"I am a gentleman," he said, "and am in honor bound to carry out thiscontract, if you can not be induced to release me."
"That is the only sensible view for you to take," she said.
He crushed back the angry words that rose to his lips. He had neverdisliked a woman before, but he could not help but own to himself thathe hated the girl by his side--the girl whom fate had destined that heshould marry.
CHAPTER VI.
THE WAY OF WOMEN THE WHOLE WORLD OVER.
As Jay Gardiner and Sally walked to the hotel the young man had made uphis mind that the wedding should be put off as much as possible.
Suddenly Sally touched him on the arm just as they reached the flight ofsteps leading to the veranda.
"I have one request to make of you," she said. "Please do not tell anyof my folks that you do not care for me, and that it is not a_bona-fide_ love-match."
He bowed coldly.
She went on: "Mamma has a relative--an old maiden cousin, ever soold--who liked my picture so well that she declared she would make meher heiress. She's worth almost as much as you are. They named me afterher--Sally Rogers Pendleton. That's how I happen to have such aheathenish name. But I'll change it quick enough after the old lady diesand leaves me her money.
"And you will call to see me often?" asked Sally.
"Before I promise that, I must ask what you call 'often.'"
"You should take me out riding every afternoon, and call at least everyother evening."
Again that angry look crossed Jay's handsome face.
"In this case the usual customs must be waived," he answered, haughtily."I will call for you when I drive. That must suffice."
Jay Gardiner's thoughts were not any too pleasant as he wended his wayto his boarding-house. He had always prided himself on his skill inevading women, lest a drag-net in the hands of some designing womanmight insnare him. Now he had been cleverly outwitted by aneighteen-year-old girl.
He suddenly lost all pleasure in driving. He was thankful for the rainyweek that followed, as he was not obliged to take Sally out driving.
One day a telegram came from New York, requesting his immediate presencein that city to attend a critical case. With no little satisfaction hebid the Pendletons good-bye.
"We intend to cut short our summer outing. We will return to New York ina fortnight, and then I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you as oftenas possible," Sally remarked.
"I lead a very busy life in the city," he said. "A doctor's time is nothis own."
"I shall not enjoy staying here after you have gone," she said, a triflewistfully.
But he paid little heed to the remark.
The happiest moment of his life was when the train steamed out of Lee.
"Why don't you stay over and see the next race?" said one of hisfriends, wringing his hand on the platform of the car.
"I shall never go to another race," he remarked, savagely.
"What! were you a plunger at the last race?" asked his friend.
But Jay Gardiner made no answer.
"I am sorry if I have called up bitter recollections," laughed hisfriend.
Then the bell sounded, and the train moved on.
Jay Gardiner turned resolutely away from the window, that he might notcatch a look of the hotel.
"I wonder if my patient, Miss Rogers, and the relative this girl speaksof are one and the same person?" he asked himself.
He had once saved the life of this Miss Rogers, and since that time shehad been a devoted friend of his.
She was a most kind, estimable woman, and he admired her for her noblecharacter. Surely she could not be the lady of whom Sally Pendletonspoke so derisively?
He reached the city at last, and, without taking time to refreshhimself, hurried to see who it was that needed his help.
It was eleven o'clock, and the crowds on the streets of the greatmetropolis had begun to thin out.
His office clerk, who was expecting him, said, in answer to his inquiry:
"It is Miss Rogers, sir. She is dangerously ill, and will have no otherdoctor."
"I will go to her at once," said Jay Gardiner.
But at that moment a man who had been hurt in a railway accident wasbrought in, and he was obliged to devote half an hour of his valuabletime in dressing his wounds. Then with all possible haste he set out onhis journey.
He gave orders to his driver to go to Miss Rogers' residence by theshortest route possible.
At that very moment, in another part of the city, a woman who had oncebeen young and beautiful lay dying. The room in which she lay wasmagnificent in its costly hangings; the lace draperies that hung fromthe windows represented a fortune, the carpets and rugs which coveredthe floor were of the costliest description. Rare paintings and therichest of bric-a-brac occupied the walls and other available places.Even the lace counterpane on the bed represented the expenditure of avast sum of money. But the woman who lay moaning there in mortal painwould have given all to have purchased one hour of ease.
"Has the doctor come yet, Mary?" she asked.
"No," replied her faithful attendant, who bent over her. "But he can notbe long now, my lady. It is several hours since we telegraphed for him,and I have telephoned for him every hour since. At the office they saythat he has already started for here."
"Are those carriage wheels? Go to the window, Mary, and see."
The attendant glided noiselessly to the heavily draped window and drewaside the hangings.
"No," she answered, gently; "he has not yet come."
"Something must have happened, Mary," half-sobbed the sufferer; "I amsure of it."
Ay, something out of the usual had happened to Doctor Gardiner.
As his handsome brougham turned into Canal Street, the doctor, inlooking from the window, noticed a young girl hurrying along the street.
There was something about the symmetrical figure that caused the doctorto look a second time.
He said to himself that she must be young; and a feeling of pitythrilled his heart to see one so young threading the streets at thathour of the night.
