Our Neighbours in the Corner House CHAPTER 2.
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"Anything new concerning the corner house?" said I, half laughing, half in earnest, on the evening of the next day. I will confess that my curiosity was not altogether a passive element.
"Yes," replied my wife, "I have learned the name of its new occupants."
"Ah! so much gained. What is it?"
"Congreve."
"Not Jones, Smith, or Brown; but a name that suggests individuality of character, and an ancestry — good or bad. I am gratified to know that it isn't Smith or Jones."
"It is Congreve," said my wife, in a tone meant to rebuke my levity.
"How did you learn this?"
"Jane learned it from the grocer's boy."
"Perhaps the name is assumed," said I.
"Incorrigible man! What demon of suspicion has gotten access to your ear?"
"We know nothing about this family, Alice. They glide in among us unheralded, and throw around themselves a veil of mystery!"
I was going on quite earnestly, but she stopped me by saying:
"I am not aware that they have shown any mystery. We have made a mystery of their advent. That is all. No obligation rested on them as strangers to advertise the neighborhood as to who they were, or whence they came."
"Very true. I stand corrected. And so the name is Congreve? Did you learn anything beyond this?"
"The grocer's boy said they were from the South."
"The land of hot blood and quick-springing passion!"
"There is hot blood and quick-springing passion everywhere," remarked Alice.
"True," said I.
"Then why speak of them in connection with our new neighbors?" she asked.
"Thought clothes itself in speech, you know."
"But why should your thought take this direction?"
"Thought is a free rover. We cannot control its movements."
"Ah, well," said my wife, "I see how it is. Your impressions are against our friends in the corner house — and your thought runs in the same direction. As for me, I am going toinfer good, instead of evil."
"And make them a neighborly call?"
"Yes."
At this moment our door-bell was jerked violently. We both startled, and then listened, while the servant went to the door. As it opened, we heard a woman's voice. It was quick and excited. Then rapid feet came along the passage and up the stairs.
"Won't you go into the corner house, ma'am?" said Jane, pushing open the door of our sitting-room.
"Into the corner house! Why should I go in there, Jane?"
"You're wanted, ma'am. Something has happened; and the girl says, Please won't you come!"
My wife looked at me in doubt.
"Go, Alice!" said I.
She needed only a word of assent. There was a moment or two of feminine adjustment of hair and dress, and a glance into the mirror. Then snatching up a netted hood, my wife glided away. It was an hour before she returned. Her countenance was sober, and did not even light up with its usual smile as she greeted me.
"Such a scene as I have witnessed!" she said, as she threw off her hood and sat down beside me.
I looked at her inquiringly, but did not speak. She drew a long, deep breath, and then went on:
"The child you saw at the window — a little sunbeam, truly! — was suddenly taken with convulsions. In the wild alarm that followed, a servant ran for some neighbor, and I happened to be the one summoned. I found her mother, the pale lady in black, sitting helpless, wringing her hands and uttering wild cries of terror; while the other, an elderly lady, whom I had seen alight with her from the carriage, was standing over the convulsed form of the child in distress and bewilderment.
"'Oh, ma'am,' she said, eagerly, as I came in, 'where shall we send for a doctor? Is there one near at hand?'
"I turned to the servant who had come upstairs with me, and gave her the direction of our own physician. As she hurried from the room, I bent over the child. 'She is in convulsions,' said I.
"'She will die! she will die! Oh, can nothing be done to save my darling?' wailed the mother, in tones that chilled you, they were so full of anguish.
"'Bring a tub of hot water, quickly,' said I, to a servant who was in the chamber.
"'A tubful, ma'am?' she inquired.
"'Full enough for a bath,' I answered. And she left the room immediately.
"By the time the servant returned, I had the still convulsed form of the child ready for the bath, and lifting it in my arms, laid it tenderly in the water. How painful it was to feel the round soft limbs writhing and twitching, and to see convulsion after convulsion run over the sweet face of that little one. I held her in the water for more than ten minutes, and then laid her in the bed again. The more violent muscular contractions had by this time subsided, and there was some repose in her face. When Doctor Black arrived, she was still unconscious and in convulsions; but the worst symptoms had abated. He sat down by the bedside in his quiet way, and after a few questions, and a few moments of observation, took out his pocket-case of remedies, and selecting a little bottle, dropped from it, between the lips of the child, a few of the white pellets it contained.
