"I see and hear a good many things. But nobody can get on in the world after such a prickly fashion,—why even a porcupine smooths himself down before he tries to go ahead. If you were to be a lawyer Phil, you'd fight your clients instead of helping them fight,—and if you were a farmer, you'd be like the man who burnt up three stacks of his hay because the fourth got wet."
Phil reddened, though he couldn't help smiling, and was evidently getting angry.
"That 'ere farmer was a big fool!" he said.
"Yes, we are agreed upon that point," said Mr. Linden,—"I daresay he would have said so himself next day. Well Phil—this was not what I wanted to talk to you about to-day—much as I like to see smart boys make the most of themselves. I want to know exactly what it was that you heard Reuben Taylor say about Miss Derrick."
Phil's eyes opened unmistakeably.
"I never heerd him say nothing about her!" he said boldly.
"Then why did you say you did?" said Mr. Linden, with the cool face of one who knows his ground.
"I didn't!" said Phil. "I'm blessed if I did."
"No you are not—" said Mr. Linden gravely,—"people are never blessed who do not speak truth. And you have shut both doors by which such a blessing might have come in this case, Phil."
"Who said I ever said so, sir?" Phil asked confidently.
"You told Dr. Harrison, for one," said Mr. Linden.
"I never spoke a word to Dr. Harrison—" Phil began and checked himself. "I never said anything but the truth, sir!"
"What truth did you say to him?" said Mr. Linden. "I wish you would do the same for me. The roughest truth, Phil, is pleasanter to ray ears than the smoothest falsehood."
"I said nothin' but whatwastruth, sir," said Phil, perplexedly, as if he felt caught in a snare. "I didn't think you meantthat."
"That is precisely what I meant."
"'Twarn't nothing but the truth, sir."
"Well—" said Mr. Linden,—"I never was afraid of the truth yet, and I don't mean to begin now. You didn't say I had cut your ears off, did you Phil?"
"I didn't say nothin' about you, sir, good or indifferent."
"That's something," said Mr. Linden with unmoved gravity. "What else did you say?"
"It was down to Neanticut, sir," said Phil—"I told Reuben Taylor as how he'd druv her down, Joe Deacon said he had; and Reuben said Joe had made a mistake. That's the hull of it, sir."
"Who isher?" said Mr. Linden.
"She—Miss Faith Derrick, sir."
Phil was getting very uncomfortably red in the face.
"Well why did you tell Miss Derrick that Reuben didn't drive her down?—would not she have been likely to know."
"I didn't, sir."
"I thought not. Whatdidyou tell her?"
"She knows what I told her!"—said Phil, looking abstractedly at the corner of the couch on which Mr. Linden lay.—"I don't know as I can recollect. But that's what Reuben said, sir."
"Well tell me as near as you can recollect—" said Mr. Linden. "And also just the words you used to Reuben."
Phil took time to reflect.
"I don't want ter," he said.
"No, I see you don't—but I want to hear them," said Mr. Linden very quietly. "But tell me the truththistime, Phil."
"Folks has a right to speak," said Phil, stating a broad proposition,—"but they hain't a right to tell all they say!"
"Well?"—said Mr. Linden, waiving that.
"'Twarn't nothin'!" said Phil—"and it 'll just make folks mad—and I durstn't—"
"Dare not repeat what you have dared to say? how is that, Phil? But my forgiveness always meets confession half way, as you know," said Mr. Linden.
"Well," said Phil, "I jest told Reuben he'd druv her down, and Reuben said Joe was mistaken. It was Joe said it first,"
"And what did you say before Dr. Harrison?"
"I said what Reuben said,"—said Phil feeling poorly.
"And what was that?"—Mr. Linden was as untireable as a minority juror.
"I said Reuben said she warn't what Joe said," Phil got out at last in a lowered tone.
"And what wasthat?"
"Well—" said Phil desperately—"Joe said she was—"
Mr. Linden waited. So did Phil.
"This is the house that Jack built," Mr. Linden remarked. "What did Joe say she was?"
The answer came in articulation pretty well smothered up.
"Joe said she was Mr. Linden's sweetheart."
"O!—" said Mr. Linden, with a tone Phil felt to the tips of his ears,—"that was it! I really did not know, Phil, that you and Joe took an interest in such matters. Have you had much experience?"
Phil shuffled and looked exceedingly embarrassed, but words found none.He had exhausted his stock, of more than words.
"Well!" said Mr. Linden,—"you will find, Phil, that it is generally safe to study arithmetic before you begin algebra. There's a little mistake here. Reuben did not driveanybodydown to Neanticut—Mrs. Derrick drove the whole way. That explains his words. As for yours, Phil—I wish," said Mr. Linden, looking at him gravely, but gently too, "I wish I knew something you would like very much to have. Can you tell me?"
If ever in his life Phil Davids mentally stared, (physically, too) he did it now. 'Something he would like very much to have'? What could Mr. Linden want to knowthatfor? In his confusion Phil didn't know himself. To take in Mr. Linden, all over, was all he was competent to.
"Well?" said his teacher with a smile—it was rather a faint one, for he was tired, but very pleasant still. "What is there, Phil?—I am in earnest."
"I'm sorry I said it, anyhow!" burst at last from the boy's reluctant lips. That seemed to be his ultimatum. He could see that his words gave pleasure, though they were not directly answered.
"I must send you away now," Mr. Linden said, taking his hand again. "I am not strong enough to talk any more. But Phil—if you will learn to speak the truth—so that at the end of six months you can truly say, 'I hate every false way'—I will give you then what you like,—you shall choose your own reward. I would give anything I have in the world if I could make you fear to displease God by telling a falsehood, as much as you fear to displease me by owning it!"
It was as much as Phil could do, to take his teacher's hand, and that was done more humbly than certainly any previous action of his life. Speak he could not; but so far as Mr. Linden's influence and authority were concernedthatboy was conquered. Whatever he became in after times, and whatever his mates found him still,—and they were not open-mouthed in praise,—for his teacher that boy was a different boy.
