Dr. Gray's Patient

Aunt Attie Starbright was the sweetest and handsomest old maid that ever the sun shone upon. Everybody loved her;I don't believe slic had au enemy in all the wide world ; I ani aiire she had none in Rosebank, our own sweet village that snuggled imidst the liills. Who can teil why some people never inarry'? Vivacious, charming, even up to forty, she was the verv one to storm hearts. If she ever had offers, she kept the matter close, but I enjoy my own private opinión that she was often importuned to change her state of single blessedness. The word is 110 misnomer in her case - it was blessedness with her all through life. Picture to yourself a fair, sunshiny face, with the gladdest, most innocent blue eyes you ever saw, with curls on each side the ampie forehead white as silver, with a smile that made you happy for hours atter you missed it, with a low, gentle voice as sweet as music, and there you have the aunt Attie whom the children, aud, I do believe, the very dumb cattle, loved. lier flowers, trees, birds, and sunshine always seemed the brightest in Rosebank. Everthing she did, looked, and said, was reftned into something rarer, than common. Her bread, meats, pastry, were always better to me than any I tasted elsewhere. The only marvel was that Lurline Starbright had lived to be nineteen and had never been to Rosebank before. We all wondered what the gay, fashionable, beautiful young creature would think of aunt Attie, and tried in numberless ways to iind out. Somehow, after she came from her city home, we faneied there was a shadow on aunt Attie's face - that her augh was not as clear. AVhen we isked after Jier niece, she always aid, "Lurly is not very well; she came ut hete to get rested, By-and-by, I ïope she will come among you. She slays and sings sweetly, and I do want 0 see the color in her cheeks, poor ehild '." 'Til bet she's crossed in love," said Mandy White, who was not over choice in lier language, and some way we all carne to that conclusión. But to my story. "Doctor Gray," cried a clear, cheerful 'oice, one morning. The doctor stopped old "President" - a grand old horse he was, too - and ooked out. Aunt Attie stood at one of the bedroom Windows ; she seemed inxious. The cottage, standing back among liac-bushes and morning-glories and lowering vines, was indulging in its usual batli of summer sunshine. The ïearts of the luscious flowers seemed glad as the soft warmth flushed their :ed and purple bosoms. The air was ill redolent of country f ragrance ; young clover, reddening at the first jreath of June, among the short grasses ; here and there a rose bursting out of budhood, smiling and blushing, while the gum of the spruce-trees feil like amber tears down the smooth, straight trunks of the pines, contributing their share of spicy aroma to make glad the young season so coyly approaching. "Good morning, aunt Attie," said the doctor ; "fine day, isn't it ? Your garden is as fragrant and beautiful as ever." "Then come into the parlor, if you can wait, and look at it from there, I've something to speak to you about." 'Tve got to go up to Linton's. His daughter is just about going. If it will do as well, 111 stop as I come back." "Oh, certainly; poor Mrs. Linton! IIow sad it is - this is the f ourth child, and now she must go." "Yes, it's very sad," said the doctor, and touched old President. Then aunt Attie bustled into the next room, where her niece was getting ready for breakfast. "1 thought I heard you talking with somebody," said the girl, languidly. " ï"es, Lurly, an old f riend. How do you feel this morning ?" "As miserable as ever," sighed the young creature, the white lids drooping over the great blue eyes. Aunt Attie went down stairs, perplexed. The doctor was at the door. "All over," he said, in a quiet, softened tone; "the child has gone home." "Poor mother!" sighed aunt Attie, her eyes f uil of tears. "And what did you want of me?" "To talk about my brother's child." "Ah, the young lady," and there was just the suspicion of a flush in the doctor's cheek. He was thirty, and unmarried. "She worries me," said aunt Attie. "I don't know as I make her happy, she's so used to grand things." "Is she ill ?" "That's just what I want to know," said aunt Attie, her voice f uil of genuine distress. "She mopes, is unhappy, 1 and has no appetite." "Oh, something we shouldn't meddle with," laughed the doctor, a little nervouslv. "Nonsense ; I know what you mean -but it isn't that - no indeed. I'm afraid it's disease, and still she won't have a doctor. You don't know how it distresses me to have her sleep so hcavily in the morning, looking like a corpse, almost. It's really sad, and she so young. It appears to me that she don't take any interest in anything." "Well, what do you propose to do ?" "I propose that you shall see her, of course. But it must be done out of the regular routine way. You must cali in this evening like any ordinary visitor. I'm really afraid if I don't do something she'll die on my hands. 