"Soon after I commenced bathing the little sufferer, her mother gained some control over her feelings, and, coming forward, asked in a querulous way what I was doing. 'The best that can be done until the doctor arrives,' I answered. She did not seem entirely satisfied; though the elder lady — her mother, I think — assured her that a hot bath was the right treatment for a child in convulsions. 'Hasn't she been in long enough? Do take her out, won't you? Oh, dear! oh, dear! she'll die! Why doesn't the doctor come?'
"Queries and ejaculations like these were dropping constantly from her lips. When the doctor came in, her dark eyes fell on him with a glance of inquiry. He is a quiet, unobtrusive man, you know, and I understood in a moment that he did not impress her favorably. When he took out his case of medicines, and she saw the rows of little vials, she made a movement as if about entering a protest. But a hand was laid on her by the elder lady. The administration of a remedy was more than she could bear, and she broke out with an imperative —
"'I won't have my child doctored in that way!'
"Doctor Black arose and stepped a pace from the bedside. He was more disturbed than I had ever seen him.
"'It is my way, madam,' said he, with some dignity and some indignation, 'and if you don't wish me to treat your child, I can retire!'
"'We do wish you to treat her,' spoke out the elder lady. Then turning to the other, she said, in a firm, decisive manner: 'Edith, be quiet!'
"'You have been sent for, Doctor,' I now interposed, 'and you must not go without relieving the poor child of these dreadful convulsions.'
"Doctor Black then resumed his place at the bedside, and taking the child's hand in his, laid his finger on the pulse, and sat noting its time and condition. At the end of ten minutes he gave another remedy. This was the signal for a second protest from the pale lady in black, who muttered, in a half-subdued way, her objection. I noted a strange gleam in her eyes as she fixed them on the doctor, and felt an unpleasant chill pass along my nerves.
"No notice was taken of her, and the doctor gave up his entire thought, to the little sufferer. The worst symptoms were now subsiding. The convulsions occurred at longer and longer intervals, were of briefer duration, and less severe. After the lapse of ten minutes more, another remedy was given. The doctor observed its action for a little while, and then rising, said:
"'She is coming along right, and will soon be as still as a quiet sleeper.'
"Then preparing two powders, he directed them to be dissolved each in a third of a glass of water, and a teaspoonful given, alternately, every half hour.
"He lingered yet for some minutes longer. His prediction came true. By this time every convulsed muscle had found tranquility, and the face of the little one began to glow with warmth and beauty. Then the eyes unclosed, and the sweet lips, moving, pronounced the name of 'mother.' A scene of wild excitement followed, which came near to throwing the patient into convulsions again. The undisciplined mother flung herself upon the bed, and in a strong burst of feeling, hugged the child to her bosom, and poured forth a torrent of fond words and a rain of tears.
"'Madam, for Heaven's sake, control yourself!' said Doctor Black. 'You will mar everything, if you do not.'
"'Edith!' the other lady spoke almost sternly, 'do you wish to kill your child?'
"With a rebuked look, the mother disengaged her arms, and drew back, glancing from one face to another in a way that struck me as singular.
"'Give the medicines regularly, according to direction, and let nothing disturb our little patient,' said the doctor, as he moved towards the door. 'I will look in tomorrow morning, when I hope to find her quite well.'
"'Is he a Homeopathic physician?' remarked the elder lady, as Doctor Black left the room. She looked at me steadily from her calm, brown eyes.
"I merely bowed an assent.
"'I have been taught to regard that system of medicine, as involving absurdities of the grossest kind,' she continued.
"'Its professional opponents,' I replied, 'are not sparing in their denunciations. It is much to be regretted, however, for the sake of truth and science, that its imposing claims are not met by something better than denunciation and ridicule. You saw tonight with what singular rapidity the convulsions subsided, after the administration of remedies which, to all appearance, had in them no potency whatever. Was it magic or medicine which wrought the beneficial change?'
"'I am not prepared to answer your query,' said the lady, with gentle dignity of manner. 'Our darling is better; and for this we cannot be thankful enough. It is God who cures — man is only his instrument.'
"'To that sentiment do I, with all my heart, agree,' fell with earnestness from my lips. 'Every good gift is from God, and among these is the gift of medicine.'