On his way out of the house he chanced to pass Faith, and did so without a sign of recognition, giving her about as wide a berth as if she had been a ghost. At the door he met Dr. Harrison coming in; but the doctor perhaps did not recognize him. Once clear, Phil ran for it. And at the stair-foot the doctor found Faith.
"Dr. Harrison," she said with grave simpleness, "if you will allow me, I should like to see you dress Mr. Linden's arm. If you go to Quilipeak there will be nobody to do it,—and I think I can learn. Mother is afraid, and it would be very disagreeable to her."
"And not to you?" said the doctor.
"Not so disagreeable. I think I can do it," she answered, meeting his look steadily.
"You must not!" said he. "Youwere not made for such things. Could doit! I don't doubt you could do anything. But if I go, I will send Dr.Limbre in my place. There is no need foryouto do disagreeable work.Now it's pleasant to me!"
"Dr. Limbre I shouldn't like to have come into the house," said Faith. "And you know he can't leave his own house now—he is sick. I will go up with you, if you please."
Dr. Harrison could but follow her, as she tripped up the stairs before him; but there is no reasonable doubt he would have sent her on some other errand if he could. Faith tapped at the door, and they entered the room together.
"How do you do?" said Dr. Harrison rather gravely, approaching the couch.
Now the fact was, that those two previous interviews had been both long and exciting; and the consequent prostration was greater than usual; so though Mr. Linden did take down the hand which covered his eyes, and did meet the doctor's look with his accustomed pleasantness, his words were few. Indeed he had rather the air of one whose mind has chosen a good opportunity to ride rampant over the prostrate flesh and blood, and who has about given up all attempts to hold the bridle. Whether Dr. Harrison perceived as much, or whether there might be some other reason, his words were also few. He addressed himself seriously to work.
"Will you permit me to introduce an apprentice?" he said, in a more commonplace way than was usual for him, as he was removing Mr. Linden's wrapper from the arm. Faith had come quietly up to the head of the couch and was standing there.
"Is not that the doctor's prerogative?"
"Hum—" said the doctor doubtfully; but he did not explain himself further.
Faith had come close to the head of the couch, but stood a little back, so that Mr. Linden could not see whether she looked like fainting or not. There were no signs of that, for the lessening of colour in her cheeks, which was decided, kept company with a very clear and intent eye. One little caught breath he might hear, when the wounded arm was first laid bare; but not another. The doctor heard it too, for he looked up, but Faith was gravely and quietly busy with what she had come there to see; giving it precisely the same simplicity of attention that she brought to her physical geography or her French exercise; and that was entire. She did not shrink; she rather pressed forward and bent near, to acquaint herself perfectly with what was done; and once or twice asked a question as to the reason or the use of something. Dr. Harrison glanced up at her the first time—it might have been with incipient impatience—or irony,—but if either, it disappeared. He answered her questions straightforward and sensibly, giving her, and with admirable precision, exactly the information she desired, and even more than absolutely that. For everything else, the work went on in silence. When the doctor however was standing at the table a moment, preparing his lint or something else, and Faith had followed him there and stood watching; he said to her over the table in a sotto voce aside—but with a sharp glance—
"Was the information true, that we received the other night?—under the lanterns?"
"What a singular question!" said Mr. Linden from his couch.
"Pourquoi?" said the doctor as simply as if the original words had been addressed to Mr. Linden himself. "Well, it may be a singular question, for it was singular information. Was it well-founded, Miss Derrick?"
"No—at a venture," said Mr. Linden, with just the sort of air with which a sick person puts in his word and assumes superior knowledge.
The doctor looked at one and at the other; Mr. Linden's face told him nothing, any more than his words; Faith, by this time, was covered with confusion. That at least it might be visible to only one person, she moved back to her former place.
"Were you behind us?" said the doctor;—"or were you French enough to come by invisibly?"
"Is that the last new method?" said Mr. Linden. "You have been in Paris since I was."
"Never got so far as that though, I am sorry to say," said the doctor coming back to the couch. "But after all, that was very vague information—it didn't tell one much—only I have a personal interest in the subject. But I am glad you spoke—the man that can tell the dream should be able to give the interpretation. What did it mean, Linden?"
"Behold a man of an enquiring turn of mind!" said Mr. Linden with the same half listless half amused air. "He asks for truth, and when that tarries demands interpretation."
"I don't know what sort of a man I behold!" said the doctor, moving his eyes with a double expression for an instant from Mr. Linden's arm to his face.
"I should think you were a German student in pursuit of the 'Idea'!" said Mr. Linden taking a quiet survey of the doctor's face. "Have you completed the circle, or is there still hope the Idea may seize you?"
"The idea seized me a good while ago," said the doctor, with a most comical mock confessional look.
"Well then," said Mr. Linden in a sort of confidential tone, "what is your opinion upon the great German question—whether it is better to be One and Somewhat, or to be Nought and All?
"You see,"—said the doctor, standing back and suspending operations,—"everybodycan't be One and Somewhat!"
"Then you choose the comprehensive side—" said Mr. Linden. "That is without doubt the most difficult,—the One and Somewhat is called egotistical, but to be Nought and All!—one must be—what do you suppose?"
"A philanthropist, I should suppose!" the doctor answered, with a change of expressionnotagreeable. And returning to his work, for awhile he behaved unusually like other people; not hurrying his work, but doing it with a grave steady attention to that and nothing else—answering Faith, and saying no more. Perhaps however he thought silence might be carried too far; or else had an unsatisfied mood upon him; for as he was finishing what he had to do, he looked up again to Faith and remarked,
"What do you think of this for our quiet town, Miss Derrick? Has Mr.Linden any enemies in Pattaquasset—that you know?"
It was merciless in the doctor; for through all this time she had been in a state of confusion—as he knew—that made speech undesirable, though she had spoken. And she didn't answer him now, except by a quickly withdrawn glance.
"Who do you suppose loves him well enough," pursued the doctor, "to send a charge of duck shot into him like that?"
A sudden little cry of pain, driven back before it was well begun, was heard and but just heard, from Faith. The doctor looked up.
"I was afraid this—Are you faint?" he said gently.
"No sir,—" she answered; and she stood still as before, though the overspread colour which had held its ground for a good while past, had given way now and fluttered pain fully. But the doctor's words brought Mr. Linden, for the first time since his accident—to a perfectly erect position on the couch—with a total disregard of where his arm went, or what became of its bandages.
