Part 65 (1/2)
”Intrigue! I think you wrong Lord L'Estrange; he but represented what he believed to be the truth, in defence of a ruined exile.”
”And you will not tell me where that exile is, or if his daughter still lives?”
”My dear marchesa, I have called you friend, therefore I will not aid L'Estrange to injure you or yours. But I call L'Estrange a friend also; and I cannot violate the trust that--” Audley stopped short, and bit his lip. ”You understand me,” he resumed, with a more genial smile than usual; and he took his leave.
The Italian's brows met as her eye followed him; then, as she too rose, that eye encountered Randal's.
”That young man has the eye of an Italian,” said the marchesa to herself, as she pa.s.sed by him into the ballroom.
CHAPTER XIII.
Leonard and Helen settled themselves in two little chambers in a small lane. The neighbourhood was dull enough, the accommodation humble; but their landlady had a smile. That was the reason, perhaps, why Helen chose the lodgings: a smile is not always found on the face of a landlady when the lodger is poor. And out of their windows they caught sight of a green tree, an elm, that grew up fair and tall in a carpenter's yard at the rear. That tree was like another smile to the place. They saw the birds come and go to its shelter; and they even heard, when a breeze arose, the pleasant murmur of its boughs.
Leonard went the same evening to Captain Digby's old lodgings, but he could learn there no intelligence of friends or protectors for Helen.
The people were rude and surly, and said that the captain still owed them L1 17s. The claim, however, seemed very disputable, and was stoutly denied by Helen. The next morning Leonard set out in search of Dr.
Morgan. He thought his best plan was to inquire the address of the doctor at the nearest chemist's, and the chemist civilly looked into the ”Court Guide,” and referred him to a house in Bulstrode Street, Manchester Square. To this street Leonard contrived to find his way, much marvelling at the meanness of London: Screwstown seemed to him the handsomer town of the two.
A shabby man-servant opened the door, and Leonard remarked that the narrow pa.s.sage was choked with boxes, trunks, and various articles of furniture. He was shown into a small room containing a very large round table, whereon were sundry works on h.o.m.oeopathy, Parry's ”Cymbrian Plutarch,” Davies's ”Celtic Researches,” and a Sunday news paper. An engraved portrait of the ill.u.s.trious Hahnemann occupied the place of honour over the chimneypiece. In a few minutes the door to an inner room opened, and Dr. Morgan appeared, and said politely, ”Come in, sir.”
The doctor seated himself at a desk, looked hastily at Leonard, and then at a great chronometer lying on the table. ”My time's short, sir,--going abroad: and now that I am going, patients flock to me. Too late. London will repent its apathy. Let it!”
The doctor paused majestically, and not remarking on Leonard's face the consternation he had antic.i.p.ated, he repeated peevishly, ”I am going abroad, sir, but I will make a synopsis of your case, and leave it to my successor. Hum!
”Hair chestnut; eyes--what colour? Look this way,--blue, dark blue. Hem!
Const.i.tution nervous. What are the symptoms?”
”Sir,” began Leonard, ”a little girl--”
DR. MORGAN (impatiently).--”Little girl; never mind the history of your sufferings; stick to the symptoms,--stick to the symptoms.”
LEONARD.--”YOU mistake me, Doctor, I have nothing the matter with me. A little girl--”
DR. MORGAN.--”Girl again! I understand! it is she who is ill. Shall I go to her? She must describe her own symptoms,--I can't judge from your talk. You'll be telling me she has consumption, or dyspepsia, or some such disease that don't exist: mere allopathic inventions,--symptoms, sir, symptoms.”
LEONARD (forcing his way).--”You attended her poor father, Captain Digby, when he was taken ill in the coach with you. He is dead, and his child is an orphan.”
DR. MORGAN (fumbling in his medical pocket-book).--”Orphan! nothing for orphans, especially if inconsolable, like aconite and chamomilla.”
[It may be necessary to observe that h.o.m.oeopathy professes to deal with our moral affections as well as with our physical maladies, and has a globule for every sorrow.]
With some difficulty Leonard succeeded in bringing Helen to the recollection of the h.o.m.oeopathist, stating how he came in charge of her, and why he sought Dr. Morgan.
The doctor was much moved.
”But, really,” said he, after a pause, ”I don't see how I can help the poor child. I know nothing of her relations. This Lord Les--whatever his name is--I know of no lords in London. I knew lords, and physicked them too, when I was a blundering allopathist. There was the Earl of Lansmere,--has had many a blue pill from me, sinner that I was. His son was wiser; never would take physic. Very clever boy was Lord L'Estrange--”
”Lord L'Estrange! that name begins with Les--”
”Stuff! He's always abroad,--shows his sense. I'm going abroad too. No development for science in this horrid city,--full of prejudices, sir, and given up to the most barbarous allopathical and phlebotomical propensities. I am going to the land of Hahnemann, sir,--sold my good-will, lease, and furniture, and have bought in on the Rhine.