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I have thought of offering to send you five hundred per annum, from which you can pay what you think proper for the child. You can purchase what is needful for her, and you will have an income for yourself. That I beg you accept in return for the services you have rendered me." Dr. Letsom expressed his gratitude.
Stephen Letsom quite agreed with him in this; no one knew better than himself how dangerous was the telling of bad or disagreeable news to a sick man. And then Lord Charlewood added: "You have indeed been a friend in need to me, Dr. Letsom. Money can no more repay such help as yours than can thanks; all my life I shall be grateful to you.
Then he bade farewell to the doctor who had been so kind a friend to him, leaving something in his hand which made his heart light for many a long day afterward. "I am a bad correspondent, Dr. Letsom," he said; "I never write many letters but you may rely upon hearing from me every six months.
I think the best plan will be for you to find some healthy, sensible woman, who would be nurse and foster-mother to her." "That can easily be managed," remarked Stephen Letsom. "Then you will have both child and nurse entirely under your own control. You can superintend all arrangements made for the little one's benefit.
Stephen Letsom was quick to recognize that fact. "I am the doctor," he replied, quietly. "Then for Heaven's sake, help me! I am almost mad. My wife has been suddenly taken ill, and I have been to the hotel, where they tell me they have not a room in which they can lodge her. The thing is incredible. You must help me." "I will do what I can," returned the doctor.
Had fortune indeed knocked at his door at last? He went to the carriage-door, and, looking inside, saw a lady, young and beautiful, who stretched out her hands to him, as though appealing for help. "I am very ill," she moaned, feebly. Dr. Letsom guessed so much from her pallid face and shadowed eyes.
The hour of wakening was to come Stephen Letsom never forgot it. The bereaved man was frantic in his grief, mad with the sense of his loss. Then the doctor, knowing how one great sorrow counteracts another, spoke of his father, reminding him that if he wished to see him alive he must take some little care of himself. "I shall not leave her!" cried Lord Charlewood.
He was turning away, with a feeling of contempt for his own weakness, when he was startled by the sound of a vehicle driven furiously down Castle street. What vehicle could it be at that hour of the night nearly eleven? Stephen Letsom stood still and watched.
"What is the matter with your wife?" he asked of the strange gentleman, who bent down and whispered something that made Dr. Letsom himself look anxious. "Now doctor," said the traveler, "it is useless to raise objections You see how the matter stands; my wife must stop here. The hotel is full of visitors people who are here for the races. There is nowhere else for her to go she must stay here."
Careful search was made in his house for any letters that might concern her, that might give her father's address; but Stephen Letsom had been faithful to his promise he had kept the secret. There was nothing that could give the least clew.
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