"As we talked thus, I noticed that the child was falling away into sleep. The mother observed it also, for her eyes were fixed on the little invalid's face. A shade of anxiety passed over her countenance, and she moved uneasily. 'Aunt Mary,' she said — (I now understood the relationship existing between them) — speaking in a husky whisper, and looking anxiously at the elder lady.
"'What, dear?' And the aunt leaned towards her.
"'She's going to sleep!'
"'So much the better,' was replied. 'There is more medicine in sleep, than in any doctor's prescription.'
"'But, aunt,' — she leaned closer, as if to prevent my hearing what she said — 'maybe he's given her an opiate.' The words reached my ears, for the whisper was distinct.
"'Oh, no!' was replied.
"'But, I'm sure they have,' she persisted. 'You know their medicines are very powerful.'
"'Don't be in the least concerned, madam,' said I. 'They never give opiates; and their medicines are not powerful in the way you suppose."
"'But Doctor Jacoby told me that they were powerful, ma'am; that these Homeopathists, while pretending to give no medicines at all — actually gave more medicines, because in a highly concentrated form.'
"'If Doctor Jacoby,' said I, warming a little, 'made that assertion, he was disgracefully ignorant, or something worse.'
"'He ought to know,' said the lady.
"'But it seems that he doesn't know; or, if knowing, is not honest. Pardon my free speech, ma'am; but I must defend the right against all unfair assailants. Homeopathy can bear to have the truth alleged; and it is to the disgrace of its professional opposers, that so many of them make false assertions in regard to its claims."
"My earnestness did not call out any further remark. The elder of the ladies looked at me calmly, while I spoke; and I could not tell, by any play of her features, whether she took interest in what I said, or had any faith in my strong assertions. As the child was now sleeping, I felt that to remain longer might be an intrusion, and so made a motion to retire. It was not opposed. Thanks for the service I had rendered, were expressed with warmth and sincerity, particularly by the aunt, who held my hand tighter in hers for a moment, and looked at me with a world of hidden meaning in her face. But I was not asked to repeat my visit."
"Well," said I, as my wife finished her story of the evening's adventure, "you have penetrated the outer court of this mystery."
"Mystery! What mystery?"
"Every individual life is a mystery! Every household includes some mystery. And there are secrets of the heart known only to God."
"True," answered my wife. "And in that sense we are a mystery to our neighbors."
"Doubtless we are," said I. "Doubtless there have been questions asked about us many times, which none answered satisfactorily, and which still remain as unsolved problems. There is a secret in every family."
"The corner house includes a mystery in this view of the case," replied my wife.
"And, as I said, you have passed the outer court, and entered the vestibule."
"But did not reach the secrets."
"What was the cause of convulsions in the child?" I asked.
"The cause was not stated. Doctor Black made some inquiries, but was answered with such evident evasion, that he did not press the questions."
"That looks singular, to say the least of it," I remarked.
"It does. I felt all the while I was there as if something lay in back of the condition in which I found the child, that did not and would not appear. No fall, sickness, over-eating, or fright, was even hinted at in explanation. There was a blank silence as to the cause."
"Where there is mystery like this — something wrong is evidently involved," said I.
"There is nothing wrong so far as the elder lady — Aunt Mary, as she was called — is concerned. You have only to look into her face to be assured of that. But there is something wrong in regard to the younger Edith, who, as pallid and ghastly as she appears, is yet singularly beautiful."
"Hers is a kind of strange beauty, I would say, judging from the partial glance I had of her face."
"You express the thing exactly," answered my wife. "It is a strange, and I should think, under some aspects, a fascinating beauty. The contrast between her and her aunt is remarkable. They are not, I should say, akin by blood."
"You saw no male member of the family?"
"None; but I am sure that I heard more than once, the sudden footfall of a man in the room above."
"Ah!"
"Yes; and I felt the more certain of this from the fact, that the sound appeared to disturb Edith, as the sick child's mother was called. It came once when she was objecting to the treatment of Dr. Black, and I noticed that she halted for a moment in her words, and that a shadow flitted over her face."
"Well," said I, "the plot thickens, doesn't it?"
"We are to have a romance in the corner house," returned my wife, smiling, "if the present signs mean anything."
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