Doctor Glennie's Daughter. A story of real life

Front matter

A STORY OF REAL LIFE BY B. L. FARJEON AUTHOR OF "AT THE SIGN OF THE SILVER FLAGON," "THE GREAT PORTER SQUARE MYSTERY," "THE SACRED NUGGET,7' "NINE OF HEARTS,77 etc., etc. IN ONE VOLUME LONDON HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET 1889 All Rights Reserved 1'RINTED BY TILLOTSON AND SON, MAWDSLEY STREET BOLTON. DP, GLENNIE'S DAUGHTER PART THE FIRST: TWENTY YEARS AGO. '' The shame and the sin are packed away, where no eye but mine can see them. Having wronged no man, what cause have I for self-reproach? Thank God, my honour's saved !" — Fabian.

Chapter I

On the night of the 19th of February, 1865, Doctor Glennie sat alone in his study,. writing a letter to his friend, Meynell Drum mond, who was at that moment in Madeira, whither he had been sent for the benefit of his health. The furniture and adornments r. of the study betokened wealth and pros perity. The bronzes were genuine, the paintings were originals of great value, and the library shelves were enriched and enno bled by many rare first editions in their grand old bindings. Turn whichever way you would, you saw proofs of culture and refinement, and the thoughtful face of the master of the house, as he sat penning a letter to his distant friend, was a verification of the source from which these signs of intellectual taste proceeded. Among the paintings was one which possessed for him an irresistible attraction and fascination, and it was hung in such a position as to enable his eyes to rest upon it whenever he raised his head.

He was accustomed to sit always in a particular place at his writing-table, when engaged in correspondence and literary labours, and this picture, judging from the influence it exercised over him, must have been hung purposely and of premeditation upon the space it occupied. It was a painting by a great artist of a young girl budding into womanhood, and certainly no lovelier face was ever limned on canvas. The delicate colour in the cheeks, the soft grey eyes, the exquisite shade of the brown hair and its luxuriance, the smiling mouth, the bunch of creamy roses on the bosom of the dress, all denoted a happy, joyous, innocent spirit ; and whenever Doctor Glennie's eyes were fixed upon it, there dwelt upon his face an expression of affection most pleasant to behold in a man of his years. The expression, indeed, was not alone one of affection, but of absolute devotion.

The portrait before him was that of his darling daughter, Alice, the only child of his widowed life. At his age there are very often signs in men which denote that they have long since reached their prime, mentally and physically. No such signs were observable in Doctor Glennie. His eyes were clear and bright, his frame, though spare, was vigorous, his features were full of virile strength and power, and there was not a grey hair in his head. He had lived a manly, temperate, honourable life, and he was now reaping the benefit of it ; and it was to his advantage that, with the exception of two sorrows, his days had been easy and prosperous. The first of his sorrows was the death of a baby boy, the second the death of his wife shortly after Alice was born. To this dear child had fallen the sacred lot of chastening his grief in these afflictions, and it was she who ahvays there after had brought sweetness into his home.

He loved her with a most perfect love. Ambitious as he was, and valuing as he did the distinguished name and position his talents had won for him, his dearest and most cherished hopes were centred in his daughter. She was, as it were, the breath of his life. No wonder, then, that as he wrote to his friend, Meynell Drummond, he should raise his eyes so frequently to her portrait. " My Dear Meynell," the letter commenced — " I am more than grieved at the account you give me of your health, and at your complainings that the climate of Madeira had, up to the date of your last communication, been of such little benefit to you. You have been away now for nearly three months, and in that time your health should have improved ; but may you not yourself be contributing to your retardment ? You write in the most melancholy of moods, and it is clear to me that you have allowed yourself to fall into a despondent state.

This is in the highest degree in jurious to a man in your condition, and I earnestly beg of you to correct it. The means of doing so are in your hands. Culti vate a disposition of cheerfulness, take an interest in what surrounds you, be active, keep yourself employed. I could cull from the pharmacopœia no medicine so salutary as this for the ills you are labouring under, for the depression into which you have allowed yourself to drift. Follow my advice, and you will be doing the best that lies in your power towards your recovery ; neglect it, and the consequences may be serious. Remember that you owe not only a duty to yourself but to your wife. Of her I will speak more fully presently. " I am writing in my study, where you and I have spent many a pleasant evening, and where, I trust, we shall spend many more.

