Out in the World CHAPTER 30.
Back to Out in the World
"There's the doctor!"
Mrs. Jackman had entered Mrs. Spencer's room, followed by Doctor Wheatland. The instant the physician looked into Madeline's face, he took hold of Mrs. Jackman's arm, and drawing her back from the bed, whispered —
"I would like to see her alone for a few minutes, if you please."
Mrs. Jackman withdrew. The Doctor then sat down by the bedside. Madeline glanced into his face, and recognizing him, started up in bed, looking at him, from her large, fever glistening eyes, in a kind of blank bewilderment.
"My poor Madeline!" said the doctor, with an emotion he could not repress. "My poor Madeline!" he repeated, pressing her back upon the pillow from which she had arisen, and laying his hand softly on her temples, smoothing back the hair caressingly, tenderly, as if she had been his own child.
"Oh, doctor! doctor!" sobbed Madeline, surprise and hope in her voice. Then feeling overcame her, and she wept passionately.
"My poor child!" murmured the doctor, his hand still resting on her head. "It must have gone hard with you since our last meeting! But you are sick. The physician first; the friendafterwards. How do you feel? What ails you?"
As soon as Madeline could get voice to speak, she explained how a sudden chill had seized her as she sat, overheated, by the window, followed by fever, tightness and pain in the chest. A cough interrupted her speech. It was dry and wheezing. The attack had been sudden, and she had grown worse rapidly. The doctor's countenance grew serious. He bent his ear down close against her chest, to get the sound of her respiration. He held her pulse, counting the beats. He examined her tongue; and then sat pondering the case, searching in the storehouse of thought for the remedy best suited to her case. After it was chosen and administered, he sat and watched for the effect, which was soon apparent in the lessening heat of her skin, and lighter breathing. The cough, which had begun to be troublesome, returned at more distant intervals, and with lessening force.
"Do you feel better?" whispered the doctor.
"Yes."
"Can breathe more freely?"
"Yes."
"How is the pain in your chest?"
"I scarcely feel it now."
"The attack was sudden; but we shall soon have the disease under control."
Madeline lay with her eyes fixed on the doctor; never moving them for an instant.
"It seems," she whispered, "as if God had sent you here!"
"He is in all our ways," replied the doctor.
"Yes — yes," she murmured. "But His ways are not as our ways." Her eyes shut quickly, and there was a spasm of emotion in her face. "Nor," she added, recovering herself, "our ways as His ways. But all will come out right in the end. I have kept my faith in that, doctor."
"And your heart pure."
"My life pure," she answered. "At least, I have tried to keep it so. The pure heart is from God."
"Yes — yes. God only can change the perverse will. The external life is ours, and we may do good or evil. But, over desire — over feeling — we have no inward power. God changes all this in the degree that we act from right principles. We must do right if we would be right."
Madeline's eyes closed heavily as the doctor ceased speaking. He saw this and remained silent. In a little while, she was in a gentle sleep. Rising, noiselessly, he went to the door, and opening it stepped out. Mrs. Jackman, who was in an adjoining chamber, met him in the passage and asked about Mrs. Spencer.
"She is more comfortable," replied the doctor, in a whisper, "and has fallen asleep."
"Is she a very sick woman, doctor?
"She is ill, ma'am, and will require careful attention."
"Oh, she shall have that!" replied Mrs. Jackman, showing much interest. "I'll nurse her as well as if she were one of my own flesh and blood."
"You know her to be a right kind of a woman?"
There came a flash of resentment into the eyes of Mrs. Jackman.
"Right kind of a woman! You'll not find many as good, if you travel the world over."
"Just my own impression, which I am glad to hear you confirm," replied the doctor. "And now, I want you to be careful in giving her the medicine I shall leave. Here are two powders. Dissolve them in about a wineglass of water each, and give a spoonful, alternately, every half hour."
"That is, first from one glass, and then from the other, half an hour apart," said Mrs. Jackman.
"Precisely. You understand the direction. Use two clean tumblers in which to dissolve the powders, and let there be two silver spoons, one for each medicine."
"It shall be just so, doctor. I'll see to it myself."
