The Doctor's Wife
THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT CHANGE.
George Gilbert was something more than "knocked up." There had been a great of the of Graybridge and the villages lately—a fever, which over the narrow and little of like a black cloud; and the surgeon, early and late, to when his work was hottest, to every of temperature at all times, for long hours, and setting at those very of health, it was his to other people, had paid the common to which all of his are, more or less, subject. George Gilbert had a touch of the fever. Mr. Pawlkatt senior called early on Monday morning,—summoned by Isabel, who was a to sickness, and was at the of the malady,—and spoke of his rival's very lightly, as a "touch of the fever."
"I always said it was infectious," he remarked; "but your husband would have it that it wasn't. It was all the of dirty habits, and low living, he said, and not any special and in the air. Well, fellow, he now who is right. You must keep him very quiet. Give him a little toast-and-water, and the lime-draughts I shall send you," and Mr. Pawlkatt on to give all necessary about the invalid.
Unhappily for the patient, it was not the in the world to keep him quiet. There was not so much in George Gilbert, according to any or standard; but there was a great in him, when you came to measure him by the of duty. He was "thorough;" and in his own way he was very of his profession. He was to those Midlandshire peasants, it had been his to from his until now. Never had he what it was to have a day's illness; and he not Isabel at work near the window, with the in at the of the dark that had been up to out the day;—he not there, while there were mothers of children, and of husbands, waiting for and from his lips. True, Mr. Pawlkatt had promised to to George's patients; but then, unhappily, George did not in Mr. Pawlkatt.—the two surgeons' views were in every way opposed,—and the idea of Mr. Pawlkatt the people in the lanes, and with on the opportunity of his rival's treatment, was almost to than the of the same being unattended. And, this, Mr. Gilbert, so while other people were concerned, was not the best possible judge of his own case; and he would not to that he had the fever.
"I say Pawlkatt to see me by the here, Izzie," he said to his wife, "while he goes with my patients, and his old-fashioned to bear. He'll up the little of all those in the lanes, I say; and make the rooms more than they have been by the builder. He'll the into out every of fresh air, and then take every of away from those by his treatment. Dr. Robert James Graves said he only wanted three for his epitaph, and those were, 'HE FED FEVERS.' Pawlkatt will be for these in the lanes. It's no use talking, my dear; I'm a little up, but I've no more about me than you have, and I shall go out this evening. I shall go and see those people. There's a woman in the the church, a widow, with three children ill; and she to in me, creature, as if I was Providence itself. I can't the look she gave me yesterday, when she on the of her hovel, me to save her children, as if she it rested with me to save them. I can't her look, Izzie. It me all last night, when I about; for I was too to sleep, somehow or other. And when I think of Pawlkatt his those children's throats, I—I tell you it's no use, my dear; I'll take a cup of tea, and then up and dress."
It was in that Isabel pleaded; in that she to her Mrs. Jeffson, the and outspoken, who that it would be nothing of self-murder if Mr. Gilbert on going out that evening; in the threat of Mr. Pawlkatt. George was resolute; these people always are resolute, not to say obstinate. It is your animated, impetuous, who can be by a from the or purpose they have most to accomplish. Mr. Gilbert put all in the possible manner. He was a medical man, and he was surely the best judge of his own health. He was wanted among his patients, and he must go. Isabel and Mrs. Jeffson retired in to prepare the tea, which was to the for his evening's work. George came down-stairs an hour afterwards, looking, not ill, or weak; but at once and haggard.
"There's nothing the with me, my dear Izzie," he said, as his wife him to the door; "I'm only done up by very hard work. I and in my limbs, as if I'd cold somehow or other. I was out all day in the wet, last week, you know; but there's nothing in that. I shall just look in at those people at Briargate, and come by the lanes; and then an hour or so in the will my work, and I shall be able to a good night's rest. I must have an assistant, my dear. The population very thick about Graybridge; and unless some one takes on the people, and about some in the places they live in, we may look for of fever."