"What are you about!"
"I declare, I don't know!" said Dr. Harrison, standing back. "IthoughtI was just disposing of you comfortably for the day—but I am open to conviction!"
The left hand let go its grasp of the couch—taken so suddenly, and for which the wounded arm took swift vengeance; and Mr. Linden laid himself down on the cushions again, the colour leaving his cheeks as fast as it had come.
"What's the matter, Linden?" said the doctor with rather a kind look of concern. "You have hurt yourself."
Faith left the room.
"I fear I have disarranged some of your work."
The doctor examined and set to rights.
"I'll see how you do this evening. What ailed you to pitch into me like that, Linden?"
"I think the 'pitching in' came upon me," he answered pleasantly.
"It seems so, indeed. I hope you won't try this kind of thing again. I am sure you won't to-day."
And so the doctor went. A quarter of an hour or a little more had gone by, when the light knock came at Mr. Linden's door that he had certainly learned to know by this time; and Faith came in, bearing a cup of cocoa. The troubled look had not entirely left her face, nor the changeful colour; but she was not thinking of herself.
"I knew you were tired, Mr. Linden—Would you like this—or some grapes—or wine—better?"
The most prominent idea in Mr. Linden's mind just then, was that he had already had what he did not like; but that had no place in the look which answered her, as he raised himself a little (and but a little) to take the cup from her hand.
"Pet would thank you better than I can now, Miss Faith."
She stood looking down at him, with a little sorrowing touch about the lines of her mouth.
"Do you know how much better two cups of cocoa are than one?" said Mr.Linden.
"I don't know how you can have two at once, Mr. Linden."
"Then I will bestow one upon you—and wait while you get it."
"I am well—" she said, looking amused through her gravity, and shaking her head. "And besides, I couldn't take it, Mr. Linden." And to put an end to that subject, Faith had recourse to the never failing wood fire; and from thence went round the room finishing what she had failed to do in the morning; coming back at the point of time to take Mr. Linden's cup. He looked at her a little as he gave it back.
"You are too tired to go over all those lessons to-day—which do you like best? will you bring it?"
"I am not tired at all," she said with some flitting colour,—"butyouare, Mr. Linden. Won't you rest—sleep—till after dinner—and then, if you like, let me come?"
"I will let you come then—and stay now," he said smiling.
"Let me stay and be silent then—or do something that will not tire you. Please, Mr. Linden!"
"Your line of action lies all within that last bound," he said gently. "But you may read French if you will—or write it and let me look over you,—or another geographical chapter. Neither need make me talk much."
The hint about looking over her writing startled Faith amazingly, but perhaps for that very reason she took it as the delicate expression of a wish. That would be a trial, but then too it would call for the least exertion on the part of her teacher. Faith was brave, if she was fearful, and too really humble to have false shame; and after an instant's doubt and hesitation, she said, though she felt it to her fingers' ends,
"My exercise is all ready—it only wants to be copied—but how could you look over me, Mr. Linden?"
"Could you do such an inconvenient thing as to use that small atlas for a table? and bring it here by me—I am not quite fit to sit up just now."
Faith said no more words, but went for her exercise and sat down to write it, as desired, under an observing and she knew a critical eye. It was well her business engrossed her very completely; for she was in an extremely puzzled and disturbed state of mind. Dr. Harrison's words about the occasion of Mr. Linden's accident, carelessly run on, had at last unwittingly given her the clue her own innocent spirit might have waited long for; and grief and pain would have almost overcome her, but for a conflicting feeling of another kind raised by the preceding colloquy between the two gentlemen. Faith was in a state of profound uncertainty, whether Mr. Linden's words had meant anything or nothing. They were spoken so that they might have meant nothing—but then Phil Davids had just been with him—what for?—and whatever Mr. Linden's words might have meant, Faith's knowledge of him made her instinctively know, through all the talk, that they had been spoken for the sake of warding off something disagreeable fromher—not for himself. She tried as far as she could to dismiss the question from her thoughts—she could not decide it—and to go on her modest way just as if it had not been raised; and she did; but for all that her face was a study as she sat there writing. For amid all her abstraction in her work, the thought of thepossibilitythat Mr. Linden might have known what he was talking about, would send a tingling flush up into her cheeks; and sometimes again the thoughts of pain that had been at work would bring upon her lip almost one of those sorrowful curves which are so lovely and so pure on the lip of a little child—and rarely seen except there. All this was only by the way; it did not hinder the most careful attention to what she was about, nor the steadiest working of her quite unsteady fingers, which she knew were very likely to movenotaccording to rule.
For a little while she was suffered to go on without interruption, other than an occasional word about the French part of her exercise; but presently Mr. Linden's hand began to come now and then with a modifying touch upon her pen and fingers. At first this was done with a gentle "forgive me!" or, "if you please, Miss Faith,"—after that without words, though the manner always expressed them; and once or twice, towards the very end of the lesson, he told her that such a letter was too German—or too sophisticated; and shewed her a more Saxon way. Which admonitions he helped her, as well as he could, to bear, by a quietness which was really as kind, as it seemed oblivious of all that had disturbed or could disturb her. And the words of praise and encouragement were spoken with their usual pleasure-taking and pleasure-giving effect. All this after a time effectually distracted Faith from all other thoughts whatever. When it was done, she sat a moment looking down at the paper, then looked up and gave him a very frank and humble "Thank you, Mr. Linden!" from face and lips both.
If Faith liked approbation—that clover-honey to a woman's taste, so far beyond the sickly sweets of flattery and admiration—she might have been satisfied with the grave look of Mr. Linden's eyes at her then.
"You are a brave little child!" he said. "I wish I could do something to give you a great deal of pleasure!"
"Pleasure!"—said Faith, and what was very rare with her, not only her face flushed but her eyes, so that she turned them away,—"why it is all pleasure to me, Mr. Linden!"—'Such pleasure as I never had before,'—she was near saying, but she did not say.
"Well I must not let you tire yourself," he said with a smile, "for that would not be pleasant to me. Have you been out to-day?"
