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 I 
 
 THE 
 
 YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 a Nobel 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 LADY GRANAED's NIECES," " SIR ARTHUR 
 BOUVERIE," 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 T. C. NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 
 
 WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE, 
 
 1851.
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR, 
 
 m^ 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 One caress before I go, 
 Whither yet I do not know— 
 >' One kind word to bid me stay, 
 
 Mother, dearest mother, say ! 
 I have lov'd thee, love thee still- 
 And with slighted love am ill ; 
 But my heart is ever thine — 
 ^ Mother, for thy love I pine ! 
 
 ^ I am gazing on thee now, 
 
 ^ Love is smiling o'er thy brow ; 
 
 3;^ But thine eye doth never turn, 
 
 Where my thoughts to madness burn, 
 VOL. L B
 
 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 
 
 Well I know within thine heart, 
 Arthur hath the better part. 
 Brother, brother, pray for me, 
 That such love I soon may see. 
 
 Mother_, I am jealous, ill ; 
 Yet I would be patient still — 
 Brother, thou art graceful, fair. 
 Bright thine eye, and bright thine hair ; 
 I am but a thing deform'd, 
 Laughed at, pitied, hated, scorn'd ! 
 But mine heart can love like thine, 
 Mother ! for thy love I pine ! 
 
 Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. 
 
 Richard II. 
 
 Some sixteen years ago, at one of the 
 windows of a large house in the most 
 fashionable part of Brighton, a handsome 
 and elegant woman was idly looking out 
 upon a well appointed lady's phaetou, that 
 seemed waiting for her in the square below. 
 Dressed for an evening drive, and leaning,
 
 THE YOUl^G DOCTOR. 6 
 
 at the moment we speak of, against a low 
 satin-wood couch, she was drawing on 
 her gloves preparatory to leaving the 
 room, while a boy of ten years of age, who 
 from his striking likeness to her could have 
 been easily recognised as her son, was sit- 
 ting at her feet, and playing with the deli- 
 cately chased head of a handsome riding- 
 whip. 
 
 Both the mother and the child were 
 fair ; they had the same sunny hair, and 
 rich blue eyes ; but the lady's first bloom 
 of beauty was past, for she seemed full 
 two- and- thirty years old -the perfect 
 woman — and apparently a proud and 
 haughty one. The quiet, supercilious smile 
 of her short upper lip betrayed this, though 
 at times it gave place to a winning look of 
 affection wlien her eye rested upon the boy 
 beside her. 
 
 At length the gloves were drawn on 
 and turning to caress the silent, though 
 smiling child — 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 " Come, Arthur," she said, " I am ready, 
 put on your cap." 
 
 Up sprang the boy, merrily and lightly, 
 and taking a velvet cap from one of the 
 chairs near him, flung it carelessly on his 
 head. 
 
 " Now, how can you disarrange your 
 hair in that manner, after Watson took so 
 much trouble to comb it out V asked his 
 mother in a gentle tone of reproach, as 
 she noticed the action. " Did you not say 
 you would be very good to-day 1 come, 
 and let me smooth it down a little." 
 
 And the boy came quietly enough to 
 her, and allowed her hand to be passed 
 over the shining auburn locks, that hung 
 round his frank and beautiful face. 
 
 "There," at last said the lady, as she 
 fondly stroked the golden hair she had 
 finished smoothing with her filmy cambric 
 handkerchief. " There, Arthur, I have 
 done ; and now give me your hand, and 
 be quiet and good, while we take a turn
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 5 
 
 or two on the King's Eoad. Do you not 
 know that you must be my handsome 
 cavaHer, my young sir 1 that I have no 
 other to-day V 
 
 " Yes," rephed the boy, looking smihngly 
 up into her face, " and nurse says you Uke 
 to have me with you, because I am as 
 pretty as yourself, mama ; and she says 
 you don't like Horace, because he is ugly 
 and hump-backed." 
 
 A cloud passed over the mother s brow, 
 as she listened to the child's words, and 
 she turned sharply from him. 
 
 " Hush, hush !" she answered, almost 
 angrily, "you must not speak of your 
 brother in that manner, Arthur ; it was 
 very wrong of nurse to tell you so great a 
 falsehood — what more did she say V 
 
 " Oh 1 only that hump-backs are never 
 liked, and that they are always cross, 
 mama ; and Horace is cross, you know," 
 rephed the child, '• You are not going 
 to take liim out with us to-day, are 
 you r
 
 6 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 " No," rejoined the lady, " not to-day ; 
 but not on account of his being so un- 
 fortunately deformed, recollect that, Arthur. 
 And further, mind you do not repeat 
 nurse^s idle words again ; I will not have 
 you do so, and I shall speak to her about 
 them." 
 
 " Mania," said a low, sad yoice, close to 
 the mother's side at this juncture, " mama 
 will you not, indeed, take me out with you 
 this afternoon ? I thought you said you 
 would." 
 
 And the lady turned with a sudden start 
 towards the speaker. It was her eldest 
 son who thus addressed her ; but very dif- 
 ferent in form and face from his beautiful 
 younger brother, his parent's eye had never 
 yet glanced towards him with a look of 
 pride or affection, and at the present mo- 
 ment a frown contracted her brow as she 
 noticed him. He was an unhealthy-looking 
 boy of twelve or thirteen years of age, 
 and his countenance was extremely plain, 
 his complexion pallid, his very frame mis-
 
 THE YOUXG DOCTOR 7 
 
 shapen ; for his shoulders were high, and 
 one was considerably larger than the other. 
 A dull, sickly look, too, dwelt upon his 
 features, which seemed to indicate a list- 
 less, vacant mind ; the large dark grey 
 eyes were dim; the head was slightly pushed 
 forwards, and he did not appear to possess 
 a single redeeming point in the expression 
 or form of his face that could in any way 
 compensate for his unfortunate deformity 
 of person. 
 
 A slight blush coloured the mother's 
 cheek as she met her son's eye, for she saw 
 by its sad, reproachful glance that he had 
 heard his brother's words ; yet to the de- 
 sire he expressed to accompany her in her 
 present drive, she coldly and harshly replied, 
 that she had only promised to take him 
 with her conditionally. 
 
 " I told you, you should come with me if 
 Mr. Franklin was well-pleased with your 
 attention to your studies," she said, " but 
 he is not, and therefore my promise does 
 not hold good, Horace. You know that
 
 8 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 for this last week you have been very, 
 very idle." 
 
 " I have had the head-ache for these 
 many days, and could not do my tasks/' 
 he answered ; and he really looked ill — 
 even more so than the few words he spoke 
 expressed him to be. 
 
 " Head-ache !" laughed the younger bro- 
 ther, " oh, mamma, Mr. Franklin said he 
 was only idle and stupid, and wouldn't 
 learn them — Horace knows he did." 
 
 " I am afraid Arthur is right in what he 
 says, indeed, Horace," replied the lady, 
 " Mr. Franklin is strictly just in all his 
 censures respecting you." 
 
 " He did not believe I had the head- 
 ache," said Horace, " I have it now." 
 
 " He always has it, has he not, mama V 
 cried Arthur, laughingly, " he never re- 
 peats what he is given to l#arn. and Mr. 
 Franklin says I shall soon know as much as 
 he does." 
 
 '' So you will," answered his mother, 
 fondly, " and if I were Horace 1 should be
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 ashamed to let a younger brother outstrip 
 me in my studies. Come, T cannot keep 
 the phaeton longer waiting, come with 
 
 me." 
 
 " And may I not go with you, mama? 
 only this once !" interrupted Horace, be- 
 seechingly ; " it is so long since I have 
 been with you in the carriage — do let me, 
 mama !" 
 
 " No, no," the lady answered, " I have 
 said that Arthur alone is to accompany 
 me to-day ; go to your own room, Horace, 
 and finish the tasks Mr. Franklin has 
 asciigiiud you. Your papa insists thiit you 
 will do so, before you attempt to join our 
 evening circle to-night. ' 
 
 There was a quiet sigh uttered by the 
 boy as he moved away from his mothers 
 side in obedience to her commands ; but 
 ere he left the room he turned back, and 
 again addressed her — 
 
 " Mama," he said, in a low, tremulous 
 tone, " I will do anything you tell me — 
 anything — and learn anything ; but, but 
 B 5
 
 10 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 only like me as you do Arthur ! I think 
 of that all day, and cannot learn ; I can 
 do nothing when I think of that." 
 
 The lady crimsoned deeply for a moment 
 or two as she heard her son's words, then, 
 turning away from his upturned face, 
 angrily replied — 
 
 " Your jealous temper is insupportable, 
 Horace ; go to your own room at once." 
 
 But the child did not. 
 
 " I know,'' he continued, and his voice 
 became thick and faltering, " I know that 
 I am deformed, as Arthur says I am; but I 
 wish some one would try to make me not think 
 about it ; I should not be so dull, so idle 
 if I were not always thinking of that. 
 Mama, mama," continued he, bursting into 
 tears, " Arthur spoke . truth when he said 
 you did not like to take me out with you 
 because I was hump-backed.^ 
 
 '* How dare you say so, Horace ?" 
 answered his mother, impatiently, " these 
 scenes are not to be endured ! It is only 
 your idleness and passion alone that now
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. ll 
 
 and then causes rae to refuse you a slight 
 gratification like the present one/' 
 
 " No, no/' replied he, " Arthur is pas- 
 sionate ; but you never punish him ; you 
 always punish me." 
 
 " Because I am not so cross and lazy a 
 boy as you are, Horry," said Arthur, in a 
 shghtly triumphant tone. '' Come, mama, 
 let us go." 
 
 " Not yet," exclaimed his brother, more 
 hastily than before, " do let me go with 
 you, mama, — only to-day 1" 
 
 "What! after your present exhibition 
 of temper?" answered the mother, " that 
 would indeed be a proper correction for 
 it." 
 
 " It would make me good — I — I — " 
 
 *' Now, let me pass, and give me no 
 more words, if you please, Horace," said 
 the lady. 
 
 " Mama, if you only knew what I have 
 heard— what I think of" 
 
 " And pray what do you think of? what 
 have you heard to render you thus ob-
 
 12 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 stinate and jealous V asked the mother, 
 stopping short in her way to the door, and 
 glancing angrily towards him. " A few 
 idle words of nurse's that Arthur care- 
 lessly repeated just now, perhaps 1 why, a 
 boy of your age should know better than 
 to take notice of them, or to cry like a girl 
 as you are now doing — what have you 
 heard, sir V 
 
 " Kot that, not that," answered Horace, 
 thick sobs still half-stifling his utterance. 
 
 '' Then w^hat was it V 
 
 The child looked up eagerly and keenly 
 into her face for a moment, and hurriedly 
 replied — 
 
 " When I first came down here, I was 
 ill, mama ; but you never tended me as 
 you did Arthur, when he had the 
 hooping cough — never came to see me 
 hardty — never sat by me ; and one night, 
 when I lay awake, I heard nurse and Mrs. 
 Watson talking, and they said you did not 
 love me, and would not care if I died, 
 because then Arthur would have all papa's
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 13 
 
 riches. They said that he was handsome, 
 and good, and clever, and I — I only fit for 
 a raree show!'^ 
 
 The lady stood for a moment or two 
 surprised into perfect silence, because she 
 knew that her son partly uttered the 
 truth. Such had been her thoughts, by 
 the sick-bed of her eldest born, a short time 
 Since, though she had scarcely ventured 
 even then to avow their existence to her- 
 self, and had tried to dispossess herself of 
 them. And yet they still dwelt with her ; 
 for all her affection was centred on her 
 secoiid child, and to him she often wished 
 tiie birthright of his brother transferred, 
 not asking herself how the wish could be 
 accomplished, yet always Iinjj:;ering over it. 
 She did not love the sic^dy humpback — she 
 did not pity him for the pain he seemed 
 enduring at the present moment ; but she 
 was annoyed that her coichiess towards 
 him had been rightly interpreted by those 
 around her — annoyed at the enunciation of 
 a truth which she did not Hke to aclmow-
 
 14 THE TOU^^G DOCTOR. 
 
 ledge, even within her own mind, and 
 angry with every body but herself, she 
 endeavoured to banish the child who had 
 reproached her with it from her presence. 
 
 " Go to your room, Horace,'' she said, 
 abruptly ; " I will hear no more of these 
 idle tales — send nurse to me. How dare 
 she — how dare you repeat such things — go 
 to your room.'' 
 
 " Listen to me this once V the boy an- 
 swered, catching hold of her dress to 
 detain her, and his dark eyes were lifted 
 to her face with a wild, eager look of en- 
 quiry, '• only tell me, mama — dear mama, 
 that it is not true ?" 
 
 But the mother was too angry — too 
 embarrassed to reply, and shaking him 
 from her, took Arthur by the hand, and 
 would have passed him, had he not again 
 grasped her tightly by her pelisse. 
 
 " Mama," he said, and the expression of 
 his countenance became, for the moment, 
 strangely earnest, " mama, do not leave
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 15 
 
 me. Say that you will speak to me when 
 you come home again — say so, mama V 
 
 '* Do you deserve to be spoken to ?'' 
 repHed the lady ; " your petulance and 
 pride are insufferable. Let me pass." 
 
 He would not ; holding her still fast by 
 the dress, he turned to his little brother. 
 
 " Arthur," he said, " ask her not to go 
 — ask her only to sta}^ a little while — she 
 will stay if you ask her V 
 
 " Mama," said Arthur, wistfully looking 
 up into his mother's face, " Horace is cry- 
 ing very much." 
 
 '' Let him cry then," she replied : " I 
 have no time to humour him at present ; 
 when left to himself, he will soon come to 
 his proper senses." 
 
 And, at length, entirely disengaging 
 herself from his holdfast, the lady passed 
 from the drawing-room, proceeded down 
 stairs, and entered the carriage. 
 
 Horace gazed after his mother for a 
 moment or two, then sank back against 
 the couch, from which she had risen, and
 
 16 THE YOCNG DOCTOR, 
 
 burying liis face in his hands, sobbed 
 violently. His grief or passion did not 
 seem a passing one, for, during a long half- 
 hour, the^tears coursed unrestrainedly down 
 his cheeks, till his pale brow gradually 
 became heated, and his eyes painfully 
 swollen. 
 
 " Poor Horry 1 Horry crying l — why 
 i:S Horry crying V" said a pretty lighi 
 haired little girl of five years of age, who 
 quietly entered the room while Horace was 
 still giving way to tears. 
 
 And toddling up to where he sat. she 
 climbed upon his knee, and put her arms 
 round his neck. 
 
 '■ Is Horry ill — have you got the Lead- 
 ache, Horry V^ continued she, as she 
 passed her tiny hand over the burin ng 
 brow of the boy ; '' yes ; it is very hot, 
 poor brother Horry ! Vv'liere is inRnis. ? 
 Have you told mania?— where is she .*" 
 
 '* She has gone out with Arthur,'' replied 
 Horace, disengaging himself from the
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 17 
 
 embrace of his little sister ; ** go to the 
 nursery, Florence, go." 
 
 " But I want to know what Horry is 
 crying about V said she, pertinaciously, 
 " and I will not go back to the nurser3% 
 because I have got my new dress on for 
 papa to see, and Emmy, and Ally, and Mr. 
 Middleton — they are coming this evening 
 — 'tis Arthur's birthday, Horry." 
 
 " Yes," replied Horace, and his tears 
 flowed afresh at the mention of his brother's 
 name ; " but go away, Florence — go; Mrs. 
 Watson is calling you." 
 
 " No — no," she answered ; *' I want to 
 be with Horry ; what makes you cry faster 
 now r 
 
 " Nothing — nothing," said the boy, and 
 he passed his hands over his eyes to dash 
 away his tears. " I have a bad head-ache 
 —that's all— all." 
 
 And he moved towards the door to 
 escMpe from the child's further questions ; 
 but the little thing was too quick for him, 
 and slipping by, ran on before him to a
 
 18 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 small room, used as a study on the same 
 floor. 
 
 " I knew you were going to lessons, 
 Horry," laughed she, " and I will go too, 
 and sit down upon my own little chair, and 
 be very quiet, if you will lend me the big 
 picture book — won't you V 
 
 " Yes — yes — anything you like," said 
 her brother, who saw that he could not 
 easily get rid of her, and walking towards 
 the table of the room he now entered, he 
 gave her a large volume of prints, and 
 then sat down to some Latin exercises. 
 
 Not a word was spoken for more than 
 ten minutes, by the brother or sister, and 
 the silence of the apartment was totally 
 undisturbed, till a tall, dark man, of gen- 
 tlemanly appearance, entered the room, 
 and walking up to where Horace sat, ad- 
 dressed him. 
 
 " Have you finished the translation Mr. 
 Franklin gave you to do 1" asked he. 
 
 " No, papa !" answered Horace, rising 
 from his chair, with an expression of fear
 
 THE YOUKa DOCTOR. 19 
 
 and distress upon his countenance. "I 
 have not had time to do so." 
 
 " Not all this morning !" was the re- 
 joinder he received. '' What then have 
 you been doing V 
 
 " I have done a Httle of it/' returned 
 the son, looking down, as the colour 
 deepened upon his thin, pallid cheeks. 
 
 " Horry is ill, papa — Horry has the head- 
 ache," said little Florence, approaching her 
 father. 
 
 " You here again, Florence,'' exclaimed 
 he, " did I not tell you that you must not 
 enter this room to disturb your brother in 
 his studies V 
 
 " She has been very quiet, she has not 
 disturbed me," said Horace. 
 
 " Then how have you not done your 
 task V asked his father. The boy hung 
 down his head. 
 
 " Horry has the head-ache, papa," again 
 suggested Florence. 
 
 " Horace is idle," rejoined he, severely ; 
 then after a moment's pause during which
 
 20 THE TOTING DOCTOR. 
 
 he had been intently gazing at his son, he 
 said " you do not join us in the drawing- 
 room to-night ; remember, Horace, I will 
 not encourage or excuse your idleness any 
 longer." 
 
 Horace did not answer ; but kept his 
 eyes steadfastly fixed upon the ground. 
 
 " Oh, papa, Horry must go down to- 
 day," said little Florence, " it is Arthur's 
 birth day, and Emmy and Clara are com- 
 ing to dance, papa." 
 
 A flush of colour rose upon the boy's 
 dark cheeks, and looking up in his father's 
 face, the tears again rolled over them ; 
 yet he did not ask for a revocation of his 
 punishment, and the moment after, the 
 latter taking little Florence with him left 
 the room. 
 
 The day wore on ; the expected guests 
 arrived, the music sounded through the 
 pleasant drawing-rooms of the house, and 
 towards the middle of the evening a merry 
 children's party was formed ; but Horace, 
 the hump-back, still sat alone in the study,
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOE. 21 
 
 unwished for, and unthought of by the 
 light hearted little beings below. He 
 heard the gay laughs, and the lively 
 strains of music that filled his home with 
 sounds of pleasure ; his thoughts be- 
 came more bitter as the hours passed 
 away, and at length his tears ceased to 
 flow. The book, during the perusal of 
 which his father had entered the room to 
 speak with him, still lay open upon the 
 table, yet he had not translated or read a 
 single line of it since that visit. Now and 
 then he restlessly moved up and down 
 the apartment, and listened, with a keen 
 look of pain, to the lively sounds around 
 him, then at other times sat down to think, 
 as if yielding to a terrible oppression of 
 spirits. At last he rose, turned towards 
 the door, and quietly, and as it were 
 stealthily opened it, but soon, however, he 
 drew back again to allow little Florence, 
 who was on its outer side, to pass into the 
 room. 
 
 "Hush !'^ said the pretty httle girl,
 
 22 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 with a mysterious nod of her head, as she 
 danced gaily in, hush, Horry ! see here !" 
 
 And opening a tiny pockethandkerchief 
 which she had hidden beneath the double 
 skirt of her pink crape dress, she showed a 
 number of small bon-bons, and French toys 
 enclosed therein. 
 
 " Look !" she continued in thorough 
 delight, " all these I saved for you — take 
 them, Horry, for I can get plenty more. 
 1 made Ally give me all his, when he 
 asked me to dance. Papa and mamma 
 did not see me come here — good night, 
 Horry — Ally is waiting to dance with me 
 — bye, bye." 
 
 And running from him, Horace soon 
 heard her re-enter the drawing-room. 
 
 A pleased smile came over the boy's 
 face as he took up the handkerchief from 
 the table where his sister had placed it ; 
 but it was quickly followed by a tear. 
 
 " The dear, good little thing," he said, 
 " she always liked me, but papa, mamma 
 — I will go yet ; I will leave all to Arthur
 
 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 23 
 
 — I will work like a common child — it is 
 better to do that, than to know they wish 
 me dead for his sake." 
 
 And quitting the room ; yet taking the 
 handkerchief and its contents with him, he 
 crept softly up stairs, and entering a bed- 
 room on the first landing place, he took 
 up a light cloak, a flat cap, and a small 
 purse, then extinguished the light, turned 
 towards another door, descended a back 
 staircase, passed through some obscure 
 passages, near the servants' apartments^ 
 clambered into the area, ran up the steps, 
 and was soon in the open Square, in which 
 the house of his parents stood. 
 
 Hurrying on, he never once looked 
 towards the home he was leaving, but 
 turned towards the northern part of 
 Brighton, passing through the quietest 
 streets, and making for the London road. 
 He did not know where he wished to go ; 
 he only wanted to elude pursuit ; he had 
 not one settled thoudit as to how he should 
 manage to subsist in coming days, yet he
 
 24 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 
 
 walked on stealthily and hurriedly. Pre- 
 sently he entered a narrow street, or 
 rather lane, with houses on both sides, and 
 here he was obliged to stop for some 
 minutes, till a carriage that stood before 
 one of the cottages there, and blocked up 
 the causeway, moved on. While doing so, 
 he saw the door opened by a man-servant, 
 and a gentleman followed by a young lady 
 passing on towards the vehicle. The latter 
 wept, and her companion addressed her 
 hastily, but feelingly. 
 
 "Come, come, Annie,'^ he said, *'goto 
 grandmother, there's a dear girl ; the 
 night air will chill you, my own good 
 sister. Have I not stopped with you till 
 the very last moment 1 Must 1 not travel 
 all night to arrive at Portsmouth in time 
 for the ship 1 There, there, let me take 
 you back/' 
 
 And after leading the young girl into 
 the house, the gentleman returned in a few 
 minutes to the postchaise, entered it, and 
 bade the driver urge his horses on briskly.
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 25 
 
 A thought struck Horace as he saw the 
 carriage moYe off, and running after it he 
 caught hold of the wheels as he had often 
 seen boys do in the streets of London, and 
 raised himself upon its hinder part, cHnging 
 firmly to the appurtenances near him for 
 hold fast. He thought he should leave 
 Brighton all the faster by this method of 
 travelhng, and imagined that even if he 
 were obliged to get off from his present 
 seat at the turnpikes, through fear of dis- 
 covery, he might still overtake the carriage 
 again, if he watched his opportunity, and 
 thus accomplish a considerable distance 
 from his late home, in a very short period 
 of time. And it turned out as he expected ; 
 but with this slight difference, that he was 
 not obliged to descend from his position 
 at every turnpike through which he passed, 
 because no one saw him, as the night was 
 dark ; and therefore he quietly travelled 
 on fbr many miles without any disturb 
 ance. 
 
 It was then in this manner of journey- 
 
 VUL. ]. c
 
 26 THE YOUIs^G DOCTOR. 
 
 ing that Horace arrived, about three o'clock 
 in the morning at Arundel, where he soon 
 understood, from some altercation between 
 the gentleman and the driver, that they 
 were to change horses there, and slipping 
 down from the carriage, soon after they 
 entered the town, he followed it on foot, 
 as well as he could, while it passed 
 through two or three streets. But this he 
 could not do long ; for the speed of the 
 horses suddenly seemed to increase, and un- 
 used to the violent exercise he was taking, 
 Horace felt obliged to slacken his pace, 
 and thus he very soon perceived a con- 
 siderable space lengthening every moment 
 between the carriage and himself. Yet he 
 hastened on again ; but it was only to see 
 it drive more rapidly out of sight, from, 
 what he supposed to be, an inn door, 
 where he had observed it stopping for two 
 or three minutes ; and giving up the chase 
 as hopeless, he then sat down upon the 
 broad stone steps of a large house.
 
