The Doctor's Wife
ROLAND SAYS, "AMEN."
Isabel had met Mr. Lansdell on Thursday; and by Saturday night all her were made, and the white dress, and a white to match it, were in the hands of Mrs. Jeffson, who was to them up in the of clear-starching. The had done a great deal. Isabel had a new for her and a pair of straw-coloured gloves, and all manner of small necessary to the female upon occasions. And now that was done, the time Saturday night and Tuesday all them,—a blank, that must be somehow or other. I should be to say how very little of the Rector's Isabel on Sunday morning. She was of Mordred Priory all the time she was in church, and the that Mr. Lansdell would say to her, and the that she would make. She it all, as was her to do.
And on this Sunday, this day of and repose, when there was no of the in the corn-fields, and only the slow drip, drip, of the from the mill-wheel at Thurston's Crag, Roland Lansdell all day in the library at Mordred Priory, reading a little, a little, and a great deal. What should he do with himself? That was the question which this man himself very often called upon to decide. He would stop at Mordred till he was of Mordred, and then he would go to Paris; and when he was of that city, best had to him, he would go Rhine-ward, over all the old ground again, all the old people. Ten years is a very long time when you have fifteen thousand a year and nothing particular to do with or your money. Roland Lansdell had used up all the of Europe; and the that so to other men were to him as that has and in the on a banquet-table.
He sat to-day in the great window of the library—a deeply-embayed Tudor window, out upon a terrace, along a slowly in the sunshine. There were books on either of the window; solid of soberly-bound volumes, that from to on every of the room; for the Lansdells had been a and book-learned time out of mind, and the library at Mordred was of its name.
There was only one picture—a portrait by Rembrandt, in a border of oak—above the high chimney-piece; a face, with that you you went; a face, with the by the of a steeple-crowned hat.
In the dark of that there was some to the of the man in the sunny window this afternoon, and pondering, and looking up now and then to call to the on the balustrade.
Beyond that there was a domain, away by a wall; a ivy-mantled wall, every here and there with buttresses; a that had been in the days when William of Normandy his with the lands of his newly-conquered realm. Beyond that old the square of the village church, with the part of Mordred Priory. The were in the now, and the of them Roland Lansdell as he in the open window.
"Only thirty years of age," he thought; "and how long it since I sat on my mother's in the shadowy, old yonder, and the vicar's voice under the sounding-board above our heads! Thirty years—thirty profitless, years; and there is not a in the fields, or a shock-headed country that earns a day by to the the corn, that is not of more use to his fellow-creatures than I am. I though, at the worst, I'm good for trade. And I try my best not to do any harm—Heaven I don't want to do any harm."
It must have been a of ideas that at this moment Mr. Lansdell to think of that meeting with the doctor's dark-eyed wife under the of Lord Thurston's oak.
"She's a creature," he thought; "a pretty, inexperienced, little creature. Just the of woman that a or a roué would try to and entangle. There's something in all that talk about Byron and Shelley. 'What a he was drowned!' and 'Oh, if he had only for Greece, and been victorious, like Leonidas, you know,'—poor little thing! I wonder how much she about Leonidas?—'how that would have been! but, oh, to think that he should have a fever—a just such as kills common people—and die, just when he had proved himself so great and noble!' It's the thing to all these school-girl the brain of a woman who ought to be the most practical person in Graybridge,—a surgeon's wife, who should not, according to the of things, have an idea above and camomile-tea and gruel. How she will open her when she sees this room; and all the books in it! Poor little thing! I shall what a picture she under the oak, with the of the great her, and the water in the foreground."
And then Mr. Lansdell's ideas, which this afternoon, off abruptly. "I I may do any harm," he thought. "I am not a good man or a useful man; but I don't think I have done much harm."
He another cigar, and out upon the terrace, and from the to the great stable-yard. Upon one of the there was a way that had once been a cloister; and I to say that the in which the of Mordred had once their slow days and nights now did as loose-boxes for Mr. Lansdell's hunters. Openings had been through the walls; for are more socially-disposed than monks, and are to and if of with their kind. Roland into three or four of the boxes, and looked at the horses, and for the time when the season should and Midlandshire might be tolerable.
"I want occupation," he thought, "physical wear and tear, and all that of thing. I let my mind upon all manner of for want of occupation."
He and away his cigar, and across the the open window of a harness-room, at which a man was in his shirt-sleeves, and with a Sunday paper him.
"You may the Diver in half-an-hour, Christie," said Mr. Lansdell; "I shall over to Conventford this afternoon."
"Yes, sir."
Roland Lansdell did to Conventford; his into Waverly, to the of the townspeople, who looked up from their tea-tables half-scared at the of the upon the pavement; and then at a foot-pace all along the which in from Waverly to Conventford. The of this town were with gaily-dressed factory-girls, and the from three were in the air. Mr. Lansdell very slowly, of "all manner of things" as he along; and he entered Mr. Raymond's drawing-room at Oakbank just in time to catch that tea with the orphans.
Of Roland had that his friend at an early hour on Sundays, and he had come to dine; but it wasn't of the least consequence, he would have some tea; yes, and cold beef, by all means, if there was cold beef.
A side-table was for him, and a great was in. But Mr. Lansdell did not make much with the joint. He and Mr. Raymond had a good to say to each other: and Mr. Lansdell took very to the orphans, and asked them a good many questions about their and their present governess, who was a native of Conventford, and had gone out that to drink tea with her friends: and then, somehow or other, the on to their late governess, Isabel Sleaford, and the had a great to say about her. She was so nice, and she told them such things: "Eugene Aram" and the "Giaour"—how Black Hassan was to tie his "sister" up in a and her, he didn't wish her to the Giaour! Miss Sleaford had the in to the of her pupils. Yes, the ladies said, they loved Miss Sleaford dearly. She was so nice; and sometimes, at night, when they her very, very hard, she would ACT (the this last word in an whisper); and, oh, that was beautiful! She would do Hamlet and the Ghost: when she one way, with a black over her shoulder, she was Hamlet; when she the other way, with a ruler in her hand, she was the Ghost. And she the Ghost so beautifully, that sometimes they were frightened, and wouldn't go the schoolroom-door without a candle, and somebody's hand to hold—tight.
And then Mr. Raymond laughed, and told Roland what he of Isabel, and otherwise.
"Poor little thing! I think there must be something sad about the of her early life," he said; "for she so from all to it. It's the old story, I suppose,—an step-mother and an home. Under these circumstances, I was very to see her married to a well-disposed, honest-hearted man."
"She was very of Mr. Gilbert, I suppose,—very much in love with him?" said Roland, after a little pause.
"In love with him! not a of it. She was very of him, I say—not in the manner in which she about her and her heroes; but she has every to be of him as a protector and a good friend."
Mr. Raymond looked up suddenly, and his upon the of his kinsman. But it was by this time; and in the light of the room Charles Raymond not see the of Roland's face; he only see the of his head, which a little forward, supported by his hand.
"I my voice to the about of Isabel Gilbert's marriage," Mr. Raymond said, slowly; "and God that no man may be or to himself these two!"
"Amen!" answered Roland Lansdell, in a voice.
And then he walked to the window and looked out into the garden, above which the moon had newly arisen.
"If I have in that of a life, that for all the and mistakes of this world, what a good man I might have been!" he thought, as he there looking out, with his arm upon the sash, and his upon his arm.