"She is sleeping now. When she wakes, say to her that I will call in again during the afternoon."
The doctor then retired, and Mrs. Jackman got the two tumblers and dissolved the powders. Mrs. Spencer was still asleep when she went back to her room. She moved about noiselessly, and then sat down near the bed to watch her patient; half wondering with herself at the interest she was feeling in one whose presence in the house had been for months a trouble and a concern.
Madeline slept for nearly half an hour. When she awoke, she started up and looked eagerly about the room; then turned to Mrs. Jackman, saying, in a disappointed voice —
"Oh, it was so real!"
"What?"
"The dream I had just now." She paused, and looked intently at Mrs. Jackman — then let her eyes move about the room.
"Has anyone been here?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Who?" She became agitated.
"The doctor."
"Doctor Wheatland?"
"I didn't know his name. He was an elderly man."
"Where is he?"
"Gone. He left you some medicine. There it is on the mantel-piece. You must take a spoonful now, and another in half an hour." And Mrs. Jackman crossed the room for one of the glasses in which the powders had been dissolved.
"Did he say he'd come back again?"
"O yes. He's coming back again this afternoon."
Madeline's heart beat violently; she was in a tremor of excitement.
"Do you know the doctor?" asked Mrs. Jackman, whose curiosity was aroused.
"I've seen him before."
"What is his name?"
"Doctor Wheatland. I knew him many years ago, when I was only a girl."
Meantime, Doctor Wheatland was making his round of afternoon visits. In passing through Fourteenth Street, he bowed to a lady who happened to be at the window. After going half a block farther, he ordered his driver to turn and set him down at the house where he had recognized the lady.
"This is not a professional call, Mrs. Lawrence," said Doctor Wheatland, smiling, as he met the lady in her parlor.
"Which makes your visit none the less welcome," she replied, her countenance full of pleasure.
"I've had what might almost be called an adventure today," said the doctor, looking more serious.
"Ah? What was it?"
"I met an old, old friend of yours and mine."
"Who?"
"You remember Madeline Spencer — Mrs. Jansen, afterwards?"
"Oh, doctor!" Mrs. Lawrence became excited. "What of her? Where is she?"
"She is sick — very poor, and friendless."
"Friendless and poor no longer!" replied Mrs. Lawrence, with increasing excitement.
"Your old regard for her has not died," said Doctor Wheatland. "I'm glad it came into my thought to see you."
"It is in Providence that you called," answered Mrs. Lawrence. "For months I have been in search of her, and was beginning to fear that she was dead."
"She is not very long for this world; but, if I read her face aright, she is growing purer for the next," said Doctor Wheatland. He then related what the reader already knows of his meeting with Madeline, adding —
"I think this attack of pneumonia under control. Fortunately, I was called early. I shall see her again before night."
"Do you think, doctor," asked Mrs. Lawrence, "that it would be safe to remove her at once?"
"Remove her where?"
"To my house."
Doctor Wheatland bent his brows thoughtfully.
"Are you in earnest?" he asked. His surprise was not concealed.
"Altogether so, doctor. If it will be safe to remove her, I will order a carriage, and go for her without a moment's delay."
The doctor considered again.
"The day is cold," he said. "If she were to be chilled again! And then, I am not sure as to the condition of her lungs. The frosty air might be too stimulating."
"How far away is she?"
"A dozen blocks — not more."
"Don't you think it might be ventured, doctor? Say yes. I'm sure all ill effects will be more than compensated by the higher care and comfort of my house. I will nurse her as tenderly as if she were my own sister."
"She would be better here — a great deal better. Perhaps it might be ventured. Tomorrow, I have no doubt it would be safe."
"Don't say tomorrow, doctor! Today — now! Let me go for her at once."
"I shall have to see her first. In two hours I will visit her again," said Doctor Wheatland. "Not for two hours! Oh, doctor!"
"What then, Mrs. Lawrence?"
"There are things that cannot wait, doctor. I will order a carriage at once, and half fill it with pillows, if needed. You shall go with me and if on seeing Madeline again, you decide that it will not be risking too much to remove her, we will bring her away."