 THE YOFKG DOCTOR. 27 
 
 tThe air was chill, and although he felt 
 breathless with fatigue, he could not long re- 
 main there in perfect inactivity, so he walked 
 on, wrapping his light cloak around him, and 
 still following the track the carriage had 
 taken, but not with the hopes of over- 
 taking it. He did not meet many people 
 as he paced through the deserted streets, 
 some, indeed, were loitering about, but 
 they did not notice him, and on and on he 
 walked, till he left the town behind, and 
 found himself in the high road again. 
 Here he turned aside towards the north, 
 for the day was breaking, and he imagined 
 that if his parents sent in pursuit of him, 
 any persons, whom he might meet there, 
 would easily be able to recognise his de- 
 scription by the marked deformity of his 
 person, and would, at once, tell the route 
 he had taken. Soon after, he entered a 
 lane, whose situation completely shut from 
 his view the glimmering lights of the dis- 
 tant town, and, in partial obscurity, he 
 still walked on, till, from actual weariness, 
 c 3
 
 28 THE YOUKG DOCTOR. 
 
 he looked about for some place where he 
 could rest awhile. Glancing round him, 
 through the dim twilight then spreading 
 over the heavens, he discerned an old 
 shed on the right hand side of the road, 
 which seemed to belong to some out- 
 houses attached to a small, white cottage, 
 and climbing over a wooden fence that 
 was raised before it, he crept into this poor 
 shelter, through a half open window, and 
 sat down to decide what further steps he 
 should take to escape detection and pur- 
 suit. 
 
 Not many minutes, however, elapsed 
 before the train of thought entering his 
 mind was disturbed by the suspicion that 
 there was some one else in the shed be- 
 sides himself, and groping about in the yet 
 imperfect daylight, he perceived, at the 
 farther end, the figure of a boy lying 
 asleep upon some straw. To be certain 
 that he slept — and, if he did not, to' ask 
 permission to remain, for a little while, 
 beneath the shelter he had found, Horace 
 approached the lad, and, in doing so, stum-
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 29 
 
 bled over something lying near the rude 
 bed on which he reclined. Stooping down 
 to examine what it was, with some diffi- 
 culty, he discerned it to be a bundle of 
 coarse, outer garments, that no doubt be- 
 longed to the sleeper, and, after a few 
 minutes' silent consideration of a 
 scheme, which suddenly rose to his 
 mind, he arrayed himself in them, 
 placed a piece of money, taken from his 
 own slender purse, by the side of the 
 slumbering boy, then made his exit from 
 the shed, by the same way in which he en- 
 tered it, and tired, though he was, again 
 walked on. His cast off clothes, with a 
 sagacious precaution unusual to his years, 
 he, meanwhile, tied together, and sunk, by^ 
 means of a large stone attached to them, 
 in a pond, that he soon afterwards 
 passed. 
 
 But the exertions of the night, at length, 
 overcame the strength of the wanderer, 
 and, towards morning, being utterly spent 
 with fatigue, he climbed up a soft, green 
 bedge, bordering the wayside, lay down to
 
 30^ THE YOUNG DOCTOR, 
 
 rest his tired limbs in the field it enclosed, 
 and, a few minutes after, fell asleep. 
 
 And thus broke the first day, since his 
 flight, upon the humpback — the rich man's 
 heir, but the unloved and jealous one — for 
 child though he was, he had deeply felt the 
 want of a mother's and a father s love. 
 Slighted, for the sake of a younger brother, 
 whose beauty cruelly contrasted with 
 his deformity, and whose quick parts 
 shamed his less apprehensive ones, during 
 years he bore the jealous torments, which 
 this preference of his parents towards 
 their second child raised within his heart ; 
 and the apparent dulness of his under- 
 standing, that, in reality, veiled a strong 
 though indolent mind, was never shaken 
 off. He was one who needed encourage- 
 ment to pursue any object with activity, 
 and this incentive to industry he never 
 received. 
 
 Prejudiced against their unfortunate 
 ofispring, by his miserable deformity, his 
 father and mother easily believed his mind 
 to be the counterpart of his person, and
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. » 31 
 
 that the dull, quiet boy, had no abilities to 
 compensate for his natural defects. This 
 was not the case however ; a strength of 
 character, unknown to them, and a suscep- 
 tibilifcy of feeling that few would have sup- 
 posed him to possess, lay hidden beneath 
 all his indolence and listlessness ; but his 
 ignorance of his real capacity, and the con- 
 stant jealousy which disturbed him, dead- 
 ened their outward manifestation. 
 
 He did not seek to rival his brother in 
 his studies — he thought that he never could, 
 and bitterly resigned to a sense of his own 
 inferiority of person and mind, he gave 
 himself up to idleness, and believed himself 
 to be what others said he was. His cha- 
 racter, too, unappreciated by those around 
 him, was wrongly and harshly acted upon ; 
 for few test a child's real disposition, and 
 form a system of education suited to it : 
 though every child has a distinct individual 
 character, which, to be rightly developed, 
 ought to be well studied. But in gen- 
 eral, people educate children in a wholesale 
 way, as if a set of principles with which
 
 S? THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 they act on one child's disposition, would 
 do for all. 
 
 The humpback's spirit was proud, 
 his mind strong, his indolence not alto- 
 gether so insurmountable as it appeared to 
 be; but by injudicious treatment, and actual 
 unkindness at times, he had been cowed 
 down into a state of despair, and it was 
 only jealousy that ever aroused him from 
 his seeming indifference. It was jealousy 
 that urged him to his flight from home ; 
 he had sickened for his parents' love, felt 
 that he did not possess it, and in the 
 wrath of his slighted affection he fled from 
 their protection, gave up the rights that, 
 young though he was, he knew he pos- 
 sessed to the brother they so fondly loved, 
 and resolved to work, and to earn his own 
 living, " that they may not," he thought, 
 " wish for my death !" 
 
 Poor child, — the shaft of sorrow, had 
 stricken his head right early ! and though 
 his flight was open to censure, that step 
 was well expiated in after years, by many 
 a pang of bitter grief.
 
 fHE YOUXG DOCTOR. 33 
 
 CHArTER 11. 
 
 Things done in haste, at leisure are repented. 
 
 Fairfax's Jerusalem Delivered. 
 
 He must be made up of irreconcileable contradic- 
 tions, who can take pleasure in company, and yet be 
 insensible of contempt or disgrace from his compani- 
 ons. 
 
 Locke^ 
 
 Mine eyes are weary, 
 
 Sleep, gentle sleep ! 
 Mine heart is dreary,—- 
 
 I wake to weep. 
 
 That poor heart numbers 
 
 Long days ago. 
 Since thy sweet slumbers 
 
 Soften'd its woe. 
 
 *Tis the night hour. 
 
 Come thou to me— ^ 
 Yet, sweetest power, 
 
 Visionless be 1
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR- 
 
 My heart is breaking, 
 Bring thou no dream 
 
 On mine awaking, 
 Bitter to seem I 
 
 About two years after the occurrence 
 mentioned in the last chapter, upon a fine 
 Sunday afternoon, towards the end of 
 October, just as the Londoners were pre- 
 paring to attend divine service, a young 
 boy and girl of the respective ages of four- 
 teen and ten years, were, arm and arm, 
 slowly sauntering up the sunshiny street 
 of the Strand. Many persons as they pas- 
 sed them, gave a pleasant glance at the 
 pretty little girl, and her no less handsome 
 brother ; for brother and sister they evi- 
 dently were, from the very striking likeness 
 seen between them. But though resem* 
 bling one another in feature, there was a 
 remarkable difTerence in the expression of 
 their countenances. A shy, fawn-like 
 glance dwelt in the dark violet eyes of the 
 younger child, while the boy's look was
 
 »rHE YOUNG noc'toR. 85 
 
 careless, good-humoured, and bold, and 
 every now and then he switched about a 
 little silver-headed cane that he held in his 
 hand, as if to clear the passage for his 
 sister and himself, with an air of defiance, 
 which would have been, no doubt, perfectly 
 alarming to the quiet stream of good people 
 they were meeting, had not a merry 
 twinkle of his open blue eye betokened a 
 rather more placable disposition. 
 
 A handsome little couple they were, and 
 the sun was at that moment shining down 
 upon them with some of his most glorious 
 smiles, making them appear even more 
 radiant and joyous than they really were, 
 although a happy cheerful expression lin- 
 gered on each of their countenances. The 
 little lady, too, seemed thoroughly self- 
 satisfied with her own personal appear- 
 ance, and was incessantly telUng her bro* 
 ther to walk carefully along, lest the mud, 
 which a late shower of rain had created on 
 the pavement, should splash up and spoil 
 her spotless \vhite muslin dress. To be 
 sure, especial care seemed to have been
 
 36 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 taken with her toilette, and it would have 
 been a pity had its neatness been spoiled 
 by any such accident ; the wide pink satin 
 sash, tiny green boots, and black silk man- 
 tilla, were all perfect in their way, and her 
 companion apparently knew them to be so, 
 and most gallantly obeyed her injunc- 
 tions, by picking his steps with the utmost 
 precision and patience, wherever she 
 directed him to do so. He seemed proud 
 of his young sister, — and well he might 
 have been, for she was about the prettiest 
 little creature you would have met with in 
 that day's walk. Her flaxen ringlets were 
 lustrous with light; her sleepy, violet eyes 
 veiled a half hidden brilliancy beneath their 
 drooping, almond shaped lids ; and her 
 countenance was perfectly bewitching from 
 its sweet and innocent expression — a sort 
 of expression by the way, which made you 
 dream of angels and other guileless beings, 
 and not of one of earth's daughtex's, born 
 but to sorrow and to die. 
 
 Well, on walked the pair, chatting 
 happily and gaily as they proceeded on their
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 37 
 
 road ; the boy every now and then casting 
 a proud and satisfied glance at his sister, 
 and then linking her arm more carefully, 
 more manfully within his own. Suddenly, 
 however, the younger child slightly coloured, 
 and pressing her brother's hand, said, in a 
 whisper — 
 
 " Harry, here is a poor boy asking us 
 for a penny, and I have nothing with me 
 — and he looks so miserable — What shall 
 
 I do r 
 
 " Do V rephed Harry, " why, I think 
 1 have some pence in my pocket, Frances, 
 so here take and give them to him. He 
 does look hungry and ill— poor fellow T 
 
 And the little girl turned towards a 
 sickly-looking boy, who, bare-footed and 
 clad in a sailor's old jacket, stood near her, 
 and taking her brother's money offered it 
 to him. 
 
 " There is all we have," she said ; " I 
 wish we had more." 
 
 The beggar looked up into the beautiful 
 young face bent kindly towards him, but 
 did not take the pence; large tears gathered
 
 S8 THE YOtJNG DOCTOR, 
 
 suddenly in his eyes, and he stood perfectly 
 motionless. 
 
 " Give him the money, and come away.. 
 Fan, what are you stopping for?'^ asked 
 her brother. 
 
 " He will not take it,^' she replied, 
 hastily, " he thinks it too little ; it is only 
 two-pence, Harry, and he is hump-backed 
 and crying — oh! I wish — I wish I had 
 something else to give him — but I have 
 nothing.'' 
 
 '•' Nor I," answered Harry, in a vexed 
 tone, " what can we do 1 — but put the 
 pence into his hand, and come away, else 
 we shall have a crowd around us." 
 
 Frances did as she was desired, although 
 the beggar did not seem to heed the action, 
 but still remained immovable and speech- 
 less, and then she walked on with her 
 brother. 
 
 " I shall dream of that pale face of his, 
 Harry, I know I shall," said she, a few 
 minutes after, " oh, I wish I had the five 
 shillings that mama gave me only yester- 
 day with me — he was crying, too."
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR, S9 
 
 Harry switched his slender cane about 
 in an uneasy manner. 
 
 ** Don't talk of him any more, Frances," 
 said he, " or youll make me uncomfortable 
 too — pray don't/^ 
 
 And they proceeded up the street for a 
 short time in utter silence, till suddenly 
 Frances heard herself once more addressed 
 by some one at her side, and turning back 
 beheld the young beggar whom she had 
 spoken to, but a few minutes before. 
 
 " You dropped this bag," said he, in a 
 quick tone, and looking eagerly up in her 
 face, " dropped it as you left me." 
 
 " Oh ! thank you," replied Frances, 
 earnestly, " why it is my bag with the 
 velvet cap that I worked for godpapa — 
 What should I have done if I had lost it, 
 Harry V 
 
 And then she said, in a lower whisper — 
 
 " And I have nothing more to give him." 
 
 The beggar overheard her. 
 
 " I do not want anything more," said 
 he, in a thick hurried voice, *' I did not
 
 40 TFil YOriS^G DOCTOR. 
 
 ask even for what you gave me — I asked 
 for work — although you of my own age 
 could not help me to that, perhaps — but I 
 never begged before." 
 
 And, as if the very effort to speak over- 
 came him, the tears began to fall faster 
 and faster over his thin dark cheeks, 
 though he tried to dash them away. 
 
 " I never felt so queer in all ray life. 
 Fan," said Harry, to his sister, " what 
 shall we do with him ^ 1 don't think this 
 all a sham, do you V 
 
 " No, no," rejoined she, "" what shall we 
 do, Harry ? He asks for work — Papa 
 won't help him — what shall we do 1 Oh ! 
 stop him," she added, as she saw the 
 beggar turn away, " stop him, Harry ; let 
 us take him to godpapa — he will tell us 
 what to do ; he always does — stop him, 
 Harry." 
 
 And hastily retracing their steps a little 
 way down the Strand, the brother and 
 sister soon overtook the slowly retreating 
 beggar.
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 41 
 
 " Here, my good fellow," said Harry, 
 " turn down this street, will you *? I want 
 to speak to you.'' 
 
 The beggar looked up as the youth spoke 
 with a scrutinizing, eager glance ; never- 
 theless he obeyed him, and entered the 
 street he pointed out. 
 
 " We have nothing to give you," con- 
 tinued Harry, rather bluntly, " nothing ; 
 and yet I know you ought to have some- 
 thing for picking up my sister's bag. How- 
 ever, if you like to follow us for a short 
 distance, until we arrive at a gentleman's 
 house, which we are going to visit, we shall 
 be able to give you a httle more money — • 
 do you agree to this V' 
 
 " T do not want anything for returning 
 the bag ; but I will follow you anywhere to 
 get work," was tlie beggar's reply, after 
 some moments of hesitation. 
 
 " Well, I can't promise you that," 
 answered Harry, " but follow us neverthe- 
 less — it may be godpapa will help you — 
 may he not, Frances V
 
 42 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 " Oh ! I wish he would !" answered 
 Prances. 
 
 " I have been to sea/' continued the 
 beggar, glancing earnestly at the com- 
 passionate countenances of the boy and 
 girl before him, " to America ; but I was 
 turned off when we came home, because I 
 was ill and could not work, and I have had 
 nothing to do since then." 
 
 *' Poor boy \" said Harry, " haven't you 
 a father or mother to take care of you V* 
 
 " Mother !" repeated the beggar, in a 
 thick, faltering voice, and the tears gathered 
 faster and faster in his eyes, though he 
 strove to force them back. 
 
 " Don't ask him that, Harry," whispered 
 Frances ; " don't you see he has none "? — 
 he is crying." 
 
 Harry walked on. 
 
 " Follow us," said he to the beggar ; 
 " follow us, and I am sure we shall be able 
 to reheve you, at least for to-day — we have 
 not far to go." 
 
 And the brother and sister proceeded
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 43 
 
 up the street, accompanied, at a little 
 distance, by the beggar. 
 
 " What a strange boy V observed Fran- 
 ces. " Harry, he is not like a common 
 beggar." 
 
 " No," repHed he ; " he does not speak 
 like one." 
 
 "• How ill and thin he looks," rejoined 
 she. 
 
 " And hungry,'^ answered Harry. " I 
 don't think him a humbug ; do you 1 but 
 I wonder what god-papa will make out of 
 him — here we are. Fan." 
 
 And knocking, as he spoke, at the door 
 of a tall, quiet looking house, whose dark 
 glass front on the basement story, be- 
 tokened it to be the dwelling place of a 
 medical practitioner. Harry soon after 
 addressed the tall footman, who opened it, 
 with the usual enquiry as to whether its 
 inmate was at home, and then beckoning 
 to the beggar to follow, walked in with his 
 sister. 
 
 " Here, Mrs. Dingle well," said Harry, to 
 a thin, prim-looking old woman servant,
 
 44 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 
 
 •who met them in the passage, " you must 
 let that poor fellow remain in the hall —he 
 "wants to speak to god-papa — or put him 
 in the kitchen, or wherever you like," he 
 continued ; " where is god-papa V 
 
 " In the dining-room," replied she, then, 
 turning towards his sister, added, " how do 
 you do, Miss Frances '? will you step up 
 stairs, and take off your bonnet?" 
 
 "Oh, no — not yet, Mrs. Dingle well, 
 thank you. I must speak to god-papa 
 first," answered Frances, and running to- 
 wards the end of the passage or hall, she 
 and Harry opened a door, and entered a 
 comfortable looking parlour. 
 
 Here an old gentleman, verging upon 
 sixty years of age, was seated quietly 
 reading the newspaper. Of middling 
 height, and of pleasant aspect — his bene- 
 volent countenance, though by no means 
 handsome, had a charm of expression 
 infinitely more engaging than any remains 
 of personal beauty, however well preserved, 
 could possibly be ; while his quick, small 
 dark eye, at times full of humour and
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 45 
 
 good nature, had, at others, a sharp, 
 earnest look, betokening strong sense, and 
 a good deal of penetration. His costume 
 was simple and plain, such as an elderly 
 gentleman's should always be ; yet it bore 
 evidence of a peculiar taste about it, too, 
 for he wore Hessian boots, with large silk 
 tassels, and a white neckcloth. 
 
 At the entrance of Frances and Harry, 
 the gentleman, now introduced to the 
 reader, lay down the paper he was reading, 
 and clapping his hands into his coat 
 pockets, something in the style of the ever- 
 to-be reverenced Mr. Pickwick, when ad- 
 dressing his club, 
 
 " Shan't admit you, my good girl," said 
 he, with a merry twinkle in his small black 
 eye ; " shan't admit you. What does your 
 mother mean by not coming here to-day — 
 eh \ and your father \ I tell you what, my 
 little god-daughter, you must trudge it 
 back again to Lincoln's Inn ; I am not 
 going to be pestered to-day with your 
 childish, inconsiderate prattle, I can assure
 
 46 THE YOUl^G DOCTOR. 
 
 you — T have neither pie, pudding, nor fruit 
 for you, Fan ; go back, I say/' 
 
 '' That I won't, Mr. Winkelmann," said 
 she, running up to him, and tossing off her 
 bonnet on the table ; " what if poor mama 
 is ill, she cannot help that ; and as for 
 papa, he can never find time to come, you 
 know, and so Harry and I walked on 
 without him. Didn't we knovf it was your 
 birthday ? and have I not worked a beau- 
 tiful cap for you 1 Why, god-papa, Harry 
 and I mean to stay here till evening, I can 
 tell you ; and as for pudding or pie, I don't 
 care if you have been so ill-natured as not 
 to order any for me — I'll stay for all that, 
 Mr. Winkelmann, I will." 
 
 " Ugh ! I though so, Fan ; girl or 
 woman it is always the same — they ever 
 act by the rules of contradiction. But 
 come, you little puss, you know I am glad 
 to see you ; and as for this cap — eh ! — 
 why, Frances — do you take me for a 
 Chinese mandarin, that you have em- 
 broidered it in tinsel and silks. I won't
 
 THE YOTJKG DOCTOR. 47 
 
 wear the gaudy thing, you monkey. I 
 would—" 
 
 '• Yet, you wore the other I worked, and 
 a good deal, too, else it would not have 
 been as shabby as it is at present," replied 
 Frances, laughing. " Ah ! ah ! sir, here it 
 is ! and now 111 make an end of it, else 
 you'll never put the new one on, I know 
 — so here it flies, god-papa, into the fire." 
 
 " You gipsy, you ! what mischief will 
 you be up to next ? Harry, my boy, how 
 d'ye do 1 this little sister of yours will give 
 you terrible work some day or other." 
 
 " She did, sir, to-day," answered Harry, 
 with a smile, " she borrowed all my money 
 to give to a beggar, and then brought him 
 on here for you to give him something 
 more." 
 
 " Bad accounts of you. Fan," laughed 
 Mr. Winkelmann ; "what does Harry 
 mean f 
 
 " Why, god-papa," said Frances, hanging 
 down her pretty head, and colouring a little, 
 " I had nothing to give a poor hump-backed 
 boy, ^ho asked me for a penny, so Harry
 
 48 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 offered him two-pence — he had no more — 
 and then we walked away. And then the 
 beggar picked up my bag that I dropped, 
 and when we wished to give him something 
 else, we could not, and so Harry and I 
 could do nothing but bring him on to you, 
 god-papa/' 
 
 "You'll ruin me — absolutely ruin me. 
 Fan," said Mr. Winkelmann, smiKng. 
 " You bring me all the vagabonds that you 
 and your brother pick up in the streets, 
 besides your mother's recommending a 
 stray one here now and then. Well, what 
 more of this new protege of yours " 
 
 " Oh ! god -papa ! he looks so ill, and 
 so pale and thin, and he is hump- backed, 
 and crying — he is very hungry, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " Heaven help the poor boy !" said Mr. 
 Winkelmann, \vith a half smile upon his 
 face ; " why, he must be a mass of misery. 
 Fan. Is this all true, Harry T 
 
 " Y^es, indeed, sir, quite/' answered 
 Harry. " I wish you would see him — we
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 49 
 
 brought him into the passage because we 
 thought you would not be angry." 
 
 "Angry'?" repeated the old gentleman; 
 " why no ! Who would teach the children 
 to be charitable, if I did not V he mut- 
 tered to himself — then asked, aloud — 
 " What about him, Harry V 
 
 " Why, sir, what I thought odd, was, 
 that he did not seem to like to take the 
 money I offered hira ; but said he wanted 
 work — he doesn't look like a common 
 beggar." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! common enough, I dare 
 say. He did not like to take the money 1 
 pshaw! a mere dodge, Harry, to excite 
 your sympathy. Yet, call him in, I'll see 
 him." 
 
 And Harry w^ent to the door, and 
 beckoned to the beggar to enter the par- 
 lour. 
 
 He did so immediately ; but timidly and 
 irresolutely, and stood in the middle of the 
 room, colouring up to the very temples, as 
 the quick glance of Mr. Winkelmann tra- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 veiled inquisitively over his person and fea- 
 tures. 
 
 " So, my good lad," said that gentle- 
 man, "you picked up this young lady's 
 bag, did you ? and she had nothing to give 
 you when you returned it, eh 1 W' hat's 
 your name V 
 
 " Sidney Beckford, sir," answered the 
 beggar. 
 
 " Sidney Beckford V repeated Mr. Win- 
 kelmann — '^ Sidney — hum — well, there's a 
 shilling for you — good day." 
 
 And he threw a silver piece upon the 
 table near him. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said the boy, and he 
 moved towards the door with the intention 
 of leaving the room, but without taking the 
 shilling. 
 
 " Hey-day !" cried Mr. Winkelraann, 
 " where are you going 1 you have forgot- 
 ten 3^our money. Come, don't you think 
 that enough for a common piece of honesty, 
 or do you want more V 
 
 " I want nothing," replied the beggar, 
 turning away, as if hurt by the rude, hai'sh
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 51 
 
 tone in which Mr. Winkelmann spoke, and 
 a gush of tears rolled over his cheeks. 
 
 " You are a happy individual then, my 
 little fellow," rejoined Mr. Winkelmann, 
 " are you in employ V^ 
 
 " No," answered the beggar, stopping 
 short in his way to the door. 
 
 " Ah ! I suppose, as you w^ant nothing, 
 you can afford to be idle — you have plenty 
 of money, perhaps V continued Mr. Win- 
 kelmann. 
 
 " No," again replied the boy. 
 
 "Then, I imagine, that you are not 
 quite so independent as you seem to wish 
 me to fancy you are — you want work." 
 
 " Yes, yes," eagerly exclaimed the beg- 
 gar ; and he gazed up into Mr. Winkel- 
 mann's face with a sharp, enquiring glance, 
 as if he wanted to guess at the character 
 of the person he addressed. There was a 
 moment's silence — Mr. Winkelmann was 
 scanning the expression of the beggar's 
 countenance ; the latter was scanning his ; 
 but the beggar spoke first. 
 D 3 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 ILI mn\R I iRDADv
 
 52 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 " I have been to sea two or three times, 
 as cabin boy, on board the Medusa, that 
 sails between Portsmouth and New York," 
 said he. " My master picked me up in the 
 streets of the former place, where I was 
 one day plying as an errand boy. I made 
 two or three voyages with bim ; but about 
 two months ago, he died, as he was com- 
 ing home, and I have been out of work 
 ever since, for the present captain of the 
 vessel would not employ me, because I 
 could not do much work, as I was then 
 always ill and weak. I can do any work 
 at present, sir, I am sure," added he, look- 
 ing earnestly at Mr. Winkelmann, " 1 am 
 stronger now." 
 
