Part 30 (1/2)
Perhaps because of his indifference I was the more anxious to please him. At all events, urged by him, but with secret reluctance, I proposed and was accepted by that lady whose carriage I stopped to-night. She was rich, beautiful, but I did not love her. I know my conduct was weak, it was ign.o.ble--but I did her no wrong. For me she had not one spark of affection. My prospective wealth was the bait.”
Waldron paused, and drew his hand across his eyes. ”Then--then I met the girl who in the end became my wife. That she was poor was an insurmountable barrier in my father's eyes. I sought freedom from my hateful engagement in vain. I need not trouble you with all the story.
Suffice it that I left home and married the woman I loved. My father's anger was overwhelming. We were never forgiven. When my brother died I hoped for some sign from my father, but he made none. And now my wife also is dead.”
”And you are alone in the world?” asked the doctor, who had followed his story with interest.
Philip Waldron's face lit up with a rarely winning smile.
”No,” he said, ”I have a little girl.” Then the smile faded, as he added, ”She is a cripple.”
”And have you never appealed to your father?”
[Sidenote: Unopened Letters]
”While my wife lived--many times. For her sake I threw pride aside, but my letters were always returned unopened.”
The doctor sat silent for some time. Then steadfastly regarding the young man, he said--
”My name is Norman. I have known and attended your father now for a good many years. I was at your brother's death-bed. I never heard him mention a second son.”
Philip sighed. ”No, I suppose not. I am as dead to him now.”
”You are indifferent?”
”Pardon me; not indifferent, only hopeless. Had there been any chance for me, it came when my brother died.”
”For the sake of your child will you not appeal once more?”
Philip's face softened. ”For my child I would do much. Thank G.o.d,”
glancing at his left hand, ”my right is uninjured. My city work is safe.
Singing is not my profession, you know,” he added, with a dreary smile.
”I only sing to buy luxuries for my lame little one.”
Rising, he held out his hand.
”You have been a true Samaritan, Dr. Norman. I sincerely thank you.”
The doctor took the outstretched hand.
”May I help you further?” he asked.
”I don't see well how you can, but I will take the will for the deed.”
”But you do not forbid me to try?”
Philip shook his head despondingly. ”You may try, certainly. Matters cannot be worse than they are; only you will waste valuable time.”
”Let me be judge of that. May I come to see you?”