The Doctor's Daughter

BY

CATHARINE SHAW

Author of "The Gabled Farm," "Nellie Arundel," "In the Sunlight," "At Last," &c., &c.

JOHN F. SHAW & CO., LTD.

3 PILGRIM STREET LUDGATE HILL, LONDON, E.C.4

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I. LONELY

II. ARTHUR ARUNDEL

III. SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR

IV. THE LETTER THAT WAS POSTED

V. A CHAIN

VI. MARY

VII. IN THE SUNLIGHT

VIII. THE BAY WINDOW

IX. PROUD

X. THE HARDEST THING

XI. THE ARRIVAL

XII. THE LOST LETTER

XIII. AN ANGRY ELEPHANT

XIV. A DREAM

XV. AT RIVERSIDE

XVI. INVADED

XVII. AT THE FARM

XVIII. NORMAN'S SUPPER

XIX. CONFIDENCES

XX. A PRESENT

XXI. ON THE DOORSTEP

XXII. HOUSEKEEPING

XXIII. A PARTING

XXIV. GOOD NEWS

XXV. DISMAY.

XXVI. INTERRUPTED

XXVII. BY THE WINDOW

XXVIII. A SUNSET

XXIX. MALA

XXX. DR. BROWN'S PLAN

XXXI. THE HOUSE IN THE TREES

XXXII. A LARGE FAMILY

XXXIII. IN THE SHADED ROOM

THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER. ———

CHAPTER I.

LONELY.

"WELL, my dear!" said a quick, rather pleasant voice. "Here you are!"

"Yes, father, always here," answered another voice, as a young girl emerged from behind the curtains of the bay window, where she had been standing gazing out on the pretty garden. "What a wet day you have had!"

"Pretty well," he answered, as he came forward to the fire, "but I do not feel it in the carriage as other folks do who have to trudge along in the mud."

"No," she assented, helping him off with his coat and carrying it into the hall; "are you ready for your tea, father?"

"I should think 'you' are," he answered, glancing at the clock. "Such a list of patients as I have had to-day. I thought I should never get through."

"I suppose it is the wet weather," she remarked as she rang the bell. "It is wonderfully cold for April!"

Her father sat down in the armchair she had placed for him, and warmed his hands in a placid way, looking round on his daughter with contented eyes.

"Is Dr. Arundel come, father?"

"Not yet; he arrives this evening. Heigho! I'd sooner have rubbed along by myself, I do believe, than to undertake to get someone else into the work."

"Oh! But, then, see how the work keeps on increasing, and now we live up the hill, it is such a long way from the town. You could not do it all."

He smiled a little. "You know best, don't you?" he said fondly. "Here is the teapot; pour out a cup, there's a dear; I'm weary."

She handed it to him, pressing him with pretty persuasion to take something to eat.

She was a dainty little thing, with wavy hair, small hands and feet, and an engaging manner.

He watched her as she moved quickly and noiselessly about, and then he sighed.

She turned her head quickly.

"Is the tea not good?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, perfectly. Very nice, my dear."

She sat down by his side, with her own cup in her hand, and looked into the fire. She was always disturbed if her father sighed. "I was thinking, Ruth, that it was a mistake to have come up here to live; I wish we had not."

"Then we will go to the town again," she answered decidedly; "it is nothing to move."

"Nothing!" he responded. "That is all you know!"

"Why do you regret it, particularly?" asked Ruth.

"I came up here for your mother's sake, and after all, it did not save her. Nothing could, as far as that went; but I wish I had not moved from the town."

There was an instant's pause.

"Oh, well!" she said brightly. "We can think it over. I like being at The Firs ten times as much as in the old frowsy town, but if you do not, we'll go back there. I love the dear old house! See, your tea is getting cold; let me give you another cup. Perhaps Dr. Arundel's coming will make ever so much difference."

"I should not wonder." Then there was another sigh, and after a moment he asked, "Let me see, how old are you, Ruth?"

"I am seventeen—" she hesitated an instant—"to-morrow."

"To-morrow!" he exclaimed, rousing himself. "Why did no one tell me, or remind me?" Then, with the heaviest sigh he had yet given, he went on, "It was your mother who always thought of these things."

Ruth had privately wondered if he would remember. He was so clever in all outside things. But as long as she was cheerful, and in her place to welcome him, he seemed to think very little about her, or so she thought.

Perhaps she was mistaken. But sometimes when she had finished a long day of pretty ministry to him, and was shut up in her own room at night, she would lay her head in her mother's chair and cry bitterly for the want of she knew not what. Whether it was the lack of mother-love or sympathy, or simple desolateness, she could not tell.