 " Scarcely so, I should imagine," replied 
 that gentleman, as he glanced at the ema- 
 ciated features of the lad ; " what induced 
 your first master to take you into his ser- 
 vice?" 
 
 " Why, sir, I was trying to save a 
 spaniel from being killed by a great mas- 
 tiff in the streets of Portsmouth, when I 
 first met him. Some persons were making
 
 THE YOU>TG DOCTOE. 53 
 
 them figlit, and when I endeavoured to 
 take the little dog away, the large one bit 
 me, and the people laughed, and told me 
 to go about my business, till Captain Mid- 
 dleton happened to pass by, and he took 
 my part, and made them be quiet. After- 
 wards, he found out that the spaniel was 
 his own. It had belonged to his wife, sir, 
 who was dead ; and he said he would do 
 something for me in return for my saving 
 the httle creature's life ; and I asked him 
 to take me to sea with him, which he 
 did." 
 
 " Well — and now you are out of employ, 
 why don't you try to get on board ship 
 again 1" asked Mr. Winkelmann. 
 
 '' Nobody will take me into service, sir," 
 rephed the boy, in a thick, faltering voice, 
 " people say I look too ill and weak — but I 
 don't think I am so now." 
 
 " And why did you come to town V 
 
 "Because I thought I might find some 
 other kind of employment here ; yet I 
 have wandered about the streets for days
 
 54 THE YOUNG DOCTOK. 
 
 and can get none — and I have no more 
 money. I have not touched a morsel of 
 bread since yesterday evening, sir/^ 
 
 "Humph!'' said Mr. Winkelmann — 
 "and have you no friends, father or 
 mother, brother, sister, uncle or aunt to 
 look after you V^ 
 
 The boy was utterly silent for a full 
 minute, and then he hid his face in his 
 hands, while a succession of quick sobs 
 convulsed his whole frame, and choked the 
 words he would have uttered. At last, he 
 said, as he contrived to gain some mastery 
 over his agitation — 
 
 " I have no one to care for me, sir." 
 
 " An orphan V muttered Mr. "Winkel- 
 mann, turning about uneasily in his chair ; 
 '* but that is a very common class of chil- 
 dren, now-a-days. And what were your 
 parents V^ continued he, aloud ; " was 
 your father a sailor like yourself f' 
 
 " No, sir," replied the beggar, trying to 
 speak calmly and collectedly, " He was a 
 farmer in Hampshire," — then he added, 
 though the inteUigence had no reference to
 
 THE YOUKG DOCTOR. 55 
 
 Mr. Winkelraann's question, '' This is the 
 first time I ever begged, sir — the very first 
 time." 
 
 " So I should imagine," returned that 
 gentleman, as he noticed his very visible 
 emotion, " Well, 'tis a bad trade, and the 
 more you dislike it the better it will be for 
 you. 
 
 '' Now, let me see, the sum of all your 
 trouble is this — you want w^ork. Humph, 
 — no, I won't speak of that to day ; go 
 down stairs, and get a warming at the 
 kitchen fire, and ask for something to eat. 
 It's a pity when we are going to have a 
 good dinner ourselves not to ailord a 
 mouthful to a homeless wanderer — eh, 
 Fan.r' 
 
 "Good god- papa," answered Frances, 
 " but will he find his w^ay down the stairs," 
 she added. '' Shall not Harry show them to 
 
 him r 
 
 "Aye, aye," replied Mr. Winkelmanii, 
 " show the boy the stairs' head, Harry, for 
 it's a breakneck sort of way down that
 
 56 THE YOUNG DOCTOK. 
 
 dark passage, — or stay, ring Mrs. Dingle- 
 well up, Frances/' 
 
 "No," said Harry, "Don't let her do 
 that, I will go with him." 
 
 And the two boys left the room. 
 
 " God-papa, how kind you are," ex- 
 claimed Frances, a little while afterwards, 
 " How I like you ! but does not tbe poor 
 beggar boy look yery wretched V 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Winkelmann, " What 
 can I do for him. Fan. I have no 
 work to give him ; now, set your little 
 brains to work and devise a plan to relieve 
 him." 
 
 " I have oue, I have one," cried Frances 
 in delight. " Did not you say the other 
 morning, that Robert was going away l 
 Put the little humpback in his place, and" — 
 
 " Mrs. Dinglewell, — Harry, — what a devil 
 of a noise are you making there V ex- 
 claimed the old gentleman, suddenly start- 
 ing from his chair, at the sound of a heavy 
 body falling to the ground, accompanied by 
 a tremendous clatter of plates and dishes ; 
 and hastily leaving the room, he went to
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 57 
 
 the head of the stairs, and asked what was 
 the matter. 
 
 In another minute, before the question 
 could be repeated, Harry ran up the stair- 
 case, with a face as pale as ashes. 
 
 " It is the poor boy, sir ; it is that abom- 
 inable dark passage,^' said he hurriedly. 
 " We met Mrs. J3inglewell with a tray full 
 of things in the narrowest part — she creeps 
 about like a mouse, you know, — and I 
 neither saw nor heard her, till I ran right 
 up against ber. Then she, in a fright, let 
 the tray go, wdiich hit my face, and I fell 
 sideways upon the beggar boy — he pitched 
 forward somehow or other, and rolled from 
 the top of the stairs to the bottom, while 
 the tray and all the dinner went after him. 
 Come and see him, sir ; I hope he is not 
 quite dead ; yet he has not screamed or 
 spoken a word since he fell, and he is lying 
 in the passage quite still." 
 
 " Dead !" echoed little Frances, and 
 she crept down the stairs after Mr. Win - 
 kelmann, who at Harry's words instantly 
 proceeded towards the kitchen.
 
 58 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 At the bottom of the staircase, they 
 found Mrs. Dinglewell standing in stupid 
 amazement at the degdt before her. 
 
 " Here, Mrs. Dinglewell, get me a light, 
 I cannot see a single thing/' shouted Mr. 
 Wink elm ann. " Pshaw ! the old woman is 
 deaf, — Fan, Fan, run and fetch me one, — 
 Harry, where are we ? What have 1 put 
 my foot on now V 
 
 " The dinner, the beautiful dinner, sir,'' 
 ejaculated Mrs. Dinglewell. suddenly ad- 
 dressing her master in a voice of extreme 
 anguish, "It all went over hiru, — it's all 
 lost, — tho>e lovely chickens ! Prussian 
 sprouts and potatoes. — It is the fowls you 
 are putting your boots on, sir, I dare say," 
 and the good woman seemed more dis- 
 tressed about the peiilous situation of the 
 dinner, than that of the boy. 
 
 " Thanks, my good little girl," returned 
 Mr. Winkelmann, as he received a lighted 
 candle from the hands of Frances, '* now 
 we shall see what the matter is. Here," 
 he continued, as he held it over the place 
 where he discerned the beggar was laying
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOE. 59 
 
 apparently insensible, " here, Harry, take 
 away that fowl from the lad's face, and, 
 Mrs. Dinglewell, bring me a cloth, the 
 sauce and greens are covering bim. Thanks, 
 to your active little limbs. Fan, you have 
 fetched me one, have you, — you are w^orth 
 3^our weight in gold, my dear/' And 
 kneeling down by the boy's side, he raised 
 his head in his arm, and wiped away the 
 vegetables that bedaubed it, in a manner 
 rather amusing to behold. 
 
 *' Have you hurt yourself, my lad,'' said 
 he. 
 
 But the boy did not speak. 
 
 " Have you hurt yourself, I say 1" re- 
 peated the little man. 
 
 And still no answer came, 
 
 " Harry, send John to me, — this child 
 nmst be carried up stairs," said Mr. Win- 
 kelmann, "He is stunned, ay, and this arm 
 is broken. Mrs. Dingle well, lend us your 
 help, — do you hear ? You children," con- 
 tinued he, addressing Harry and Frances, 
 " ruQ up stairs to the drawing-room, and 
 remain there for a few moments ; w^e cant
 
 60 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 have our dinner directly, my dears, — 
 go, go." 
 
 And, in obedience to his commands, 
 Harry and his sister quietly went to the 
 drawing-room, while the servant man b'um- 
 moned by them to attend his master's call, 
 assisted him and old Mrs. Dindewell, in 
 carrying the beggar boy up stairs to a 
 small spare bed room. As they laid hira 
 on a little bedstead placed in one corner of 
 the apartment, the boy, even before any 
 remedies were applied to him, came to his 
 senses, and opening his eyes, gazed round 
 the room in seeming surprise. But the 
 pain which his broken limb caused him to 
 feel, soon drew his attention from the per- 
 sons before him, and a slight expression of 
 impatience escaped his lips. 
 
 " Come, come," said Mr. Winkelmann, 
 kindly, " I will put that to rights for you, 
 and then you will soon be well again." 
 
 " It is broken," remarked the boy, " it 
 must be set." 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Winkelmann, " and 
 that directly ; but you w^o'nt care about
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 61 
 
 that — you will bear it like a man — won't 
 you." 
 
 " Are you going to do it, sir V asked the 
 lad. 
 
 " To be sure ; there now, be quiet, John, 
 come here." 
 
 " I can bear pain," said the beggar, 
 earnestly, " T will not moYe, sir." 
 
 And the boy kept his promise ; no word 
 did he utter all the while the operation 
 was performing ; and his fortitude evi- 
 dently increased Mr. Winkelmann's liking 
 for him. 
 
 "There," said that gentleman, as he 
 wound the last bandage round the injured 
 arm, " there, lie down, and keep quiet, you 
 are weak, and ill, and bruised, my poor 
 fellow, go to sleep." 
 
 " May I?" asked the boy, eagerly, '* here, 
 sir? 1 have not slept but upon the flags 
 for these many nights— and when must I 
 go." 
 
 " Go V repeated Mr. Winkelmann, "oh ! 
 we won't talk of that just yet ; but not to- 
 night or to-morrow certainly."
 
 62 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 "You are very kind," answered the 
 beggar, in a thick low voice, as he saw him 
 turn upon his heel and leave the room, 
 " very kind, sir." 
 
 " Well, this is a pretty day's work, Miss 
 Frances," said Mr. Winkelmann, to his 
 little god-daughter, as he entered the 
 drawing-room, after he had left Sidney 
 Beckford. " Dinner lost, boy nearly killed, 
 and all your fault." 
 
 " Oh !" exclaimed Frances, with a 
 frightened look, '' he is not much hurt, is 
 her 
 
 '' Arm broken, that's all, my diminutive 
 mischief ; but if the intelligence distresses 
 you, as I see it does, comfort yourself with 
 knowing that he cannot be turned out 
 into the streets to-night — he must sleep 
 here." 
 
 " Oh ! how good of you, god-papa ! how 
 good of you to keep him," said Frances, 
 "yet it was not my fault that he fell down 
 stairs." 
 
 " Frances means to say it was Mrs. 
 Dinglewell's and mine," observed Harry.
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 63 
 
 " You are just as bad one as the other ; 
 the greatest plagues of my existence/' said 
 Mr. Winkelmann, patting the flaxen ring- 
 lets of his little god-daughter, with evident 
 satisfaction. But, come, ring the bell, Fan, 
 and let us see what Mrs. Dinglewell can con- 
 trive to give us for dinner, since our own 
 is spoiled." 
 
 And accordingly the bell was rang ; a 
 patch-work dinner served up, though it 
 was nevertheless enjoyed by the children 
 as much as the other would have been, 
 and the evening, notwithstanding an oc- 
 casional thought bestowed upon the poor 
 boy, who was suffering beneath the same 
 roof as themselves, passed merrily av/ay ; 
 for Mr. Winkelmann, though an old bache- 
 lor, was fond of young people, and when 
 in their company, exerted himself to please 
 them with the greatest possible good- 
 humour. Eight o'clock came, however, 
 and the happy trio separated, as that was 
 the appointed hour assigned for the children 
 to return home. A hackney coach was 
 called, Harry and Frances were placed in-
 
 64 THE YOUNG ^ DOCTOR. 
 
 side of it, and Mr. Winkelmann's servant 
 got on the box with the coachman to see 
 them safely to their destination. 
 
 " Harry and I will come and see you in 
 two or three days, god-papa /' said Frances, 
 as he bade her good night, at the coach 
 door, " don't let the poor hump-back go 
 before then — because I want to give him 
 the five shillings that I have at home.'" 
 
 " You'll do no such thing, you extrava- 
 gant little puss," rephed Mr. AYinkelmann, 
 " You shall have something to give him 
 when 3"ou come here.^' 
 
 " Ah, but that wont be my owm," re- 
 turned Frances, " I like to give my very 
 own to beggars, god-papa.'' 
 
 *' Pooh, pooh, nonsense, good night," 
 answered Mr. Wiukelmann, as he withdrew^ 
 into the house ; then muttej'ed a moment 
 or two afterwards, while a pleased smile 
 came over his face. " She is as different 
 from her father as black is from white, 
 thank Heaven !" 
 
 And taking a light from Mrs. Dingle well, 
 who was standing with one in her hand
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 65 
 
 on the front door steps, he walked up 
 stairs to the room where his new patient 
 lay, satisfied himself that he had at length 
 found a short repose from pain and trouble, 
 in sleep, and then descending to the 
 drawing-room, hastily proceeded to peruse 
 the evening papers.
 
 66 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Heaven darkly works, yet where the seed hath been, 
 There shall the fruitage glowing yet be seen. 
 
 Mrs, Hemans, 
 
 Sidney Beckford, the beggar, progressed 
 but slowly towards recovery ; for. in his 
 fall, he had received several severe contu- 
 sions, and in consequence of being out of 
 health at the time of the accident, a con- 
 siderable degree of fever hung about him 
 during several days. Yet Air. Winkelmann, 
 though he afforded him house room, and 
 moreover took some pains in attending to 
 him, never seemed dissatisfied in so doing, 
 and always silenced the old housekeeper's 
 complaints when she spoke of the extra 
 trouble Sidney caused her, with as heavy a
 
 THE YOUl^G DOCTOE. 67 
 
 frown as his good-natured countenance 
 could possibly assume. The truth was, 
 the boy had gained his heart, by the quiet 
 patience with which he bore his sufferings, 
 and Mr. Winkelmann, secretly resolved 
 that it should not be his fault if their mu- 
 tual acquaintance was not soon placed upon 
 a firmer footing than the one on which it 
 then stood ; accordingly he determined to 
 take Sidney into his service, notwithstand- 
 ing his unprepossessing appearance, when 
 his present boy of all work, who was about 
 to leave him, did so. This resolution he 
 shortly intimated to him, and the boy ap- 
 peared to be deeply sensible of his kindness, 
 and when he soon after entered upon the 
 regular discharge of his new duties, his 
 zeal and devotion to his master exceeded 
 all bounds. 
 
 These duties without being very arduous 
 w^ere sufficiently troublesome. In the 
 morning from seven to nine o'clock, he w^as 
 engaged in various little household emplo;y- 
 ment, under the jurisdiction of Mrs. Dingle- 
 well, who combined the functions of cook
 
 68 THE TOUKG DOCTOR. 
 
 and housekeeper in one, and invariably 
 found the day's work too much for her to 
 acomplish, either with or without the aid 
 of Mr. "Winkelmann's lazy footman, unless 
 the latter helped her, too. This old lady 
 was one of those irritable, fidgetty beings, 
 who love to see everybody about them em- 
 ployed under their own orders, and set a 
 dozen cooks to spoil a broth, if they sup- 
 pose they cannot in any other way show 
 their power over them ; yet she was a good- 
 hearted woman after all, that is to say 
 when her irascible temper allowed her to 
 be so. Sidney did not like her, and shunned 
 her as much as he could, tillnine o'clock 
 came, when to his great relief, he went into 
 the surgery, swept it out, and remained 
 there the rest of the day in company with 
 Mr. Winklemann's young assistant ; then 
 towards evening, he was sent to carry the 
 different medicines to his master's patients. 
 On his return, he generally sat with Mrs. 
 Dinglewell, in the kitchen, and aided her 
 in dishing up Mr. Winkelmann's supper. 
 The first evenings he spent with her in
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 69 
 
 this manner were not agreeable ones, for 
 he saw she kept a strict watch upon all 
 his actions, as, indeed, she had been com- 
 missioned to do by her master, who thought 
 it right to take some precautions against 
 the possibility of the boy's deceiving him, 
 or behaving ungratefully, though he felt 
 convinced within himself of his perfect 
 honesty. Not so, thought Mrs. Dinglewell, 
 she did not care to hide the distrust she 
 had conceived against Sidney ; in fact she 
 openly blamed Mr. Winkelmann, within 
 his hearing, for taking him into his service, 
 without any sort of testimonial as to his 
 real deserts, or the respectability of his 
 character. Gradually, however, his docility 
 to her various whims, and patient attentions 
 to her scoldings, thawed the old woman 
 into absolute kindness, and she and Sidney 
 passed several comfortable evenings to- 
 gether, by the side of the kitchen fire, Mrs. 
 Dinglewell telling, as all old women do tell, 
 long stories of her youth, and Sidney, the 
 very picture of patience ! listening quietly 
 to her, with his dark grey eyes, fixed
 
 70 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 musingly upon the flickering fire light be- 
 fore them, and his thoughts wandering far, 
 far away, over the sea, and to his child- 
 hood's home, although he answered every 
 now and then with a short and seemingly 
 attentive answer. 
 
 After a few weeks' residence beneath 
 Mr. Winkelmann's roof, Sidney Beckford 
 evidently improved in health, but scarcely 
 in personal appearance. He remained the 
 same pale, thin, and unprepossessing look- 
 ing, hunch-back, as when he was first 
 sheltered there, and though his clothes 
 were now neai and cleanly, they did not 
 conceal the conspicuous deformity of his 
 figure, any more than his old rags had done. 
 In truth the boy was not only extremely 
 plain, but decidedly ugly, and even little 
 Frances, though in general very lenient in 
 her observations on other people's defects 
 of mind or body, when she one day came 
 with her brother to see Mr. Winkelmann, 
 could not avoid expressing her unasked 
 opinion that he was so. 
 
 Time wore on ; but it brought no
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 71 
 
 change to the prospects of the inmates of 
 Mr. Winkelmann's house. Sidnev Beck- 
 ford still continued to be a sad, thought- 
 ful boy ; he never talked much, or ap- 
 peared cheerful, and the only smiles that 
 ever passed over his plain features were 
 awakened when he caught a sight of little 
 Frances, as she called on Mr. Winkelmann, 
 with her mama or brother. But though 
 not, seemingly, of a merry disposition, he 
 was active, worked hard, appeared grate- 
 ful, and his master had no reason to be 
 dissatisfied with having aftbrded him the 
 relief he did. In fa^t, the intensity of his 
 devotion towards Mr. Winkelmann was 
 very visibly evinced every day of his life, 
 by his zeal in pleasing him, and his anxiety 
 on this subject greatly interested that 
 gentleman ; for he always felt doubly 
 willing to aid those who really appreciated 
 his kindness towards them. Yet Sidney's 
 feelings were more expressed in action and 
 look than words ; and the careless ob- 
 server would not, perhaps, have seen in 
 his quiet and reserved manner, the depth
 
 72 THE YOUI^G DOCTOR. 
 
 of that gratitude, which Mr. Winkelmann 
 fully penetrated — it was speechless, silent, 
 but untiring. 
 
 " Where's Sidney ?" asked Mr. Winkel- 
 mann, of Mrs. Dinglewell, one day, as he 
 returned to a very late dinner. '^ Is he 
 yet gone out V 
 
 " Oh ! dear no, sir," replied the old 
 woman, " I saw him but a moment ago in 
 the surgery, for Mr. Halliwell called him to 
 remain there, while he went up-stairs to 
 dress." 
 
 " Puppy !'^ ejaculated Mr. Winkelmann, 
 in reference to his young assistant just 
 named ; then added — " the boy is alone, is 
 he ? and cannot come to me? well, I must 
 go to him.'^ 
 
 And Mr. Winkelmann rose from the 
 chair, on which he had just seated him- 
 self, and proceeded down -stairs with the in- 
 tention of giving him some orders. 
 
 " Sidney, have you been to Mr. Tjcfe- 
 bre's V said he, as he entered the surgery. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I left the packet there just as 
 you desired me to do," repHed he, rising
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 73 
 
 from his seat in some confusion, as it 
 seemed, at his master's entrance, and 
 hastily endeavouring to throw aside some 
 papers that laj before him on the small 
 mahogany counter, which was fixed against 
 one side of the room. 
 
 " Eh ! you need not be so startled ; I 
 don't doubt your word," rejoined Mr. 
 Winkelmann, looking in surprise at the 
 deeply flushed face of the boy, and then 
 glancing down upon the papers, that he 
 evidently wished to hide, he said, " what 
 have you got there, Sidney V 
 
 And prompted by a careless curiosity of 
 the moment at the sight of his confusion, 
 he took up several of the loose papers above 
 mentioned. 
 
 " Humph !" said he, as he glanced over 
 them — *' a fable — La Fontaine's — aye, 
 La cigale ayant chantee, tout Vete — trans- 
 lated into English — and Latin. Who did 
 this, Sidney'? Mr. Ilalliwell, for his own 
 amusement V' 
 
 There was a moment of utter silence on 
 
 VOL. L B
 
 74 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 the part of the boy ; and then he an- 
 swered in a low, tremulous tone, while his 
 crimsoned cheek deepened in its colour 
 more and more. 
 
 " It was 1, sir." 
 
 "You!" exclaimed Mr. Winkelmann, in 
 astonishment, and with a quick, scrutiniz- 
 ing look at his countenance. " Who taught 
 you to do it ? You must have had some 
 sort of education." 
 
 Again the hunchback was silent ; he 
 seemed to shrink from the penetrating look 
 of his muster's bright, dark eye, and his 
 hand trembled nervously, as he placed it 
 on the remaining papers that lay near 
 him. 
 
 " Perhaps, at some earlier period of 
 your life, you have been in better cir- 
 cumstances than your present V said 
 Mr. Winkelmann; "have you, Sidney"? I 
 have often noticed the general correctness 
 of your language — is it so V 
 
 " Yes," responded the boy, in a scarcely 
 audible wdiisper, " I was not always poor. 
 My father possessed money and laud of his
 
 THE YOUi;rG DOCTOR. 75 
 
 own ; ho \yas a farmer — a very rich one ; 
 but I do not Kke to speak of past years, 
 because times are changed with me now. 
 Poverty compelled me to go to sea," he 
 added, more quickly— " when I was very 
 young, I had some sort of education, and 
 I have since endeavoured to keep up what 
 I then learned ; that is why you found me 
 writing out this fabie, sir." 
 
 " Your parents, you say, are both dead 1" 
 asked Mr. Winkelmann. 
 
 And the boy's wild gush of tears, as he 
 leaned forward on the counter, and pressed 
 his hands over his eyes, avowed they were 
 so. 
 
 " You were an orphan, then, when you 
 first went to sea 1" continued Mr. Winkel- 
 mann. 
 
 " No, sir," replied Sidney ; " but I never 
 saw my parents after the night I parted 
 with them — at that time, I was only thir- 
 teen yeai^s old." 
 
 "Poor child!" returned Mr. Winkel- 
 z E 2
 
 76 THE TOUlsG DOCTOR. 
 
 mann, shortly ; " and have jou no other 
 relations to help you on through life V 
 
 " None," answered Sidney, more quietly ; 
 then added, as a bitter smile passed over 
 his features. " And if I had, I would not 
 ask them to assist me ; I was never liked 
 by any one, even when I was rich — never 
 pitied." 
 
 "Never pitied — even when you were 
 rich V repeated Mr. Winkelmann, in a 
 tone of curiosity, for he felt irresistibly in- 
 terested in the friendless boy before him ; 
 " what would you have been pitied for 
 when you were rich V 
 
 Sidney Beckford raised himself from the 
 leaning position he had hitherto main- 
 tained, and confronted his master with a 
 keen, firm glance of enquiry. 
 
