A Secret Inheritance. Volume 1 of 3

"Yes; he said you might like me to read or play for you. Which shall I do?"

"Neither, Lauretta."

"Can I do nothing?"

"Yes; talk to me, Lauretta."

I was never tired of uttering her name. It was the sweetest word in all the languages.

"Well, then," she said, clasping her hands in her lap, she had gently withdrawn the hand I held, "what shall I talk about?"

"About your friends. When I am strong, I shall want to know them. Introduce me to them beforehand."

"I introduce you, then," she said with tender gravity, without losing touch of her lighter mood, "to everybody."

"Is everybody your friend, Lauretta?"

"Yes, everybody-truly! and it makes me very glad to know it."

"But there are special ones, Lauretta."

"Of course there are special ones. First, my dearest."

"Your parents?"

"Yes, they are the first, the best, the dearest. It is well known; my mother is an angel."

"I honour them, Lauretta."

"All do. That is why people like me; because I belong to them, and they to me."

"You are loved for yourself, Lauretta."

"No," she said, with pretty wilfulness, "because of them. Then there is Father Daniel, a saint, my mother says; then Eric and Emilius-and that is all, I think, who can be called special."

"Eric and Emilius?" I said, in the form of a question.

"Yes, they are brothers, handsome, brave, and strong. You will like them, I am sure you will."

Handsome, brave, and strong! I gave Lauretta a searching look, and she returned it smilingly. There was no blush, no self-consciousness. Why, then, should I feel disturbed? Why should Eric and Emilius become established in my mind as barriers to the happiness for which I yearned. I did not dare to trust myself to ask for information of these friends of Lauretta, so handsome, brave, and strong-I was fearful that my voice might betray me; and as I could converse on no other topic with ease, I remained silent while Lauretta chatted on sweetly and artlessly.

CHAPTER IX

I was quite well; the fever had entirely departed, and my ankle was as strong and sound as ever. I moved about freely, with a keen enjoyment of life, an enjoyment intensified by the happiness which I believed to be in store for me. Four weeks had passed since Lauretta had uttered the names of Eric and Emilius, and I had seen nothing of them. Not only had they not visited the house, but I was convinced they were not in the village. My jealous fears were dead. The hopes in which I indulged were strengthened by Doctor Louis's behavior towards me. There had been a short conversation between us on the subject of what had passed while he was endeavouring to mesmerise me on the first day of my convalescence. It was I who, to his manifest relief, broached the subject.

"I remember everything perfectly," I said, "every phase of my sensations, every word that was spoken, every thought that occurred to me. Although my eyes were sealed, I saw you plainly, and it seemed to me that I could see what was passing through your mind."

"It is frank of you," said Doctor Louis, "to say so much. Was I in error in supposing that you were resisting me?"

"Not entirely in error," I replied. "I was aware of your design, and I strove to exercise over you, to some extent, a power similar to that you were exercising over me. If I did nothing else, I gave you pause."

"Yes," he said, "you compelled me to wait your pleasure, and now and then, instead of being dictated to, dictated. That, to me, was a new condition of a psychic force at present in its infancy, but which, at some not too distant time, will be the means of producing marvellous revealments."

"What brought us into harmony," I observed, "was the fact that the subject was one which commanded our entire and undivided sympathies."

"My daughter."

"Yes, your daughter Lauretta."

"You obtained a promise from me which was to be confirmed I infer in such a conversation as we are holding now. I confirm it. And you, on your part, will abide by the engagement into which you entered with me respecting Lauretta."

"Assuredly."

We clasped hands, and directed our conversation into another channel. The agreement we had made necessitated certain action with respect to my residence in Nerac during the period of probation. I felt that it would be scarcely right for me to continue to live in the doctor's house; even were a closer tie not in contemplation, it would have been indelicate on my part to encroach upon the hospitality of these generous friends. It was for me to make the first move in the matter, and I did so when we were sitting together after the evening meal.

"I have had it for some time in my mind," I said, "to endeavour to express my heartfelt thanks for all the kindness you have shown me; but although I am not usually at a loss for words, I am at a loss to carry out my wish in a fitting manner."

"It is enough," said Lauretta's mother, with a gentle inclination of her head. "Having said so much, there is no need for anything more. Do not distress yourself. What has been done has been cheerfully and willingly done, and your restoration to health is the best return you could make for the slight service we have been able to render you."

"There was a time," I remarked, "when I myself might have regarded the saving of my life a slight service; that was when I deemed life of little value, when I thought there was little in the world worth caring for. But it is different now; my life is precious to me, and the world is very beautiful."

"It is," said Doctor Louis, "all a question of the liver. The world is bright or dark according to the state of our digestions."

He often interjected these pleasant discordances, upon which we placed their proper value, knowing that they were introduced chiefly for the purpose of giving a healthy turn to the conversation. This did not, however, detract from the wisdom of his utterances, which were nuts with sound kernels within.

"Therefore," I continued, smiling at the doctor, and becoming grave immediately afterwards, "what you have done for me is of inestimable value, and cannot be priced. There is only one way of showing my gratitude, and that way lies in the future, not in the present. It shall be my endeavour to prove to you that your precious kindness has not been wasted."

Lauretta's mother nodded and looked kindly at me, and then turned her eyes of full love upon her daughter, who was sitting by her side. Between me and Lauretta's mother no words had been exchanged with reference to the dear wish of my heart, but without being told I knew that Doctor Louis had imparted to his wife all the particulars of what had passed between us, and that she was aware that I stood in the position of one who desired to win their Home Rose for my wife. There was a new tenderness and solicitude in the mother's looks which deeply moved me.

"Then there is another matter," I said, "upon which I hope we shall be in accord. I am mustering up courage to leave you."

"I feared, mother," said Lauretta, and it delighted me to note that her voice was tremulous, "that he was growing weary of us. I told him so a little while since, I think."

"And my reply was," I said, "that I should be content to remain here for ever; but that can scarcely be. I have no intention of leaving Nerac, however."

"Of course not, of course not," said Doctor Louis; "the air here is so fine, so much finer than it is anywhere else-"

"Very much finer," I said.

"And the fruit is so delicious, so much more delicious than it is anywhere else-"

"Much more delicious," I said.

"And the skies are so bright, so much brighter than they are anywhere else-"

"Much brighter."

"And the flowers are so much lovelier, and the stars are so much more brilliant-"