Chapter V

DR. CRAWFORD lost no time in letting Miss Carnelly know of the generous intentions of his uncle, and of his desire to smooth the way for their early union. On being informed of these particulars, Lord Carnelly expressed himself as being satisfied with his sister's prospects—so much so indeed that he told his wife all that had passed, greatly to Ida's annoyance and his own subsequent discomfort.

Lady Carnelly's indignation knew no bounds.

"That you, Lindsay, should join your sister in a plot to hoodwink me is what I never imagined possible. As to Ida's duplicity, I might have looked for it; your meek, soft-spoken people are generally hypocrites," she said, with a withering look at the girl. "As to Dr. Crawford, he has behaved shamefully. To think of a man whom we all trusted implicitly abusing our hospitality, and inveigling a mere child like Ida into a clandestine engagement."

Lord Carnelly retorted that he could not accuse Dr. Crawford of duplicity, or understand that the term "clandestine" could be suitably applied to what had passed.

"He spoke to me as soon as it was possible, and you, in naming Ida's age and calling her a child, must surely have forgotten that you were no older when we were married."

Waxing equally angry and eloquent, as placable, peace-loving men will do when they are tried too severely, the colonel at length told his wife that he, and not Lady Carnelly, was Ida's guardian.

"I have consented to the engagement, Beatrice, and happily your objections will not stand in the way. Any girl may be deemed fortunate who has won the affection of a true man like Crawford, and has the prospect of sharing the home he can now offer."

"You ought to be ashamed of treating me in such a manner!" replied the angry lady. "As to Ida, you are allowing a girl who is ignorant of the world to throw herself away on a mere nobody."

"I always thought your estimate of Ida was a very low one," said the colonel. "You always seemed blind to her attractions before. I am glad you have become sensible of them at last." And without giving his wife time to retort, the speaker left the apartment.

On the whole, Lady Carnelly was far from getting the best of the argument, either with her husband or Ida, for, once emancipated, the girl was not to be brought under the yoke a second time.

Andrew Crawford's letters were very frequent after this, and no longer came under cover to Lord Carnelly. Ida looked forward eagerly the arrival of each mail, and counted the days which must pass before the recall of the regiment would insure the return of her brother to England.

In the meanwhile, Dr. Crawford had relinquished his appointment, and stepped easily into his uncle's professional shoes. As Dr. Fereday had predicted, he at once became a favourite with Shelverton people.

Formerly messages of this kind used to come to the surgery door at Steynes-Cote:—

"Please ask old doctor to come himself, and not send anybody else—"

The "anybody" referring to the assistants.

Now that Dr. Fereday's growing feebleness compelled inactivity, the cry was for "Dr. Andrew," who soon found himself very full-handed.

Lord Carnelly's regiment came home three months earlier than was expected, but Dr. Crawford was not able to meet Ida at the moment of her arrival.

In place of himself came a letter, telling her that Dr. Fereday was worse, and the one regret of the unselfish old man was that he should be the cause of Andrew's detention at Shelverton.

"I thought your intended husband was to meet you," said Lady Carnelly in an ironical tone. "But it appears he can restrain his impatience, even after a separation of nearly a year."

"His uncle is very ill, and cannot be left," said Ida.

"How very self-devoting! It is not every young man who would stay to nurse an old one, when a fair lady was expecting his presence."

Ida was conscious of the implied taunt, but she disdained to appear so.

"You are right, Beatrice," she said. "But Andrew is, I am glad to say, unlike many young men in this respect. Dr. Fereday is very ill. He may not live many hours. Andrew owes everything to this uncle, who must be one of the best and kindest of men. If he could leave him, either for me or any one else, at such a time, he would be ungrateful indeed. I have written to tell him not to think of me, or fear that I shall misunderstand his absence, for I honour him far more for obeying the calls of duty and gratitude than I should if he had left that dear, good old man to come to me."

That letter brought gladness to Andrew Crawford's heart as he read it aloud in the quiet chamber at Steynes-Cote, and a smile to the face of the dying man who listened.

"I wish I could see your Ida; but that cannot be now," said he. "Tell her that the old doctor sent her all loving wishes, and from his dying bed, prayed that God would bless you both, and make you a blessing to each other. You say she has a fair face, and this letter reflects an unselfish and generous disposition. I trust all that is beautiful in her character springs from something deeper and more abiding than mere impulse,—that it is from the love of God, deeply implanted in her young heart. I have said nothing of this before, my dear boy; I took it for granted that you, who had been trained in His faith and fear, and who profess to be His servant, would not be likely to choose one who could not walk with you in the narrow path.

