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The settlement was effected, and away went the two friends, saying: "Good-boye, vile count." Their host fell into thought. "When have I talked so much?" asked he of himself. "Dr. Aberford, you are a wonderful man; I like your lower classes amazingly." "Me'fiez vous, Monsieur Ipsden!" should some mentor have said.
"And that is what is wrong with him, you may depend." This conclusion arrived at, Mr. Saunders coolly wrote his convictions to Dr. Aberford, and desired that gentleman's immediate attention to the case. An hour or two later, he glided into his lord's room, not without some secret trepidation, no trace of which appeared on his face. He pulled a long histrionic countenance.
He was a clergyman without a charge; he resided at Aberford, in Yorkshire; he appears to have been a man of considerable means; and now he devoted all his powers to the moral and spiritual upliftment of the working-classes in the West Riding of Yorkshire. His sphere was the district between Leeds and Halifax.
You rend and read, and are at Edinburgh, fatigued more or less, but not by the journey. Lord Ipsden was, therefore, soon installed by the Firth side, full of the Aberford. The young nobleman not only venerated the doctor's sagacity, but half admired his brusquerie and bustle; things of which he was himself never guilty. As for the prescription, that was a Delphic Oracle.
Leaving Richard, Lord Ipsden, to work out the Aberford problem to relieve poor people, one or two of whom, like the Rutherford, were grateful, the rest acted it to the life to receive now and then a visit from Christina Johnstone, who borrowed every mortal book in his house, who sold him fish, invariably cheated him by the indelible force of habit, and then remorsefully undid the bargain, with a peevish entreaty that "he would not be so green, for there was no doing business with him" to be fastened upon by Flucker, who, with admirable smoothness and cunning, wormed himself into a cabin-boy on board the yacht, and man-at-arms ashore.
"Yes, it is down, but Saunders would have written it better." "If he hadn't he ought to be hanged," said the Aberford, inspecting the work. "I'm off, where's my hat? oh, there; where's my money? oh, here. And out he scuttled, glided after by Saunders, for whom he opened and shut the street door.
Never was a greater effect produced by a doctor's visit; patient and physician were made for each other. Dr. Aberford was the specific for Lord Ipsden. He came to him like a shower to a fainting strawberry. Saunders, on his return, found his lord pacing the apartment. "Saunders," said he, smartly, "send down to Gravesend and order the yacht to this place what is it?" "Granton Pier. Yes, my lord."
For, at that dark moment life seemed to this fortunate man an aching void; a weary, stale, flat, unprofitable tale; a faded flower; a ball-room after daylight has crept in, and music, motion and beauty are fled away. "Dr. Aberford, my lord." This announcement, made by Mr. Saunders, checked his lordship's reverie. "Insults everybody, does he not, Saunders?"
But even Aberford had misled him; there were no adventures to be found in the Firth of Forth; most of the days there was no wind to speak of; twice it blew great guns, and the men were surprised at his lordship going out, but nobody was in any danger except himself; the fishermen had all slipped into port before matters were serious.
Here lay on a sofa Ipsden, one of the most distinguished young gentlemen in Europe; a creature incapable, by nature, of a rugged tone or a coarse gesture; a being without the slightest apparent pretension, but refined beyond the wildest dream of dandies. To him, enter Aberford, perspiring and shouting.
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