He out at the little gate, and Isabel him going along the lane. He walked a little slower than usual, and that was all. She him with a on her face. There was no possible phase of by which she have been to love him; but she that he was good, she that there was something in what he was doing to-night,—this visiting of people. It was not the of she had in the of her choice; but it was good; and she her husband a little, in a manner,—as she might have a very grandfather, had she to such a relative. She was trying to be good, remember; and all the of her nature had been by George's illness. He was a much more person and in a room, and his with vinegar-and-water, than when in the full of health and clumsiness.
Mr. Pawlkatt came in for his second visit an hour after George had left the house. He was very angry when he was told what had happened, and upon his patient's imprudence.
"I sent my son your husband's patients," he said, "and I must say, I am a little by the want of in me which Mr. Gilbert's exhibits."
Isabel was too much by all manner of to be able to do much the of Mr. Pawlkatt's indignation. That away with his full of against the practitioner.
"If your husband's well to go about his patients, he can't want me, Mrs. Gilbert," he said, as Isabel opened the gate for him; "but if you him much worse, as you are very likely to do after his most conduct, you know where to send for me. I shall not come again till I'm sent for. Good night."
Isabel as she the gate upon the surgeon. The world to her full of trouble just now. Roland Lansdell was angry with her. Ah! what anger and had been in his in the church yesterday! George was ill, and on making himself worse, as it seemed; a Person—the person of all others the Doctor's Wife most feared—had as it were from the clouds into Midlandshire; and here, added to all this trouble, was Mr. Pawlkatt and offended. She did not go at once; the house and in the dusk. She by the gate, looking over the top of the rails at the lane,—the lane, of she was so very tired. She was sorry for her husband now that he was ill. It was her nature to love and every weak thing in creation. The same of that she had long ago for a kitten, or a bird, or a of the looking at her with great eyes, her now, as she of George Gilbert. Out of the blank into which he had melted long ago at Roland Lansdell's advent, he now, and palpable, as a who wanted and affection.
"Is he very ill?" she wondered. "He says himself that he is not: and he is much than Mr. Pawlkatt."
She looked out into the lane, for her husband's coming. Two or three people slowly by at intervals; and at last, when it was dark, the of a boy, a country-built lad, out of the obscurity.
"Be this Muster Gilbert's the doctor's?" he asked of Isabel. "Yes; do you want him?"
"I doan't want him; but I've got a for his wife, from a man that's up at our place. Be you she?"
"Yes; give me the letter," answered Isabel, her hand over the gate.
She took the from the hand of the boy, who it in a slow manner, and then away. Mrs. Gilbert put the in her pocket, and into the house. The had just been taken into the parlour. The Doctor's Wife seated herself at the little table, and took the from her pocket and it open. It was a very and of epistle, only these words:
"I've quarters, for the nonce, in a little called the Leicester Arms, in Nessborough Hollow, to the left of the Briargate Road. I you know the place; and I shall to see you in the of to-morrow. Don't the of war; and be sure you ask for Captain Morgan.
Yours truly."
There was no signature. The was in a big hand, which had over a of old-fashioned letter-paper; it a riotous, of writing, that in the space and ink.
"How of him to come here!" Isabel, as she the into a little of fragments; "how of him to come! As if I had not already; as if the and had not been and hard to bear."
She rested her on the table, and sat still for some time with her in her hands. Her were very painful; but, for once in a way, they were not to Roland Lansdell; and yet the master of Mordred Priory did in that long reverie. George came in by-and-by, and her in the into which she had after the letter. She had been very about her husband some time ago; but for the last half-hour her had been from him; and she looked up at him confusedly, almost by his coming, as if he had been the last person in the world she to see. Mr. Gilbert did not notice that look of confusion, but into the nearest chair, like a man who himself powerless to go one step farther.
"I'm very ill, Izzie," he said; "it's no use the matter; I am ill. I Pawlkatt is right after all, and I've got a touch of the fever."
"Shall I send for him?" asked Isabel, starting up; "he said I was to send for him if you were worse."
"Not on any account. I know what to do as well as he does. If I should to by-and-by, you can send for him, I say you'd be frightened, girl, and would more with a doctor about me. And now to me, my dear, while I give you a directions; for my like a weight, and I don't think I shall be able to much longer."