 " For what, sir ?" said he, suddenly and 
 sharpl}^ ; " and the deformity of my face 
 and figure, is not that sufiicient to make 
 people pity me, could they only know the 
 torture that the knowledge of it gives me? 
 Eut they do not ; the disgust with which
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOK. 77 
 
 the sight of me inspires them, does not 
 suffer them to do so. No one has had 
 compassion upon me, save Miss Fielding 
 and you — even my father, even my 
 mother — " the boy stopped, for a moment, 
 as a thick sob interrupted his utterance, then 
 went on more passionately — "even they 
 hated me I And vrhen we parted, for the 
 last time, and my heart was breakijig, they 
 scarcely spoke to me — they would not 
 have cared if I had died at their very 
 feet, sir/' 
 
 " Hush !" said Mr. Winkelmann, more 
 gravely than he had yet spoken ; and he 
 laid his hand on Sidney's shoulder, and 
 gazed upon him with an expression of 
 strong pity. " Hush ! they are dead, Sid- 
 ney — let the faults of the dead die with 
 them." 
 
 " Dead !" echoed the boy, with another 
 choking burst of sobs ; then, in a few 
 minutes, he continued. " But I do not 
 wonder that they did not like me, sir — no 
 one can ; I am dull, and stupid, and fright- 
 ful, as they told me I was. And I had a
 
 78 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 little brother then, sir ; and he was beau- 
 tiful — so very beautiful ! and they loved 
 him — while I, I knew that they disliked 
 me, nor wished me to come near them/' 
 
 Again the boy paused, for a moment ; 
 yet before Mr. Winklemann would speak, 
 he added — 
 
 " I am only surprised how you ever 
 pitied me, and took me into your service? 
 sir ; for I can do nothing ; I am ill, weak, 
 dull. And Miss Fielding— oh ! I shall 
 never, never forget her ! she, so beautiful 
 herself, never to turn away in disgust from 
 one so hideous as I am \" 
 
 And the dark grey eyes of the hump- 
 back glistened almost into actual hght, as 
 he spoke of his gratitude towards his 
 master and Frances ; his countenance 
 beamed with a wild expression of devotion 
 that seemed to soften his harsh, irregular 
 features into something like beauty, and 
 his hands were wrung closely together in 
 the earnestness of his feelings. Mr. Winkel- 
 mann was touched — touched by the tortur- 
 ing expression he seemed to have of his
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 79 
 
 own Ugliness, and dull capacity, by the 
 strong feeling with which he felt he must 
 have yearned for the love of his parents, 
 and by the deep sense of thankfuhiess 
 which he evinced towards his little god- 
 daughter and himself. In the few, but 
 passionate words the boy uttered, a whole 
 life of misery was revealed to him, and he 
 perceived that his spirit had been crushed 
 and humbled, by his father's and mother's 
 rejection of his affection. But he also felt 
 convinced they had not judged him rightly, 
 or truly measured the depths of the mind 
 which they condemned as a shallow and 
 weak one, because the boy's words be- 
 trayed early thought for one so young ; 
 his emotion, earnest feehng ; and Mr. Win- 
 kelmann had never felt himself so strangely 
 moved to pity, as for the misshapen crea- 
 ture before him. The hot soup above 
 stairs was forgotten, notwithstanding Mrs. 
 Dinglewell's repeated taps at the surgery 
 door to remind him of it, and Mr. HalU- 
 well had full time to be as scrupulous as he
 
 80 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 pleased in his evening toilette, long ere a 
 thought of the little doctor's glanced to- 
 wards him. 
 
 " Sidney," said he, some moments after 
 the last words of the boy had been uttered, 
 " Sidney, come hither." 
 
 Mr. Winkelmann was standing at a little 
 distance from the fire-place, leaning mus- 
 ingly upon a small marble table fixed 
 against one side of the room, and the 
 hump-back came at his call, and stood 
 before him. 
 
 " Well," continued he, in a quick tone 
 of voice, and glancing his eye rapidly over 
 the changing features of the lad, as a strong 
 light from the front window fell upon him, 
 " well, Sidney, you speak a truth that I 
 suppose you have felt for a long time ; you 
 are deformed ; you are plain — more so than 
 the generality of plain people are — do you 
 hear me V 
 
 " Yes, sir," rephed the boy, looking up 
 at him with a hurried and painful glance of 
 surprise, for he was astonished to hear
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 81 
 
 these cruel words spoken by the master 
 who had, as yet, never hinted at his un- 
 fortunate appearance. 
 
 " And now,'' again said Mr. Winkel- 
 niann, with the same searching glance 
 of scrutiny bent on him as before, " now 
 tell me, and tell me truly — what do you 
 imagine will be your future life — what do 
 you hope for V 
 
 " Nothing," answered Sidney, in a tone 
 of despondency, " from you, sir, words of 
 kindness, perhaps ; from others hatred 
 and spite. My life ? my life will be an ob- 
 scure life — I have no abilities like some 
 boys who raise themselves in the world 
 — no one would aid me, as they would aid 
 others ; so I must die a common man, 
 master, ignorant and friendless." 
 
 *' You have no other prospect of your 
 future life than that V asked Mr. Win- 
 kelmann. 
 
 " None," answered the hump-back, in 
 the same low, quiet tone, " though I would 
 be—"
 
 82 I^Rt YOUKG DOCTOR. 
 
 " What V said Mr. Winkelmann, seeing 
 that he paused. 
 
 The boy looked up into his master's face 
 for some minutes in silence, and then said, 
 as if urged by his examination of that 
 benevolent-looking countenance to give 
 way to a sudden impulse of feeling with 
 ■which he seemed struggling — 
 
 " Something that would make me loved, 
 sir ; something which would make me for- 
 get what I am. Oh ! 1 wish I were rich 
 now, and I would give all, all away to be 
 liked only a little, to have some knowledge, 
 though it were but slight. But that, that 
 can never be.'' 
 
 " Why not r asked Mr. Winkelmann, 
 quietly. 
 
 *' Why not !" repeated the boy, " am I 
 not dull and stupid 1 did not my father 
 and mother let me know it? does not every 
 body tell me so V 
 
 " I have not told you so," said Mr. Win- 
 kelmann. 
 
 " No, sir ; you have been too kind to 
 tell me so."
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 83 
 
 " And yet I said that you were con- 
 spicuous for the deformity of your person, 
 the plainness of your features." 
 
 The hunch-back trembled slightly, and 
 again gazed up at his master as if to guess 
 by the expression of his features the reason 
 that induced him to tell him so torturino' a 
 
 o 
 
 truth thus openly, then answered as the 
 tears again stole down over his cheeks. 
 
 " Yes ; even you, who are so good, 
 master, tell me that — oh! why, why do 
 you do so V 
 
 " Because T know you possess that which 
 may compensate for the defect of your 
 personal appearance," replied Mr. Winkel- 
 mann, calmly. 
 
 " Compensate for it V echoed the boy. 
 
 " Aye ; outweigh it in other men's 
 opinions, as it does in mine." 
 
 " Master," said the hunch-back, in thick, 
 hurried voice, " you are jesting, are you 
 
 not r 
 
 " No, my good lad ; I tell you the plain 
 truth."
 
 84 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 
 
 " And what — what have I that can do 
 this V 
 
 "A tolerable capacity, Sidney — a good 
 heart/' 
 
 " I have neither one nor the other." 
 
 '* So you think." 
 
 " So they always told me, sir.'' 
 
 " Then they told you wrong. Since you 
 have been in my service, I have noticed 
 you much ; and I know you are not so 
 deficient in ability as you conceive yourself 
 to be — you have quiet, good sense, and if 
 not brilliant parts, solid ones. Moreover 
 this attempted translation shows that you 
 wish to improve in the studies that have 
 been so unfortunately broken off — now 
 what would you give to continue them V 
 
 The boy's cheek grew crimson as he 
 answered, 
 
 "Oh, a great, great deal, sir!" then 
 whitened again as he added in accents of 
 despair, " but what if I continue them ? 
 I shall never succeed in doing anything 
 well."
 
 THE YOITNG DOCTOK. 85 
 
 " This is well done/' said Mr. Winkel- 
 mann, taking up the fable. 
 
 " Well, sir V repHed he, " but I could do 
 nothing else well." 
 
 " You cannot tell," returned his master, 
 " we never know what we can do till we 
 try. I would not be content, if I were 
 you, to sit down in absolute ignorance, 
 Sidney ; I would work hard, and see what 
 I could master." 
 
 ''And if I did," ansv>^ered the boy, 
 " where would be the use of it 1 no one 
 would hke me." 
 
 " How so r 
 
 "Am 1 not deformed, sir V 
 
 " Does that necessarily render you dull 
 and stupid 1 — does that prevent people 
 liking you V 
 
 " Yes, master ; no one likes persons so 
 ugly as 1 am," 
 
 " That is not true," answered Mr. Win- 
 kelmann, " excepting when the persons 
 you speak of neglect to do their duty in 
 their proper station of life, and rarely exert 
 themselves to please. I had a friend in
 
 86 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 my younger days as deformed as yourself 
 Sidney ; yet the amiability of his temper, 
 and extent of his knowledge, were such 
 that he was loved and admired by all those 
 who knew him. Since his death, I have 
 not met with a man whom I have loved as 
 sincerely as I did him." 
 
 The boy's neck, cheek, and brow crim- 
 soned while he Hstened to ]\Ir. Winkel- 
 mann's last words, and a wild light came to 
 his eye as he said, 
 
 " If I had worked hard, sir — if I had 
 been as clever as my brother, would my 
 father, my mother have hked me V 
 
 " Most probably— certainly," replied Mr. 
 Winkelmann, *' that is to say, Sidney, if 
 the worth of your heart corresponded with 
 that of your mind.'' 
 
 The hunch-back paused in silent medi- 
 tation for a few moments, then said, 
 
 " Master, I will work — I will believe 
 what you tell me — I will try to please you. 
 But," he continued, with a bitter burst of 
 weeping, " I cannot be what I was ; I am 
 only a servant — I have no time— no one
 
 THU YoUKG Doctor. 87 
 
 to teach me. Why — why did you put 
 such thoughts into my head, sir 1 — -they can 
 be of no use to me now !^^ 
 
 " They can," answered Mr. Winkelmann; 
 " if you have a mind to continue the 
 studies to which you seem incHned — if you 
 are competent to teach yourself, I will 
 throw^ no impediment in your way. Devote 
 all your leisure hours to them, and I will 
 furnish you with the necessary books ; but 
 I will do no more than that — all the rest 
 must depend upon yourself Even your 
 service here I will not Kghten, or raise you 
 in any degree above your present situation, 
 for I have not the means to do so. You 
 must remain, then, an errand boy, and a 
 servant ; but all your spare time may be 
 spent as best suits your taste — now, what 
 spare time have you V 
 
 The hunch-back looked eagerly up at 
 Mr. Winkelmann, and breathed hurriedly, 
 as if in surprise, then answered, 
 
 " An hour in the morning, sir ; that is 
 to say, if Mrs. Dinglewell does not find 
 something for me to do.''
 
 88 THE YOUKG DOCTOR. 
 
 '' Mrs. DiDglewell V repeated his id aster; 
 " Oh ! never mind her. She and Richard 
 managed to do all the work of the house 
 when your predecessor lived here ; for he 
 was an idle boy, and would not help them, 
 so they can contrive to do it now. I will 
 release you from her tutelage : when re- 
 leased, what more spare time will you 
 haver^ 
 
 "Three or four hours a-day," exclaimed 
 Sidney, his eyes sparkling with delight^ 
 " and will you grant them to me for my- 
 self 1 — lend me books ? — give me the 
 chance of becoming what I was before — 
 before I went to sea ? Master, how can I 
 show you my gratitude V 
 
 "By acting up to ray expectations of 
 you — by working steadily, so that I may 
 not repent my present arrangements for 
 your benefit,'^ replied Mr. T\'inkelniann. 
 "But recollect, Sidney,'' continued he, 
 looking him full in the face, " recollect, 
 that your after destiny, whatever it may 
 be, depends entirely upon yourself I 
 cannot do much for you ; T am neither
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR 89 
 
 rich enough, or if I were, willing to do so. 
 I ma J point out the way in which you 
 should go ; but, perhaps I may not be able 
 to lend you a helping hand — remember 
 that. Do not, therefore, build hopes upon 
 future favours — do you understand me V 
 
 The pale cheek of the hunch-back 
 coloured deeply as he listened to Mr. 
 Winkelmann, and an expression of pain 
 passed over his features as if his words 
 hurt him sensibly. 
 
 " After you have done more for me than 
 any one has 3''et done — after you have 
 clothed, fed, and sheltered me, sir, and even 
 now, are loading me with kindness, how 
 can you think that I dare hope or desire 
 further favours T 
 
 " Good," returned his master, not seem- 
 ing to take notice of the boy's emotion. 
 " Good — that is all I wish you to compre- 
 hend. I never like to raise hopes that 
 may hereafter fall to the ground, or foster 
 romantic notions in young people's heads. 
 I tell you plainly, my good lad, what I can
 
 90 THE YOUNa DOCTOR. 
 
 do for you at present, so form your plan of 
 life accordingly. I know that you have 
 the abilities requisite for self-education — 
 the mind for it, and although you are not 
 a genius, you may become a very estima- 
 ble member of society, if you use the time 
 I allow you well, and extend, as far as lies 
 in your power, the rudiments of know- 
 ledge, which you now possess. I do not 
 like to know one who was seemingly born 
 for better things, sink into ignorance 
 through adverse circumstances ; but yet, 
 had I not clearly seen that you felt a desire 
 to regain the position in society from which 
 you have fallen— had I not known you 
 thoroughly capable of pursuing the course 
 I now point out to you, I would not now 
 encourage you tp do so, because the task 
 requires no small degree of energy and 
 perseverance. You have the strength of 
 mind however needful for it : therefore, if 
 you Hke, you can accompHsh it ; mean- 
 while, from time to time, I will look after 
 you. There— there, do not cry Hke a girl,
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOE. 91 
 
 my good Sidney ; come, that is childish — 
 that is not the way to go through the 
 world." 
 
 So saying, and before the boy could ar- 
 ticulate the thanks trembling on his lips, 
 Mr. Winkelmann obeyed the repeated 
 summons of Mrs. Dinglewell, and proceeded 
 at once to his dinner, while Sidney sat 
 down in his accustomed place, and gave 
 way to the bright feelings of hope which 
 the former's words had awakened within 
 his head. 
 
 And during his hurried meal what was the 
 little doctor thinking of 1 I am sorry to say 
 that within his own mind, he was resolving 
 to perform the exact contrary of the pro- 
 raise he had just given Sidney ; I am 
 grieved to state he was not perfectly sin- 
 cere in the offers or plan of protection he 
 held out — in fact, he was very far from 
 being so. He never meant to let the boy 
 work entirely by himself ; but intended to 
 help him on as much as he was able to do, 
 — as, indeed, he had done to many a friend- 
 less youth before him ; for Mr, Winkel-
 
 92 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 mann's moiiej and time were his own, and 
 what was most precious still his mind. He 
 judged for himself, acted for himself ; but 
 he did not live for himself : his hand was 
 open to relieve any one who applied to 
 him, as far as he could, and thus, though 
 having a very extensive practice, he was 
 not a rich man. He did not feel pleasure 
 in hoarding up money, he loved to see it 
 circulate, tried to make people as happy 
 with it as he was himself, and in some in- 
 stances he succeeded in doing so. Being a 
 hard working man, he had entirely gained 
 his reputation and standing in society by 
 his own efforts, and therefore took an in- 
 terest in every human being, man, woman, 
 or child, whom he saw striving to do the 
 like, and cheerfully helped them with his 
 purse, sometimes with his time. But he 
 never did so unwisely ; never encouraged 
 the idle, and always conditioned as the 
 price of his succour, that the endeavours of 
 the dependants on his favors should co-
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 93 
 
 operate with his own in making them 
 attain the end they wished. In ^his 
 advice and offers of assistance, he was 
 blunt, kind, generous, and honest, did not 
 flatter, always spoke the truth, and tried to 
 make others do the same. Yet in one 
 thing he was not perfectly sincere ; he 
 never told how far he w^ould assist the re- 
 cipients of his bounty, but waited to see 
 whether they would turn out as well as he 
 wished them to do, before he spent much 
 of his time or money upon them. To the 
 industrious, he was generous ; to the idle, a 
 miser ; but then he did not judge his fel- 
 low creatures passionately or hastily, for 
 he was a man of great penetration, and 
 saw when the hopes of the timid needed 
 encouragement, and those of the sanguine, 
 repression. It was the love of his life to 
 trace the various operations of the minds 
 of his acquaintances and dependants, to de- 
 velope their better tendencies, and tame 
 their evil ones, as far as it rested in his 
 power to do so. Yet, though he was a 
 kind and true friend, he was a rough one ;
 
 94 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 truth, plain, bitter truth, as we have seen 
 in Sidney's case, he spoke unhesitatingly, 
 perhaps harshly ; but when that had deeply 
 probed the wound he wished to cure, and 
 shown where the chief sore lay, then a 
 healing balm to soothe it, he as simply and 
 as bluntly applied. Every man was to hira 
 an object of interest, a complete study; not 
 a word was ever spoken, not a look ex- 
 changed, by any individual, in Mr. Win- 
 kelmann's presence, but what he saw it, 
 commented upon it in his own mind. One 
 word, too, of true feeling, one endeavour 
 to do right would urge him to assist those 
 in whom he observed those signs of emo- 
 tion, strangers though they were to him, as 
 readily and eagerly as other men would 
 have helped their friends. 
 
 And thus it was that the singular de- 
 formity, ugliness, and peculiar character 
 of Sidney excited his compassion. The 
 reserved manner of the boy, the visible 
 strength of his wordless gratitude, his dull, 
 listless, yet at times, deeply thoughtful look 
 were noticed by him, and of late not a
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 95 
 
 word or glance of his had been unremarked 
 by the observant little doctor, so that when 
 he revealed some portion of his past life to 
 him, he easily fathomed the real depth of 
 his feelings, and saw and pitied the bad in- 
 fluence that the dislike of his parents must 
 have had upon them. In no gentle man- 
 ner he told him his personal appearance 
 was most unprepossessing, because he 
 wished him to feel it to be so, that he might 
 redeem it in the eyes of the world, by ex- 
 citing his quiet, sagacious mind, whose fac- 
 ulties, numbed beneath the unkindness 
 of his nearest relatives, lay wasting away 
 in idleness. 
 
 He pressed heavily upon the injured 
 feelings of past years, laid bare their 
 wounds, but showed the hunchback how 
 to heal them. He well knew the mind he 
 seemed thus harshly to work upon ; per- 
 ceived its strength and its weakness, and 
 applied the remedy accordingly. It worked 
 successfully ; for Sidney, youth though he 
 w as, spent that evening in meditating upon 
 schemes of future exertion.
 
 # 
 
 96 THE roUKG DOCTOR. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 My heart abhors I should this hard defile 
 With spot of treason or with act of guile. 
 
 Fairfax's Jerusalem Delivered. 
 
 Then do the hopes we have in him touch ground, 
 And dash themselves to pieces. 
 
 Henry 17. Part 2nd, 
 
 "New Year's Eve! New Year's Eve!" 
 soliloquized Mr. Winkelmann, one evening, 
 in his little surgery, about two years after 
 Sidney Beckford was first numbered 
 amongst the inmates of his house, '' New 
 Year's Eve ! Now that child Frances ex- 
 pects a present, I dare say, so does her 
 brother ; there's the blessing of being a
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 97 
 
 god- father. But before I proceed to Lin- 
 coln's Inn — here, Sidney, I want you." 
 
 This was addressed to the hunchback, 
 who, just at that moment, returned from 
 an errand, on which he had been sent. 
 
 " Have you finished your business for 
 the day V asked his master, as the boy 
 obeyed his call. 
 
 " Quite, sir," replied he. 
 
 " Very well — now come in here, then," 
 said Mr. Winkelmann, opening his study 
 door, " I wish to speak to you. You will 
 have been with me two years this day week, 
 will you not, Sidney V continued he, as 
 the hunchback obeyed him. 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered he ; and he waited 
 for Mr. Winkelmann's further words. 
 
 " Well," rejoined that gentleman, " I am 
 perfectly satisfied with your services, and 
 I have a plan in view which will, perhaps, 
 forward your wish to get on in the world 
 in no httle way. It is this ; you see you 
 have done much for yourself — " 
 
 VOL.- I. F
 
 98 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 " That is to say, sir," interrupted Sidney, 
 " that you have done much for me/* 
 
 " Word it as you like," returned Mr. 
 Winkelmann, " only don't interrupt me 
 again, my good lad, for I have no time to 
 lose. Well, I say, that you have done 
 much for yourself ; but I wish you to do 
 more. Although you have contrived, in 
 some measure, to gain the ground-work 
 of a sound, practical education, it will re- 
 quire more exertions, on your part, and 
 greater assistance than you have yet had 
 to perfect it. On that point, however, I 
 mean to help you. I have made arrange- 
 ments with a friend of mine, who keeps an 
 excellent establishment near Clapham, for 
 placing you with him as a scholar, for a 
 couple of years or so, and so you are to 
 leave London in about a week's time." 
 
 " Sir !" exclaimed Sidney, in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Just so," repHed Mr. Winkelmann, 
 nodding his head, with a most auspicious 
 smile ; "there is my project for your bene-
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 99 
 
 fit. You are to stay two years or more 
 with him, and then to return to me, that 
 I may see what further I can do for you — 
 always supposing, however, that you con- 
 tinue as earnest in well-doing as you are 
 at present. Do you agree to this scheme, 
 Sidney T 
 
 " Agree to it, sir?" said the hunchback, 
 in accents of wondering gratitude ; " it is 
 an obligation I can never repay — and I 
 should scarcely believe your words, only I 
 know you never utter but the truth. Agree 
 to it — what can induce you to be so good, 
 so generous to one like me "?" 
 
 '' An honest man is worth more than I 
 can do for you, Sidney," answered Mr. 
 Winkelmann, " I intend to make you one.'' 
 
 The eyes of the hunchback glistened 
 brightly ; and he seemed about to utter 
 some impassioned words, ivhen his master 
 suddenly said — 
 
 " No thanks, Sidney, I don't want them. 
 Thank me in deeds not words ; and 
 F 2
 
 100 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 promise me one thing. Promise me, that 
 wherever you are, you will have the same 
 regard for truth as you have had in my 
 service, that you will work as hard, and I 
 shall be repaid. 1 feel a regard for you, 
 my good lad, young as you are, for I don't 
 believe you ever told me a lie in your life, 
 or deceived me in the merest trifle." 
 
 Sidney Beckford's cheek blanched to an 
 almost ashy hue, as he heard his master's 
 last words, and shrinking back from his 
 side, he stood silent for a moment or two, 
 and replied neither by word or look. A 
 struggle of strong feeling seemed to possess 
 him, and when Mr. Winkelmann glanced 
 towards him as he finished what he had to 
 say, an expression of anguish and irresolu- 
 tion dwelt upon his palHd features, then at 
 length coming forward, 
 
 " You think that of me, sir V he said in 
 a half choked voice, " but in one thing I 
 have deceived you.'' 
 
 "You havel" exclaimed Mr. Winkelmann, 
 rising from his chair in thorough astonish-
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 101 
 
 ment at this singular confession, and after- 
 wards he added in a quick, harsh voice, 
 "And in what T 
 
 The hunchback's frame shook with emo- 
 tion, as he noticed his master's change of 
 manner towards him, and it was with a 
 strong endeavour at self-command that he 
 answered — 
 
 " I cannot tell you, sir. But,'' he con- 
 tinued, eagerly, " I have done nothing 
 wrong ; nothing that you would be very 
 much displeased at, if you knew all." 
 
 *' Then let me know all," quietly re- 
 sponded Mr. Winkelmann, with something 
 of his old, cordial manner, " tell me, what 
 is it you have done V 
 
 " No, sir," repHed Sidney, " that— that I 
 must always keep from you — kind as you 
 are." 
 
 Mr. Winkelmann looked steadily at him 
 for a short time in passive surprise, then 
 rejoined more severely — 
 
 '' And this is a pretty return for my 
 kindness as you call it ; here you con- 
 fess you have deceived me in some way or
 
 102 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 other, and then without eyen asking my for- 
 giveness, inform me that you do not intend 
 to tell me how 1 Say directly what you 
 have done, Sidney, or else the consequences 
 of your not doing so, may be more un- 
 pleasant than you can imagine." 
 