"You know how it was with my Grace. She was beautiful, well-born, gracious in manner, sweet in temper, and shedding brightness and sunshine wherever she went. But she did not owe the power to do this to any natural beauty of disposition. She loved her Saviour, and strove to walk as one who is under the influence of the Holy Spirit ought to walk. Love, goodness, righteousness, truth, kindness,—all these are life fruits which spring from that indwelling power alone. Andrew, you will tell Ida about your aunt, and the way in which she was beloved at Shelverton, and that I hope, as she will sit in my Grace's seat at Steynes-Cote, she will take the same place in the hearts of the people and in good doing."

"I will tell her all, dear uncle," said Andrew. "I am sure she will lay your words to heart. I can wish nothing better for her than that our married life may resemble yours."

The old man smiled and continued, "I have yet another message for Ida. You will be lonely when I am gone; there is no spare sister under your father's roof who can come to keep house here, or I should have asked for one when Grace was taken, so I want you to marry as soon as possible. Tell her so, and that in consenting to come soon to Steynes-Cote, provided her brother does not oppose it, she will grant my last wish."

All Dr. Fereday's messages were duly delivered when, immediately after his uncle's funeral, Dr. Crawford hastened to London to see Ida.

One glance at the girl's sweet, blushing face, alternately beaming with glad welcome and then full of tender sympathy, as she thought of Andrew's recent sorrow, was enough to show him that her feelings towards him had undergone no change. Not that Dr. Crawford ever doubted Ida's sincerity. But the more truly noble-minded a man is, the more humble will be his self-estimate. He is always inclined to exalt the object of his affection, and to doubt his own worthiness to win and wear so bright a jewel.

In Dr. Crawford's case, he had good reason for thinking that all must look on Ida Carnelly with admiring eyes. Now that they met after a year's absence, he was more than ever sensible of this.

"You are changed, Ida," he said, as, holding her for a moment at arms' length, he looked in the fair face with honest admiration.

"I am a year older, Andrew; I wish I could hope that I am a good year wiser and fitter to be a companion for you. But alas! you have been growing wiser still more rapidly, for you have had sterner teachers in sorrow and bereavement. All the while, my companions have been bright hopes and happy thoughts of you, and of the change you brought into my life."

"My darling," (Ida was not at arms' length as Andrew said this), "I thank God for this happy meeting and those sweet welcoming words. You may be only a year older, but you are many times fairer in my eyes, and dearer to my heart, for the time that has gone since we parted. Hard work and many cares have been, in one sense, good for me. But for these constant occupations, how should I have borne the separation?"

The girl's face flushed with pleasure, and she whispered, "I am glad, so glad, Andrew! I was going to say, I only care to be fair in your eyes, but that is not quite what I mean. I like to please every one in a way, you know."

"But not in the same way; I understand, dearest, and I prophesy that you will take all hearts by storm when you come to Steynes-Cote."

Next, Andrew delivered the loving messages and wishes sent from the old doctor's death-bed, and asked, "When may I take home my wife? Let it be soon, Ida, for the house is very lonely now."

"I am only twenty yet. What will Lindsay say?"

"Will you consent if Lord Carnelly can be won to agree to our speedy marriage?"

Ida did not say yes, but she lifted her sweet eyes shyly to the pleader's face, and then dropped them again.

Whatever Dr. Crawford read in that look was enough to satisfy him; so it could not have been a negative, for the question was not repeated.

Dr. Crawford did not see Lady Carnelly on the day of his arrival in town, and he was scarcely surprised at this. He was sufficiently aware of her sentiments towards himself, for Ida's letters had given him a full account of the first passage-at-arms between her brother and his wife, on the subject of her engagement.

The colonel's hearty welcome might well make up for what was lacking on his wife's part.

"Never mind, Crawford," said he, after a brief allusion to the lady's absence; "all the better for you and Ida. Beatrice is not in the best of tempers to-day, and would make a bad third. Besides, you know the old saying about two being company and three none. It applies with particular force to you and my sister, after a year's separation."

The kindly colonel gave a practical proof of his consideration for the pair by pleading an important engagement, and leaving them to their mutual confidences.

The doctor succeeded in talking over matters with Lord Carnelly later in the evening, when he unfolded his plans.