"No," said Faith, thinking of her brown moreen.
"Nor yesterday—that will not do, Miss Faith. I am afraid I must give you up to the open air for a good part of this afternoon."
"What shall I do there?" said Faith smiling.
"Let the wind take you a walk—I wish I could be of the party. But the wind is good company, Miss Faith, and talks better than many people,—and the walk you want."
"So I want to finish my wood-box," said Faith, looking at the corner of the fireplace. "And I should think you would be tired of seeing the wood lie there, Mr. Linden. I am. I have got to go out this evening too—" she said with a little hesitation,—"to see that microscope."
Mr. Linden was silent a moment.
"The microscope does make some difference," he said,—"as for the wood-box, Miss Faith, I don't think I can permit it to have any voice in the matter,—you may leave it for me to finish. But if you are going up there this evening—there are two or three things I should like to talk to you about first."
"Then shall I come by and by?" she said. "I must do something else before dinner."
"Well child!" said Mrs. Derrick as they took their seats at the dinner-table, "whathaveyou been about all day? I've just spent the morning looking over those apples, so I've had no chance to look you up. How's Mr. Linden? does the doctor think he's getting better?"
"He is, I hope, mother; the doctor didn't say anything about it." And a little shudder ran over Faith's shoulders, which she was glad her mother could make nothing of if she saw. "I have been as busy as you have, mother—so I couldn't lookyouup—nor my wood-box either."
"Learning all the world!" said her mother smiling, though there was a little touch of regretfulness not quite kept down. "I think I'd rather sit and look at you, child, than eat my dinner. What are you going to do this after noon?"
"I've got a little ironing to do after dinner, mother, and something to make for tea—and Mr. Linden wants to see me for something. I'll get ready for Judge Harrison's, and then after I am through up stairs I'll come down and see to you and my box together. I wish you were going with me, mother."
And Faith leaned her head on her hand.
"Don't you want to go, pretty child?" said Mrs. Derrick fondly.
"No, mother—but I couldn't help it. I found I should have to go sooner or later."
"I'd go with you in a minute," said her mother, "if it wasn't for Mr. Linden. I don't care a pin whether they want me or not, Faith, ifyoudo. And I dare say some of the boys will be here"—Mrs. Derrick looked perplexed, as at the feeling of some unknown possibility. "Shall I, pretty child?" she said with an anxious face,—"what are you thinking of, child?"
Faith came behind her and put both arms round her and kissed first one side of her face and then the other.
"Mother!" she said with those silvery tones,—"I don't want anything! I suppose I shall like to see the microscope—but I'd rather stay at home and learn my lessons. Don't lookso!"—Which with another kiss upon her lips, finished off Mrs. Derrick's anxiety.
The ironing and the 'something for tea' Faith despatched with extra diligence and speed, and then dressed herself for the evening. It was not much extra dressing; only a dark stuff dress a little finer than ordinary; the white ruffle round the neck and wrists was the same. And then, giving a few minutes to the seeking of some added help to quietness, for Faith's mind had been strangely disturbed, she went again to Mr. Linden's room. A gentle vision she was, if ever one was seen, when she entered it.
"You say I mustn't thank you, Mr. Linden," she said giving him back his sister's letter;—"but—will you thank her for me?"
"I don't think she deserves many thanks," he said with a smile, "but I will tell her."
The course of study that afternoon was peculiar, and eminently atalk. Mr. Linden called for none of the usual books at first, but began by giving Faith a very particular account of the whole process of circulation; thence diverging right and left, in the most erratic manner as it seemed to her,—passing from the bright crystal points in chymistry to the blue mould on a piece of bread, and then explaining to her the peculiar mechanism of a fly's eye. Two or three times he sent her to the cupboard for some book to shew her an illustration of the subject, but if there was any connecting link that she could see between one and another, it was simply the wonderful minute perfection of the world. And she needed none—for the different things were touched upon so clearly and yet with such a happy absence of needless details, that they stood forth in full relief, and set off each other. The daylight was already failing, and the red firelight was playing hide and seek with the shadows in Mr. Linden's room, before he gave her a chance to think what time it was. When she saw it, Faith started up.
"I told mother I would come and see her before I went!"—she said, drawing a long breath like a person in an atmosphere he can't get enough of. Then with a little change of tone, after standing a minute looking at the fire, she went on.—"AllIcan do, is to drive the nails into that wood-box—but I'll do it before to-morrow." She held out her hand as she spoke.
"No you must not," Mr. Linden said, as he took the hand. "To-night you will be out, and you must not give me a late breakfast, Miss Faith!—therefore you must go to bed as soon as you come home, and leave the box tome."
Faith ran away and did not go to her hammering just then. She brought a low bench to her mother's feet, sat down there; and taking Mrs. Derrick's hands from whatever they were about, wrapped both arms round herself, laying her head on her mother's lap.
"Mother," she said caressingly,—"I couldn't come down before. I was so busy and so interested, I didn't in the least know what time it was; and I hadn't a chance to think."
"I'm sure I'm glad, pretty child," said her mother, bending down to kiss her. "I think sometimes you think too much. But you look just like a baby, for all that. I'm sure I shall always love Mr. Linden for pleasing you so much," said Mrs. Derrick stroking Faith's hair, "even though he does please himself too."
Faith secured that hand again and held them both wrapped round her; but further words for a moment spoke not.
"I shall come home as early as I can," she said;—"mother, time enough to do everything for breakfast."
"You sha'n't do a thing, child," said her mother. "You may come home as early as you like, but I'm going to keep you out of the works. I feel so grand when you're up stairs studying—you can't think! You wouldn't know me, Faith."
Faith laughed, the laugh that was music to Mrs. Derrick's ears, and indeed would have been to any, and held the hands closer.
"I feel a little grand too,"—she said,—"sometimes in a way—"
This did not seem to be one of the times, or else feeling grand had a soporific effect; for Faith's eyelids presently drooped, and when Dr. Harrison came to the house and for some time before, she was fast asleep on her mother's lap.
"Psyche!"—exclaimed Dr. Harrison as he discerned by the firelight the state of the case. Mrs. Derrick gave him a little reproving glance for speaking so loud, but other reply made none, save a low-spoken polite offer of a chair.