 " I can guess them, sir," replied tjie boy, 
 in a sorrow-stricken tone, " you mean to 
 say you will leave me to myself, that you 
 will think me ungrateful. I knew them 
 when I told you I had deceived you in 
 one respect — only in one respect, sir ! but 
 I could not bear to accept new kindness at 
 your hands, and feel you thought so highly 
 of me, while in that particular instance I 
 did not deserve so much from you." 
 
 " And you speak of your deceit in terms 
 of almost cool approbation!" exclaimed 
 Mr. Winkelmann, impatiently. 
 
 "No, no, sir," rejoined Sidney, "it has 
 vexed me ever since I have been with you ; 
 yet I dare not tell." 
 
 " Dare not '?" repeated his master, 
 " Confess what it is at once, and I will for- 
 give you/'
 
 THE YOUNG doctor; 103 
 
 " 1 cannot," answered the boy. 
 
 "You will not/' returned Mr. Winkel- 
 mann, "that is what you ought to say. 
 This is something like warming frozen 
 serpents, till they turn round and sting 
 you/' 
 
 " Master!" ejaculated Sidney, in an 
 almost choked voice. 
 
 " Aye, aye, till they sting you," repeated 
 Mr. Winkelmann, angrily. 
 
 " I would die for you, sir ; I w^ould 
 spend my whole life in your service, and I 
 have never, never done you any wrong, sir, 
 — never !" said the hunchback, eagerly. 
 
 "That is to say you never actually 
 robbed, or slandered me, perhaps," re- 
 sponded his master ; " but if you have im- 
 posed upon my credulity or affection, that 
 is quite as bad — worse. I could have 
 wagered my life, Sidney, a few moments 
 back, that you were no liar, no hypocrite." 
 
 " And I am not, I am not," cried the 
 boy, earnestly, *' 1 never deceived you, 
 save in that one respect." 
 
 " What respect?"
 
 104 THE YOUNG DOCTOE. 
 
 The hunchback continued silent. 
 
 " You are a perfect example of ob- 
 stinacy/' continued Mr. Winkelraann, " you 
 would rather lose your present employment 
 — your daily bread, than tell me, would 
 you r 
 
 Sidney was again answerless. 
 
 " Speak out/' said Mr. Winkelmann, 
 " do you wish to quit me 1 Is this only a 
 subterfuge to get rid of too charitable a 
 master, eh 1 Have you heard of a better 
 place V^ 
 
 The hunchback burst into tears. 
 
 '' I hate scenes," continued Winkelmann, 
 rising uneasily from his chair, " I utterly 
 detest them. Pray do not give way in 
 that manner, Sidney ; but if you want to 
 leave me, why go, and let there be no 
 further noise about the matter ; I will say 
 nothing more to you ; I don't want to keep 
 you ; go, for I suppose that is what you 
 wish to do — I can imagine no other explti- 
 nation of your strange proceedings of to- 
 day." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no, it is not that," cried the
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 105 
 
 boy, earnestly. " To leave you — the only 
 friend T ever had ; do you think I can wish 
 it, sir ? Were you not this very moment 
 loading me with kindness T 
 
 '• Officious kindness, perhaps?"' returned 
 his master. " I forced you, it may be, lo 
 w^ork harder than you liked to do ; I dare 
 say you feel inclined to be idle, and have 
 taken the wise resolution of being content 
 with the situation Providence has for the 
 present assigned you. Or again you, 
 perhaps, v/ished to be independent ; the 
 burdien of gratitude was too irksome ior 
 you to bear \ will that of ingratitude be 
 less so V 
 
 Sidney Beckford looked at Mr. Winkel- 
 mann's face for some moments, in silence, 
 and seemed to watch its ironical expression 
 in actual pain, till gradually his uwn 
 features assumed a strong and half re- 
 proachful look of grief, and he answered 
 him in a tremulous yet earnest tone of 
 voice. 
 
 '• It was unwise of me to say what I did 
 say just now" —he said, " worldly wisdom
 
 106 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 will allow that since it was at a time when 
 you offered me a prospect of life which in 
 my wildest dreams I scarcely hoped for — an 
 education — a means whereby I might rise, 
 if not to an enviable position in society, at 
 least to a respectable one. By speaking 
 those unfortunate words, that hope has 
 vanished, your protection is lost ; for I tell 
 you once again, master, that I can never 
 explain them, I knew all this would happen 
 when J uttered them ; yet I did so, be- 
 cause 1 could not altogether deceive you 
 though I have indeed done so in part. It 
 was also to ask your forgiveness for having 
 thus deceived you that I spoke them — if I 
 have lost your esteem it has been in doing 
 right. You taught me to bear everything 
 to do right ; I have done so, and lost my 
 all. Yes, for now every hope of rising to 
 ray first station in life is lost, and more, 
 more than that — the only friend I ever 
 had — the only one who ever seemed to 
 read my heart or guided it to good. More 
 than my parents did for me, you have 
 done ; the love of my mother shrank back
 
 fHE YOUKG DOCTOR. 107 
 
 from her deformed child, my father's too, 
 but your hand succoured me, your charity 
 redeemed me from starvation, and a yet 
 bitterer fate ; for had I lived unaided and 
 friendless as I then was, sir, I should have 
 hated my fellow-creatures — perhaps, even 
 the God who made me such as I am. 
 You, you alone saved me from all this ; 
 you put better feelings into my heart. 
 Master, I have deceived you ! but not in 
 the way 3^ou imagine. That which I have 
 done has wronged no one save myself; 
 but it is a secret, and I cannot tell it to you. 
 No, not even when your kindness shall 
 forsake me, as it soon will do ; not even 
 when I once more become the friendless 
 wanderer of the streets, the beggar, can I 
 tell you. Only, only if we must separate, 
 do not think of me in utter anger, sir, do 
 not, for the love of Heaven, deem me un- 
 grateful ! I am not, by every good feeling 
 that you ever planted in my heart, by 
 every act of kindness you have ever done 
 me, sir, master, I am not !" 
 
 Mr. Winkelmann rose from his chair, and
 
 108 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 walked towards the door ; but his voice, 
 though it again assumed its ironical tone 
 was not quite so firm in its intonations as 
 it had hitherto been. 
 
 " Splendid heroics/' said he, as he left the 
 room, " splendid heroics ! but they take up 
 too much time for me to listen to at pre- 
 sent. I am going to Mrs. Fielding's— shall 
 return at ten, perhaps by the time I come 
 back you will have changed your mind. 
 Consider what you lose by rejecting the 
 chance that I shall offer you of redeeming 
 the past, 'Sidney, and then perhaps you 
 will think better of your present resclu- 
 tion.^' 
 
 But Mr. Winkelmann was mistaken ; 
 the hunch-back did not recede from it, not 
 even when his master once more almost 
 affectionately pressed him to do so, and 
 the evening closed in for the first time 
 since his arrival at Mr. Winkelmann's house 
 with a serious altercation between them. 
 
 Several days passed, and Mr. Winkel- 
 mann became day by day more cold and 
 harsh towards his proUge, and although he
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 109 
 
 never actually told him they must sepa- 
 rate, Sidney guessed it would very soon 
 come to that. The thought of this rendered 
 him unhappy, not so much for the position 
 he was about to quit as for the lost esteem 
 of his master, for whatever was his real fault 
 towards Mr. Winkelmann, it was not surely 
 that of ingratitude. Day by day more 
 jealously than ever did he perform his 
 duties, and watch for the slightest signs of 
 returning kindness upon his benefactor's 
 countenance, or in his voice ; but he saw 
 none. Mr. Winkelmann from the evening 
 of Sidney's singular confession, never took 
 the least notice of him, and invariably 
 gave his orders to him through the medium 
 of Mr. Halliwell. This method of pro- 
 ceeding hurt Sidney more than the most 
 angry w^ords could have done, and he 
 generally sought the presence of his master 
 with an aching heart, and flushing brow. 
 
 A month slowly passed away while 
 matters progressed in this manner, and the 
 unhappiness that the boy felt, soon became 
 depicted upon his countenance. He looked
 
 110 The young doctor. 
 
 ill, and in time really felt so, for his health, 
 never very strong, gradually weakened 
 beneath his present anxiety of mind, and a 
 low fever preyed upon him. Yet he did 
 not complain, and none of the household 
 remarked his indisposition, although his 
 sharp and emaciated features might easily 
 have told the tale to so practised an eye 
 as Mr. Winkelmann's had the latter chosen 
 to take the slightest notice of him. This, 
 however, he did not seem to do, and a 
 second month of misery for Sidney began. 
 At length one evening, after he had just 
 despatched his dinner, Mr. Winkelmann, 
 instead of proceeding to the surgery or 
 study as it was his wont to do, deliberately 
 took one of the candles from the table be- 
 fore him, and walked upstairs to a spare 
 attic which he knew the boy occupied dur- 
 ing the hours which he devoted to his books. 
 His reasons for thus seeking Sidney in his 
 retreat were good ones ; he wished to see 
 whether he really employed himself as he 
 gave him to understand he did, and he 
 thought it a likely time to surprise the
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. Ill 
 
 hunch-back at his usual occupations, as all 
 his domestics knew that for about an hour 
 after dinner, the Httle doctor loved to re- 
 main undisturbed. Mr. Winkelmann liked 
 Sidney still — he could not help doing so ; 
 and though that regard had been in some 
 measure staggered by his strange avowal 
 of the past month, he resolved to give him 
 one more chance for regaining his lost 
 favour. Slowly and thoughtfully then Mr. 
 Winkelmann climbed the stairs, and ar- 
 riving in due time at the top of the house 
 opened the door of the attic, and entered 
 it. 
 
 It was a long, narrow, and low apart- 
 ment, lighted but with one window at its 
 further end ; and within it he perceived 
 Sidney was seated, near a table, on which 
 stood a solitary candle and some books. 
 Not an article of furniture was to be seen 
 in the whole room save the chair and table 
 belonging to Sidney, and the walls looked 
 cheerless enough as may be imagined on a 
 cold wintry night in the beginning of
 
 112 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 March. Mr. Winkelmann quietly glanced 
 round the room, gave an uncomfortable 
 shiver, as a draught came dov/n the 
 chimney, and nearly blew out his candle, 
 and then walked on to the window. 
 
 The hunch-back was leaning forward on 
 the table with his face buried in his hands ; 
 he appeared asleep, and his master, acting 
 as if he was so, at once began to examine 
 the books and papers lying before him. 
 The inspection proved a satisfactory one ; 
 for a pleased smile came over his face. 
 
 " It is evident,'' he thought, " that the 
 boy does work most indefatigably at his 
 studies." 
 
 And just as his mind came to this con- 
 clusion upon the matter, he heard a quick 
 sharp sigh near him, and turning round 
 perceived that Sidney had awoke. During 
 a moment or two he looked at Mr. AVinkel- 
 mann in bewildered astonishment, and 
 passed his hand over his eyes more than 
 once, as if to satisfy himself that he was 
 not dreaming, for the soHtude of his attic
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 113 
 
 had not before been disturbed hy any one's 
 intrusion, and his master was the very last 
 person he expected to see there. 
 
 *' Well/' said Mr. Winkelmanu, turning 
 round to speak to him, and assuming a 
 peculiarly chilling expression of counte- 
 nance, " well, I am come here to give you 
 a last chance, Sidney, before we finally 
 part ; a last choice as to whether you will 
 explain your past incomprehensible con- 
 duct or not. You must decide at once 
 too, for I hate procrastination and my- 
 stery ; you have had sufficient time to 
 think well over it, now will you explain 
 your motives for acting as strangely as you 
 did, or do you intend to remain as obstinate 
 as ever V 
 
 " I cannot tell you what you wish me to 
 tell you, sir," replied Sidney, in a trem- 
 bling voice, for he felt the hour of his 
 doom had come at last. 
 
 " Then j'ou are not a bit more tractable 
 than you were a month back V returned 
 his master. 
 
 " Sir," began the hunch-back.
 
 114 THE YOUNG DOCTOPw. 
 
 " Never mind answering me if you do 
 not give me the explanation I require — I 
 want no unmeaning replies," interrupted 
 Mr. Winkelmann. " But listen while I tell 
 you what you are bringing on yourself by 
 your obstinacy. You force rae to part with 
 you, unwillingly, indeed, for until this 
 serious quarrel between us, I was very well 
 pleased with you— you force me to part 
 with you, I say, even while I am certain 
 that you are unable to undertake another 
 situation ; for I know that during the last 
 six weeks you have felt ill — have you 
 
 not r 
 
 " Only a little," replied the boy. 
 
 " Only very much so,'^ answered Mr. 
 Winkelmann. " Your spirits prey upon 
 your health, Sidney, that is visible enough, 
 and if you persist in keeping this secret 
 from me they will prey yet more, and 
 your illness may become a troublesome one. 
 Whatever it is, tell me, and I will forgive 
 you — aye, and fulfil any promise that I 
 ever made towards helping you on in life." 
 
 *' I have done wrong to no person, and
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 115 
 
 even you, sir, have nothing to forgive but 
 my conceahng from so kind a master a 
 matter concerning myself alone," rejoined 
 Sidney. 
 
 "Then why did you make the other 
 night's strange avowal V repUed Mr. Win- 
 kelmann, impatiently. 
 
 " Because I did not wish the shadow of 
 an untruth to rest between you and I, sir,'' 
 answered the boy. 
 
 " An untruth, Sidney?' 
 
 " An untruth, sir. I have in one thing 
 deceived you, and I wish you to know it, 
 that you might forgive me." 
 
 " Come, this is verging to mystery 
 again," rejoined Mr. Winkelmann, angrily, 
 " let us finish the matter at once ; will you, 
 or will you not explain it to me 1" 
 
 " I cannot, sir." 
 
 " Then we must part— ill as you are — 
 do you hear me." 
 
 " Yes, sir," quietly replied the hunch- 
 back, as he glanced tearfully up at his 
 master's face, " I thought it would end in 
 this."
 
 116 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 " You thought it would V repeated Mr. 
 Winkelmann, in an irritated tone, " it is 
 all your own fault that it so happens, 
 then." 
 
 " Yes, sir," again rejoined Sidney, sadly, 
 " I know it is, and when must I go V^ 
 
 " Go V answered Mr. Winkelmann, and 
 he walked up and down the dreary look- 
 ing attic with a rapid stride. " Go ? 
 when you like." Then suddenly stopping 
 short in his hasty promenade, he said in a 
 harsh, bitter tone, as if stung into strong 
 anger by the seeming ingratitude of the 
 boy, — "And what do you intend to do 
 when you leave me, eh ? ill as you look no 
 one will willingly take you into service, and 
 the low fever you have hanging about 
 you at present may turn out a serious 
 affair." 
 
 " The more serious it becomes, the better 
 for me," repHed the hunchback, in a low, 
 calm tone. 
 
 " How 1" said Mr. Winkelmann, looking 
 at him steadily and angrily. 
 
 " Yes," replied the boy, as he passed his
 
 THE YOUI^O DOCTOR. 117 
 
 hand slowly over his brow, as if in quiet 
 thought, ''to me there seems nothing in 
 life that is so beautiful to live for. You, 
 indeed, sir, have taught me to love it in a 
 measure ; but with your friendship that 
 love will die. When the first friend I ever 
 had, the last I ever shall have, forsakes 
 me, what is there better for me to do than 
 to die. I am glad you have told me, I am 
 ill, sir ; because I do not fear death as 
 other boys do ; had I the same hopes as 
 they have, I might dread it — but I have 
 not/^ 
 
 " A comfortable prospect,'' muttered 
 Mr. Winkelmann, " a truly comfortable 
 prospect — of your own ohosing, too.'' 
 
 " It is the only one in which I do find 
 comfort, sir," answered Sidney. " People 
 who are happy may dislike death ; but, I 
 am sure, those that are not, never can, if 
 they meet it in a right spirit — as your kind- 
 ness has taught me to meet it. For your 
 kindness, as I have said before, your charity 
 made me love my fellow creatures, whom 
 child as I was, I once hated. Yes, I like
 
 118 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 them now ; I feel no ill will at their jests 
 and contempt of one so misshapen, so dull 
 as I am in comparison to them. I can bear 
 that, which two years back, I thought I 
 could not bear — thanks to you, sir, for 
 teaching me such feelings — thanks from 
 my very heart. Years hence, master, when 
 the poor humpback you so charitably 
 succoured is dead, you will perhaps think 
 of me in pity, and know that I was not 
 ungrateful — oh! I wish, I wdsh you could 
 feel I am not so now ! It is so hard to 
 know that you must think harshly of me 
 — will dislike me as others do. My little 
 sister, my own dear darhng little Florence, 
 and you, were the- only ones that ever liked 
 me — and now, I am loved by none ! When, 
 when must I go, sir V 
 
 " Go V repeated Mr. Winkelmann, as he 
 continued his rapid strides up and down 
 the apartment, and seemed angrily strug- 
 gling with some feelings that he could not 
 suppress. " Go *? not at all ; you have the 
 witchery of the devil in your tongue, 
 Sidney — stay with me."
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOE. 119 
 
 "Stay with you, sir," exclaimed the 
 boy. 
 
 " Aye/' repHed Mr. Winkelmann, mut- 
 tering half his answer to himself, " I 
 am a fool, a downright fool for acting thus, 
 and I know it ; but so it must be." 
 
 " Do you, can you mean it, sir V asked 
 Sidney. 
 
 " Have I not said so ?" rejoined his 
 master, hastily. "Did you ever hear me 
 retract a promise I once gave, unless there 
 was good cause for my doing so 1 There, 
 go about your business downstairs or up- 
 stairs, or wherever it is — you stay with 
 me." 
 
 Sidney Beckford glanced up at Mr. 
 Winkelmann's face with a look of intense 
 gratitude, and speech appeared to be for 
 the moment denied him. But his dark 
 grey eyes, sparkling through their swelling 
 tears, spoke a feeling of thankfulnesjjKso 
 exquisite, that their sweetness of expres- 
 sion seemed to radiate over and soften the 
 contour of his harsh and irregular features.
 
 120 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 and it appeared as though a loving and 
 beautiful spirit cased within an uncongenial 
 home of cla}^, through the strength of its 
 passion, for one moment gained supreme 
 power over the form of the ill-shapen mass 
 in which it dwelt, shed its light and life 
 over the countenance, and clothed it with 
 its inward and hidden beauty. No face, 
 however plain, can be repulsive if a pure 
 and i^rong feeling is exhibited upon it, for 
 the expression of the features when real 
 is the manifestation of the mind, and the 
 mind, if it is in itself beautiful, will at times 
 exert its power, and mould even ugliness in- 
 to beauty, where some would think it could 
 scarcely succeed in doing so. An exquisitely 
 spiritual expression dwells at times on the 
 countenance of plain people which gives 
 them a charm above mere regularity of 
 feature ; it is a power that wdns you to 
 them, draws you as it were by some in- 
 visible sympathy ; it is a fascination which 
 almost makes you love them without ever 
 speaking to them. Sidney had this charm ;
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR 121 
 
 that is to say when his mind was thoroughly 
 roused, it pictured its feelings in actual 
 beauty upon his countenance. 
 
 And at the present moment, as his strong 
 feeling of gratitude towards Mr. Winkel- 
 mann glowed within his heart, he no longer 
 looked absolutely plain ; the passion of the 
 moment was expressed in its full fire, and 
 his master wondered at the change it had 
 wrought in his features and manners. 
 
 He seemed for a few seconds as if seek- 
 ing for words to express his feelings — then 
 he spoke ; but it was only to avow his 
 utter inability to thank Mr. Winkelmann 
 — only to say, in a low, unequal tone, 
 
 " And I never — never, through my whole 
 life, perhaps, can make you know how 
 much I feel — how much I thank you." 
 
 "' Go to bed," replied his master, giving 
 him a quiet, scrutinizing look ; " else we 
 shall have you ill to-morrow. John will 
 shut up all below. And make ready to 
 leave for Clapham on Saturday next ; 
 
 VOL. 1. G
 
 122 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 I will write to Mr. Middleton, as I before in- 
 tended to do ; we will go on as I first pro- 
 posed we should. No,'' continued he, as he 
 saw the hunchback about to speak, " No, 
 1 do not Avant any scenes to-day — there, 
 pray be quiet/' 
 
 So saying, Mr. Winkelmann pushed 
 aside the boy, who was standing in his 
 way bn his passage to the door, and slowly 
 walked down stairs, combating within his 
 own mind, whether he did right in doing as 
 he had done, yet feeling convinced in him- 
 self, though, perhaps, against his cooler 
 judgment, that Sidney Beckford was well 
 worthy of the kindness he had shown 
 him.
 
 THE YOUNa DOCTOR. 123 
 
 CHArTER y. 
 
 Suffering entirely closes the heart, or else opens it to 
 Paradise. 
 
 The Times, Oct. U, 
 
 It was exactly two years after Sidney's in- 
 stallation as pupil in Mr. Middleton's es- 
 tablishment at Clapham, that he, for the 
 first time, visited London, and proceeded, 
 in obedience to Mr. Winkelmann's written 
 request, to his house in the Strand. As 
 he entered the surgery with an unobtrusive 
 step, and asked the new assistant for the 
 little doctor, none of his old friends, had 
 they been there, could possibly have re- 
 G 3
 
 124 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 
 
 cognised the wild-looking, untidy, errand 
 boy of former days, in the quiet, gentle- 
 manly figure before them. Yet Sidney 
 had not become less plain in feature, 
 or less deformed in figure ; but now that 
 the youth had grown into the man, there 
 was a quiet air of simplicity and gentility 
 about him, which appeared to lessen his 
 personal defects, and greatly contributed 
 to gain him a courteous attention from 
 stranger and friend. The expression of his 
 countenance, too, was excellent ; the dull, 
 w^andering, unhappy look of past years, 
 had settled down into a sensible and pleas- 
 ing one ; which, though slightly tinged 
 with sadness, seemed, however, more to re- 
 sult from deep thought, than from any 
 inw^ard source of grief; and his eyes, if 
 neither beautiful in colour or shape, pos- 
 sessed that peculiar sweetness of expres- 
 sion so rarely seen, and yet so exquisite. 
 They appeared to speak of a woman's ten- 
 derness d\Yelling in Sidney's uncouth form, 
 and the more they were examined, the 
 more that sweetness seemed to increase ;
 
 THE YOUITG DOCTOR. 125 
 
 while, if when, in earnest or pleasant con- 
 versation, the full fire of their expression 
 was bent upon his inter lucoters, it pene- 
 trated to their very hearts, and made them 
 strive to please the companion whom, a 
 moment before, they would have willingly 
 left to himself. And yet Sidney Beckford 
 was plain, almost repulsively so, if you 
 examined him feature by feature. 
 
 In reply to the enquiries he made after 
 Mr. Winkelmann, on the present occasion, 
 he received for answer that he was at home ; 
 and upon his name being sent in to him, 
 his master instantly admitted him into his 
 presence. 
 
 " Ah, Sidney !" said the old gentleman, 
 as he entered the dining-room, where he 
 was comfortably seated at his wine after 
 dinner ; " here you are, true to your pro- 
 mise. Humph," continued he, a moment 
 after, as he took a rapid survey of his per- 
 son and features, and saw the evident im- 
 provement in both ; " Well, Middlcton said 
 right — he has made something of you 
 after all."
 
 126 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 Sidney smiled. 
 
 "That is to say, sir, you have raade 
 something of me," said he. " Neverthe- 
 less," he added, " Mr. Middleton took par- 
 ticular pains with me, too ; but then it 
 was entirely through your injunctions and 
 liberal allowance for me while under his 
 roof, that he did so." 
 
 "'' Say nothing about that," returned Mr. . 
 Winkelmann, " you have turned out well, 
 and I am satisfied — more than satisfied — 
 for I scarcely expected to hear much good 
 of you, after our serious altercation of two 
 years back." 
 
 A painful blush rose to Sidney's counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "Nay," continued Mr. Winkelmann, as 
 he noticed this trace of emotion ; " don't 
 begin to feel uncomfortable, my good youth. 
 I do not intend to take up that subject 
 again — let bye-gones be bye-gones ; yet I 
 am sincerely glad Middleton is pleased 
 wdth you ; I suppose you know I have had 
 regular accounts of you — bulletins, as it 
 were, every month or so."
 
 THE YOIJNG DOCTOR. 127 
 
 " Yes, sir/' replied Sidney ; " I hope you 
 were satisfied with them ; I tried to do my 
 best/' 
 
 " So you did," rejoined his master ; "and 
 I was well pleased to hear it. Furthermore, 
 Middleton said that you threw off your 
 woe-begone look and manner, after a little 
 time, and became as happy-looking as the 
 rest of the boys under his care — is that 
 true r 
 
 " Quite, sir," answered Sidney. " I en- 
 deavoured to do so. I do not see that 
 because you are yourself miserable, it is 
 permitted to make others so, if you wil- 
 lingly join their society. The boys jeered 
 at me, at first, for my deformity and dul- 
 ness ; but when I took their jests quietly, 
 and did them a good turn or two, they 
 began to like me. I do not believe any of 
 my school-fellows absolutely dishke me at 
 present." 
 