So many people were making their way through the streets that the driverwas only able to proceed slowly. And thus the young girl, who had quiteunconsciously attracted the doctor's attention, kept pace with thevehicle.
Once, as Jay Gardiner caught sight of her face, he felt as though anelectric shock had suddenly passed through him. For a moment he wasalmost spell-bound. Where had he seen that face? Then suddenly itoccurred to him that it was the _fac-simile_ of the picture he hadbought abroad.
And as he gazed with spell-bound attention, much to his disgust he sawthe young woman stop in front of a wine-room and peer in at one of thewindows. This action disgusted the young doctor immeasurably.
"How sad that one so fair as she should have gone wrong in the morningof life," he thought.
Suddenly she turned and attempted to dart across the street. But in thatmoment her foot slipped, and she was precipitated directly under thehorses' hoofs.
A cry broke from the lips of the doctor, and was echoed by the man onthe box.
"Are you hurt?" cried Doctor Gardiner, springing from his seat andbending over the prostrate figure of the girl.
"No, no!" cried the girl, in the saddest, sweetest voice he had everheard. "They must not find me here when they come to the door; they willbe so angry!" she said, springing to her feet.
At that moment there was a commotion in the wine-room, the door of whichhad just been opened.
As the girl turned to look in that direction, she saw a man pushedviolently into the street.
"Oh, it is father--it is father!" cried the young girl, wildly, shakingherself free from the doctor's detaining hand. "Oh, they have killed myfather! See! he is lying on the pavement dead, motionless! Oh, God, pityme! I am left alone in the wide, wide world!"
CHAPTER VII.
BERNARDINE.
Doctor Gardiner sprung forward quickly.
"You are unneces
sarily alarmed, my dear young lady," he said. "Thegentleman is only stunned."
So it proved to be; for he had scarcely ceased speaking when the manstruggled to his feet and looked about him in dazed bewilderment.
"Oh, papa, darling, have they killed you!" sobbed the young girl,springing wildly forward and throwing her arms about the dust-begrimedman.
"I don't know, Bernardine," he answered in a shrill voice. "I am sureevery bone in my body is broken--quite sure."
"No," interrupted Doctor Gardiner, pitying the young girl in herdistress; "you are only bruised. I am a doctor; if you will give me youraddress, I will look in and give you something when I return this way. Imay return in an hour's time, I may be as late as to-morrow morning."
"We--we--could not pay for the services of a doctor, sir," sobbed theyoung girl. "If there is anything the matter, I will have to take poorpapa to the hospital."
"I would never go to the hospital, Bernardine," whined the man in a lowtone. "That will be the last of me if I ever have to go there."
"I would make no charge whatever," said Doctor Gardiner. "My serviceswould be rendered gratis," he added, earnestly.
The young girl looked at him with tears shining in her great dark eyes.
"We live in the tenement just around the corner, sir," she said, "on thesixth floor. My father is David Moore, the basket-maker."
Doctor Gardiner dared not remain another moment talking with them, andwith a hasty bow he re-entered his carriage. But during the remainder ofhis journey he could think of nothing but the sad, beautiful face ofBernardine Moore, the basket-maker's daughter.
"What in the name of Heaven has come over me!" he muttered. "I have seena face, and it seems as though I have stepped through the gates of theold world and entered a new one."
He collected his thoughts with a start, as the carriage reached itsdestination.
He had not realized how quickly the time had passed. He resolutely putall thoughts from him as he walked up the steps of the mansion beforewhich he found himself.
The door opened before he could touch the bell.
"We have been waiting for you, doctor," said the low-voiced attendantwho had come to the door.
He followed her through the magnificent hall-way, and up the polishedstairs to the apartment above, where he knew his patient was awaitinghim.
The wan face lying against the pillow lighted up as the doctor entered.His bright, breezy presence was as good as medicine.
"You!" he cried, advancing to the couch. "Why, this will never do, MissRogers! Tut, tut! you are not sick, you do not look it! This is only anexcuse to send for me, and you know it. I can see at a glance that youare a long way from being ill, and you know it!" he repeated.
He said it in so hearty a manner and in such apparent good faith, thathis words could not help but carry conviction with them.
Already the poor lady began to feel that she was not nearly so ill asshe had believed herself to be.
But the doctor, bending over her, despite his reassuring smile and lightbadinage, realized with alarm that his patient was in great danger, thatthere was but a fighting chance for her life.
An hour or more he worked over her unceasingly, doing everything thatskill and science could suggest.
With the dawning of the morning he would know whether she would live ordie.
"Doctor," she said, looking up into his face, "do you think my illnessis fatal? Is this my last call?"
He scarcely knew how to answer her. He felt that the truth should not bekept from her. But how was he to tell her?
"Because," she went on, before he could answer, "if it is, I had betterknow it in time, in order to settle up my affairs. I--I have alwaysdreaded making a will; but--but there will come a time, sooner or later,when it will be necessary for me to do so."
Again Doctor Gardiner laughed out that hearty, reassuring laugh.
"That is the natural feeling of a woman," he said. "Men never have thatfeeling. With them it is but an ordinary matter, as it should be."