1 love her too well to see her fade away, dear little Lurly !" and her voice lingered on the name tenderly. "I don't like any of the family as I do her. Belle is haughty, Mimmie a butterfly, but ly was always a loving, tender little thlng. She's more of a violet than a rose. Will yon come?" ïlie doctor was a handsome man, and adniired beauty. He had seen Lurline Imt once -and then it appeared to him that lier face was as that of au angel. "Of course 111 come," he said, rising - "I should like to study this rare case. A young lady of wealth and i'ashion lUtting to the country after a round oí dissipation, and getting up strength for auother season - " "Now stop, doctor, don't be sarcas tic," said aunt Attie ; "if you saw and knevv her as I do, you would feel as mach interested in her welfare." "Poasibly more so," thought the doctor to himsell', and took up his hat, oonscious that his sarcasm had partly vailed other feelings. Kvening eaine. :"'1 """ l()" ''■"' iiea ner neaunful neice into the parlor. In the sweet face of the girl one could read unutterable weariness. She had bestowed but little care upon her toilet, but the snowy wrapper, the blue ribbons, a certain absence of all effort to appear well, gave her soft, touching beauty. The doctor carne; he was a man of genius- polished, handsome, susceptible to the linest influences, a lover of the finest influences, a lover of purity and goodness, and an alrnost worshiper of beauty. Like aunt Attie, he was the favorite of old and young. Time would fail me to teil how many nets had been thrown for him. Like a wary üsh he had escaped them all, and strange to say, his heart had not yet been deeply touched. Without seeming to do so, he probed the young girl's case skillfully. A planee from him sent aunt Attie from the room on some pretext or other. Lurline sat at the open window ; her glance wandered listlessly. She had not thought it worth her while to exercise her powers of conversation, but occasionally had said a brilliant or a witty thing. Now, however, was the doctor's time. He drew his chair nearer to the young girl. He was a bold man in a good cause. He knew societv, and, in spite of herself, he drew her out. Under the quiet exterior, he saw a reserved power that marked this girl as quite different from the generality of worldlings. He forced her, without her knowledge to be Iierself. When he took his departure aunt Attie met him at the door. "Well V" she said, an expectant look in her eyes. "I think Í understand the case." "üh doctor, and is she very ill? I have been trying to think if tliere was ever any insanity in our family. I don't bebeve there ever was." "Siie is keen-witted enough," replied the doctor smiling. "You should see her when she is in good spirits." "Slie fe so sometimes." "Occasionally, and then I want everybody to be by. She can be .so brilliant, dear child ! But you have not toldmy what ailetl her." "I cannot yet - you must wait," he replied. "Is it serious ?" "It might be, il not attended to," was the reply, as the doctor's face grew grave. "Can you cure her ?" "I think I can." "Heaven bless you, Doctor Gray! You have lifted a weight írom my heart. When will you come again?" "In a day or two. I have left no medicine. I must study her case f urther. Good-evening, madam." "Dear me, how mysterious!" muttered poor aunt Attie, when he liad gone : "I'm afraid it's hereditary, whatever it is," and she went in the parlor. Lurline sat there in a reverv. She had let all her curls down, and they floated over neck and shoulders, lifted by the soft summer breeze. "Well, dear," said aunt Attie, as she bustled about, "what do you think of our doctor ?" "Doctor - what doctor ?" asked Lur line, lifting lier mournf ui eyes. "My child, he was here to-night- you have been talking witn him." "Oh, yes! Was that the doctor?" and her face took on more vivacity of expression. "I had quite forgotton who had been here. Has he a large practice P" "Only physician here," was the reply- "I wonder if you'll mind, aunty if I go to bed. I feel so tired." "No, dear, you're to do just as you please while you are with me," The girl stood, holding by the open door. "Aunty, how kind you are to me !' she said, in her low, plaintivo voice. "1 don't deserve that you should be so