"My home is ready," he said. "My uncle, hoping that he might be spared to welcome my wife as its mistress, insisted on a thorough renovation of the house and furniture, so far as I would permit the substitution of new articles for old favourites. Whatever Ida may wish to add in the way of little elegancies to suit a young lady's taste, she shall have 'carte blanche' to supply, when she sees Steynes-Cote."

"You are very generous, Crawford. Better mind what you are about. A 'carte blanche' in the hands of a lady is a dangerous thing, let me tell you, especially to a husband's pocket."

"I am not afraid that Ida will make any very serious inroads into mine," replied the doctor. "My aunt's tastes were those of a refined gentlewoman. Ida will not find much lacking in the home of which she was mistress."

Then he further enlightened Lord Carnelly as to his present resources and probable professional income.

His hearer opened his eyes, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment.

"Why, Crawford, you are rich to begin with! Far better off than myself, all things considered."

The colonel sighed, as he thought of his olive-branches, now increased to seven, and of the large sums which their mother remorselessly extracted from his pocket, to meet her strictly personal expenditure.

Dr. Crawford had heard whispers of Lady Carnelly's extravagance and of the anxiety it entailed on him who was, nominally, the head of the family. He could understand his surprise on being told of his own resources, and could well imagine that the colonel was engaged in a perpetual struggle to make ends meet. With his wife's insatiable vanity, wilful temper, and determination, at all costs, to outshine others, and Lord Carnelly's own simple tastes and honest wish to keep within his means, it was easy to guess that the brave soldier's hardest battles were fought within the walls of his own home. Moreover, the doctor also shrewdly suspected that they were amongst the least successful in which he had ever engaged. His seemingly weaker opponent managed, as a rule, to come off conqueror.

Not one of these thoughts, however, did Dr. Crawford put into words. He merely replied, "Then you think my income sufficient to justify me in taking home a wife?"

"I should say so, indeed. Why, Ida will be quite a rich lady. By the way, you know she has something of her own, about five thousand pounds. Or," he added, correcting himself, and looking a little confused, "she will have that sum when she comes of age a year hence. In the meanwhile, she will receive the interest, as usual. Happily you do not depend on Ida's money to make a start with."

"Certainly not. I have no wish to touch a penny of your sister's little fortune. When the time comes for the capital to be paid over, it will be at once invested for Ida's sole benefit."

Dr. Crawford did not notice the look of relief on Lord Carnelly's face, but went on urging the latter to consent to his sister's early marriage. "I only want one word from you. I have Ida's consent already."

Lord Carnelly looked troubled. "I do not know what Beatrice will say to this," he answered. "She considers that my sister ought to be introduced to first-class English society, and see something of life before she settles down. She makes a great point of her being 'presented,' as she was herself."

"It is for you to settle," urged the doctor.

"Very easy for you to assume that, Crawford. You are not a married man yet, or you would pause before making such a rash assertion. You will find out by-and-by that in whatever you are interested, your wife will like to have at least a finger. For my own part, seeing that Ida has made her choice, I cannot understand the necessity for pushing her into society on which she would so soon turn her back, or of cultivating tastes from which she would have to wean herself on her marriage. Let her begin as she is likely to go on, say I."

"Then you are agreeable, at any rate."

"Not so fast. I must sleep upon this, and to-morrow you shall have my final answer. You cannot afford to waste much time in dangling about away from your practice, especially as you must take a holiday for the honeymoon."

There is no need to follow Lord Carnelly into the privacy of his wife's boudoir, or to tell all that passed at the "tête-à-tête" during which Ida's marriage as under discussion. The result was that he gave his unqualified consent, whilst his wife less graciously agreed that it would be nonsense to take the same trouble about her sister-in-law's introduction to society as if she were going to retain her own rank and position.

"It would only cause needless expense, and give people something to gossip about. So long as nobody knows Ida personally, or associates her in their minds with you and me, we shall not be lessened by her alliance with a country doctor."

"You forget that Crawford has been with my regiment during nearly all his professional life. He is only beginning to be the country doctor. His name is well and honourably known, Beatrice."

"Please do not repeat his achievements, Lindsay; it is no pleasure to me to be reminded of Dr. Crawford's past doings, especially of his last conquest, or the mode of it," said Lady Carnelly, as she closed the door behind her retreating figure, her favourite mode of concluding a discussion with her husband.