"What would you like me to give you, my dear?" asked her father, turning round abruptly.

And Ruth's thoughts came back to the present.

"I do not know, father," she answered colouring. "Anything you like—or nothing—"

"That is likely, is it not, my precious?" he said fondly. "Well, I must 'cudgel my brains,' as people say; girls are curious creatures. I expect you will have to help me?"

CHAPTER II.

ARTHUR ARUNDEL.

AFTERNOON tea was scarcely over when the telephone bell was heard. And in a few moments, the parlourmaid came in to say the doctor was wanted at once.

"Oh, dear!" said Ruth. "I did hope you would have had a little peace! However, that's the way, isn't it? There's James with the carriage; I expect he and Dobbin have had a cup of tea, too!"

She laughed merrily, and her father, with a hasty kiss, hurried off, and she was again alone.

Presently, after a slight knock, a pleasant elderly person entered and came forward.

"I thought you must be lonely this wet afternoon, Miss Ruth, so I came to see if I could do anything for you."

"No, Morris, I do not think I am. I was just going to practise my violin."

"Master has been down on his way out to ask me what you would like for your birthday present, miss. He's really put about that he has nothing ready. I told him if he'd excuse my saying so, I expect you would like to be consulted better than to have something as a surprise that you did not exactly want."

"Yes," said Ruth, looking up, "that is just what I do feel; but I do not know what my father would like to spend upon it! Do sit down, Morris. Will it be too cold for you with this window open? It has almost left off raining. But see, I will shut it. Can you spare time to have a chat?"

The housekeeper had intended nothing else. When Ruth had no other visitors, she often came up and did her best to pass away some of the long, lonely afternoons.

So she sat down by the window and answered comfortably, "Well, Miss Ruth, if I might suggest, I think it would be a good plan for the master to tell you what he thought of spending, and then for you and me to go to Worcester to-morrow to buy it."

Ruth smiled. "All right," she said: "that would be lovely. But you must tell him, Morris, because if I did—well, it would seem like asking him for a present, would it not?"

It was long past seven before the wheels were heard again, and the carriage came up the drive. Dinner had been kept back, and Ruth had sat with her fancy work, waiting and wondering.

To her astonishment, she heard two voices in the hall, and a great bustle of hanging up coats. Then her father threw open the drawing-room door, and said cheerfully, "Dr. Arundel, my dear! Dr. 'Arthur' Arundel, as he likes to be called. I have brought him to stay with us. I thought it was dull for him in a new place this first evening."

Ruth shook hands, and privately hoped Morris would have arranged enough dinner for three, and that the room was ready.

It came out that her father had driven to meet his new partner at the junction, and thinking it would be but lonely in lodgings that first evening, he had decided to get to know him at once. Ruth was accustomed to chance guests, and took it all calmly, listening to the conversation very quietly, but following it with interest, her bright eyes sparkling at anything that amused her, while her father said a word now and then in a fond, teasing way to include her, but otherwise was absorbed in his guest and his politics.

When dinner was over, Dr. Brown turned to her. "You have your German to prepare, my dear, I expect. We will join you in the drawing-room presently."

Ruth made her escape, and sat down by her little table, and tried to busy herself with her preparation, but she found it hard work. She forgot for a moment about the new partner, and her thoughts flew to her birthday to-morrow, and of this time last year, when she had not been motherless.

It seemed like a dream. She wondered if she had done everything she could to make home happy for her father. Had she done all she could? Morris thought she had, but then Morris could not know how often her father gave those weary sighs. Besides, Morris thought "religion" could ease every care under the sun, and Ruth did not see that; she could not understand it. Her father and she did very well without it, she thought. And even if her mother had been influenced by Morris to think of such things, why, of course, invalids always must, and that was only natural.

She did not know that Morris would have been shocked if she had been told that in Ruth's thoughts what was her joy and comfort could be called "religion!"

"It's just having Christ in your heart and in your life," she would say to herself, as she sat in her sitting-room downstairs, "and I can but pray that they may understand it for themselves; for it is eternal life to them that know Him!"

CHAPTER III.

"SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR."

DR. BROWN and his guest came to the drawing-room for a cup of coffee, but quickly went back to the library to talk over "the practice," and Ruth was alone once more.

Were all her days to pass thus? A music or German lesson in the morning, a few odd callers in the afternoon varied by an occasional cycle ride with an old schoolfellow, then back to be ready for her father's cup of tea, then violin practice till it was time to dress for dinner. After which, if her father were at home, she would listen to his paper, or hear his news of his patients. But if he were out, a long, dreary solitude, with nothing to relieve it.