"Thank you—I am going up to see Mr. Linden. Miss Derrick was so good as to promise she would go with me to see my sister this evening. In these circumstances,"—said Dr. Harrison in his softest voice—"do you think it would be presumption to wake her up?"
"Well go up, then," said Mrs. Derrick, "and I'll wake her up before you come down."
Which arrangement took effect; and in a very few minutes thereafter, Dr. Harrison's horse making much better speed than old Crab could do now, Faith was deposited safely at Judge Harrison's door. There she was received with open arms and great exultation by Miss Sophy and with great cordiality and pleasure by the Judge; and with a certain more uncertain amount of both by Mrs. Somers, whom Faith found there, the only addition to the family party; while the doctor stood complacently on the rug, in silence surveying everybody, like a man who has gained his point.
"Well Julius," said Mrs. Somers, "how's Mr. Linden to-night? did you see him?"
"Yes ma'am—I saw him."
"Well how is he?" repeated Mrs. Somers.
"He is—very happily situated," said the doctor. "I should like to be in his place."
"What do you go there twice a day for? Do you think him worse? You began with going once," said Mrs. Somers.
"Always begin gently," said Dr. Harrison. "You get on faster."
"How soon do you expect to take up your abode there altogether, at that rate?"
"At what rate, aunt Ellen? You are too fast for me."
"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Somers, "do you suppose I want to be told what you go there for?—what Idowant to know, is whether he's like to get well, and how soon."
"He will be conquering Pattaquasset in a few weeks," said the doctor.
"I wonder whether he'll conquer Phil Davids," said Mrs. Somers. "I should like to see that done. Julius, did you ever find out anything about the man that fired the shot?"
"Really, aunt Ellen, I am not a detective"—said the doctor carelessly, looking at Faith, who kept as quiet as a dormouse. "If it had been my business I suppose I should have found out."
"I think I heard you opine that Mr. Linden knew"—said Mrs. Somers. "And I think somebody ought to find out—unless you want the thing done over again. Don't you think so, Judge Harrison?"
"Well my dear," said the Judge, "I understand Mr. Linden to have been actuated by a very benevolent motive—I understand his feelings. He wouldn't run the risk of accusing a man unjustly—I can't blame him. It's right, I think, though it's provoking. What do you think, Miss Faith?"
Faith lifted her eyes, but perhaps the doctor saw in her changing cheek some token of the pain he had stirred in the morning. He prevented her reply.
"Ladies don't think about these things, my dear sir!—Aunt Ellen is so sharp she gets ahead of her sex. Let me have the honour of suggesting a pleasanter subject of meditation. I have seen to-night, aunt Ellen, the most exquisite and valuable jewelry I have ever seen in my life!"
"Here in Pattaquasset!" said his sister.
"In Pattaquasset—or perhaps in the world."
"Don't excite yourself, Sophy," said Mrs. Somers,—"let's hear what they were, first."
Faith, like everybody else, looked for the doctor's answer, though she hardly knew what she was looking at.
"A lady, aunt Ellen," the doctor went on, glancing at her,—"had made a necklace of her mother's arms,—and a cross, more precious than diamonds, of her mother's hands; and clasping this cross to her breast, adorned with this most exquisite and rare adornment, had—gone to sleep!"
"And for once," said Mrs. Somers, "you preferred the wearer to the jewels and—went into a trance! I can imagine you!"
"I? not I!"—said the doctor—"I went up stairs. But you have no idea of the effect."
Faith had been experiencing some of the scattering fire of society, which hits no one knows where and no one knows when. First the name of Phil Davids had ploughed up the ground at her right; then the question about the man who had fired the shot had ploughed up the ground at her left; and shaken first by one and then by the other she had welcomed the doctor's change of subject and now was smiling as pleased as anybody.
"I didn't suppose the trance was a long one," said Mrs. Somers, with a little raising of her eyebrows. "Faith, my dear, what have you done to that little Seacomb child? I can't get over my astonishment at his transformation."
"I am afraid there isn't much transformation yet," Faith said. "He listens very quietly and behaves well in school—but I don't know how he is at home."
"You are not a school teachertoo?" said the doctor.
"It isn't a bad trade," said Faith, though her cheeks had answered for her another way.
"Not a bad trade—certainly—but one may have too many trades. Aunt Ellen—I had the honour—do you believe it? of giving Miss Derrick lessons this morning."
"I think she was very good to permit it," said Mrs. Somers composedly.
"She was very good"—said the doctor demurely. "I am afraid that is her character generally!"
He was called off by his father, and Miss Harrison seized Faith and planted her between herself and Mrs. Somers on the sofa.
"Don't mind his nonsense, Faith! Julius never can talk like anybody else. Why haven't you been here this age?"
"I've been busy, Sophy."
"Why wouldn't you go to ride with us? Julius wouldn't go after what you said. Why wouldn't you?"
"It was Sunday, Sophy."
"Well—what if it was?"
"Sunday isn't my day—I can't use it for my own work."
"But taking a little ride isn't work?"
Faith hesitated.
"Isn't it work to the horses, Sophy? And if it is only pleasure—Sunday has its own pleasures, dear Sophy,—I can't have both."
"Why can't you?"
"Because,—if I take these, God will not give me those," Faith said very gravely.
"But Faith!"—said Miss Harrison looking disturbed,—"you didn't use to be so religious?"
Faith's face flushed a little and was touchingly humble as she said,"No—I didn't."
"What's changed you so?"
"It isn't a bad change, dear Sophy!"
"I don't believe anything's bad about you," said Miss Harrison kissing her,—"but don't change too far, dear; don't forget your old friends."
"I want them to change too," said Faith looking at her winningly.
"That's right Faith, stand by your colours!" said Mrs. Somers, with a tone and manner that came quite from the other side of her character. "Sophy—your mother wouldn't know her child, to hear you ask such questions."
Miss Harrison looked troubled, and left the room. Dr. Harrison immediately took her place, and almost as immediately tea came in.