 " Glad to hear it," returned Mr. Winkel- 
 mann ; " but how was it that you refused 
 all your young friends' invitations to pass
 
 128 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 the vacations with them, as Mr. Middleton 
 said you did V 
 
 " Because I thought you would not wish 
 me to do so, sir," returned Sidney, " and 
 also, I imagined their parents would not 
 like the connection when they knew what I 
 was/' 
 
 " Ah ! then th<^ knew that you were an 
 orphan, and an errand boy," began Mr. 
 Winkehnann, endeavouring to utter a rather 
 disagreeable question in as pleasant a way 
 as possible. 
 
 *' Yes, sir ; they knew that I was at one 
 time an errand boy in your service," 
 straightforwardly replied Sidney, without 
 the slightest hesitation ; " yet some of them 
 truly liked me notwithstanding that. But 
 their parents might not have wished for 
 the acquaintance, as it must natu- 
 rally have appeared to them an objecti- 
 onable one, so I never suffered mvself to 
 be drawn into a close intimacy with any 
 one of them." 
 
 *' Superfluous delicacy!" repHed Mr.
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 129 
 
 Winkelmann, in a pleased tone, " well-born 
 and well educated, you w^ere quite as good 
 as they." 
 
 A singularly sad smile stole over Sidney's 
 features as he answered, 
 
 *' All people are not so liberal or gene- 
 rous in their ideas as you are, sir/' 
 
 " Some people are great fools," rejoined 
 Mr. Winkelmann. " So I suppose you had 
 some slights to put up with, eh?'' 
 
 " Very few, sir ; at least, in comparison 
 to what I expected ; but it is well to know 
 how to rough it through the world, and I 
 am glad I had to endure them, as my 
 susceptibility on that point is not now so 
 acute as it used to be. Too much delicacy 
 of feeling is rather an annoyance than a 
 blessing.'' 
 
 "You talk wisely, my young philoso- 
 pher," said Mr. Winkelmann ; " do you 
 feel the same '?" 
 
 '' Feel, sir 1 — feel what 1" returned 
 Sidney, " feel pain at the deformity of my 
 person and features ? Well — yes, sir, 1 
 cannot help doing so at times — but where
 
 130 THE YOUFG DOCTOS. 
 
 is the good of giving way to the regret it 
 occasions 1 It only makes one appear ill- 
 tempered to one's friends ; and so., although 
 I cannot entirely master discontent at being 
 what I am, I never idly encourage it. I 
 restrain it as far as I can, sir." 
 
 " A very Solomon!" ejaculated his 
 master ; " and now do you know what I 
 intend to do with yon V 
 
 Sidney looked down on the ground in 
 silence, 
 
 " I suppose your modesty prevents your 
 answering me T returned Mr. Winkelmaun. 
 " Have you any objection to the medical 
 profession V 
 
 " None, sir,'' replied Sidney. 
 
 " Well," answered his master, " then 
 that is the line of life I destine you for, 
 because I can help you on a little in it. 
 So begin as soon as you like to take in- 
 structions from Mr. Bon church to that 
 effect — continue your other branches of 
 education when you have time for them— 
 afterwards, you will go through the usual
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 131 
 
 course of study, and — and Sidney, recollect 
 you dine and sup with me for the future."' 
 
 At this abrupt and singular termination 
 of the above arrangements, which intimated 
 that Mr. Winkelraann no longer considered 
 Sidney as a mere servant ; but raised him 
 to the footing of a friend ; the youth's 
 equanimity of mind utterly forsook him, 
 and tears rolled over his cheeks as he 
 thanked him for his kindness. 
 
 " Pshaw," said his master, good-na- 
 turedly holding out his hand to him, 
 *' come, I see, my good Sidney, that you 
 are a veritable child after all — a sham stoic 
 —go along with you — or stay, as I am 
 never an encourager of idleness, and you 
 will not know vvhat to do vrith yourself for 
 the rest of the evening, just step to Lin- 
 coln's Inn for me, and tell Mrs. Fielding 
 that I do not think I can dine with her to- 
 morrow, although it is Christmas day ; say 
 also, that I was going to call on her this 
 evening, but have not time. And further, 
 carry this little trinket box to my god- 
 daughter, for I cannot send it by my
 
 132 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 rascally boy down stairs, because he's as* 
 careless an imp of mischief as ever I met 
 with." 
 
 " Yes, sir," returned Sidney, in an accent 
 of joy, as he took the box from his master's 
 hand. 
 
 This eager and pleased tone of voice did 
 not completely escape the notice of Mr. 
 Winkelmann, who looked up, and said. 
 
 " Ah ! I see you are not forgetful of 
 your former friends, eh, Sidney ?" 
 
 " I should think not," returned he, and a 
 glow of intense delight passed over his 
 features ; " though I never speak to 3Iiss 
 Fielding and her brother, I cannot forget 
 them." 
 
 " You seem to possess a wonderfully re- 
 tentive memor}'," remarked Mr. Winkel- 
 mann : " there, be off with vou at once." 
 
 And Sidney accordingly proceeded to- 
 w^ards Lincoln's Inn Square ; cheerfully 
 meditating upon the new prospect of life 
 that his master had opened to his vie\\". 
 
 It was a bitterly cold night, and the 
 snow fell in thick flakes upon him as he
 
 THE YOUNG DOCtOE. 133 
 
 proceeded onwards ; one less occupied with 
 his own thoughts would have noticed this — 
 Sidney, however, did not, and when he, at 
 length, arrived at the point of his destina- 
 tion, so pleasant had been his reverie, that 
 it w^as only then he perceived his cloak was 
 covered with snow-flakes as white and frosty 
 as those which every moment swept down 
 from the sky on the darkening streets. It 
 was Christmas Eve ; a melancholy time for 
 those who have no friends, a happy time for 
 those who have ! But Sidney's mind was not 
 then fixed upon the present time of year or 
 its concomitant pleasures ; his thoughts of 
 the moment were all bent upon Frances 
 Fielding. The young girl's friendly suc- 
 cour afforded to him, in an hour of the 
 deepest distress, had not been forgotten ; 
 and the feehng of gratitude which it 
 then engendered in his breast had never 
 decreased. To her and to her brother, he 
 felt that he owed even Mr. Winkelmann's 
 protection ; and it was with an eager de- 
 sire to see them once more that he hurried 
 on. He had not spoken to them for many
 
 134 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 and many a long day, because, after the 
 first six months of his arrival beneath his 
 benefactor's roof, being entirely employed 
 in the surgery, he could not catch a glimpse 
 of Harry or his sister, as they called on 
 their godfather, either with Mrs. Fielding 
 or by themselves. The present opportu* 
 nity therefore of once more seeing them 
 he earnestly rejoiced at, and trod on his 
 tiresome way with a sensation of pleasure 
 and delight, that he had not for a long time 
 experienced. 
 
 At last, he arrived at Mr. Fielding's 
 house, and linocking at the door, was ad- 
 mitted into the outer hall, while, in com- 
 pliance with his request, the servant maid 
 went and informed her mistress tliat some 
 one from Mr. Winkelmann wished to speak 
 with her daughter. Soon after tlie girl re- 
 turned and desired him to walk up- 
 stairs. 
 
 Sidney did so : and following his con- 
 ductress was shown into what he supposed 
 to be the dining-room. Here a cheerful 
 and comfortable scene presented itself to
 
 THE YOima DOCTOR. 135 
 
 his view. A glorious fire was flaraiug and 
 crackling in the grate of the good sized 
 apartment ; a warm Turkey carpet covered 
 the floor, and thick crimson draperies, 
 glowing in the rich light shed from the 
 blaze on the hearth, were drawn round the 
 closed window shutters. Five or six young 
 girls, of the ages of fourteen and fifteen 
 years, were standing about the room appa- 
 rently engaged in decorating h with holly 
 and mistletoe, of which large quantities 
 were strewed in heaps upon the ground, 
 tables, and chairs, while one, whom be in- 
 stantly knew to be Frances, mounted on 
 top of some cushions placed upon the squab 
 of a sofa, was evidently endeavouring to 
 tie a thick bunch of red berries to the 
 frame of a large picture hung rather incon- 
 veniently high, 
 
 " Here, Mr. Bonchurch — dear Mr. Bon- 
 church," she exclaimed, as Sidney entered, 
 Avithout occe turning her head towards 
 him; '"please come and help me — place 
 this tantalizing piece of holly on the pic- 
 ture-frame. My hand, ani side, and arm,
 
 136 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 ache with trying to do it — pray, come and 
 help me, please do 1" 
 
 And, as if utterly fatigued with her pre- 
 vious exertions, she descended from her 
 elevated position, and held out her hand to 
 her visitor. 
 
 Frances Fielding was then about fifteen 
 years old, a thorough school girl, but a 
 graceful and pretty one. Her long, light 
 flaxen — absolutely flaxen hair, fell in a 
 shower of tiny spiral curls around her face 
 and over her shoulders, while her small 
 and regular features were very beautiful ; 
 a soft, sweet, shy expression, dwelt in her 
 large, dark, violet eyes, that lent them a 
 most bewitching look, and her skin was 
 purely fair, with a delicate peach bloom 
 upon the cheek ; and her little mouth look- 
 ed like a veritable rosebud, so fresh and 
 beautiful was the colouring of its prettily 
 cut lips. Her figure seemed light and 
 sylph-like, her attire simple and neat — for, 
 on the present occasion, she only wore a 
 blue merino dress, black silk apron, and 
 coral necklace and armlets ; her little hands,
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 137 
 
 seen through the winter mittens that cover- 
 ed them, were perfectly well-formed and 
 white. 
 
 The words with which Frances at first 
 saluted Sidney, were couched in the form 
 of a joyous welcome, even in the good old 
 greeting, " A merry Christmas and a happy 
 New Year !" for she evidently expected to 
 see Mr. Winkelmann's assistant with whom 
 she was apparently on terms of great in- 
 timacy. When, however, the young girl 
 saw that she had made a mistake in the 
 identity of her guest, she blushed bash- 
 fully and deeply, looked uneasily at the 
 sofa on which she had been perched like a 
 young fairy, then at her companions, and 
 did not seemingly recognise Sidney Beck- 
 ford. But this was not to be wondered at, 
 considering that she had not seen him to 
 speak to for more than three years, during 
 which period of time his personal appear- 
 ance had, of course, undergone a great 
 change. Moreover, his deformity was not 
 noticed by her at the present moment, be- 
 cause, in following the maid upstairs, he
 
 138 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 had merely laid down his hat in the hall 
 and had forgotten to take off his cloak. 
 
 Frances, imagining him to be a stranger, 
 coloured at having been surprised in the 
 midst of her attempts to decorate the 
 room, glanced at the ivy leaves and holly 
 strewed about the apartment, and in her 
 own hair, and at length, said in a tone of 
 confusion, 
 
 " I beg your pardon, I do not know you, 
 I believe ; I really thought you were Mr. 
 Bonchurch, or I and my cousins would not 
 have received you in this manner — did 
 not you say that you came from god- 
 papa's r 
 
 Sidney explained his errand, and placed 
 the little jewel box in her hand, and was 
 about to leave the room, when Frances, 
 who had not yet entirely recovered her 
 self possession, thinking that her behaviour, 
 from the very commencement of the scene, 
 must have appeared most strange, said, as 
 he turned away, " I am sure, I am very 
 rude not to thank you for the trouble you 
 have taken in bringing godpapa's present
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 139 
 
 to me; but I really do not even know your 
 name/' 
 
 An almost imperceptible smile stole 
 over the features of Sidney Beckford, as he 
 noticed the extreme courteousness with 
 which she addressed him, for he perceived 
 that she did not remember who he was ; 
 then turning round quickly and respect- 
 fully he said — 
 
 "I suppose you do not recognise me. 
 Miss Fielding, or you would scarcely tender 
 me your thanks for so slight a service — I 
 am Sidney Beckford." 
 
 " Sidney Beckford," echoed Frances, be- 
 fore she was aware of it, and looking at him 
 in the greatest astonishment, she asked, 
 " Why, that cannot be — that is impossible/' 
 
 '' No, no," rephed he, suddenly approach- 
 ing her, and speaking hastily, yet so dis- 
 tinctly that her young friends heard every 
 word, he said, " No, no, I am the beggar 
 boy of a few years back. I have never had 
 an opportunity of thanking you until now ; 
 but accept this acknowledgment of the 
 obligation, tardy though it is — beUeve in
 
 140 THE YOUKG DOCTOR. 
 
 my gratitude, and pardon my boldness in 
 thus addressing you, for perhaps I may not 
 have the chance of seeing you again." 
 
 Then without waiting her reply, Sidney 
 Beckford, after one moment's silent glance 
 of admiration, at the beautiful girl before 
 him, quickly past from the room, proceeded 
 down stairs, and was soon in the open 
 square again. 
 
 Christmas Eve! Christmas Eve! The 
 sight of Frances, of the merry girlish party 
 with which she was surrounded, and of the 
 pleasant looking decoration of the room he 
 had just quitted, sent back Sidney Beckford 
 towards his master's home with a far hea- 
 vier heart than that with which he had left 
 it. Old times, old dreams, rose to his 
 heart, swam before his eyes, and bitter feel- 
 ings aroused themselves to sting the breast 
 where they had lain for some time mastered 
 beneath the control of reason. His child- 
 hood, though a sad one, had some bright 
 spots upon it, and they lingered in his me- 
 mory yet ; now, while the snow was falling 
 around him, w^hen the deserted streets
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 141 
 
 looked miserable and dark, they returned 
 t to his memory ; he remembered the hearth 
 of his parents' home, the merry laughs of 
 his young companions, and though he was 
 not then loved as he had wished to be loved, 
 still some bright smiles at a time so joyous 
 had been shed on him. But now — what 
 was he now ^ A dependent on the bounty 
 of another, removed from the scenes of his 
 former home, and isolated from the play- 
 mates of his youth, whom his heart at pre- 
 sent yearned to behold, although they had 
 never loved him. And then with a deeper pang 
 of wretchedness than all these long slum- 
 bering feelings awakened in his heart, came 
 the oppressive consciousness that he loved 
 Frances FieMing, — yes, he loved her ; from 
 his very boyhood her childish image had 
 been unconsciously mixed up with all his 
 day dreams. At first, indeed, he had pnly 
 deemeditwas asense of strong gratitude that 
 made him in past times continually think of 
 her; but now heknew it was love. The inter- 
 view with her at Lincoln's Inn, settled every 
 doubt on that point; the strong worship.
 
 142 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 ping devotion the sight of her had brought 
 uppermost in his heart could not be mistaken v 
 for other than itself — a passion that he once 
 hoped he should never feel, for he imagined 
 none could entertain it for him in return. 
 
 Young as he was, he knew the streng-th 
 of his personal ugliness ; and before he ac- 
 quired this bitter knowledge of his affection 
 for Frances ; in the vain hope that love 
 would never visit his heart, he had tried 
 to centre the enthusiasm of his character 
 in the pursuits of literature, and on the 
 profession for which he w^as preparing him- 
 self The probable outlines of his future 
 life, he had scanned with a steady eye and 
 cool judgmpiit ; he had hoped to gain the 
 esteem of one or two real friends, to dis- 
 cipUne his mind to the higher paths of 
 thought, to be utterly impervious to that 
 passion, which he knew must be his bane, 
 and if insidious hope sometimes asserted 
 her power, and whispered the possibility of 
 his being beloved, he had soon checked the 
 train of feeling it awakened, and turned his 
 thoughts to another channel. He had in-
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 143 
 
 dulged in no day dreams, for he knew they 
 would come to nothing ; for although he felt 
 that he would have almost worshipped the 
 woman who could have loved him, he never 
 imagined that even affection like this, could 
 win its requital, and steadily he had striven 
 to bury the visions of the dreamer in the 
 sober sceiies of stern reality. 
 
 But now he loved; the passion to which 
 he thought to render himself indifferent had 
 long since gained an entrance into his 
 heart, and under the form of gratitude had 
 woven itself into his very inmost core, to 
 bid him worship and despair. So Sidney 
 loved; his hopes in their first budding 
 crushed his heart veiled in sorrow. Yet 
 the great strength of mind which he pos- 
 sessed did not forsake him even in this 
 trial, and if he could not banish the feeling 
 which he now perceived to be the under cur- 
 rent that wafted all his thoughts to hopes 
 of distinction and of fame, he regulated 
 its power. It neither soured his temper, 
 nor was to him an excuse for despairing 
 idleness ; because he knew that no grief,
 
 144 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 no deprivation even of our brightest en- 
 couragements, should ever stop our efforts 
 to perfect our intellectual faculties as far 
 as we can. Life is not given us merely to 
 seek our own happiness in the way which 
 best suits us ; it is but the time allowed us 
 here, to purify our natures for a better 
 world, and no sorrow that ^ver .visits us, 
 can abrogate our duty to progress as well 
 as we are able in the path of improvement. 
 
 Yet, if Sidney loved silently and uncom- 
 plainingly, it was enduringly ; and that love 
 mixed as it were a poison drop of grief with 
 every pleasure which affected him — it made 
 the draught of life a bitter one, though it 
 was not the less steadily taken. 
 
 Time passed on, and Sidney Beckford, 
 under the direction of Mr. Winkelmann, 
 steadily advanced in all the necessary 
 knowledge of his profession — strictly ad- 
 hering, meanwhile, to tlie regular routine 
 of study, in which he had been grounded at 
 Mr. Middleton's. He scarcely ever went 
 out for mere pleasure — did not make any 
 friends — and strictly employed every
 
 THE YOTJITG DOCTOR. 145 
 
 minute of time. Treated as a friend by Mr. 
 Winkelmann, new points in his character 
 gradually developed themselves to the 
 observation of that gentleman, which in- 
 terested him exceedingly ; and of a dull 
 evening, when the calls upon his time were 
 few, he often sat an hour or two conversing 
 with him. Mr. Winkelmann loved society, 
 if he had •the leisure to enjoy it, and found 
 Sidney's very agreeable, for there was a 
 dry, quiet humour as well as a profound 
 depth of thought, visible in many of his 
 sayings, which he relished much. Straight- 
 forwardness and honesty, too, appeared in 
 his every word and act, which his benefactor 
 impHcitly relied in, notwithstanding that 
 the serious altercation of past years had 
 not yet been cleared up ; while the quiet, 
 grave behaviour of the youth, at times, 
 more like that of an old man of sixty, 
 than a boy's of eighteen, often won from 
 Mr. Winkelmann the exclamation of, 
 
 " Ah, Sid, Sid ! I wish I had had 
 your solid good sense at your age ; but I 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 "Was a frolicksome young fellow, and never 
 bore an old head on young shoulders as 
 you do !" 
 
 Sidney Beckford was moreover a perfect 
 gentleman, which very few men are now- 
 a-days. Young as he was, the worth of 
 his character soon made itself felt when- 
 ever an acquaintance with hira ripened 
 into an intimacy, and he also ytossessed a 
 quiet self-possession of manner, that to 
 strangers made him pass for older than he 
 really was. It took much time and 
 trouble to disturb his thorough equanimity 
 of temper, and some would have easily set 
 him down as too quiet and cold, if, by 
 constant observation, they had not become 
 sensible of a vein of enthusiastic feeling, 
 which was veiled beneath his calm exterior. 
 But when Sidney Beckford was once liked, 
 he was liked for ever ; day after day in- 
 creased the friendship of each new ac- 
 quaintance, and had he chosen, he might 
 have had a numerous circle of young 
 friends ; but he did not, however, wish to 
 have it, because he thought it might be
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 147 
 
 displeasing to Mr. Winkelmann. He judged 
 rightly ; his benefactor wished him to keep 
 aloof from the world for awhile, that he 
 might attend as diligently as he could to 
 his studies ; yet, at the same time, he took 
 upon himself to introduce Sidney to his 
 most intimate friends, and treated him, in 
 every other respect, as a nephew, or a son ; 
 for long since the esteem and pity, which 
 he had once felt for his proteg^, had grown 
 into absolute affection. 
 
 H 2
 
 148 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 CHAPTEK VL 
 
 Hope may not visit one like thee I 
 
 Mr. Fteldikg, who was a lawyer of some 
 standing, was a thoroughly disagreeable 
 man — selfish, avaricious, and satirical — his 
 acquaintance absolutely disliked him, and 
 it was only in the bosom of his family that 
 a spark of affection ever kindled towards 
 him. Not, however, be it understood, that 
 he was an atom more amiable to his wdfe 
 and children, than to strangers — far from 
 it ; with the latter, his character lay 
 thoroughly undisguised in all its deformity, 
 and if the thought of duty contrived to 
 blind their eyes to his full defects, they 
 could not prevent themselves feeling them> 
 although they did not acknow^ledge ag,
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 149 
 
 much. Mr. Fielding was, in fact, a mixture 
 of pride and meanness of avarice, and os- 
 tentation — a grasping, narrow minded man, 
 whose simplest words were accompanied 
 by a sneer, and oftentimes cut the feelings 
 of those he wished to annoy — as closely as 
 he would have wished to cut into their 
 purses. He did not appear to feel any 
 affection for his children and wife, or, at 
 least, only valued them as far as they con- 
 tributed to his comfort, and it was often a 
 matter of wonder among the friends of the 
 simple and good-hearted Mrs. Fielding, 
 how she ever consented to marry a man 
 like him. 
 
 But Mr. Fielding had been eminently 
 handsome, and his wife, whom he chose on 
 account of her money, when she was a girl 
 of seventeen, Minded by her own extreme 
 youth, and his graceful exterior, had never 
 asked whether the goodness of his mind 
 corresponded with the beauty of his person, 
 and had loved, and married him. Yet she 
 soon found out the grievous mistake she 
 had made in this hasty appreciation of his
 
 150 THE YOUKG DOCTOR. 
 
 character, and bitterly regretted the irre- 
 vocable step she had taken for the remainder 
 of her days. 
 
 In her two children, however, she found 
 a source of delight which served to gladden 
 the otherwise 'weary life that her husband 
 compelled her to lead, particularly as he 
 left them to her management, and never 
 troubled himself in any way about their 
 education, excepting when he imagined 
 there was some unnecessary expense in- 
 curred therein. And it was well for 
 Harry and Frances that they were left so 
 entirely to their kind mother's guidance, 
 for beneath her instructions they learned 
 the good-natured simplicity of heart, which 
 formed the groundwork of their characters, 
 Mrs. Fielding knew from experience it was 
 because she had never been taught to judge 
 for herself that she fell into the snare 
 which made her miserable for life. Led 
 to rely solely upon the judgment of her 
 mother who had died before she was settled 
 in life, at the time Mr. Fielding was pay- 
 ing his addresses to her, she found herself
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 151 
 
 •without a particle of that self-dependence, 
 which under proper restrictions every boy 
 and girl as they verge towards youth 
 should attain ; and thus having never been 
 allowed to act in little things upon her own 
 responsibility, and being left an orphan 
 amidst a crowd of careless relations upon 
 whose worldly worthless advice she placed 
 no reliance, she gave her hand without due 
 consideration to Mr. Fielding, who, she 
 imagined from his gentlemanly and polished 
 manners would guide and direct her as her 
 own parents had done. 
 
 It was not so ; the willingly blinded eyes 
 of affection could not long remain imper- 
 vious to the truth, she at length saw and 
 understood her husband's worthless cha- 
 racter, and was soon forced to fall back 
 upon her own good sense, to help her 
 through the various difficulties of life. Ac- 
 customed to turn to the ready help of her 
 mother in her younger days, it was now a 
 difficult task to depend upon her own 
 judgment ; yet she did so ; and by her 
 calm good sense continued to keep her
 
 152 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 honest and straightforward character un- 
 tainted by the meanness of her husband's, 
 which she justly appreciated at its true 
 value, though she continued to be an 
 obedient and cheerful wife. 
 