When the library door shut, Ruth's first impulse was to lean back in her chair and enjoy her own thoughts. But she was an energetic girl, and she shook off her dreaminess and turned to the piano, choosing a difficult sonata that would be real hard work.

An hour passed thus, and then she heard Dr. Arundel go out at the front door, and she went to the library at once to find her father.

"Well, little girl," he said briskly, "I think I shall get on with him. Now we will go and have half an hour's music. I have heard you practising."

"But, father, I thought he was going to stay the night here!"

"So he is. But he has taken some lodgings for a week, and he has had to go back to tell them he will not be there to-night."

"Taken them for a week! How did he know of them?"

"Well, my dear, I did not ask him that. I suppose he knew someone here; he did not say. Now, if you have done questioning me, can I have some music?"

"Oh, I have not heard anything yet! Do tell me—"

"Eh? There is nothing special to tell you. He is very nice, and much more friendly than I expected."

"Yes—but 'is' he married? Did you find that out?"

"Married? Yes, I told you so. I thought when I saw him in Northampton he said so. He has taken these lodgings here that he may look round, and then his wife will come, and they will choose a house together."

"Oh, I see! Well, I'm glad. I wonder what she will be like?"

"He speaks very highly of her. She was a Miss Linthorpe. Do you not remember that my cousin, Mr. Brown, of Grange Park, married one of those girls? Very nice people, I believe."

"Oh, I know! Alice—that was the name of the one who married Mr. Brown. I have heard ever so much about them. Is this one young or old?" asked Ruth eagerly.

"Young, I should think. It seems he had fixed his heart on her years ago."

"Now, that is nice," said Ruth enthusiastically. "I shall like them, I do believe."

"May I have my music now?" he asked, smiling a little.

"Oh, yes! But you cannot wonder that I wanted to know about Dr. Arundel and his wife! Why, father, to have a friend will be something to live for!"

"Something to live for?" Dr. Brown looked at her anxiously for a moment.

Was her life too cramped and dull up here at The Firs? Was he keeping his treasure to himself to her detriment?

That must be thought of in those long hours when she was gone to bed, and when he generally paced sorrowfully up and down his lonely library.

So, putting aside the anxious thoughts till another time, he said cheerfully: "By the bye, Morris says I am to tell you what I am going to spend, and she thinks you would like to get your birthday present yourself. That's a good idea. Let's see. Would this get anything you want?"

He fished in his pocket, and laid two sovereigns in her palm.

"Oh, father!" said Ruth, colouring. "Not all that!"

"Too much, is it? Then put some in the bank. No, I'm not going to take it back. Cannot you think of anything you want?"

"Oh, I never thought of so much as this," exclaimed Ruth, "but I do want—only I am afraid it seems grasping of me—but I think this would buy a little silver watch! My old one is quite worn out. Would it, father?"

"I really do not know. You and Morris find out at Worcester to-morrow. And if it will not, I'll tell her she can spend a little more."

"Oh, no," said Ruth. "I feel sure it would."

"That is all right, then. Now play me something soothing, and then you shall go to bed. I shall be up for Dr. Arundel."

Ruth kissed and thanked him.

And soon after, she bade him good-night, and went to her room.

There stood Morris waiting for her.

"Look, Morris!" exclaimed Ruth. "Am I not a lucky girl?"

"Very, Miss," smiled Morris; "what a nice treat for us to go to Worcester. And to get your present, too!"

For Morris was very anxious that this birthday should be as cheerful as possible, for she thought sadly what a change had come over the bright prospects of her young lady in that short, and yet long, year.

She often looked in the sweet girlish face and wondered how things were prospering within. She had a vague idea that Ruth's life was too monotonous and quiet; that the girl wanted something more than to go for her occasional lessons in the morning, practice all the afternoon, and fill her time with gentle ministrations to her bereaved father. No outside life seemed to touch her. Dr. Brown discouraged visitors, and Ruth confided to Morris that she found he was more weary and depressed after anyone had spent the evening with her than he was when they two sat together quietly.

Ruth was busily thinking her own thoughts, and she burst out with unusual eagerness:—

"And what do you think, Morris? Dr. Arundel 'is' married, and his wife is one of those Miss Linthorpes that live near father's cousin, Mr. Brown! Don't you remember he married one of them?"

"Oh, I know! The one that lost his two sons on the ice. Well, to be sure!"

"Yes, and Dr. Arundel is going to telegraph for his wife to-morrow, and if she is nice, I shall have a friend!"

"I hope she will be, miss; you must not be in too great a hurry," smiled the housekeeper.