kind." "Hear the child!" laughed aunt Attie. "Why, bless your heart, my dading, why shouldn't I be ?" She rose from her chair, and kissed her niece on the forehead. Thvee nights afterward, Doctor Gray called again, and again Lurline received him indifferently. On being left alone with her, the doctor set his lips together. The decisive moment had come, and it requirei no ordinary courage to save her. He laid his hand on her arm - a light touch ; but she almost sprang from her chair. "My young f riend," he said calmly almost solemnly, "I am going to speak to you as a professional man. How long since you contracted the habit?" She grew scarlet, then white as death.bit her lips. Her breath came quicker, but her eyes dropped guiltily "To what do you refer, sir?" she asked, with haughty voice and man ner. "The habit of opium-eatlng, Miss Lurline." She fairly lightened in her sudden wrath, as she confronted him again, but she met a glance so full of pity, of reproof, that her false courage gave way. Her head dropped, her hands were_ clasped over her eyes", and she burst into a passion of tears. "You are no gentleman to charge me thus- to comeupon me unawares," she sobbedindignantly; "I never asked you to come - I never sent for you. I don't wish your advice," and again her voice was chokhd with tears. 'I should not be doing my duty to God, or to you, if I held my peace." He went on in the same solemn voice, and there was reproof in it: "'You are young ; you move in society where elegance and luxury are in the ascendant. You have a fine, vigorous constitution. What, with all your advantages, your attainments, your pleasures, in a world so gay, could induce you to form this habit?" "Because I am dissatisiied with all the world," was lier passionate reply. "I am sick of Ufe. I am weary of ng, dancing, and smiling. They are ill false - I hate them. I have seen ïothing true in my life - nothing real. despise liollow friendship. For all his I grew dispirited, nervous, till - till- " "[ sec it all," said the doctor, pityngly, for it was sad to hear from the ips of one so young. "All is vanity and vexation of spirit." It was a terrible exhibition of Pleasure's boasting triumphs - her poor vóary wearied, haggard and wretclied, craving a false excitement that only ed her f eet to walk on burning coate. "It does not make you happy," he said. "Happyl" and tliere was a mockin.-c ■cho in her voice. She caught the exression of his even, and hr mood chauged. She locke.i unlovely, hnvd, sold cruel, but tlns was alsn false.and uutuittn uist. te moment fl not ears were falling, and her voice, weary and passionless groaned out the words : "Oh, I wisb I were dead!" "A strange wish," he said slowly, 'for one that knows that not one purpose of her soul is fit tor the pure eyes of her Maker." "You are harsh. sir. Why do you preach to me '(" she asked, her whole nature roused. 'I am only true," he continued that same look in his face which called up ;he blushes to her cheek. "You are steeping your life in crime, degradinii the beautiful gifts God has given you, inviting remorse and misery. You can not flnd happiness, my joor child, in any of these things. It s the gift of God, and you must ask it f him only." Her face was hidden from him, but ;he proud heart was melted into con,rition. "I am going, Miss Lurline ; forgive me if 1 have pained you. God knows ït was hard to do. (iood-nigut. "Stop!" It was the voice of command. Lurline nad thrown her hair back, and no w stood upright. "I want to say something, I want to teil you : I think you are the noblest man I ever saw." "Miss Starbrightl" he murmured, abashed. before her. "Yes, you fill me with admiration, wicked and ungrateful as I have seemed. Papa sent physicians to me at home. Kot one of them had the moral courage to say to me what you have said. You have saved me from myself. I promise you solemnly I will break this wretched habit. It will live for something besides self. Jiow good-night." Aunt Attie was surprised the next morning to see Lurly out in the garden, workiog among the flowers. ïhe uiil astonished her inseveral waysthat day. Light and lif e dwelt again in that pretty home. roses bloomed inside and outside. Day after day, week af ter week the miracle went un, and doctor Gray's patiënt became happy, hopeful, healthy. Doctor Giny callcJ. oconoioiially enough to make the gossips talk, however, enough to set Lurline's heart to beating and her cheek glowing. Lurllae went back to her city home a new creature; and not many months alter Doctor Gray was closeted with her fatlier, and won his patiënt backto Rosebank, as his happy, proud, and loving wife.