Part 6 (1/2)
The young girl looked at him with tears s.h.i.+ning in her great dark eyes.
”We live in the tenement just around the corner, sir,” she said, ”on the sixth floor. My father is David Moore, the basket-maker.”
Doctor Gardiner dared not remain another moment talking with them, and with a hasty bow he re-entered his carriage. But during the remainder of his journey he could think of nothing but the sad, beautiful face of Bernardine Moore, the basket-maker's daughter.
”What in the name of Heaven has come over me!” he muttered. ”I have seen a face, and it seems as though I have stepped through the gates of the old world and entered a new one.”
He collected his thoughts with a start, as the carriage reached its destination.
He had not realized how quickly the time had pa.s.sed. He resolutely put all thoughts from him as he walked up the steps of the mansion before which he found himself.
The door opened before he could touch the bell.
”We have been waiting for you, doctor,” said the low-voiced attendant who had come to the door.
He followed her through the magnificent hall-way, and up the polished stairs to the apartment above, where he knew his patient was awaiting him.
The wan face lying against the pillow lighted up as the doctor entered.
His bright, breezy presence was as good as medicine.
”You!” he cried, advancing to the couch. ”Why, this will never do, Miss Rogers! Tut, tut! you are not sick, you do not look it! This is only an excuse to send for me, and you know it. I can see at a glance that you are a long way from being ill, and you know it!” he repeated.
He said it in so hearty a manner and in such apparent good faith, that his words could not help but carry conviction with them.
Already the poor lady began to feel that she was not nearly so ill as she had believed herself to be.
But the doctor, bending over her, despite his rea.s.suring smile and light badinage, realized with alarm that his patient was in great danger, that there was but a fighting chance for her life.
An hour or more he worked over her unceasingly, doing everything that skill and science could suggest.
With the dawning of the morning he would know whether she would live or die.
”Doctor,” she said, looking up into his face, ”do you think my illness is fatal? Is this my last call?”
He scarcely knew how to answer her. He felt that the truth should not be kept from her. But how was he to tell her?
”Because,” she went on, before he could answer, ”if it is, I had better know it in time, in order to settle up my affairs. I--I have always dreaded making a will; but--but there will come a time, sooner or later, when it will be necessary for me to do so.”
Again Doctor Gardiner laughed out that hearty, rea.s.suring laugh.
”That is the natural feeling of a woman,” he said. ”Men never have that feeling. With them it is but an ordinary matter, as it should be.”
”Would you advise me to make a will, doctor?” and the white face was turned wistfully to him.
”Certainly,” he replied, with an attempt at light-heartedness. ”It will occupy your mind, give you something to think about, and take your thoughts from your fancied aches and pains.”
”Fancied?” replied the poor lady. ”Ah, doctor, they are real enough, although you do not seem to think so. I--I want to leave all my money to _you_, doctor,” she whispered. ”You are the only person in the whole wide world who, without an object, has been kind to me,” she added, with sudden energy. The fair, handsome face of the young doctor grew grave.
”Nay, nay,” he said, gently. ”While I thank you with all my heart for the favor you would bestow on me, still I must tell you that I could not take the money. No, no, my dear Miss Rogers; it must go to the next of kin, if you have any.”