That is to say, tea and chocolate were handed round, together with a sufficient abundance and variety of delicate substantials to suit the air and the style of a country town. Judge Harrison's was the only house in Pattaquasset where tea was served in this way,—except perhaps the De Staff's; though there was this difference to be observed,—the De Staffs never had tea carried round unless when they had company; at the Harrisons' it was never carried round unless they were alone.
Dr. Harrison attended politely to his aunt, but he was eyes and hands for Faith; finding at the same time very agreeable occupation for her ears. If people could be content with being agreeable! But in the midst of cold tongue and chocolate the doctor broke out again.
"After all," said he,—"what about that piece of curious information, Miss Derrick? You know I was balked this morning and led a Will o' the wisp chase after the Idea! Is Mr. Linden in the habit of spoiling people's fun in that manner?"
Faith said simply she did not know. She did not, but in private she thought it likely enough.
"Well, about the question," said the doctor helping her to something at the same time,—"what was the truth of it, Miss Derrick? You see I am interested. Was our little informant correct?"
Now Faith had no mind, even in the dark, or about anything, to set her 'yes' against Mr. Linden's 'no.' Besides, she knew that the doctor had heard no names, and what ever might be the extent of Mr. Linden's knowledge,heknew nothing. And she was very willing to take the shelter of the shield which had been thrown round her. The deep, deep dye of her cheeks she could not help; but she answered with tolerable quietness, behind that shield,
"I hoped you had got enough of the subject this morning."
The doctor had enough of it now! He changed his ground with all speed, and for the rest of the evening Dr. Harrison shewed himself at his best.
So soon as the removal of tea things gave him a clear field, he brought out his microscope; and from that instant Faith almost forgot and forgave him everything. She forgot everything present—the Judge, Sophy, and Mrs. Somers; and came to the table so soon as the bright brass of the little machine caught her eye. The machine alone was a wonder and beauty; it seemed to Faith like an elegant little brass gun mounted on the most complicate and exquisite of gun carriages—with its multiplication of wheels and screws and pins, by which its adjustment might be regulated to a hair; with its beautiful workmanship and high finish, and its most marvellous and admirable purpose and adaptation. Dr. Harrison had never adjusted his microscope with more satisfaction, perhaps, than with those childish womanly eyes looking on; and neither he normanyother people ever performed better the subsequent office of exhibiting it. He troubled Faith now with nothing; his very manner was changed; and with kindness and sense most delicate, most thoughtful, most graceful always, gave her all he could give her.
He was a trifle surprised to find that the amount of that was not more. There was no lack indeed; he could talk and she could listen indefinitely—and did;—nevertheless he found some of his channels of communication stopped off. At the first thing he shewed her, Faith looked for an instant and then withdrawing her eye from the microscope and facing him with cheeks absolutely paled with excitement and feeling, exclaimed rapturously,
"Oh!—are those the chalk shells?"
The doctor hadn't counted upon her knowing anything of chalk shells
"Aunt Ellen—" said he, as he looked to shift or adjust something—"do you think Miss Derrick has ever lived upon anything worse than roses?"
"Upon something stronger, I fancy," said Mrs. Somers, a little surprised in her turn, but well pleased too, for Faith had come nearer her heart that evening than ever before, and the voyage of discovery was pleasant.
"I should certainly think I was in Persia!" said the doctor,—"only the bulbul knows nothing of scientific discoveries, I fancy."
But Faith was in no danger of hearing, or caring, if she had understood; she had gone back to the chalk shells, and back still further, from them, into the world of those perfections which God had madefor himself. A new world, now for the first time actually seen by her, and for a moment she almost lost her standing in this. Mrs. Somers watched her, smiling and curious.
She drew back presently with a long breath, to give the other ladies a chance; but Miss Harrison had looked all she cared to look, and Mrs. Somers was not new to the thing. They took a view occasionally, one for form, the other for real interest; but for the most part Faith found the exhibition was for her and she and the doctor might have it all their own way. A long way they made of it; for the doctor found a good deal of talking to do, and Faith was most ready to hear. He talked well and gave her a great deal of what she liked, with a renewal every now and then of his first surprise; for in the midst of some elaborate explanation he was launching into for her benefit, most innocently and simply Faith would bring him up with a gentle "Yes, I know,"—not spoken with the faintest arrogance of knowledge, but merely to prevent him going into needless detail; and herself too rapt in the delight of the subject that occupied her to have any heed of the effect of her words.
"I have kept the best for the last," said the doctor, when this exhibition had lasted a much longer time than Faith was aware of;—"I thought you would like to see the circulation;—and I have sent all over town for a frog—found one at last, by great happiness."
"All over town!" said Mrs. Somers,—"do try out of town next time, and save yourself trouble."
"Have you got to kill the frog, Julius?" said Miss Harrison with a disturbed face.
"I hope not!" said the doctor gravely. "That would rather interfere with our purposes than otherwise, Sophy.—Aunt Ellen, I never learned the real extent of 'town' yet—when I was a boy it seemed to me to have no limits;—and now it seems to me to have no centre. Tell James to bring in that frog, Sophy."
Miss Harrison retreated from the frog; but the doctor assured Faith that he was in very tolerable circumstances, shut up in a little bag; and that he was only going to be requested to exhibit a small portion of the skin of his toe, and to hold himself still for that purpose; which benevolent action the doctor would help him to perform by putting him in a slight degree of confinement. The holding still was however apparently beyond the frog's benevolent powers, and it was some little time before the doctor could persuade him to it. Then Faith saw what she had never seen nor fully imagined before.
"O Sophy!—O Mrs. Somers!"—she exclaimed,—"look at this!"
She stood back with a face of delighted wonder Miss Harrison looked an instant.
"It is curious—" she said. "What are those little things, Julius?"
"You have heard of the 'circulating medium,'" said the doctor. "That is it."
Faith evidently had never heard of the 'medium' referred to. Turning to her, the doctor began a clear full account of the philosophy of what she saw going on in the frog's foot. But there she met him again.
"Yes, I know, Dr. Harrison,"—she said with the simple tone of perfect intelligence. The doctor bit his lip, while Faith stooped over the microscope and read, and read, what was to be seen there.