Mrs. Lawrence prevailed. Madeline was asleep when she entered softly — but with a disturbed heart and dim eyes, the small, close room where she lay, and bent down over her, only repressing the sobs that shook her inwardly, by a painful effort. There was now no fever-flush on Madeline's face, which was white and thin — almost ghostly — but very pure, and still preserving its finely cut outlines. Doctor Wheatland stood by her side.
The movements in Madeline's room were not wholly noiseless. She was sleeping but lightly, and opened her eyes upon the faces of the doctor and her old friend.
"Jessie!" There was no startle — but a deep and tender surprise in her low voice.
"Madeline! Dear Madeline!" Mrs. Lawrence signed for silence and quiet with her finger upon her lips. Love could find no sweeter tones by which to reveal herself.
Doctor Wheatland took Madeline's hand and felt of her pulse.
"Scarcely any fever," he said. "How is the tightness in your chest?"
"I don't feel it now." She heard the doctor — but only saw Mrs. Lawrence, from whose face and eyes she was drinking the very wine of life.
"I have come to take you away from here," said Mrs. Lawrence. Madeline did not answer. Will and thought were quiescent. She had ceased her struggle for life. She was a frail leaf floating with the current. It might bear her wherever it would.
Immediate preparations were made for her removal. She offered no resistance — asked no questions — made only one remark.
"She has been kind to me" — looking towards Mrs. Jackman, who, with a gratified, busy manner, was helping to get Madeline ready.
"And shall not be forgotten," said Mrs. Lawrence.
When all was prepared, Madeline, well wrapped up left her room, leaning on the doctor and Mrs. Lawrence. She was weaker than had been supposed. At the head of the stairway, she became so faint that she had to sit down and some minutes passed before she was able to rise again.
Jackman — hard, coarse, and rough, had kept himself aloof from these proceedings — yet still within the line of observation. He was by no means an uninterested party. Two quite opposite feelings were at work in his mind. Always looking out for some advantage to himself, the question as to what gain might come to him through these new friends of Mrs. Spencer, gave to his dull blood a quicker motion. But, on the other hand, the human in him had been stirred from its almost death-sleep. Something about Mrs. Spencer, since he had come near enough to feel the sphere of her quality, had impressed him in a way never felt before. He was softened to a true manliness in her presence.
Madeline had risen, and was about attempting again to descend the stairs, supported by Doctor Wheatland and Mrs. Lawrence, when Jackman pressed forward, saying, with all the pity and gentleness he could throw into a voice unused to such intonations —
"There's no strength in her, poor thing! Let me carry her down."
And taking her up in his great arms as easily as most men would lift a child, he bore her downstairs and out to the carriage, placing her gently among the pillows with which it was lined.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Jackman," Madeline said, feebly. "I won't forget this."
The man stood half shame-faced. He had been betrayed into an act of genuine kindness.
"Nor will I forget you, sir," said Doctor Wheatland, giving Jackman his hand as he stood by the carriage door.
"You will find her at No. 187 Fourteenth street.
"Come tomorrow. We shall both want to see you." Mrs. Lawrence leaned from the carriage window, and spoke to Mrs. Jackman, who promised to call as desired.
"It is better so, John," said Mrs. Jackman, as the carriage drove away, and they went back across the pavement, "than if we had sent her to the alms-house."
Jackman did not reply. The remembrance of what he had meditated against Madeline hurt him interiorly. At the same time, there dawned into his mind a new conviction. He saw, dimly, it is true, that there might come loss, as well as gain, from a too eager seeking of our own. Mrs. Spencer in the alms-house! The thought gave him pain, and he pushed it aside, hastily.
"I'm so glad we were kind to her, poor thing!" continued Mrs. Jackman, when they were back again in the house. "It wasn't any loss to us. And I'm sure I feel a great deal better. It was right for you, John, to take her up as you did and carry her downstairs. She might have fainted before getting to the carriage. She won't forget it. Poor dear soul! It is strange how I feel towards her."
Jackman kept silence while his wife talked, his thoughts echoing her words far oftener than she imagined.
Back to Out in the World