CHAPTER X.
A CHORD OF MEMORY.
Of his own choice, Doctor Rupert would have preferred any other work than this—to labor among the poor demented souls at Weston, some of them pitiable, some amusing, only a few, as in the case of little Eva, interesting.
He ached to the core of his heart with yearning sympathy for the unfortunates, but not for all his pain would he desert his self-appointed task of watching over hapless Eva, whose wretched lot was cast among these lunatics.
He found that Doctor Bertrand, the earnest young woman physician, and Doctor Merry, his other colleague, ably seconded him in every effort to alleviate the sadness of her fate.
Flowers were at first given her, rousing a faint interest and pleasure. She would keep them in her hands until they faded and more were brought, brooding over them with tender eyes.
Then they brought her novels and books of poetry. But it was some time before Eva showed any interest in these. The sweet flowers pleased her better.
Doctor Rupert remembered the roses that had grown in the front yard at Stony Ledge, with other homely vines and flowers dear to rural hearts—old-fashionedpinks and sweet lady-fingers, and hyacinths and bleeding-hearts, and many others that he had seen the fair golden head bending over as he rode by to tend his patients. His heart swelled with pain as he thought she would never be there again in the old home she had loved so well.
He would have been willing to lay down his life to convince the world of Eva’s innocence and purity, so that her grandfather would have taken her back to his heart again.
But he knew that if he went back to-morrow, and reiterated the story he had told to Eva—that he had been sent there by a pretense that she was ill—every one would laugh him to scorn.
But old Doctor Binks, on getting over his spree, plainly remembered sending Doctor Ludington to see his patient, and said so. Nay, more: He had sternly accused Dan Ellis of bringing him the hurry call to Eva’s bedside.
The frightened chore boy, acting under instructions from the twins, flatly denied the charge. He swore he had never been near the office of the drunken old doctor that night, and proved an alibi by the gang of neighborhood boys who had helped him in his mischievous Hallowe’en pranks.
He succeeded in convincing every one that Doctor Binks was mistaken—every one, at least, but the old man himself, who was quite sure of his facts, and horrified by the tragedy, raged at the liar, and startedout to have his life for the falsehoods that made it impossible to clear little Eva’s name from obloquy.
Dan being warned in time of his murderous intentions, fled from the neighborhood, and it knew him no more for many a long day, while justice slumbered.
So Doctor Rupert knew too well how futile would be a crusade at present in Eva’s defense, for he realized that there was more behind the scenes than he at first suspected.
He did not doubt the truth of Doctor Binks’ accusation against the stupid Dan Ellis; he only wondered why he had denied it and fled from the doctor’s wrath.
There was a mystery in that flight that Doctor Rupert said to himself grimly would bear investigation when he could find time.
But first in his thoughts was the duty of restoring Eva’s reason. To that task he bent himself with ardor all the more eager because it had to be concealed.
But he had stirred such a zeal in Doctor Bertrand that in her capacity of a sister woman she could approach Eva oftener and show her more kindness than he dared to do.
This keen sympathy of her anxious friends seemed to surround Eva with an atmosphere of love and good will, through which the light of reason began to penetrate to her bewildered mind. Now and then she had a shy, sweet smile for the woman doctor; now and then she offered a light caress, and presently she began to open the books that were given her, and staredreamily at the illustrations. She ceased chanting her soul-piercing melancholy songs, and talked to herself instead, sometimes like a little child at play.
One day Doctor Rupert, pausing at a little distance to watch her, while he seemed to be busy with another patient, saw her pick up a paper that had fallen from her book and open it with trembling fingers.
He was close enough to see that the unfolded sheet had some verses written on it in a large, masculine hand, and he glanced curiously at Eva’s face.
It was startling, the flash of joyous comprehension that changed her face like lightning from its dull blank of indifference, as her great sombre dark eyes ran over the verses.
“What has happened to little Eva? She looks brighter—almost sane! Has she a letter?” asked Doctor Bertrand, coming up to Rupert.
He answered huskily:
“In one of the novels I brought her I must have left a copy of some verses I had written, for she seems to be reading them.”
They moved a little closer, and she looked up at them with a smile of childlike confidence and joy, exclaiming eagerly:
“See, my poet-lover has sent me some more of his sweet verses!”
It was the first comprehensive sentence she had uttered since coming to the asylum, nearly four months before.
They could not answer for surprise, and Eva added, with gentle happiness:
“Now I know that my unknown lover is not dead. It is so long—so long—since he sent me my tokens of his love that I thought he was dead.”
“My dear Eva!” Doctor Bertrand cried, with tender sympathy, and catching hold of her hand, Eva continued:
“Many times I have looked on the window sill at dawn for the tokens he used to leave there—the wildflowers with the dew on their fragrant petals, the boxes of candy, the poetry books, and, sweetest of all the dear poems in praise of me that thrilled my heart with joy in every word. Do you remember how jealous and angry the twins were when I first told them about my splendid unknown lover?” She stopped and pressed her lips to the paper in her hand, thrilling one heart to a secret, inexpressible ecstasy.
“How wonderful! She seems almost sane. She has never talked as much as that to any one here before. I am glad you left your verses in the book. They seem to have struck some vibrating chord in her fancy. Can it be fancy, or a reality?” Doctor Bertrand murmured excitedly to her companion, who answered with gleaming eyes:
“It is hard to tell!”
He felt like breaking down and confessing all his secret to the sympathetic woman at his side, but prudence restrained his confidence.
She might laugh at him, and in his present nervous tension he could not bear it.
He had tried an experiment, and it had succeeded beyond all his hopes. He gazed at Eva longingly, trying to keep the sparkling lovelight out of his face.
Doctor Bertrand actually stooped and kissed the mad girl’s smiling face, carried out of her usual self-possessed pose by true, womanly sympathy; but she did not guess how Doctor Rupert envied the caress, and she said tenderly:
“I am glad your lover has written to you at last, Eva, and I hope you will get another letter to-morrow.”
“I shall be sure to look again on the window sill,” answered the happy girl; then she would not take any more notice of them, nor answer a word. She sat dreaming over the verses all day, with a tender, wistful light in her great dark eyes, as if trying to piece together some scattered links of memory.
As they turned away Doctor Rupert said, low and earnestly:
“The incident turned out so happily, would it be wise to repeat it?”
“By all means try it again. But let me have the verses, and I will humor her fancy by placing them on her window sill. I declare I am quite excited and hopeful. What if we have stumbled on the key to unlock her darkened mind to the light of reason?”
“God grant it!” Doctor Rupert replied earnestly,and he worked as well as prayed for the result he wished, having the verses ready each day, with other tokens that Doctor Bertrand always placed on the casement, ready for Eva’s eager waking eyes.
It was a unique way to cure insanity, but it was certainly succeeding. Eva improved so rapidly that the aberration of her mind was almost cured.
She took delight in the tokens of a lover’s kindness that came to her hands each day, and from her first childish confidences she relapsed into maidenly shyness, keeping her verses sacredly to herself, though she generously shared her sweets with all.
“This is very encouraging. We can soon discharge the young girl as cured,” said the superintendent cheerfully, but one bright morning they had an unpleasant shock of surprise.
Eva Somerville was missing from the asylum!