The doctor to give his wife all necessary for the of infection. She was to have a room prepared for herself immediately; and she was to the room in which he was to lie, in such and such a manner. As for any upon himself, that would be Mrs. Jeffson's task.
"I don't the is infectious," Mr. Gilbert said; "I've it from the same that give it to the people: hard work, to weather, and the air of the places I have to visit. Still we can't be too careful. You'd keep away from my room as much as possible, Izzie; and let Mrs. Jeffson look after me. She's a strong-minded of a woman, who wouldn't be likely to catch a fever, she'd be the last in the world to trouble her about the of it."
But Isabel that she herself would wait upon her husband. Was she not trying to be good; and did not all Mr. Colborne's self-sacrifice and compassion, and pity? The popular of Hurstonleigh was the of teacher that some people would have a sentimentalist; but his tender, had a which surely to the and of a preacher. In of Austin Colborne's in an and region this earth, he did not look upon the world as a wilderness, in which Providence people to be miserable. He might in it a place of probation, a of school, in which very small were of and scholars, a future: but he did not it a Dotheboys Hall, over by a Providence after the model of Mr. Squeers. He looked into the of four who some eighteen centuries ago; and in those pages he saw no possible for the view of life by many of his compeers. He in those a that opened like an idyl; he of a life in which there were marriage and gatherings, social and happy Sabbath through paths the corn; he pure no against the of Heaven, and love not as an of the creature, but for ever, by two miracles, that records of a love so as to be omnipotent, so as to the laws of the in for weak sorrow.
Mr. Pawlkatt was to his rival's early on the morning. George's case was out of his own hands by this time; for he had much in the night, and was to submit to people pleased to do to him. He was very ill. Isabel sat in the half-darkened room, sometimes reading, sometimes in the light that through the curtain, sometimes very in thought—painful and thought. Mr. Gilbert was all through the day, as he had been all through the night, from to side, and now and then half-suppressed that his wife's heart. She was very foolish—she had been very wicked—but there was a of in that and breast; and I if George Gilbert was not more by his weak wife than he have been by a strong-minded helpmate, who would have any in Mr. Lansdell's by one from her eyes. The Doctor's Wife a for the man who, after his own matter-of-fact fashion, had been very good to her.
"He has never, been to me, as my step-mother used to be," she thought; "he married me without who I was, and asked any questions; and now, if he knew, I think he would have upon me and me."
She sat looking at her husband with an in her eyes. It as if she wanted to say something to him, but the to approach the subject. He was very ill; it was no time to make any to him. He had been in the night, and had that Mr. Pawlkatt was present, at an hour when that was in his own bed. Isabel had been to keep her husband as as it was possible for an active man, newly by some unlooked-for malady, to be kept. No; she might have to say to him must be left for the present. Whatever help he might, under ordinary circumstances, have her, he was powerless to give her now.
The day in that long. Not Isabel any selfish of her task; she was only too to be of use to the man she had so wronged; she was only too to do something,—something that Mr. Colborne himself might approve,—as an for her sin. But she was to sickness; and, being of a hyper-sensitive nature, at the of any whatever. If the was restless, she directly that he was worse—much worse—in danger, perhaps: if he a little in his talk sleeping and waking, she sat with his hands in hers, from to foot: if he into a slumber, she was with a terror, him quiet, and was to him, in her he should be into some lethargy.
The Doctor's Wife was not one of those excellent who can settle themselves with in a room, and the occasion by the of a whole of stockings, for some such opportunity. She was not a nurse who accept the of her position in a way, and off each as as a in a banking-house the work to him. Yet she was very withal,—soft of foot, gentle-handed, tender; and George was pleased to see her in the room, when he his a little now and then; he was pleased in a of way to take his medicine from her hand,—the little white hand with fingers,—the hand he had as it on the moss-grown of the in Hurstonleigh on the when he asked her to be his wife.
Mrs. Gilbert sat all day in her husband's room; but about five in the George into a slumber, in which Mr. Pawlkatt him at a little after six o'clock. Nothing be than that sleep, the said; and when he was gone, Mrs. Jeffson, who had been in the room for some time, to be of use to her master, that Isabel should go down-stairs and out into the garden to a of fresh air.