I have an hour or two to spare, and I pro pose to touch upon several subjects referred to in your last letter, and to give you information thereon. I shall take them in hand in the order in which you have set them down, and if I succeed in making my letter interest ing, all the better. By the way, do you read much ? I remember advising you to do so, and to select entertaining novels ; you require light fare, which fiction will supply. It will keep you from inventing fictions of your own in the shape of imaginary ills, and from brooding upon them. Like cheerful spirits, novels, even though they be of moderate excellence in style and literature, are a healthy medicine which I have no hesitation in prescribing. " I am quite alone, and in a fitting mood to write to you. Only my sister Letty is in the house, all the servants being away for the night.

The three maids have gone to the theatre to witness some wonderful pro duction in the way of spectacle ; the cook has gone to see her sister ; the coachman is out sweethearting ; and I do not expect — or rather Letty does not expect — any of them home until midnight. I do not, as you know, trouble myself about domestic matters, but my dear dumb sister generally keeps me acquainted with what is going on in the house, and she is altogether so good and affectionate, that I submit to her trifling whims in this respect, and affect an interest which I do not feel. Letty never fails to inquire after you, and when I told her that I intended to write to you to - night, she desired me to convey to you her kindest wishes. " Now I will commence in serious earnest. " You ask me why I sent you to Madeira.

Your method of expression, indeed, is start lingly emphatic. You say, 'Why, oh! why, did you insist upon my leaving London, and coming here, where I clo not know a living soul — where I have not a single friend ?' "In this plaintive appeal, my dear Meynell, there is an implied reproach, to which, how ever, I attach no serious meaning. When you wrote to me you were suffering under an oppression of loneliness ; you were thinking of y*our dear wife and of her condition ; you were fretting yourself with the idea that she would soon become a mother, and that you, the being on whom she dotes, would be absent from her side when your child was born. "Again, you ask, ' Did you send me here to die ?' " My dear Meynell, I will be frank with you. It will be altogether best that I should hide nothing from you affecting yourself, although it is not seldom that the wise physician conceals from a hyper-sensitive patient the full knowledge of the peril in which he stands.

This was my case with respect to you, my patient and my friend. True I threw out certain hints which you might or might not have taken to heart ; but life seems so sure while we hold it, that the half-warnings I gave you passed possibly out of the region of seriousness. Yet, let me impress upon you that a man of my ex perience and technical observation sees signs which are hidden from others, especially from those whom they most deeply concern. Such signs, to my grief, I saw plainly in you. " It was November, and we had already been visited by fogs ; you can recall the dis mally dark days through which you coughed and spat blood, and were sometimes scarcely able to walk, so feeble had you grown. There was every indication of a hard and severe winter, which has been more than realised. The season has been, and con tinues to be, a terrible one.

We are in February, and the snow lies thick upon the ground ; I do not remember so long a period of severe cold and nipping winds. It has killed thousands, and would have killed you. Had you remained in London, you would have been dead before Christ mas ! " The truth is out. Thank the equable climate of Madeira that you are alive to-day. In Funchal, where you are at present, there is at most throughout the whole year a variation of ten or twelve degrees. It was the very place for you. All the chances were in your favour there ; all the chances were against you here. Therefore I insisted that you should depart without delay for Madeira — not to die, but to live. To live, so that you might look upon the face of your child yet to be born ; to live, that you might happily grow into strength and be a joy and a comfort to the dear wife who adores you.

Are you answered ? "Another thing which forced itself on my observation, and probably escaped yours. You were a source of deep and constant anxiety to your wife. Her eyes would dwell upon you when you were not aware of it ; when you were away from home for an hour or two she was in agony until you returned ; her sufferings in seeing and think ing of yours were greater than your own. This was a grave matter to me, her phy sician. Mrs. Drummond is very delicate ; she is not strong enough to bear a long and continued strain of anxiety ; you were breaking her down, Meynell. In her condition it was vitally necessary to exercise towards her the wisest and tenderest consideration. Your death would have been her death. Therefore I sent you to Madeira — that she should live as well as you ! " I will go even further.

There was another life to think of — that of your unborn child. Therefore I sent you to Madeira to save three lives, which else would have been sacrificed."

Chapter II

At this point the door of the study was very quietly opened and Doctor Glennie's sister entered. The doctor looked up and smiled at her, and a responsive smile immediately appeared upon her lips. She was four or five years younger than he, and there was that listening expression on her face which is generally* observable on the faces of the deaf and dumb. In speaking of her as his sister, although his feelings towards her were entirely those of an affectionate brother, Doctor Glennie was not quite exact. It was true she bore his surname, Glennie, her Christian name being Letty, but she was no more than his foster sister, an orphan child whom his parents had taken out of charity. This had occurred when Doctor Glennie was a lad of fourteen, and it was doubtful whether she would have been retained beyond the age when persons are expected to provide for themselves, had it not been for Doctor Glennie, who contracted for her a brotherly affection which had shown no diminution up to the present day.