 She had been orphaned at a very early 
 age ; she thought her children might be 
 so, too ; and she resolved to teach them 
 that self-reliance, and cool judgment, 
 which had so signally failed her when she 
 was most in need of their assistance ; Harry 
 and Frances beneath her instructions, ac- 
 quired a method of reasoning impartially 
 upon every subject presented to their con- 
 sideration ; from her, too, they learned 
 that pure charity which consists in loving, 
 assisting our fellow creatures, and of bear- 
 ing with their infirmities. There was no 
 constraint between the mother and the 
 children, their thoughts in the quiet sim- 
 plicity of heart that she had taught them 
 were always communicated to her, and her 
 advice asked, although it was rarely given, 
 excepting when their own judgment, after 
 many a patient attempt had failed them.
 
 THE YOUKG DOCTOR. 153 
 
 Harry and Frances then at a very early 
 age could judge, in most cases, for them- 
 selves, although their doing so did not 
 lessen their reverence for the opinion of 
 their mother, wliom they loved with a love 
 the more deep, because she seemed to them 
 their only parent —for their father, what 
 was he '? They never asked themselves 
 the question ; Mrs. Fielding had herself 
 been silent upon that point, and instinctive 
 feehng soon taught the children to be 
 silent too. They tried to magnify in their 
 own eyes the slightest word or look of 
 affection he directed towards them, tried 
 to love him as they loved their mother, 
 but notwithstanding all their efforts they 
 could not succeed. The clear, unbiassed 
 judgment of the boy and girl spoke the 
 truth within their own hearts, although 
 they did not acknowledge it to themselves 
 or to each other. And thus they grew up 
 to years of discretion, Harry gradually be- 
 coming a straightforward, honourable, goo'.i- 
 hearted and sensible youth, with a very 
 handsome face and gentlemanly person,
 
 154 THE YOUXG DOCTOK. 
 
 and Frances, a kind-hearted, perfect little 
 beauty. 
 
 Several months passed away after 
 Sidney's Christmas visit to Lincoln's Inn, 
 during which he, much to his own sur- 
 prise, from being often obhged to call 
 on different occasions there for Mr. 
 Winkelmann, gradually assumed a footing 
 of intimacy at the Fieldings' which that 
 gentleman did not at all seem to disapprove ; 
 for he no more thought of the possi- 
 bility of Sidney's falling in love with Frances 
 than of his paying his addresses to one of 
 the grand Signer's wives. 
 
 In fact he wished his protege to become ac- 
 quainted with Mrs. Fielding, whom he 
 honoured as a kind-hearted and intelligent 
 woman, and because he well knew the advan- 
 tages of female society generally, bestowed 
 on a young man's first setting out in life ; 
 and he perceived that she was just the sort 
 of person to exercise a beneficial influence 
 on Sidney's. The quiet elegance of her 
 manners, the sound sense she possessed, 
 would soon, he thought, put him au fait in
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 155 
 
 a thousand little minutice of behaviour 
 "which even the best educated of men, 
 without a friendly intercourse with the 
 softer sex cannot acquire. Mr. Winkel- 
 mann, rough in his own manners, knew that 
 his being so proved a draw-back to him in 
 his profession, and wishing Sidney to avoid 
 the shoals where, with respect to many a 
 weak minded patient he was continually 
 foundering, desired him to cultivate Mrs. 
 Fielding's society as much as possible, 
 that he might gain the peculiar but indes- 
 cribable kind of address which constitutes 
 the manner of a perfect gentleman. He 
 never thought, good man, of the misery 
 which might accrue to his protege from the 
 intimacy thus forced upon him; for he con- 
 sidered his little god- daughter as a mere 
 child, and did not imagine the v^olatile, 
 merry-hearted Frances could make any 
 impression on the grave and quiet Sidney. 
 And so matters progressed for many a 
 day ; Sidney's love meanwhile increasing 
 more and more.
 
 156 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 "Mamma/' said Frances Fielding, one 
 fine summer's evening, as she and her 
 mother were sitting at tea in the dull 
 drawing-room in Lincoln's Inn. " Mamma, 
 if that terrible Mrs. Brownrigg joins our 
 party to Aunt Mary's on Tuesday next, 
 what gentleman or lady can we get to 
 take care of her ? And if we do not find 
 some one she will fasten herself upon one 
 or tkjs other of us, and tire us with her com- 
 pany ffcH the day,'' 
 
 " I si^ose then, I must be her com- 
 panion, my love," replied Mrs. Fielding, 
 smiling, '* will that do 1 But why ask her 
 at all r 
 
 " Oh ! my dear mamma, you know that 
 if we did not do so, she would not allow 
 Emma to come with us ; she never lets 
 Ler go any where without lier," answered 
 Frances, 
 
 " Well then," returned Mrs. Fielding, " it 
 must be as I said before ; she must be my 
 companion." 
 
 " No, indeed, that she shall not," re- 
 joined her daughter, "why mamma she
 
 THE YOtTKG DOCTOR. 157 
 
 will fatigue you to death with incessant 
 talking — I would rather be victimized by 
 her myself." 
 
 '' Hush !" said Harry, who was quietly 
 sipping his tea at a table in an inner 
 drawing-room, separated from the apart- 
 ment, in which his mother and sister sat, 
 only by folding doors, '' Hush," said he, 
 throwing down the book he was reading, 
 and advancing towards them, " I have a 
 cavalier for her in my mind's eye, Frances 
 — why not ask Sidney Beckford ? He 
 likes old women better than young ones 
 that is certain, for I never saw him speak 
 to a girl of his own accord in all my hfe." 
 
 " I have noticed that too," laughed 
 Frances," and even when 1 speak to him he 
 seems most terribly annoyed, and he has 
 known me long enough, 1 think. Will he 
 do, mamma ?" 
 
 " Do you think he will not [)ercetve your 
 motives for asking him to join us, when you 
 make use ofhim in the manner you propose 
 to do r quietly rejoined Mrs Fielding, 
 a Depend upon it he will, my dear, and
 
 158 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 will also feel the slight I am afraid — no 
 one can amuse himself with Mrs. Brown- 
 
 Frances looked down and blushed. 
 
 " Why, mamma," said Harry, " I saw him 
 talking most contentedly to her for three 
 long hours and more, when she and Emma 
 were here the other evening, and if we do 
 not get him to escort old mother Brown- 
 rigg, who shall we ask ? Tom Harrison, 
 Dick Hieover, and Charles Templetoii, 
 tliough the best natured fellows in existence, 
 would scout the very idea of passing ten 
 minutes in her exclusive societv, and flatlv 
 desert her when it came to the point, even 
 if we inveigled them into promising to obHge 
 us. Sidney Beckford is the only person 
 who will bear with her intolerably 
 disagreeable manners, so we must ask 
 him/' 
 
 "Mamma," said Frances, looking up 
 after a moment's silence, " what Harry says 
 is very true, Sidney does not really seem to 
 mind speaking to Mrs. Brownrigg, therefore
 
 ^HE YOUKG DOCTOR. 159 
 
 pray let us ask him, and if you will, 1 will 
 promise to Avalk with him part of the day, 
 and Alfred Mortimer during that time 
 shall be Mrs. Brownrigg's escort/' 
 
 " And what will Alfred say to such an 
 arrangement V asked her brother. 
 
 " He may say what he likes," answered 
 the little beauty, with a pretty toss of the 
 head, " but that is how it must be : I 
 scarcely think he would fail to obhge me 
 in any sHght service I might ask him to 
 do, Harry/' 
 
 " I dare say not,'' smiled her brother, 
 "I don't doubt the power of your attractions, 
 my sweet Fan/' then added as he turned 
 towards his mother, " now, mamma, after 
 such a promise as that you agree to let us 
 ask Sidney Beckford — do you not V 
 
 " Yes," rephed Mrs. Fielding with a 
 smile ; but then Frances must strictly fulfil 
 her promise. I do not Hkc the plan of asking- 
 people to join a party of pleasure merely 
 for convenience sake ; so if you and your 
 sister, Harry, are agreed to add Sidney to
 
 160 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 our little list of friends for that occasion, 
 you must contrive to show him some at- 
 tention between you/' 
 
 " That we will, mamma," said Harry and 
 Frances, " we will, indeed." 
 
 And immediately after this arrangement 
 between the mother and her children, Sid- 
 ney was requested to make one of the 
 party in question, the main object of which 
 was to have a friendly visit to an aunt of 
 Mrs. Fielding's, who lived on the outskirts 
 of Epping forest, in an old fashioned but 
 hospitable style, and most readily welcomed 
 to her house, any friends of her own or her 
 niece's, whenever they chose to spend the 
 day with her, and explore the greenwood 
 recesses of the neighbouring forest. Harry 
 and Frances very often visited her, accom- 
 panied by a few of their acquaintances ; 
 but the forthcoming party was to be a very 
 small and quiet one, in consequence of Mrs. 
 Fielding not being in good health at the 
 time, and it was planned to consist only of 
 themselves, a young friend of theirs named 
 Alfred Mortimer, Emma Brownrigg and her
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 161 
 
 grandmother, and Sidney Beckford. Sidney's 
 company, however, was not secured with- 
 out some trouble, for never imagining that 
 his company could be tolerated by any one 
 except Mr. Winkelmann, the bare thought 
 of being a dead weight upon any reunion 
 of pleasure was to him extremely disagree- 
 able, and made him at first refuse to be 
 numbered amongst that of the Fieldings' ; 
 but Harry pressed him so earnestly to come 
 with them, that at last his reluctance to do 
 so was obliged to give way and he agreed 
 to accept the invitation. The day arrived, 
 and Sidney with a mingled feeling of plea- 
 sure and pain, appeared at the appointed 
 hour in Mrs. Fielding's drawing room, wliich 
 was the point of rendezvous for the whole 
 party. The carriages, hired for the occasion, 
 were waiting at the door, and soon all the 
 assembled company entered them. Sidney 
 being expressly assigned to the one that 
 Mrs. Fielding and the terrible ]\Irs. Brown- 
 rigg intended to use, but in which, he, never- 
 theless, tried to consider he should find the 
 most comfortable place for himself. And
 
 162 THE YOUKG DOCTOR. 
 
 SO, in fact, he did, because, had he been in 
 the other vehicle, it would scarcely have 
 been pleasant for him to have seen the de- 
 cided flirtation that commenced between 
 Frances and Alfred Mortimer, from the 
 moment they left the dull looking Lincoln's 
 Inn Square. 
 
 But Mrs. Brownrigg was a terrible wo- 
 man, an eternal talker, scandalmonger, 
 and scold, for with a grave shake of the 
 head and a gratuitous piece of advice, 
 peculiarly irritating, she scolded her friends 
 if they differed from her in opinion, or if 
 they did not, while her voice, being unmu- 
 sically shrill, thrilled through the ear most 
 unpleasantly, when pitched in a loud key. 
 Mrs. Fielding, who merely kept up the ac- 
 quaintance for the sake of her gentle grand- 
 daughter Emma, Frances's particular 
 friend, thoroughly disliked her; and Sidney, 
 with all the charity that deep thought and 
 a good heart had taught him, could not 
 approve of her, although he bore the in- 
 firmities of her temper quietly, and endea- 
 voured to please her, as he endeavoured to
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 163 
 
 please every one else, thereby acquiring 
 her most profound esteem and approbation. 
 He bad often previously met her at Lin- 
 coln's Inn, and fully knowing what a trou- 
 blesome companion she was, on the present 
 occasion he drew all her attention to him- 
 self, so that the weak and suffering Mrs. 
 Fielding might not be wearied by her con- 
 versation; and the latter lady more than 
 once seeming grateful for this unexpected 
 kindness, it encouraged him to persist in so 
 doing to their journey's end. 
 
 On rolled the carriages, and passing 
 through the streets, which were then only 
 just beginning to fill with passengers, at 
 length turned from the town, and taking 
 the road to Epping, after a few^ hours' ride, 
 arrived at the point of their destination. 
 This was a spacious and picturesque farm 
 house, situated on the borders of the forest, 
 and here they all alighted, w^hile a neat 
 primitive looking old lady, of seventy years 
 and upwards, welcomed them heartily 
 beneath its old thatched porch, and soon 
 after led them into a pleasant parlour of
 
 164 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 large dimensions, where, upon a long table, 
 placed in the centre, a cold but plentiful 
 collation was spread, to which they all soon 
 after sat down. 
 
 " Well, are we all ready now V asked 
 Harry, rising from his chair, after the 
 lapse of half an hour ; and, walking from 
 the table, he continued, in a rather en- 
 treating tone of voice, " We have no time 
 to lose if we want to make a thorough day 
 of it. Come, Emma, come with me ; 
 Alfred, take care of Frances — Sid, my 
 good fellow, look after Mrs. Brownrigg — 
 Mamma, where are you? ah! good — with 
 A unt Pottinger. So all is right ; ladies, 
 open your parasols here we are under the 
 porch. Come, come, old Quiggett, open 
 the wicker gate — now forward, and quick 
 march every one of you." 
 
 And, taking Emma Brownrigg under his 
 arm, Harry passed through the little gate 
 that separated the farm-yard from the 
 forest, and plunged into its farther recesses, 
 followed by Frances, Alfred Mortimer, Mrs. 
 Fielding, and Aunt Pottinger, while Mrs.
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 165 
 
 Brownrigg, being an enormously fat woman, • 
 puffed and panted, and tried to walk as 
 fast as they did, but not being able to do 
 so, was left far behind in company with 
 the victimized Sidney Beckford.
 
 166 THE YOUXO DOCTOR, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Hush ! thou hast seen what others may not see, 
 Thy tears have fallen for an aching heart ; 
 
 I never dream'd that tears would fall for me 
 I thought I stood from sympathy apart. 
 
 " Purgatory V thonght Sidney, as he 
 listened to the continual gossip of the 
 merciless Mrs. Brownrigg, and at the same 
 time watched the white dress of Frances as 
 it glittered through the distant trees. 
 " Had we not better walk a Httle faster, 
 my dear madam ? we shall lose sight of 
 our party, if we do not." 
 
 " Faster 1" gasped Mrs. Brownrigg, in 
 reply, " I was just going to ask you to 
 walk a Uttle slower, Mr. Beckford — Do you 
 not see I am panting for breath ?"
 
 THE YOLTNG DOCTOR. 167 
 
 So she was, and Sidney in compassion 
 slackened his pace, gave up the hope of 
 following Frances even with his eyes, 
 quietly walked on in a humour of misera- 
 ble resignation, and soon lost sight of the 
 rest of the party altogether. 
 
 It is a cheerful thing to walk beneath the 
 bending branches of the green, green trees, 
 in the peaceful hush of their solitude, and 
 to Hsten to the warblings of the birds with 
 a pleasant companion. The beautiful 
 thoughts that Nature ever gives us, then 
 rise to the lips, and are expressed and re- 
 sponded to ; the bright imaginings of fancy 
 spread their wings, and float through the 
 mind, tinging it with their own glorious 
 hues, and a soft tenderness steals over the 
 soul, and clothes it with a sad — yes, even a 
 sad happiness — for the feelings which often 
 at those times possess us, are melancholy, 
 though pleasing ; silent though intense. 
 Fain would Sidney have had one near him 
 to whom he could have spoken his thoughts 
 and feelings of the moment, as he walked 
 through the greenwood shades ; but alas !
 
 168 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 a thick, gutteral voice was continually 
 sounding in his ears, scolding and descant- 
 ing upon the most common-place topics of 
 the day, and a large, red, fat face, with a 
 yixenish and passionate expression upon it 
 was ever meeting his view — dreadful Mrs. 
 Brownrigg ! poor Sidney ! what a fate was 
 his! 
 
 But he bore it resignedly at last ; for he 
 murmured to himself — " This woman whom 
 I despise may just as well dislike me ; I 
 am scouted from society in the same 
 manner as she is ; yet she seems evidently 
 grateful for the attention I pay her — I will 
 try to be so for that which she gives me.'' 
 
 This was a good resolution of Sidney's, 
 and he adhered to it, and when after a two 
 hour's ramble, through thickets and briei's, 
 he and Mrs. Brownrigg at length found the 
 rest of the party seated on the ground in 
 a very romantic-looking spot, his com- 
 panion, to the astonishment of all present, 
 was absolutely in a gooi temper. 
 
 A pretty group seemed that merry com- 
 pany, as they sat upon the emerald verdure
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOE. 169 
 
 of a little knoll, beneath the shadows of 
 some giant trees ; but the most charming 
 object in the assembly was certainly 
 Frances Fielding, who appeared seated 
 upon an artificial throne made of the green 
 boughs of the neighbouring bushes. She 
 had thrown aside her bonnet and shawl, 
 and her long flaxen hair fell in glossy curls 
 over her white muslin dress, almost con- 
 cealing, by its profusion, her slight and deli- 
 cate figure, while a wreath of richly tinted 
 wild flowers bound her clear blue veined 
 temples. At her feet Alfred Mortimer re- 
 clined, gazing up into her innocent, lovely, 
 little face with a look of warm admiration, 
 •whilst she, with a mischievous propensity for 
 teasing, which w^as fully expressed in her 
 large, dark, laughter-loving eyes, kept 
 gathering the grass that grew near her, 
 and showering it upon him. It was a very 
 pleasant picture to gaze upon most as- 
 suredly ; quite fit for the eye of an artist 
 or connoisseur, for the colours of the scen'e 
 ■were well blended together, the attitudes 
 
 VOL. J. I
 
 170 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 decidedly graceful ; but Sidney, though a 
 lover of painting did not like to do so, and 
 with a forced smile and constrained voice, 
 he turned away from it to address Mrs. 
 Fielding, while Mrs. Brownrigg honoured 
 the whole party with the benefit of her 
 observations. 
 
 " Pretty runaways you are," said the 
 last mentioned lady, *' here, Mr. Beckford 
 and I have been searching the wood 
 through and through, and could not find 
 you." 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear it," observed 
 Mrs. Fielding, and Mrs. Pottinger, " but 
 we thought you were following us. Come, 
 and rest a little with us ; you look tired 
 and hot." 
 
 " Truly I am so," returned Mrs. Brown- 
 rigg, "•' Kmma, my dear, give me your 
 seat.'' 
 
 Kow the above request was a very in- 
 opportune one, as it separated Harry and 
 Emma, who were seated chatting and 
 laughing together upon a log of wood at a
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 171 
 
 little distance from the rest of the com- 
 pany. Frances perceived that it was so, 
 and, recollecting the promise she had given 
 her mother respecting Sidney, rose from 
 her sylvan throne, and said — 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Brownrigg, had you not 
 better take my seat 1 I am afraid you will 
 find it chilly where Emma is, because no 
 sunbeams touch the spot. Pray take my 
 seat, and I dare say Mr. Beckford will try 
 to get me another." 
 
 Mrs. Brownrigg, smiled as graciously as 
 she could at this proposal, and at once ac- 
 cented it to the great mortification of 
 Alfred Mortimer, who looked reproachfully 
 at Frances as she walked away from him, 
 and joined Sidney. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Beckford," said Frances, 
 *' please to find me a seat^ — or make me one. 
 See, here are plenty of green boughs 
 about us ; you can raise me just such 
 another as Mr. Mortimer has done, and 
 then," continued she, laughing and casting 
 a smile towards her forjner companion, as 
 I 2
 
 172 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 she touched the wreath of wild flowers on 
 her brow, " then I shall not be obliged to 
 abdicate my crown." 
 
 Accordingly Sidney, to the best of his 
 ability, obeyed her request, and was after- 
 wards going to move away to Mrs. Field- 
 ing's side when she called him back. 
 
 " Mr. Beckford/' said she, '' are you 
 throwing off your allegiance to me already *? 
 Why have you raised me to a throne if 
 you so soon afterwards forswear my 
 authority V 
 
 " Because I did not know any fair queen 
 would deign to rank me among her sub- 
 jects,'^ replied Sidney, endeavouring to 
 smile. 
 
 '- And why not, if you please?" said 
 Frances, with the utmost simplicity? 
 
 " Why?" answered the deformed, ha-stily, 
 and his face flushed to a deep crimson for 
 a moment, " I should think the reason was 
 obvious enough." 
 
 Frances guessed that he alluded to his 
 personal appearance, and, dropping her
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 173 
 
 eyes upon the ground, said hurriedly yet 
 with an attempt to uphold the former hght 
 tone of pleasantry she had assumed — 
 
 " I, I do not understand you, Sir Sub- 
 ject, or at least 1 only know that you mean, 
 by some false pretences, to excuse your un- 
 pardonable desertion of me, your crowned 
 queen ; but I will accept of none — so kneel 
 down and swear fealty to me for ever 
 more — kneel down." 
 
 And she waved her small white hand 
 with an authoritative gesture, and assumed 
 a pretty little air of command, while Sid- 
 ney, bewitched out of common sense, for 
 the moment, knelt down, and kissed the 
 tiny hand she held out to him for that pur- 
 pose, with a queenly air. 
 
 When a woman, in a freak of folly, tells 
 a man to do a silly but harmless action, 
 let him obey her at once, and as quickly as 
 possible, for if he stays to consider much 
 of it, pride or bashfulness will not allow 
 him the courage to do so, and if he does 
 not, he may, perhaps, put a stop to a pretty
 
 174 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 pleasantry, and earn but a sorry name for 
 gallantry from the softer sex, as well as 
 the more sprightly of his own. There is 
 nothing half so ridiculous to look at as a 
 man deliberating as to whether he shall 
 commit himself in the eyes of his friends 
 by performing some innocent piece of im- 
 promptu folly. Nor is there anythmg so 
 graceful as Wisdom evanescently clothing 
 herself in the garments of Folly, w^ien she 
 does so to advance the interests of harm- 
 less mirth. Sidney Beckford knew this, 
 and obeying the impulse of the moment, 
 saved himself from the rock, upon which 
 many a wise man's wisdom has foundered, 
 and directly performed the command of 
 Frances, earning thereby the approbation 
 of all present. Harry laughed approv- 
 ingly at him, Mrs. Fielding smiled, and so 
 did Alfred Mortimer — the latter could af- 
 ford to do so, for there was, on his part, no 
 fear of rivalry between himself and Sidney. 
 " A very Titania I'' exclaimed Alfred, in 
 a tone of admiration, as he looked towards
 
 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 175 
 
 Frances, during the performance of her 
 above mentioned behest. 
 
 " And where's the fairy queen's gentle 
 lover V cried Harry. " >Sid won't do for 
 him, he has not the ass's head, Alfred !" 
 
 " No," replied Sidney, looking stedfastly 
 at Frances, " no, but he has the camel's 
 load, and that makes it still stranger for a 
 fair lady to enhst him in her service." 
 
 " Pshaw, Sid," exclaimed Harry, in an 
 uncomfortable tone, caused by his friend's 
 allusion to his own deformity, and with an 
 endeavour to turn the subject, he bent 
 down, and addressed Emma Brownrigg, 
 while Mrs. Pottinger, suddenly raising her 
 finger as if to impose silence upon the 
 whole party, said — 
 
 " Hush ! we have awakened the fairies in 
 good truth — listen !" 
 
 And the auditors, at that moment, 
 heard the clear, fresh voice of a young 
 girl ringing through the breeze, and sing-
 
 176 THE YOUNG DOCTOE. 
 
 " Where the bee sips, there lurk I, 
 In the cowsHp's bed I lie, 
 
 What a terrible bramble ! 
 
 After sunset merrily — merrily — merrily — 
 My dear Mrs. Bevil, do walk faster ! 
 
 Merrily, merrily shall I live now, 
 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough !" 
 
 " Oh ! look at that pretty path yonder ! 
 T must contrive to get into it — let us see 
 what we can do !" 
 
 Mrs. Fielding's party looked for the 
 stranger, whose sweet accents they heard 
 so distinctly, and, at length, discerned her 
 attempting to ascend the trunks of a few 
 fallen trees, which lay across an aperture 
 made in some underwood, opposite to a 
 pleasant green knoll, at a short distance 
 from them. She was a 3^oung girl of 
 fifteen years of age, with a lively expres- 
 sion of countenance, and her personal at- 
 tractions consisted in a fair, fresh com- 
 plexion, soft, silky, brown hair, and large.
 
 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 177 
 
 smiling, blue eyes, the lids of which were 
 fringed wdth thick, long eyelashes, of a 
 much darker colour than that of her closely 
 braided tresses. When they first perceived 
 her, she was standing about five feet from 
 the ground on the top of the above men- 
 tioned hewn trees, in evident considera- 
 tion as to how she should effect her descent 
 from that position ; for, after a few minutes' 
 examination of the large brambles which 
 threw out their branches before and be- 
 hind the place on which she was perched, 
 she became convinced that it would not be 
 so pleasant an affair as she had at first 
 conjectured. She did not see the 
 party who w^ere now observing her, for 
 a thick underwood that enclosed the spot 
 which they had chosen for their retreat, 
 screened them from her sight ; and in great 
 distress, she asked the advice of an elderly 
 lady, Avho was walking tow^ards her, as to 
 what she should do. 
 