"You must be a'most stifled, I should think, all day in this room," Tilly said, compassionately. Mrs. Gilbert's all over, as she answered in a timid, way:
"Yes; I should like to go down-stairs a little, if you think that George is sure to sleep for a long time; and I know you'll take good of him. I want to go out somewhere—not very far; but I must go to-night."
The Doctor's Wife sat with her to the light; and Mrs. Jeffson did not see that of that into her face, and faded, as she said this; but George Gilbert's gave a of notwithstanding.
"I should have if you was the that was, you'd have at home while your husband was ill, Mrs. Gilbert," she said, sharply; "but of you know your own best."
"I'm not going far; only—only a little way on the Briargate Road," Isabel answered, piteously; and then her against the her, and she a plaintive, almost heart-broken sigh. Her life was very hard just now,—hard and difficult,—begirt with terror and peril, as she thought.
She put on her and shawl—the and she possessed. Mrs. Jeffson her, as she the old-fashioned looking-glass, and that she did not take the trouble to the which she pushed under her bonnet. "She can't be going to meet him in that plight, anyhow," Matilda, by the of her mistress's toilette. She the and looked out of the window as the garden-gate closed on Isabel, and she saw the Doctor's Wife away with her over her face. There was some of about this evening's walk: something that the Yorkshirewoman's mind with disquietude.
The "touch of the fever," to so by Mr. Pawlkatt, out to be a great more in its nature than either he or George Gilbert had anticipated. The week came to an end, and the was still a in the room in which his father and mother had died. It a long time now since he had been active and vigorous, going about his work all day, mixing in the surgery, and into the at times to eat of food. Now that he was so weak, and that it was a for when he took a of of beef-tea, Isabel's her as she how she had him of his healthy appetite; with what she had him when he ate slices of meat, and up the last of the goriest-looking with great pieces of bread. He had been for only a week, and yet already it a normal of for him to be in that chamber, and uneasy, all through the long day. The of the doctor's health was common talk in Graybridge; as common a for people's as the of the weather, or the progress of the green in the the little town. All manner of discreditable-looking came every day to the door to after the surgeon's health; and away and lamenting, when they were told that he daily worse. Mrs. Gilbert, going to answer these people's questions, for the time how much he was beloved; he who had not one of the of a hero. She sometimes it might not be to wear thick boots, and go about doing good, than to be a used-up wanderer, with white hands, and, oh, such over an instep. She was trying to be good herself now—pleased and by Mr. Colborne's teaching as by some newly-discovered romance—she wanted to be good, and how to set about the task; and, behold, here was the man she had so and despised, above her in the region she had entered. But was her to Roland Lansdell at the new she had for herself? Ah, no; she very hard to do her duty; but the old still its place in her heart. She was like some newly to Christianity, and yet a love and for the old deities, too and to be off all at once.
The week came to an end, and still Mr. Pawlkatt came twice a day to visit his patient; and still he gave very much the same to the who waited on George Gilbert. He was to be very quiet; he was to continue the medicine; all the old were to be observed.
Throughout her husband's illness, Isabel had taken very little rest; though Mr. and Mrs. Jeffson would have watch alternately with her in the room, and were a little when therefrom. But Mrs. Gilbert wanted to be good; the the was, the more did she it. Very often, alone in that room, she sat through the hours of the night.
During all those did any enter her mind? did she think that she might be free to Roland Lansdell if the surgeon's should fatally? Never—never once did such a dark and enter the regions of her imagination. Do not that she had been a woman she must necessarily be a woman. Again and again, on her by her husband's bed, she that his life might be spared. She had death, and her from the of that presence. A whole after-life of not have to her for the one of a come upon the familiar face. Sometimes, in of herself, though she put away the from her with horror, the idea that George Gilbert might not would come into her mind. He might not recover: the which so many others had passed through might overtake her. Oh, the of the undertaker's men upon the stairs; the knocking, all other knocking; the of the house! If—if any such came upon her, Mrs. Gilbert that she would join some of women, and go about doing good until she died.
Was it so very strange, this conversion? Surely not! In these natures may take any form. It is a question a Madame de Chantal shall to a St. Francis de Sales, or her for the of an lover.