It was due to him, therefore, that she was not sent out to battle with the world, with all the odds against her ; it was due to him that she had received an education and was regarded as an equal. She was aware of this, and her gratitude was boundless. It showed itself in a thousand little ways of forethought and attention, and in numberless instances of devotion, which in time met with their reward. She grew to be regarded by her benefactor almost as one of his blood, and when he arrived at manhood's estate no one felt greater pride in his progress than Sister Letty. Upon his marriage, which took place a couple of years after the death of his parents, he proposed that she should reside permanently with him, and she joyfully con sented. Between her and Doctor Glennie's wife strong ties of affection were formed, and when, later on, Doctor Glennie found himself a widower, it was an inexpressible consolation to him to witness the tender care which Sister Letty lavished upon his motherless child.

The girl grew up and loved Sister Letty as fondly as she could have loved her own mother. The precise tie which bound Sister Letty to Doctor Glennie and his darling Alice may be defined as one of absolute, unquestioning devotion. She had no other thought but of their welfare, and it is not an exaggeration to say that if to contribute to their happiness her death had been necessary, she would cheerfully have yielded up her life for them. For him and his it would have been almost if not quite im possible to have suggested a sacrifice which she would not have been ready unhesitatingly to make. Perhaps in as great a degree as her concern for their happiness was her pride in Doctor Glennie's honour and spotless name. In her eyes, as Alice was the incar nation of sweetness and loveliness, so was Doctor Glennie the incarnation of honour and nobility.

When she opened the study door and quietly entered the room, she brought in with her a tray, with a silver coffee-pot and milk ewer, and cup and saucer, which she placed near to him on the table. Doctor Glennie never took sugar in his tea or coffee. He ceased writing upon her entrance, and laying his pen aside, poured out a cup of coffee, and addressed her in the deaf and c dumb alphabet, using the one-handed system with wonderful facility. " Thank you, Sister Letty," he said. " I thought you would not forget me." Her eyes followed the movements of his fingers and the expression of his features at one and the same time, and she shook her head in smiling reproof, and y*et with a touch of gravity, conveying the answer that she could never forget him. " Don't you feel lonely," he asked, leaning back in his chair, and gazing lovingly at the portrait of his daughter, " with all the servants *i" away r " No," she replied, and her eyes also dwelt lovingly on the picture.

" I am writing to Alice." "That is right, Letty," he said; "the letters you write are worth receiving. I shall never forget those you wrote to me when I was away in Russia. You told me exactly everything I wished to know, and I felt when I was reading them as though you were chatting to me. A letter from you must always be a pleasure to our Alice." "You are writing to Mr. Drummond?" she said. "Yes, and I am giving him all the news, and a few words of counsel." " Which he ought to take to heart," she observed. " Poor fellow ! I am troubled about him, Sister Letty ; I fear he is in a bad way. Have you called in next door since this morning ?" " Yes, I called in the afternoon. Mrs. Drummond is very weak and low-spirited. She was crying when I entered." " And you could not tell for what reason," said the Doctor, " as she has not succeeded in learning y*our language."

"Oh, yes, I knew; she was crying about her husband." "Your affectionate heart can divine a sorrow and sympathise with it. Mrs. Drum mond is a foolish woman. She should be happy and cheerful — it is her duty to be so — in the near prospect of holding her baby to her breast. That will happen in about a fortnight." " Sooner," said Sister Letty " Do you think so ? Well, perhaps ; but hardly, I should say, unless she receives a sudden shock. And she has no nurse with her. The woman must be sent for immediately." " Mrs. Drummond will not have her yet ; you told me yourself she could not endure strangers around her." " She is full of despondent crotchets ; and I have reasoned with her repeatedly, to no effect. In vain have I impressed upon her the necessity of keeping as calm as possible and not exciting herself."

