Say and Seal, Volume I

"I suppose I do look rather frightful! But Miss Faith, I hope to get over that in a few days—you must try and brace up your nerves, because if you cannot bear the sight of me I shall have to deny myself the sight of you."

"Don't do that," she said, the light coming into her eye and voice as if by an actual sunbeam. "Then it is true, what you wrote me last night, Mr. Linden?"

"Well!" he said—"I am not much in the habit of maintaining my own words,—however, in this case I am willing to admit them true. If it will be any relief to your mind, Miss Faith, I will promise to remain in seclusion until you say I am fit to be seen down stairs."

The answer to that was only a rosy little smile, like the sunlight promise of fair weather on the last clouds that float over the horizon. But perhaps his words had brought her mind back to the question of supper for she asked again,

"What are you to have for tea to-night, Mr. Linden?"

"May I take a great liberty?" he said with a look as grave as before.

"I don't know how you can,"—she said and with eyes somewhat surprised, that said in their own way it was impossible.

A little smile—which she scarce saw—came first, and then her hand was brought to his lips. But it was done too gravely and gently to startle even her.

"Now you must go and rest," Mr. Linden said. "I want nothing for tea that shall cost one extra step."

Faith went about as silently and demurely as a cat that has had her ears boxed and been sent out of the dairy. Only in this case she went to her dairy; from whence in due time she emerged with cream and butter and made her appearance in the kitchen.

"Well child!" said Mrs. Derrick. "When did you get home? and what did you do with yourself? I've looked and looked for you till I was tired, and if you'd staid five minutes more I should have run all over town after you."

"Why mother!" said Faith, "I was in my own room for a good while. I got home in usual time."

"Well!"—said her mother, "I hope next time you'll say as much—that's all. Do you know we've got company, Faith?"

"Who, mother?—O I've seen Mr. Linden."

"I meant him," said Mrs. Derrick. "I'm sure the house seems as if it had twice as many in it since he came."

"He ought to have tea, now, mother. Isn't Cindy home yet?"

"No, but that's no matter—I'll take it up in two minutes. Where's the teapot—"

"I think, mother," said Faith as she was adding the last touches to the tray which was to go up stairs,—"I must have put Mr. Linden in mind of his sister, or somebody, this afternoon. I am afraid he misses them now."

"What do you mean by somebody?" said Mrs. Derrick.

"Some of his own family, I mean. I thought so."

"I don't believe you ever put anybody in mind of anybody else," saidMrs. Derrick confidently. "What made you think so, child?"

"Something made me think so,"—said Faith rather abstractly. "Now mother—it is ready, and I'll take it up stairs if you'll take it then."

"I guess I'm up to as much as taking it all the way," said her mother, lifting the tray. "I'll be down presently, dear,—you must want your tea." And up stairs she went.

Reuben came to stay all night, so the ladies had only to take their own much needed sleep, in peace; and a note of information was left at Dr. Harrison's door next morning, some time before that gentleman was awake.

CHAPTER XXI

"I know what I have to do to-day," said Faith the next morning. "Mr. Skip has got the box made, mother, and now I want the stuff to cover it."

"Well that's ready—in my pantry, child."

Whereupon Reuben offered his services; but all that was given him to do was to carry up Mr. Linden's breakfast. This was hardly well over when Dr. Harrison came. He was shewn into the sitting-room, just as Faith with her arms full of brown moreen came into it also from the pantry. The doctor was not going to lose a shake of the hand, and waited for the brown moreen to be deposited on the floor accordingly.

"You are looking more like yourself to-day," he said.

"I will call mother," said Faith. Which she did, leaving the doctor in company with the brown moreen.

"Mrs. Derrick," said he, speaking by no means without a purpose, "I have cause of complaint against you! What have you done to allure my patient down here against orders?"

"He's better here," said Mrs. Derrick with a cool disposing of the subject. "What did you want to keep him up there for, doctor?"

"Only acted upon a vigorous principle of Mr. Linden's nature, madam.—If I had ordered him to come, he would have stayed. May I see him?"

And Mrs. Derrick preceded the doctor up stairs, opened the door of the room and shut it after him. Mr. Linden was on the couch, but it was wheeled round by the side of the fire now, for the morning was cool. A little heap of unopened letters and post despatches lay before him, but the white paper in his hand seemed not to have come from the heap. As the doctor entered, this was folded up and transferred to the disabled hand for safe keeping.

Mr. Linden had that quality (much more common among women than among men) of looking well in undress; but let no one suppose that I mean the combination of carelessness and disorder which generally goes by that name, and which shews (most of all) undress of the mind. I mean simply that style of dress which Sam Weller might call 'Ease afore Ceremony;'—in its delicate particularity, Mr. Linden's undress might have graced a ball-room; and, as I have said, the dark brown wrapper with its wide sleeves was becoming. Dr. Harrison might easily see that his patient was not only different from most of the neighbourhood, but also from most people that he had seen anywhere; and that peculiar reposeful look was strongly indicative of power.

"Good morning!" said the doctor. "Do you expect me to behave well this morning?"

"Why no—" said Mr. Linden. "My experience hitherto has not led me to expect anything of the sort."

The doctor stood before the fire, looking down at him, smiling almost, yet with a keen eye, as at a man whose measure he had not yet succeeded in taking.

"What did you come down here for, without my leave? And how do you do?For you see, I mean to behave well."

"I came down because I wanted to be at home," said Mr. Linden. "And I did not ask leave, because I meant to come whether or no. You see what a respect I have for your orders."

"Yes," said the doctor,—"that is a very ancient sort of respect. How do you do, Linden?"

"I suppose, well,—as to feeling, I should not care to go through the Olympic games, even in imagination; and the various sensations in my left arm make me occasionally wish they were in my right."

The doctor proceeded to an examination of the arm. It was found not to be taking the road to healing so readily as had been hoped.

"I am afraid it may be a somewhat tedious affair," said Dr. Harrison, as he renewed the bandages in the way they ought to be. "I wish I had hold of that fellow! This may take a little time to come to a harmonious disposition, Linden, and give you a little annoyance. And at the same time, it's what you deserve!" said he, retaking his disengaged manner as he finished what he had to do. "I almost wish I could threaten you with a fever, or something serious; but I see you are as sound as that 'axletree' our friend spoke of the other day. There it is! You have learned to do evil with impunity. For I confess this has nothing to do with the exercise of your lawless disposition yesterday. Why didn't you let me bring you, if you wanted to come? That old fellow can't have anything drawn by horses, that goes easier than a harrow!"

"Let you bring me!" said Mr. Linden. "Would you have done it against your own orders?"

"Under your authority! which is equal to anything, you know."

"Well," said Mr. Linden, "will you take a seat under my authority, and then take the benefit of my fire? What is going on in the outer world?"

"I haven't any idea!" said the doctor. "Pattaquasset seems to me to be, socially, at one extreme pole of the axletree before-mentioned, and while I am here I feel no revolution of the great mass heaving beyond. It takes away one's breath, does Pattaquasset."

"You are making it akin to 'the music of the spheres,'" said Mr. Linden.

"Is that what you find in Pattaquasset?" said the doctor. "Your ears must be pleasantly constituted—or more agreeably saluted than those of other mortals. The only music I know of here is Miss Derrick's voice. Does she feed upon roses, like the Persian bulbul?"