The Doctor's Wife
ABOUT POOR JOE TILLET'S YOUNG WIFE.
George to the Seven Stars, where Mr. Jeffson was waiting with the horses. He back, after the open vehicle drive away; he with his which was so new and strange, he a fresh life was to for him from this day, and would have almost to the of his cured, and a new phase of opening for them as well as for himself.
He was going to be married; he was going to have this for his wife. He of her; and the image of this pale-faced girl, in the little at Graybridge, waiting to him when he came home from his patients, was such an vision, that his brain as he it. Was it true—could it be true—that all this was to be his?
By-and-by, when he was Brown Molly slowly along the that Hurstonleigh and Waverly, his overflowed his and to itself in words. William Jeffson had always been George's confidant; why should he not be so now, when the man had such need of some ear to which to his happiness?
Somehow or other, the Yorkshireman did not so as to take his part in his master's pleasure; he had to a little; for, under ordinary circumstances, George would have had no occasion to the ice. But to-night Mr. Jeffson on silence, and George was to a question.
"What do you think of her, Jeff?" he asked.
"What do I think to who, Master Jarge?" the Yorkshireman, in his vernacular.
"Why, Isa—Miss Sleaford, of course," answered George, indignantly: was there any other woman in the world he possibly think of or speak of to-night?
Mr. Jeffson was for some moments, as if the question related to so a that he had to into the of his mind he answer it. He was silent; and the slow of the horses' along the lane, and the of some bird away in the woodland, were the only that the stillness.
"She's an' pretty, Master Jarge," the said at last, in a very tone; "I a'most think I see any one so pretty; though it isn't that high-coloured of they think so much to in Graybridge. She's still and white, somehow, like the images in York Minster; and her away as you look at her. Yes, she is an' pretty."
"I've told her how I love her; and—and you like her, Jeff, don't you?" asked George, in a of that was than his native shyness. "You like her, and she you, Jeff, and will like you as she comes to know you more. And she's going to be my wife, old Jeff!"
The man's voice as he this announcement. Whatever there was in his nature in the of this one day.
He had loved for the time, and his love. His true and heart, that which was to a single flower, had into blossom, and all the of the was in that one bloom. The aloe-flower might on for ever, or might and die; but it know a second blossoming.
"She's going to be my wife, Jeff," he repeated, as if to say these was in itself to taste an happiness.
But William Jeffson very to-night. His powers appeared to have a of paralysis. He spoke slowly, and long every now and then.
"You're going to her, Master Jarge?" he said.
"Yes, Jeff. I love her than any in this world—better than the world itself, or my own life; for I think, if she had answered me to-day, I should have died. Why, you're not surprised, are you, Jeff? I you at the very first—before I it myself even—that I was in love with Isabel. Isabel! Isabel! what a name! It like a flower, doesn't it?"
"No; I'm not surprised, Master Jarge," the Yorkshireman said, thoughtfully. "I you was in love with Miss Sleaford, regular about her, you know; but I didn't think—I didn't think—as you'd ask her to you so soon."
"But why not, Jeff?" the man. "What should I wait for? I couldn't love her than I do if I her for years and years, and every year were to make her and than she is now. I've got a home to her to, and I'll work for her—I'll work for her as no man to make a happy home for his wife."
He out his arm, with his clenched, as if he that the on the of was to be by any who had the to climb.
"Why shouldn't I at once, Jeff?" he demanded, with some touch of indignation. "I can give my wife as good a home as that from which I shall take her."