"It is not to be expected," said Sister Letty, " that she can be happy and cheerful, alone as she is, with the husband she loves so far away and in such bad health. She fears that she will not see him again." Doctor Glennie made no reply, and there was a pause. Then Sister Letty resumed. "Richard " But she got no farther; her hand dropped to her side. "Yes, Sister Letty," he prompted. "Go on. What were you about to say ?" " Have you observed anything unusual lately in Alice's letters ?" "No," he said, with a more steadfast look at her. " Have you observed anything un usual ?" " They are not so bright as they* used to be ; there is a vein of sadness running through them. At least," she added, quickly, noticing Doctor Glennie's anxiety, "it ap pears so to me." He thought a little before he spoke, and then he said— " It is womanly, Sister Letty*, loving our Alice as you do " With all my heart and soul, Richard.

" We know — both Alice and I ; and to me, my dear sister, it is a great comfort that Alice has a loving heart like yours to lean upon. I was saying that it is womanly to magnify small fears into great ones when they relate to one who is so dear to us as Alice is, and is separated from us. That is what Mrs. Drummond is doing, and that is what you are doing. But," he continued, after another pause, " is there anything special in Alice's letters to arouse alarm ? Is there anything definite?" " There is nothing special or definite, Richard." " She has said nothing to me about being unwell." " Nor to me." " Why, then," said Doctor Glennie, re covering himself, "what cause can there be for uneasiness ? A girl cannot be always in the best of spirits ; she must have her sad moments like other mortals.

Perhaps Alice is melancholy at being away from us so long " " Nearly twelve months, Richard." " I know, Letty. Have I not taken count of every week, of every day, I might say of every hour ? But for you, my dear sister, the house would have been insupportable without Alice. How I have missed her kiss in the morning, the sound of her sweet voice, the sight of her bright face ! But it was done for her good, Letty ; I took the wisest course, and my judgment approves. She will come back to us brighter and sweeter than ever. In sending her from us for a little time — it has been a very long time to us, has it not, Letty? — I was consulting her happiness, not ours. A father must perform his duty to his child though his heart ache in the doing of it." Had the words been uttered aloud instead of being told off rapidly on his fingers, they could not have been conveyed more earnestly or with deeper feeling.

No man would have supposed Doctor Glennie to be given to sentiment, yet here he was, stirred to his heart's depths by the sentiment of love for his child. All the intensity of an absorbing passion found expression in the workings of his face and the flashing of his hand. " Haunted as she was," he continued, "by two men, beset by flattery, and as it seemed to me, unable to make up her mind which was the worthier, I deemed it best to remove her awhile from a position in which there was danger to her peace of mind. Had she given me any indication that her heart was engaged to either one or the other, I might have acted differently, but although I watched for signs, I saw none. I took counsel with myself. Alice was too young to know her heart, and I was not eager, my dear Letty, to allow her to go from me too soon to another man's arms.

The time must come, I know, and I look forward to it with rue ; but our Alice, even now, is barely nineteen. All her life is before her, and love must be taught not to be impatient. Therefore I sent her to Brussels, and robbed myself of joy ; and I bound these two would-be lovers to an undertaking not to attempt to see her, and not, except through me, her father, to communi cate with her, directly or indirectly. They gave the promise, the younger man re luctantly, the elder readily, and I have no reason to suppose that they have not kept it. Alice at first occasionally mentioned their names in her letters to me, but in a light way, which set my heart at ease. Lately, however, she has preserved silence with respect to them. This may be a proof that neither had succeeded in winning her affections.

How does it strike you, Letty ?" "I, also," replied Sister Letty, "watched Alice with loving care while these two gentlemen were paying attentions to her, and the conclusion I arrived at was different from yours. I thought love had come to her." "You did!" exclaimed Dr. Glennie, anxiously. " For which of the two ?" " I could not decide, Richard, having nothing to guide me." ' Alice did not, then, confide in you ?" ' No. If she had shown the least desire to give me her confidence I should have encouraged her to do so, and should have received it with eagerness ; for, indeed, Richard, our dear Alice's happiness is mine. But she said nothing, and it appeared to me certain that neither of the gentlemen had spoken in a serious way to her. There is one secret in a young girl's heart which, until she has warranty to disclose it, she preserves jealously even from those nearest and dearest to her.

Almost she must tremble to think of it, lest the very thought should betray her. Especially must this be so, Richard, with a girl so modest and pure minded as our Alice." "Pure as the lily," said the fond father; " modest as the violet." Sister Letty bowed her head, and her face was filled, as her heart was beating, with tenderness for the absent one. " Richard," she said, " it has often occurred to me to ask which of the two gentlemen you prefer for our Alice ?" " Supposing the choice were mine ?" said Doctor Glennie, with a smile. Of course." "It is worth thinking of, Letty, even in the teeth of a possible repulse, for young love is both wayward and self-willed ; there is no arguing with it. I should never, I hope, strive to thwart our dear Alice's incli nations, unless I were moved to it by the most serious considerations ; such, for in stance, as that a man were unworthy, wanting in honour or truth, and that I was convinced my daughter's happiness would not be safe in his keeping."

