Dr. Amboyne mounted the stair and knocked at the door. A soft and mellow voice bade him enter. He went in, and a tall lady in black, with plain linen collar and wristbands, rose to receive him. They confronted each other. Time and trouble had left their trace, but there were the glorious eyes, and jet black hair, and the face, worn and pensive, but still beautiful. It was the woman he had loved, the only one.
"Mrs. Little!" said he, in an indescribable tone.
"Dr. Amboyne!"
For a few moments he forgot the task he had undertaken; and could only express his astonishment and pleasure at seeing her once more.
Then he remembered why he was there; and the office he had undertaken so lightly alarmed him now.
His first instinct was to gain time. Accordingly, he began to chide her gently for having resided in the town and concealed it from him; then, seeing her confused and uncomfortable at that reproach, and in the mood to be relieved by any change of topic, he glided off, with no little address, as follows:--"Observe the consequences: here have I been most despotically rusticating a youth who turns out to be your son."
"My son! is there any thing the matter with my son? Oh, Dr. Amboyne!"
"He must have been out of sorts, you know, or he would not have consulted me," replied the doctor, affecting candor.
"Consult! Why, what has happened? He was quite well when he left me this morning."
"I doubt that. He complained of headache and fever. But I soon found his MIND was worried. A misunderstanding with the trades! I was very much pleased with his face and manner; my carriage was at the door; his pulse was high, but there was nothing that country air and quiet will not restore. So I just drove him away, and landed him in a farm-house."
Mrs. Little's brow flushed at this. She was angry. But, in a nature so gentle as hers, anger soon gave way. She turned a glance of tearful and eloquent reproach on Dr. Amboyne. "The first time we have ever been separated since he was born," said she, with a sigh.
Dr. Amboyne's preconceived plan broke down that moment. He said, hurriedly, "Take my carriage, and drive to him. Better do that than torment yourself."
"Where is he?" asked the widow, brightening up at the proposal.
"At Cairnhope."
At this word, Mrs. Little's face betrayed a series of emotions: first confusion, then astonishment, and at last a sort of superstitious alarm. "At Cairnhope?" she faltered at last, "My son at Cairnhope?"
"Pray do not torment yourself with fancies," said the doctor. "All this is the merest accident--the ******st thing in the world. I cured Patty Dence of diphtheria, when it decimated the village. She and her family are grateful; the air of Cairnhope has a magic effect on people who live in smoke, and Martha and Jael let me send them out an invalid now and then to be reinvigorated. I took this young man there, not knowing who he was. Go to him, if you like. But, frankly, as his physician, I would rather you did not. Never do a wise thing by halves. He ought to be entirely separated from all his cares, even from yourself (who are doubtless one of them), for five or six days. He needs no other medicine but that and the fine air of Cairnhope."
"Then somebody must see him every day, and tell me. Oh! Dr. Amboyne, this is the beginning: what will the end be? I am miserable."
"My man shall ride there every day, and see him, and bring you back a letter from him."
"Your man!" said Mrs. Little, a little haughtily.
Dr. Amboyne met her glance. "If there was any ground for alarm, should I not go myself every day?" said he, gravely, and even tenderly.
"Forgive me," said the widow, and gave him her hand with a sweet and womanly gesture.
The main difficulty was now got over; and Dr. Amboyne was careful not to say too much, for he knew that his tongue moved among pitfalls.
As Dr. Amboyne descended the stairs, the landlady held a door ajar, and peeped at him, according to a custom of such delicate-minded females as can neither restrain their curiosity nor indulge it openly. Dr. Amboyne beckoned to her, and asked for a private interview. This was promptly accorded.
"Would ten guineas be of any service to you, madam?"
"Eh, dear, that it would, sir. Why, my rent is just coming due."
Under these circumstances, the bargain was soon struck. Not a syllable about the explosion at Cheetham's was to reach the second floor lodger's ears, and no Hillsborough journal was to mount the stairs until the young man's return. If inquired for, they were to be reported all sold out, and a London journal purchased instead.
Having secured a keen and watchful ally in this good woman, who, to do her justice, showed a hearty determination to earn her ten guineas, Dr. Amboyne returned home, his own philosophic pulse beating faster than it had done for some years.
He had left Mrs. Little grateful, and, apparently, in good spirits; but, ere he had been gone an hour, the bare separation from her son overpowered her, and a host of vague misgivings tortured her, and she slept but little that night. By noon next day she was thoroughly miserable; but Dr. Amboyne's man rode up to the door in the afternoon with a cheerful line from Henry.
"All right, dear mother. Better already. Letter by post.
"Henry."
She detained the man, and made up a packet of things for Cairnhope, and gave him five shillings to be sure and take them.
This was followed by a correspondence, a portion of which will suffice to eke out the narrative.
"DEAREST MOTHER,--I slept ill last night, and got up aching from head to foot, as if I had been well hided. But they sent me to the top of Cairnhope Peak, and, what with the keen air and the glorious view, I came home and ate like a hog. That pleased Martha Dence, and she kept putting me slices off her own plate, till I had to cry quarter. As soon as I have addressed this letter, I'm off to bed, for it is all I can do not to fall asleep sitting.
"I am safe to be all right to-morrow, so pray don't fret. I am, dear mother," etc., etc.