"Faith," whispered Sophy, "it's cruel of me—but I am afraid your mother will be anxious, and Julius will never let you know—"
"What time is it?" said Faith starting up.
"About—half an hour—after eight—" said the doctor.
"Afterten, Faith."
Not another look did Faith give, but for her bonnet, and went home as fast as the doctor would walk with her.
Whether Mrs. Derrick was anxious or no, she did not say, but glad she certainly was to see Faith back.
"Well child," she said, undoing the wrappers from Faith's head and neck, "I hope you've had a grand time?"
"Yes mother, very—only I didn't mean to stay so late. I meant to be home in good time. I have seen everything, mother!"
"Everything!" said her mother,—"I guess at that rate I might say I'd been everywhere."
"Where have you been, mother? anywhere?"
"I've been out to tea!" said her mother, with the manner of one who has a remarkable secret on hand.
"You have! Where, mother?"
"Guess"—said Mrs. Derrick smiling at her. "I went up stairs to tea, Faith!—what do you think of that? What'll you expect to hear of my doing next?"
"Oh mother!" said Faith laughing,—"I am glad! That was the best thing you could have done."
"It wasn't my doing, though," said Mrs. Derrick. "But when I went up with Mr. Linden's tea, he asked me if you had gone, and I said yes, and he said since there was nobody better worth seeing down stairs he wished I'd come and drink tea with him. So I went, child, and it was real pleasant too. And I don't know how it was, but I staid there all the evening,—only I wouldn't let him talk to me, and he just went to sleep as if I hadn't been there. I think he was very tired, Faith. So then I felt very comfortable," added Mrs. Derrick smiling, "and I sat there and watched him till Reuben came a little while ago."
"Was he tired!" said Faith, the light in her face changing. "He had been talking to me all the afternoon!—Mother, half the pleasure I had to-night he gave me, for he was all the afternoon preparing me for it." She stood looking at the fire reproachfully.
"Why child," said her mother, "I suppose his arm pains him a good deal—and that tires one, you know. He didn't talk to you a bit more than he wanted to, I'll warrant. Why he even talked tomeall tea-time!" said Mrs. Derrick, as if she felt quite proud in consequence.
"Well mother, we must go to bednow, for I must be up very early to finish that box."
Very early it was, when Faith's hammer was at work again on the brown moreen, and short interruption did she give herself from anything that could be spared, till the box was done. It suited her well when it was done. The cover was stuffed, old-fashioned brown binding was lapped over the edges and seams, and fastened off with rows of brass-headed nails; which made it altogether an odd, handsome, antiquated-looking piece of furniture. With this, when her morning work was done and her exercise prepared, Faith went up to Mr. Linden's room; to see it brought in and placed properly.
"I shall have to put a stop to this state of things!" he said,—"that blue ribband will work me mischief yet. Miss Faith, how can you take advantage of my disabled condition?"
"Are you better this morning, Mr. Linden?"
"The time has not quite come yet for me to be much better. But Miss Faith, if I had known that youwouldwake yourself up early this morning, what do you think I should have done?"
"I can't think, Mr. Linden," she said looking merry.
"I should have invited you and Mrs Derrick up here to breakfast!—which I only did not do, because I could not take the extra trouble upon myself, and because I knew you ought to sleep, till this time."
Faith shook her head a little, perhaps sorry to have missed the breakfast; then went off and brushed away the dust and chips left round the wood-box. Then came and sat down.
"I saw almost everything, last night, Mr. Linden!"
"Well before you go off to last night—will you come to-morrow morning?Now what did you see?"
The bright smile and flush and sparkle answered the invitation; and perhaps Faith thought no other answer was needed; for she gave no other.
"I know now," she said after an instant, "what you were doing all yesterday afternoon, Mr. Linden!"
"I know what you were, Miss Faith."
She smiled innocently and went on,
"All that just fitted me, as you meant it should, to take the good of the evening—and I had a great deal," she said gravely. "I saw almost everything you spoke of—and other things. I saw the chalk shells, Mr. Linden!—and the circulation in a frog's foot; and different prepared pieces of skin; and the moth's plumage! and the silver scale-armour of theLepisma, as Dr. Harrison called it; and more."
"And with very great delight—as I knew you would. I am very glad!"
"Yes," said Faith—"I know a little better now how to understand some things you said the other day. I am very glad I went—only for one thing.—"
"What was that?"
"Dr. Harrison asked such a strange thing of me as we were walking home—at least it seems to me strange."
"May my judgment be brought to bear upon it?" Mr. Linden said after a moment's silence.
"Yes indeed," said Faith; "that was what I was going to ask. He wants me to go with him to see a woman, who is dying, he says, and miserable,—and he wants me to talk to her. He says he does not know how." And half modestly, half timidly, she added, "Is not that going out of my way?"
A quick, peculiar smile on Mr. Linden's face, was succeeded by a very deep gravity,—once or twice the lips parted, impulsively—then took their former firm set; and shading his eyes with his hand he looked into the fire in profound silence.
Very soberly, but in as absolute repose of face, Faith now and then looked at him, and meanwhile waited for his thoughts to come to an end.
"Dr. Harrison said," she remarked after a little while, "that you once told him he had but half learned his profession."
"What did you say, Miss Faith? I mean, not to that, but to the question?"
"I didn't know what to say!—I didn't want to go at all—I don't know whether that was wrong or right; but at last I said I would go. Do you think I was right, Mr. Linden?"
"Did you promise to gowith him?"
"I didn't know any other way to go," said Faith. "I don't know where the woman lives, and he said I couldn't find it; and old Crab has a lame foot. Dr. Harrison asked me to go with him. I don't think I should have minded going alone."
"Neither should I mind having you," said Mr. Linden, with a look more doubtful and anxious than Faith had often seen him wear, though it was not bent upon her.
"Do you think I said wrong then, Mr. Linden? I did not like to go—butI thought perhaps I ought."
"I don't thinkyoudid wrong," was the somewhat definite answer. "I wish I had been alongside of you when the request was made."
A wish which he had not been the first to know. Faith was silent.
"You made a fair promise?" he said—"and feel bound by it?"