I understand that, Richard." "It has happened, and will happen again, Letty, that even in such a case a father's counsel is unavailing, and that he finds himself powerless to avert the evil which a young and trusting heart cannot discern." "It would not be so with our dear one," said Sister Letty, clasping her hands when her fingers had performed their office. " I hope not — I pray* not. I cannot imagine that such a grief is in store for me. It might unhappily be that our Alice, innocent and unsuspecting as she is, would be deceived at first by the false glitter of baser metal, but the moment her eyes were opened she would shrink from it in horror. And am I not by her side to guide her with a man's subtle insight and wisdom ? There fore, Letty," he added, with a bright smile, " I am not disturbed by the fear that our dear girl will entrust her happiness to one who is unworthy of her."

" I am rejoiced to hear you say so, Richard. You are seldom wrong." " It is my firm belief. Alice inherits from me qualities which will be a shield and pro tection to her through life. Before all, my dear sister, honour ; she is as jealous of it,. and as proud of our good name as I am myself. No stain of shame or reproach can ever rest upon it. Rather death ; rather worse than death — oblivion — which I thank God is not the fate which follows mortal life. And now for your question. An appropriate one, Letty, for when our dear child returns, which will be on exactly this day three weeks " — he paused to rub his hands, and the bright smile again illumined his face — " exactly three weeks to-day, Letty, these young men may present themselves again in the hope of winning her favour. Well, it must be borne !

Which of the two I would prefer for our sweet flower, eh ? Let me consider. Here stands Ru Wentworth, the younger of them, twenty-five, fresh, impulsive, enthusiastic, with more of the boy in him than his years would warrant. Here stands George Broughton, thirty-two — I know their ages, you see — cool, careful, less rapid in his methods, less impulsive, less enthusiastic, with more of the world than I would wish to see in any man until he is past his prime. But that may be a virtue and a positive recommendation. Why, because he is younger than I, should I decry in him what I would extol in myself? Above all, let us be just ; the mind that would judge fairly must be unprejudiced. Letty, I thank you for putting the question to me ; there is nothing so effective as being brought face to face with a possible difficulty — a difficulty which has not yet taken practical shape, but is likely to present itself in the near future.

We can arm ourselves ; we can be prepared ; we can inquire, investigate ; we can unmask the pitfalls which otherwise would have been hidden in our path. And when the welfare of the tenderest, sweetest, purest human flower the world contains is at stake, what blindness to allow events to shape themselves into disaster when a light turning of the hand may bring sunshine into dark clouds ! We know, then, what happens ; the dark clouds melt away and brightness reigns — as it shall, as it must, in the life of my* child ! So, before us are these two men, the younger and the elder. Ru Wentworth is unsoiled, something of a poet, and yet willing and wishful to do a man's work ; but utterly inexperienced. There's the rub. Almost as inexperienced as Alice herself. What a capital to go into the world with !

These two simple ones, at the mercy of every schemer and trickster, and master of cunning — these two with their hearts upon their sleeves, while all around them are hawks and wolves hungering for prey. I beg your pardon, Letty; you wish to say something." "They would have their father," said Sister Letty, who was following his diagnosis with painful intensity. " True, they would have their father. You recall me to myself. In my contem plation of the characters of these two young people I was leaving the father out of the question." " You were not confining yourself to char acter," said Sister Letty; "you were going into possibilities in which you would not be an idle actor." 77 Logician ! I did not think you could deepen my admiration for you." " In the matter we are considering," said Sister Letty, her eyes filling with tears, " my heart, my hopes, my happiness are engaged."

Doctor Glennie rose and kissed her, and then resumed his seat. "Not alone my admiration," he said, and it is no exaggeration to assert that there was positive tenderness in the mute words he was addressing to her, "but my love. I could not hold more closely a sister of my blood." D " Thank you, Richard. I am deeply, deeply grateful." " To resume. Set aside inexperience ; I could warn them, guide them. My watchful eye would be ever on the alert, and woe betide those who would set snares to entrap the firstlings of my heart ! Now, as to worldly position. Ru Wentworth has a small property, which brings in four hundred pounds a year. What can an ambitious man do with four hundred pounds a year ? He had better be a beggar." 'You are rich, Richard." " I exempt you from the usual weaknesses of womankind.