"No—but, Morris, I can't tell how lonely I am. I do hope she will be nice, but I feel sure she will!"

Morris had not seen her so animated since the beginning of her mother's illness.

And when she left Ruth that night, she saw that her birthday and going to Worcester had faded into the background, while the new hope of a human friendship had done her all the good in the world.

What would this friend be? wondered the steady old servant, as she made her way to her own domain.

"Well, well! The Lord knows," she said to herself, resting her anxiety on Him who cared for her: "Old Morris doesn't know everything, that's certain, and somehow or other He'll see to my young lady for me! I haven't prayed for her since the day she was born for nothing! The Lord doesn't disappoint His children so!"

CHAPTER IV.

THE LETTER THAT WAS POSTED.

WHEN Ruth went upstairs, Dr. Brown crossed the carpeted hall and shut himself in his study. He paced up and down the floor for a long time, with his head bent down and his hands clasped behind him.

Presently, he unlocked a drawer and took out a thin, closely written letter, and after reading it carefully, he resumed his walk up and down again.

Was Ruth lonely? Was he allowing his own desolate feeling to injure the child whom he loved so tenderly?

"I'll write," he ejaculated, half aloud; "I'll write this very night! My only brother has a great claim on me, and some bright young people will do Ruth good! I'll write to-night and make them welcome. I can't say it is what I should have chosen, but there is no one to advise me now. It will be some young life for Ruth, and, after all, this house is very large and empty for two!"

He sat down to his desk and wrote busily for half an hour. Then he chose a thin envelope, stamped it with a foreign stamp, and, putting on his hat, took it to the post himself, thinking with a grim little smile, "Ruth is always coaxing me to go for 'constitutionals,' so now I will carry out her wishes!"

Little did the sleeping girl upstairs know that the whole course of her life was to be altered by that letter!

Dr. Brown managed not to forget the birthday greetings, even though he was decidedly full of his new partner, and was discussing possible houses with Ruth and Dr. Arundel all breakfast-time.

Dr. Arundel left the moment after, having some letters to write at his lodgings.

And Dr. Brown turned to Ruth with, "Well, my dear! He's a nice fellow, isn't he?"

"Oh, I like him!" she exclaimed warmly.

Before Dr. Brown went out on his rounds, he had a moment's private conversation with Mrs. Morris, which resulted in nods and smiles on her part and on his, while he added, "Go to Hickson's; they are trustworthy."

"Good-bye, my precious," he said, more cheerily than usual, to his daughter as he ran down the steps. "Take care of yourself, and come back to your old father as soon as you can!"

"So I will," she answered brightly, "and to-morrow, I shall have a friend!"

"Eh?" he asked, pausing with the carriage door in his hand. "Eh?"

"Young Mrs. Arundel—"

"Oh, don't fix your hopes too much," he answered, with the caution of experience; "new friends are not always what you expect—"

"But I've heard of those girls—and somehow anybody Mr. Arundel had liked so long—"

"Yes, yes! Good-bye; I must go."

It was afternoon by the time Ruth and Mrs. Morris had done their shopping, and they timed their return so that the carriage should take them up on its way home, and thus save them the long walk up the hill to The Firs.

They found Dr. Brown seated in it.

And the moment Ruth got in, she exclaimed: "Oh, you dear, naughty extravagant father! To think of such a present as this! Oh, I feel as if I had asked for more than I ought! 'Did' you think it was nasty of me?"

She drew out of her little handbag a morocco case, and on opening it, displayed a lovely little gold watch.

"So you like it?" asked her father.

"Like it? Why I can't tell you—"

"Then do not. I thought you and Morris would be able to find something—"

"But fancy your giving her all that money! I shall value it so much."

"Now I suppose the next thing will be a chain?" he said, pretending to be grim.

"Oh, no—I can—I can work one, or—"

"I'll see to that. 'I' must go into Worcester now, I suppose, and see what I can get."

So they talked on, until Ruth exclaimed suddenly, "What about Dr. Arundel?"

"Oh, he's all right. The patients seem pleased with him, and there's something so straight about him that I think he will take."

"When is he going to send for Mrs. Arundel?"

"He has sent already. The lodgings seem to be comfortable, and she will be down to-morrow, I think."

"Then will he come up to dinner to-night?"

"No; he wants to make the rooms a little bright for her, and has ordered in a few things, a plant or two, and so on."

"I wish I could help—"

"Oh, there is nothing much can be done with apartments, but what can be, he has done. It will not be for long, you see."

"Did you show him those two houses?"

"Yes, and when she comes, she will choose. He would not even go to see them till she came."

"That's nice!"