"Would you advise me to make a will, doctor?" and the white face wasturned wistfully to him.
"Certainly," he replied, with an attempt at light-heartedness. "It willoccupy your mind, give you something to think about, and take yourthoughts from your fancied aches and pains."
"Fancied?" replied the poor lady. "Ah, doctor, they are real enough,although you do not seem to think so. I--I want to leave all my money to_you_, doctor," she whispered. "You are the only person in the wholewide world who, without an object, has been kind to me," she added, withsudden energy. The fair, handsome face of the young doctor grew grave.
"Nay, nay," he said, gently. "While I thank you with all my heart forthe favor you would bestow on me, still I must tell you that I could nottake the money. No, no, my dear Miss Rogers; it must go to the next ofkin, if you have any."
Her face darkened as an almost forgotten memory rose up before her.
"No!" she said, sharply; "anything but that! They never cared for me!They shall not fight over what I have when I am dead!"
"But you have relatives?" he questioned, anxiously.
"Yes," she said; "one or two distant cousins, who married and who havefamilies of their own. One of them wrote me often while I lived at SanFrancisco; but in her letters she always wanted something, and suchhints were very distasteful to me. She said that she had named one ofher children after me, saying in the next sentence that I ought to makethe girl my heiress. I wrote to her to come on to San Francisco, when Ifell so ill, a few weeks ago. She answered me that she could not come,that she was very sick herself, and that the doctors had ordered her outto Lee, Massachusetts, to live on a farm, until she should becomestronger. When I grew stronger, I left San Francisco with my faithfulattendant, Mary. I did not let them know that I was in New York, and hadtaken possession of this fine house, which I own. Suddenly I fell illagain. I intended to wait until I grew stronger to hunt her up, and seehow I should like her before making overtures of friendship to her. Ishould not like to make a will and leave all to these people whom I donot know. There are hundreds of homes for old and aged women that needthe money more."
"Still, a will should always be made," said the doctor, earnestly. "Iwill send for some one at once, if you will entertain the idea ofattending to it."
"No!" she replied, firmly. "If anything happens to me, I will let themtake their chances. Don't say anything more about it, doctor; my mind isfully made up."
He dared not argue with a woman who was so near her end as he believedher to be.
This case proved to be one of the greatest achievements of his life.From the very Valley of the Shadow of Death he drew back the struggling,fluttering spirit of the helpless lady. And when the first gray streaksof dawn flushed the eastern sky, the doctor drew a great sigh of relief.
"Thank God, she will live!" he said.
When the sun rose later the danger was past--the battle of life had beenwon, and death vanquished.
Although Doctor Gardiner was very weary after his night's vigil, stillhe left the house with a happy heart beating in his bosom.
He scarcely felt the fatigue of his arduous labors as he stepped intohis carriage again. His heart gave a strange throb as he ordered thedriver to go to the tenement house, the home of the old basket-maker andhis beautiful daughter.
How strange it was that the very thought of this fair girl seemed togive his tired brain rest for a moment!
He soon found himself at the street and number he wanted.
"Does Mr. Moore, the basket-maker, live here?" he asked, pausing for amoment to inquire of a woman who sat on the doorstep with a little childin her arms.
"Yes," she answered, in a surly voice; "and more's the pity for the restof us tenants, for he is a regular fiend incarnate, sir, and has a fitof the delirium tremens as regularly as the month comes round. He's got'em now. A fine dance he leads that poor daughter of his. Any other girlwould get out and leave him. Are you the doctor Miss Bernardine wasexpecting? If
so, walk right up. She is waiting for you."
CHAPTER VIII.
"OH, I AM SO GLAD THAT YOU HAVE COME, DOCTOR!"
Doctor Jay Gardiner, with as much speed as possible, made his way up thelong, steep flights of dark, narrow stairs, and through the still darkerpassages, which were only lighted by the open doors here and there,revealing rooms inhabited by half a dozen persons. They were alltalking, fighting or scrambling at the same time; and the odor of thatnever-to-be-forgotten smell of frying onions and sausages greeted hisnostrils at every turn until it seemed to him that he must faint.
"Great heavens! how can so fair a young girl live in an atmosphere likethis?" he asked himself.
At length, almost exhausted, for he was unused to climbing, thishaughty, aristocratic young doctor found himself on the sixth floor ofthe tenement house, and he knocked at the first door he came to.
It was opened by the young girl Bernardine. He could see at a glancethat her face bore the traces of trouble, and the dark eyes, still heavywith unshed tears, showed signs of recent weeping.
"Oh, I am so glad that you have come, doctor!" she said, clasping herlittle hands. "My poor father is so much worse. Please step in thisway!"
He was ushered into a little sitting-room, and as he entered it he sawthat everything was scrupulously neat and clean.
"Poor papa is out of his mind, doctor. Please come quickly, and seehim!"
It did not require a second glance for the doctor to understand all; andstraightway he proceeded to give the man a draught, which had the effectof quieting him. The young girl stood by the man with clasped hands anddilated eyes, scarcely breathing as she watched him.