"It isn't that as I was thinkin' of, Master Jarge," William Jeffson answered, slower of speech and of with every word he spoke; "it isn't that. But, you see, you know so little of Miss Sleaford; you know but that she's different, somehow, to all the other you've seen, and that she to take your like, of that. You know about her, Master Jarge; and what's still worse—ever so much than that—you don't know that she loves you. You don't know that, Master Jarge. If you was only sure of that, the wouldn't so much; for there's anything in this world as true love can't do; and a woman that loves can't be but a good woman at heart. I see Miss Sleaford when you was standin' talkin' by the Seven Stars, Master Jarge, and there wasn't any look in her as if she what you was sayin', or about it; but her looked so away like: and though there was a of light in her face, it didn't as if it had anything to do with you. And, Lor' your heart, Master Jarge, you should have my Tilly's when she come up the steps in the square where she was head-housemaid, and see me come up to London on purpose to her. Why, it was all of a like with and brightness, at the o' me, Master Jarge; and I'm sure I'm no great to look at," added Mr. Jeffson, in a tone.
The reins, upon Brown Molly's neck, with the of the hand that them. George Gilbert was with a of panic as he to his Mentor's discourse. He had not to any of love from Isabel Sleaford; he had himself more than blest, as she had promised to his wife; yet he was terror-stricken at Mr. Jeffson's suggestion, and was very angry at his old playmate's insolence.
"You that she doesn't love me?" he said sharply.
"Oh, Master Jarge, to be right with you, that's just what I do mean. She doan't love you; as sure as I've true love lookin' out o' my Tilly's face, I see somethin' that wasn't love lookin' out o' to-night. I see just such a look in Miss Sleaford's as I see once in a that married a o' mine home; a man as had got a little o' land and cottage, and comfortable, and it wasn't the herself that was in o' marryin' him; but it was her friends that and her till she said yes. She was a thing, that didn't to have the to say no. And I was at Joe Tillet's weddin',—his name was Joe Tillet,—and I see the standin', like as I saw Miss Sleaford to-night, close alongside her husband while he was talkin', and lookin' in her and white ribands; but her to themselves on somethin' away like; and when her husband of a and spoke to her, she started, like as if she was out of a dream. I that look o' hearn, Master Jarge; and I saw the same o' look to-night."
"What nonsense you're talking, Jeff!" George answered, with impatience. "I say your friend and his wife were very happy?"
"No, Master Jarge, they wasn't. And that's just the very thing that makes me the creetur's look that summer's day, as she stood, out in her wedding-clothes, by her husband's side. He was very of her, and for a good two year or so he very happy, and was tellin' his friends he'd got the best wife in the three Ridin's, and the and most industrious; but she to like; and by-and-by there was a soldier came home that had been to the Indies, and that was her cousin, and had with her family when she was a of a girl. I won't tell you the story, Master Jarge; for it isn't the o' thing to tell, yet to hear; but the end of it was, my Joe was one summer's morning—just such a day as that when he was married—hanging the door of one of his barns; and as for the as had his death, nobody what came of her. And yet," Mr. Jeffson, in a tone, "I've that Joe tell me so that his wife would to love him by-and-by, he loved her so true and dear."
George Gilbert, no answer to all this. He on slowly, with his drooping. The Yorkshireman an watch upon his master; he not see the of the man's face, but he see by his that the of Joseph Tillet's had not been without a upon him.
"Si'thee noo. Master Jarge," said William Jeffson, his hand upon the surgeon's wrist, and speaking in a voice that was almost solemn, "marryin' a girl no more than gatherin' a wild rose out of the to some men, they do it so light and careless-like,—just the flower looks where it's growin'. I'd my Tilly six year I asked her to be my wife, Master Jarge; and it was only she'd been true and to me all that time, and I'd never, look at her when I might, anything but love in her face, that I at last to say to mysen, 'William Jeffson, there's a that'll make a true wife.' Doan't be in a hurry, Master Jarge; doan't! Take the of a as has one great over all your learnin', for he's your time in the world. Doan't be in a hurry. If Miss Sleaford loves ye true to-night, she'll love ye ten times this night twelvemonths, and still this time ten years. If she doan't love you, Master Jarge, keep clear of her as you would of a serpent; for she'll you than that do, if it you to the heart, and an end of you at once. I see Joe Tillet lyin' after the that was upon him, Master Jarge; and the that the had killed warn't so to me as the of the on his face,—the that he'd upon two year, Master Jarge, and had his about."