"I said I would go,"—she said looking at him with her fair, grave face. "If you thought it was wrong, or that I was putting myself out of my way, I would not, Mr. Linden. He asked if he might come for me at two o'clock, and I said yes."
"Miss Faith—you must not make such a promise again!"
She looked at him enquiringly, very soberly, and then her eyes went to the fire and mused there. Mr. Linden was looking at her then, though with eyes still shielded. Once indeed the hand came with a soft touch upon her hair, drawing it back where it had fallen a little; but the motion was quickly checked. She started, looked round with a little frank smile and colour, and instantly went back to her musing.
"I'm afraid I must let you go—" Mr. Linden said presently, smiling a little too, as if it were no use to be grave any longer. "I'm afraid I have no right to hinder you. If I had, I would. Some other time I will tell you part of the wherefore, but the less I say to you before you go, the better. About that,—" he added in his usual manner,—"I think we might write another exercise."
She started up, but paused.
"Mr. Linden,"—she said timidly, "Dr. Harrison said he would not be here this morning. Would you like to have me first—it would be only pleasure to me, if you are not afraid,—do what he does for you?"
He answered at first rather quick, as if he knew what sort of pleasure it was.
"O no!—I can wait,—it cannot signify very much." And then with as quick a recognition of the real pleasure it would be, after all, Mr. Linden compounded matters.
"I am afraid. Miss Faith!—I am naturally timid."
"What does that mean?" said she coming before him and looking with an inquisitive smile. "I don't know, Mr. Linden!"
"Do you expect me to explain such a humiliating confession?"
"No, certainly.—I thought, perhaps, you wouldn't keep to it, after all."
"I am a little afraid for you. What do you suppose I shall do this afternoon while you are gone?"
"I don't know—" she said, looking a little wistfully.
"I shall lie here and study that wood-box. You see I carry out my principles, Miss Faith—I have not thanked you for it."
"I don't think you'll study it very long," said Faith,—"there isn't much in it."
"Somebody has said," replied Mr. Linden, "that 'in every subject there is inexhaustible meaning,—the eye sees in it what the eye brings means of seeing.' You must not limit my power of eyesight."
"If you wouldn't limit my power of something else?"—she said with gentle persistency.
He looked up at her.
"I will not, Miss Faith—then will you please perform your kind office at once? It will be a great comfort to me, and I shall be the better able to do something for you afterwards." And the manner almost made Faith feel as if the proposition had come from her at first.
She went about it, not this first time without some trembling of heart, but with also a spirit that rose above and quite kept down that. She knew exactly and intelligently what was to be done; it was only the hands that were unwonted, and therefore she feared unskilful. But there are things that some women have by nature, and a skilful hand is one of them; and it was Faith's. Her womanly love and care were enough for all the rest; she made no mistakes, nor delays; and her soft fingers inflicted no pain that it was in the power of fingers to spare. A little longer than the doctor she was perhaps about it; not much, and not more awkward; and that is saying enough.
So soon as that was done, Faith went for her exercise, and sat down as yesterday to write it.
He too went on with the exercise; but watching her, lest relief might be wanted in another quarter. There was nothing of that, though. Quiet and very great satisfaction, was the result of the matter in Faith's mind; at least it was all she permitted to be seen; and now she gave herself happily to the connexion of her nouns and adjectives, and to watching against the 'german' or 'sophisticated' letters in her handwriting. The exercise indeed was fast taking a very compound character; so much so, that Faith might well begin to suspect there had been a two-fold reason for proposing it. But Mr. Linden had a peculiar way of teaching—especially of teaching her; and made her almost forget in the pleasure of learning, the fact that she had need to learn. And as for his memory on the subject, or his perception of how it might touch her,—they were out of sight: she might have been a little child there at his side, for the grave simplicity and frankness of his instructions. And so exercise and reading and philosophy followed on in a quiet train, and the surface of the earth revealed new wonders, and the little French book was closed at the end of a pretty chapter.
"Whenever I get about my duties again, Miss Faith," Mr. Linden said, "I shall make one very stringent rule for our future intercourse."
"What's that, Mr. Linden?" she said, with the face of quick deep pleasure she always wore when about any of her studies with him.
"From the time when I come home to dinner till I go off again, I will neither speak nor be spoken to, Miss Faith, except in French. That is, you may speak—but I shall not answer."
Faith started a little, looked puzzled, and looked terrified,—as much as she ever did; but rather closed with looking as if it wasimpossible.
"I should make the rule at once," said Mr. Linden smiling, "but I foresee that you would absent yourself entirely. Now when I am down stairs you will have to see me—whether you want to or not."
"But I don't know one word!" said Faith breathlessly. "I am afraid I shall not say, or hear, much, Mr. Linden."
"O you shall hear a great deal—I will take that upon myself."
Faith shook her head, gave the fire a final mending, and ran off; for it was again an hour past the mid-day. Mr. Linden's dinner came up, and was hardly removed before Dr. Harrison followed.
"Well, Linden!" he said coming jauntily in,—"I hope you haven't missed me this morning."
"Not in the least."
"I am glad of that. How do you do? I will try and put you in condition not to miss me this evening—though it is benevolent!"—added the doctor, pulling off his left glove. "It is a great secret—to make oneself missed!"
"It is a secret your gloves will hardly find out, by my fire," said Mr.Linden. "How well you look, doctor!—not a bit like Nought and All."
"No,"—said the doctor,—"I believe I disclaimed that particular sphere of existence yesterday. One had need be One and Somewhat in this wind—if one will keep a place in a wagon, or elsewhere! But fire mustn't tempt me, Linden. I'll see to you and be off, and decide what I'll be afterwards."
"You may be off without preamble."
"Do you mean to dismiss me?" exclaimed the doctor raising his eyebrows."Have I said that youmustaccept my poor services?"
"Why no!" said Mr. Linden,—"doubly no! I am most happy to see you, doctor."
"The happiness will be mutual when I have the felicity of understanding you," said the doctor, settling himself in an attitude. Mr. Linden surveyed him from head to foot.
"I perceive indeed that you are One and Somewhat!" he said,—"you still need 'the four azure chains.' Do you need explanations too?"
"If you'll be so good!" said the doctor. "Or—ha! you don't meanthat, do you?"