 Upon this appeal for assistance, Harry, 
 vrho had been attentively watching the 
 fair stranger, instantly rose from his seat
 
 178 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 by Emma Browni igg, and accompanied by 
 Sidney, proceeded to the spot where she 
 was, and gallantly offered her his services 
 in extricating her from herpresentlaughable, 
 yet not very pleasant position. 
 
 The young lady glanced at Harry, for a 
 moment or two with a look of indecision, 
 blushed a little, and then accepted his 
 offer. 
 
 And Harry gently raising her fairy-like 
 form in his arms, lifted her over the bram- 
 bles, and placed her safely on the ground. 
 The young girl thanked him, and then 
 asked if he would be so kind as to help her 
 companion over in the same way, to which 
 request Harry, of course, acceded, and, in 
 due time, the Mrs. Bevil was gallantly 
 handed over the brushwood too. Both 
 ladies then bowed, expressed their obliga- 
 tions for the service done them, and were 
 going to move away, when the younger 
 one suddenly asked Sidney the way to the 
 nearest outlet of the forest, and the latter 
 instantly answering for himself and his 
 friend offered to accompany her to it, and
 
 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 179 
 
 to Harry's great astonishment, quietly 
 placed himself by the side of the last 
 speaker, as he led the way through the 
 forest shades, helping her orer the rough- 
 ness of the path with an indefatigable at- 
 tention that he had never before witnessed 
 in him. And Harry, for the moment, felt 
 seriously dispbased vvdth Sidney, because 
 he had surely reckoned upon the pleasure 
 of escorting the fair damsel he had so 
 gallantly assisted over the trees, instead 
 of following in her rear with the middle- 
 aged Mrs. Bevil. 
 
 At last, they came to a spot where an 
 old grey-headed man-servant met the two 
 ladies, who then poUtely bid adieu to their 
 companions, and, accompanied by their 
 domestic, turned round a bye road, and 
 soon walked out of sight. 
 
 " What is that under your foot, Sidney V 
 asked ilarry, " when the retreating ladies 
 had completely receded from his view, " it 
 is one of the fair strangers' handkerchiefs, 
 is it not r 
 
 " Yes," replied Sidney, as he picked up
 
 180 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 the article alluded to from the ground, " 1 
 believe it is." 
 
 " Glorious !" cried Harry, " give it to me, 
 and ril guard it as a treasure for ever and 
 a day — that young fairy has the prettiest 
 face T have seen for these months and 
 months past." 
 
 " Has she V replied Sidney, in a rather 
 troubled tone, and, to Harry's surprise, he 
 placed the handkerchief in his own waist- 
 coat pocket. 
 
 " Well, and 1 suppose you think so, too, 
 as you keep the handkerchief so carefully, 
 Sid," exclaimed Harry, " come, let m.e see 
 it." 
 
 "Promise then," said Sidney, hesita- 
 tingly, " promise that you will give it back 
 to me." 
 
 " Promise that !" echoed Harry, " not 
 I ! I intend to keep it, when I can once get 
 it into my possession. And to tell you the 
 truth, I think 3^ou might just as w^ell give 
 it to me at once, for you cannot be struck 
 with yonder pretty girl as I am, because I 
 know you despise the romance of love at
 
 THE YOtJNG DOCTOR, 181 
 
 first sight — or love, indeed, under any 
 form ; so give it to me, at once, Sid, there^s 
 a good fellow. I avow myself sensible to 
 her charms/^ 
 
 *' No,'' said Sidney, calmly, " if that is 
 your plan of proceeding, I will keep it." 
 
 " You will keep it !"' repeated Harry, in 
 a displeased tone, " well, by my soul, Sid, 
 T shall think you in love, if you do." 
 
 " Think what you like," replied Sidney, 
 hastily walking on, '^ think what you like ; 
 but I cannot give you this ; no, not even 
 if I v;ere more indebted to your kindness 
 in past years than I at present am." 
 
 At this mention of his obliprations to- 
 wards him, the good natured Harry was 
 silent, for a moment or tv;o, and then said, 
 half jocularly, half seriously — 
 
 " Then you are in love wiih this wood 
 nymph, Sid 'i Have you seen her before ?" 
 Sidney was silent ; and Harry continued, 
 triumphantly — 
 
 " You have, you have, Sid ! Viva ! the 
 philosopher in love — here's news for 
 Frances and Mama !"
 
 182 THE YOUKG DOCTOR. 
 
 Sidney became suddenly pale at Harry^s 
 last words, and not immediately answering, 
 the latter hurried forward, quickly reached 
 the rest of the party, and before he could 
 prevent him, exclaimed — 
 
 " Here's an adventure, ladies and gentle- 
 men ! guess what has happened ! The 
 little Dryad whom I so courteously assisted 
 over yonder brambles, has struck the 
 philosophic Sidney Beckford to the heart, 
 aye ! won him at first sight, for lo ! he 
 keeps with jealous care the handkerchief 
 that the little beauty dropped behind 
 her." 
 
 " Nonsense, Harry," cried Mrs. Fielding, 
 w^ith a compassionate feeling for Sidney "s 
 evident discomfiture, " my dear boy, do 
 be silent, if you have no better subject of 
 conversation to amuse us with," 
 
 But the rest of the party in the hopes of 
 gaining some amusement, i-equested an ex- 
 planation of Harry's words, which he ac- 
 cordingly gave them with many entertain- 
 ing additions of his own, and the merry com- 
 pany joined in his thoughtless jests upon
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 188 
 
 poor Sidney, never thinking for the moment 
 that each new sarcasm of theirs struck 
 cuttingly to his heart. 
 
 "Lo! fair subjects," said httle Frances, 
 rising with mock dignity from her sylvan 
 throne, " listen to the last speech of your 
 queen, the flowers of our regal coronet 
 have withered beneath the faithlessness of 
 our nobles ; the bravest knight of fairy- 
 land, even Sir Alfred Mortimer has de- 
 serted our court for the charms of the 
 princess Brownriggonia," here Frances cast 
 a wicked look towards Alfred, who was 
 endeavouring to talk to Mrs. Brownrigg, 
 then continued, as she glanced towards 
 Sidney, " the wisest, for the beauty of an 
 unknown maiden, who presumptuously en- 
 tered the precincts of this, our kingdom. 
 Where shall we find fidelity 1 Not upon 
 the throne — and its brightest honours are 
 to us as nothing, unless we reign over the 
 hearts of our people. Lie ye there, ye 
 withered flowerets, lie there as emblems of 
 your mistress' heart --ye have bound our
 
 184 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 brow in sorrow, ye have been watered with 
 our tears !" 
 
 And she cast her wreath of flowers to 
 the ground. 
 
 " Shame, shame !" cried Emma Brown- 
 rigg, striking merrily into the fancy of the 
 moment, " false knights as ye are, w^ould 
 you desert your sovereign lady \ Sir 
 Alfred Mortimer, Sir Sidney Beckford, lift 
 yonder crown again to the fair brow that 
 hath rejected it. Make yon crystal tears 
 turn to gems — gems which are more dur- 
 able than fading flowers ! Right, Sir Sidney 
 Beckford, thine is the ready hand which 
 binds it once more around her flowing- 
 tresses, thine let the guerdon be, thine be 
 her heart." 
 
 And Sidney to hide the confusion that 
 the jests of his companions caused him to 
 feel, raised the coronet from the ground, 
 and timidly placed it upon the waving 
 curls of the young girl's beautiful head. 
 As he did so, she happened to meet his 
 glance, and perceived that although a
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 185 
 
 forced smile was curving his lips, large 
 tears swelled within his eyes at the cruel, 
 yet thoughtless railleries of those around 
 him, and knowing with the instinctive tact 
 of a woman, that the kindest service she 
 could render him would be to conceal his 
 emotion from her brother and his com- 
 panions, as he was about to turn away 
 after he had placed the crown amidst her 
 hair, she detained him with a little pressure 
 of her hand upon his arm, and said — 
 
 " Thou hast not placed it firmly upon 
 my brow. Sir Knight ; I am afraid that 
 thou art but a traitor after all. and if thou 
 gavest me a crown, it would be but an 
 insecure one." 
 
 " Insecure V echoed Sidney, in a low, 
 earnest tone, " mine, if you ever wore it, 
 should be a bright and lasting one. But," 
 he added, in a calmer voice, and as if ad- 
 dressing himself rather than her, '' but 
 that will never be." 
 
 " Wei], I suppose not," laughed Frances 
 in her usual manner, " unless you and I
 
 186 THE YOU:^G DOCTOR. 
 
 were by some means or other transported 
 to fairyland, Mr. Beckford." 
 
 And she set down the incomprehensibihty 
 of his answer to the trouble he experienced 
 in mastering the emotion that her own 
 and her friends' jests had awakened within 
 his mind, for as he uttered it, she observed 
 a strangely sad look of grief pass over his 
 features, while the tears gathered faster 
 and faster in his eyes, till they seemed 
 ready to overflow their swollen lids. And 
 Frances not knowing how to relieve his 
 agitation, or to conceal it any longer from 
 the others, suddenly rose, and taking his 
 arm as naturally as if it had been her 
 brother's, asked Mrs. Fielding and her aunt 
 whether they should not go home to 
 dinner 1 To which proposition, they and 
 the rest of the company agreed, and all 
 the party rising from the little knoll on 
 which they sat, proceeded at once in the 
 direction of Mrs. Pottinger's house. 
 
 Frances and Sidney walked on in advance 
 of the rest, and for some time both con-
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 187 
 
 tinned silent, for the latter felt that his 
 emotion had been remarked by his com- 
 panion, while she, embarrassed by its re- 
 collection, knew not how to commence the 
 conversation she wished to begin. This 
 silence, however, was at last broken by 
 Sidney, who said in a rather unsteady tone 
 of voice — 
 
 " It is difficult to look back upon the 
 past without pain, if we at all regret it — 
 is it not, Miss Fielding '? And when 
 sudden circumstances occur to paint it 
 more vividly in the mind — the suffering of 
 the moment is acute.'' 
 
 Frances felt this to be a half explanation 
 of the emotion he had given way to some 
 minutes since, and wishing to change the 
 subject, answered rather confusedly, " I 
 should think it must be so, indeed." 
 
 " I was not always what 1 appeared to be 
 when I first met you, Miss P'ielding,'' 
 Sidney returned, in a thick, hurried voice ; 
 "once, I had friends, though they were not 
 kind ones — a home, though I was not loved 
 there — comparative riches. I was not then
 
 J 88 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 the outcast of society, which you reheved 
 in your childish generosity. I had a father, 
 mother, brother, and the weakness — the 
 weakness which you saw overcome me but 
 now, was occasioned by an incident that 
 painfully awoke all the feelings of the past. 
 The young lady who just now quitted us, 
 was like a dearly loved sister of mine, that, 
 in my childhood's days, alone cared for me, 
 and if I kept the token she left behind her 
 from your bfother, it was for the sake of 
 that resemblance. Do you believe me, 
 Miss Fielding ? Perhaps you will think 
 there needed no explanation, on my part, 
 respecting so trivial an occurrence, and 1 
 dare say none would have been necessary 
 from any other person ; but for me to think 
 of daring to love — can you not conceive, 
 Miss Fielding, how deeply your brother's 
 raillery wounded me '?" 
 
 Frances hfted her eyes to Sidney's 
 countenance, and an expression of pity 
 grew within them, as for once departing 
 from the truth, she answered in her very 
 gentlest tones,
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 189 
 
 " I am sure Harry never meant to hurt 
 your feelings, Mr. Beckford. I — I do not 
 understand how he could do so — every one 
 is teased a little now and then about some 
 silly affair of the kind." 
 
 •' Yes," replied Sidney, calmly enough, 
 after a moment's pause, during which he 
 had been earnestly gazing into her face. 
 " Yes ; but all are not what 1 am, Miss 
 Fielding, stamped with the mark of irre- 
 mediable deformity. Such sarcasms are to 
 them pointless arrows — to me, they are 
 poisoned and barbed." 
 
 And those soft, sweet eyes of his, that 
 had been fixed upon the young girl's fea- 
 tures wdth a quiet expression of resigna- 
 tion, drooped beneath hers with a look of 
 pain. Frances knew not \vhat to answer ; 
 she felt her ill-judged reply had brought 
 on this confession of his feehngs ; she 
 feared, lest she should pain him more — yet, 
 at length, she obliged herself to make an 
 answer. 
 
 " No, no," she said, hastily, and the large 
 tears gathered in her dark, gentle eyes ;
 
 190 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 " they cannot be so, Mr. Beckford ; you 
 feel too much — you think too much of — of 
 what others would not remark — indeed you 
 do. I am young — and I know not what 
 to say — perhaps I am wounding you unin- 
 tentionally even now— you must forgive 
 me if I do ; but I would only say, no one 
 can dislike you for that — no one can!" 
 
 Sidney Beckford glanced up at Frances ; 
 saw the tears sparkling upon her soft, 
 peach-tinted cheek, and turned away his 
 head as he answered, 
 
 " You are kind, Miss Fieldino- — as vou 
 always are — yet, no argument would per- 
 suade me that personal appearance is ever 
 entirely overlooked by man or woman — no 
 — no ! all of us have an instinctive aver- 
 sion to deformity, and— and we generally 
 dislike those the most who have the 
 greatest share of it — did not my own 
 parents dislike me V 
 
 "They did!" echoed Frances, "how 
 could they V Then she added, in a tre- 
 mulous tone, after a moment's pause, 
 "And do you think, Mr. Beckford, that
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 191 
 
 mama, and Harry, and I dislike jou 1 
 Indeed — indeed, we do not; Harry is 
 always praising you — mama, too — and I — 
 and I, if, when you came to our house, I 
 have not seemed to talk to you, it was 
 because I thought you imagined me too 
 childish for you to speak to — indeed it 
 was." 
 
 xind Sidney, at this simple avowal of 
 her sympathy, for the moment utterly for- 
 getting himself, pressed the delicately 
 gloved little hand that rested on his arm 
 within his own ; nor did Frances take 
 notice of the action, for she was too much 
 possessed by the feelings with which he 
 inspired her to remark it, and so they, for 
 some time, walked on again without 
 another effort to speak bemg made by 
 either. 
 
 " Why Frances, Sid, how you are lagging 
 behind," cried Harry, as he passed his 
 sister and friend to open the gate entrance 
 of Mrs. Pottinger's house, near which they 
 now were. " Dinner is ready, my good 
 fellow, and if you do not ieel inclined for
 
 192 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 it, let me assure you that T do ; so hasten 
 on if you please. My most venerable 
 aunt, allow me to hand you over this 
 puddle, mama, take care of Emma and Mrs. 
 Brownrigg." 
 
 And the party following Harry, who 
 went before to announce their arrival at 
 the farm, soon entered it — arranged their 
 toilets for the evening meal — sat down, and 
 enjoyed it, and then, after an idle saunter 
 through Mrs. Pottinger's flower garden, 
 entered the carriages, and bidding adieu 
 to their benevolent hostess, set forward for 
 London. 
 
 " Frances," said Harry to his sister, as 
 they alighted at their own door, after de- 
 positing the Brownriggs, Alfred Mortimer, 
 and Sidney, at their own habitations, 
 *' Frances, how did you and Sid get on 
 together V 
 
 "' Very well,'' replied Frances, musingly, 
 " he is very agreeable — very good, I think ; 
 and Harry," said she, after a moment's 
 pause, " don't tease him again about that 
 handkerchief, for he told me he only kept
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 193 
 
 it because the young lady who dropped it 
 resembled a sister of his, who, I suppose, 
 died w^hen he was a child." 
 
 " Ah! indeed," replied Harry, with a 
 sudden increase of good-humour ; '' well, 
 I am glad to hear it ; else it was a de- 
 cidedly shabby trick of his not to give it 
 to me, when I honestly avowed my admi- 
 ration for its owner and he did not. That 
 was the reason, then, he stopped me 
 so short in my jokes upon the occasion ; he 
 never likes to mention his family — I forgive 
 him." 
 
 And Harry now within their own dining- 
 room, took a candle-stick from the side- 
 board near him, bade his mother and sister 
 good night, and proceeded to his own room 
 declaring the young stranger was the 
 prettiest little thing he had ever seen. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 Socrate, — La vertu imparfaite est ombrageuse, apre, 
 serere et implacable. La vertu qui ne 
 cherche plus que le bien est toujours ^gale 
 douce, affable, compatissante : elle n'est ni 
 surprise, ni choquee de rien, elle prend 
 tout sur elle, et ne songe qua faire du 
 bien. 
 
 Timoiu — Tout cela est bien ais6 a dire, mais difficile 
 a faire. 
 
 Dialogues des Moris. 
 
 Extreme plainnessisinmanypeople'sopinion 
 the worst affliction that Heaven can pos- 
 sibly send them ; it is a source of continual 
 torture to them through life, and they are 
 never reconciled to bear it contentedly
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 195 
 
 even to their dying day. Some, however, 
 think more indifferently of it than others ; 
 but none entirely cease to grieve over a 
 deficiency of personal charms, if they find 
 that deficiency in themselves. How can 
 they do so, indeed, when beauty is certainly 
 the most brilliant and eagerly prized of 
 heaven's gifts, though it is not the most 
 valuable 1 'V^'isdom alone teaches us to 
 hold it at its true worth, and, consequently, 
 we do so but very slowly, for wisdom's 
 lessons, though indubitably wholesome, are 
 not always palatable. 
 
 Ugliness, nevertheless, is not so much 
 remarked if it never intrudes itself upon 
 the observation of others, by that too great 
 susceptibility upon the subject of its own 
 deformity, which provokes attack, and re- 
 sents it by frequent and fretful complaints, 
 that chill sympathy, or by carelessness, 
 over richness, or peculiarity of attire. 
 
 Ugliness should endeavour to make it- 
 self forgotten — should never claim pity, 
 but command respect ; and to command 
 K 2
 
 1.96 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 respect it must bear the knowledge of its 
 o\Yn deformity contentedly, if not cheer- 
 fully, and clothe itself with all the better 
 attributes of human nature. Moreover, it 
 must condescend to notice trifles, because 
 trifles make up much of this world's beauty 
 and happiness ; it must strive unostenta- 
 tiously to please, and in order to subdue as 
 much as possible the extent of its own un- 
 loveliness, it ought to pay some tasteful 
 considerations to dress, for taste being a 
 gift from Heaven, we should improve and 
 exercise it where we can — beauty, it is 
 not sinful to enhance, ugliness as an imper- 
 fection in the visible woi*ld it is laudable to 
 lessen. Yet in doing so, it must be 
 remembered that too much time ought not 
 to be spent in effecting it : a plain person 
 who is a long while at his or her toilette, 
 naturally excites ridicule : dress is one of 
 the last things in which we should seek to 
 improve, but at the same time, that last 
 thing ought not to be forgotten. 
 
 Sidney Beckford, though young, was
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 197 
 
 wiser than the generality of men at his 
 years ; he felt his plainness irremediable, 
 yet knowing the truth of the above obser- 
 vations, he was not inattentive to dress, 
 although it did not occupy much of his 
 thoughts. He dressed simply, but with 
 scrupulous neatness, and, deformed as he 
 was, no one would have taken him, even at 
 first sight, for other than a gentleman. It 
 is something to be known, instantaneously, 
 for a gentleman ; very few men can be so re- 
 cognised in the present day. Again, Sid- 
 ney Beckford considered his deformity as 
 something which he ought to make his 
 friends excuse and forget, and to accom- 
 plish this, he never spoke of it, or seemed 
 susceptible of being irritated b;y an allu- 
 sion to it from others ; though, in reality, 
 his heart, when he thought of it, was 
 always filled with the bitterest feelings that 
 the slighted affection of past years, and 
 the hopeless love of the present could place 
 there. His confession then to PVances of 
 the real pain it caused him, was but eh-
 
 198 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 cited by the obvious necessity he saw for 
 explaining the emotion she had witnessed, 
 and which he imagined she would think 
 ill-humour if he did not do so. He never 
 approached the subject again ; and the 
 young girl, when she saw him evening 
 after evening at her mother's house, could 
 scarcely bring herself to believe, that the 
 self-possessed, grave, and yet drily, humour- 
 ous Sidney Beckford, had felt so deeply 
 upon a subject, which in society did not 
 even appear to enter his thoughts. 
 
 But the agitation she had gazed upon, the 
 words she had listened to, though, at times, 
 they seemed to her, as the unreal mockery 
 of a dream, did not fade from her memory, 
 and unconsciously, perhaps, to herself, 
 their remembrance tinged her manner to- 
 wards Sidney with a compassionate tender- 
 ness, which he remarked, understood, and 
 thanked her for most earnestly, in his in- 
 most heart, although he never outwardly 
 noticed it. 
 
 Sidney Beckford saw and conversed with
 
 THE YOtJNG DOCTOR. 199 
 
 Frances very often now ; for though he 
 strenuously endeavoured to slacken in his 
 intimacy at Lincoln's Inn, he found that 
 he could not do so, as Mr. Winkelmann, 
 seemingly in very perverseness, continually 
 sent him there ; and even when all the 
 members of the family, except Mr. Field- 
 ing, at length entirely quitted town, and 
 took up their residence in a pretty little 
 villa at Brompton, still the latter found 
 means to send his favourite protege to see 
 them, and many, many were the evenings 
 which Sidney unwillingly yet pleasantly 
 passed within it, in just the same friendly 
 manner that he had oftentimes joined Mrs. 
 Fielding's little circle in town. 
 
 The Fieldings' house at Brompton, was 
 a far prettier affair than the dull, dreary 
 one they had inhabited in Lincoln's Inn. 
 Built in the so-called Italian style, it stood 
 on a very slight slope in the centre of a 
 tolerably sized garden at some distance 
 from the main road, a stone balustrade 
 running in front of it, about fifty feet from 
 the building itself, and joining a low brick
 
 200 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 wall set with a strong iron railing, that 
 formed the outward boundary of the 
 ground which enclosed the premises — a 
 pretty drawing-room with a green veranda 
 looking towards the road, and three other 
 good-sized apartments comprised the whole 
 suite of sitting-rooms belonging to the 
 house, and were all situated on the ground 
 floor. The name of the building was Fairy 
 villa, and to the delight of Mrs. Fielding 
 and her daughter who had formerly lived 
 in the country, it stood at about four or 
 five hundred yards distance from any other 
 house. Altogether it was a pleasant seem- 
 ing place, being rendered doubly so, how- 
 ever, in many people's opinion by the ab- 
 sence of its master, who never honoured it 
 with his presence during the day, and only 
 returned late at night from his business in 
 town to set off again early on the following 
 morning. 
 
 While these changes were going on in 
 the Fielding family Sidney had become a 
 student at Guy's Hospital, and greatly to 
 the satisfaction of Mr. Winkelmann, whose
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 201 
 
 opinion of his merits daily heightened, 
 gave promise of being something better 
 in his profession than the generahty of 
 young men are who, for the sake of enter- 
 ing a genteel line of life, enroll them- 
 selves as disciples of the art of Escalapius, 
 without having the slightest ability or taste 
 for the profession. 
 
 " Sidney/' said Mr. Winkelmann, as the 
 former returned one evening to a late 
 dinner, " Sidney, I wish you would take 
 an order for Drury Lane to Mrs. Fielding. 
 Fan wished to go there some time back, 
 and see here is an order that Reynolds has 
 given me for a private box. You will have 
 just time to arrive there, and allow them 
 an hour to dress in ; but you must look 
 sharp else you will be too late." 
 
 " Very well, sir," repHed Sidney, as 
 he rose from the table, and prepared to 
 obey him, for he had long ago given up 
 the idea of discontinuing the intimacy 
 with the Fieldings, as he saw he could not 
 do so without exciting suspicion. And 
 acting instantaneously upon Mr. Winkel-
 
 202 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 mann's request, he accordingly arrived in 
 good time at Brompton. 
 
 Frances was at first greatly pleased with 
 receiving the orders; but soon a disap- 
 pointed look passed over her features, and 
 she exclaimed, as she glanced towards 
 Mrs. Fielding — " Mama, how can we go ? 
 we have no escort. Harry spends the 
 evening with Alfred you know, and none 
 of our London friends are near enough for 
 us to send for them — what shall we do ?" 
 
 A very strong wish, as Frances spoke, 
 arose in Sidney's mind of offering himself 
 for the escort in question, and he partly 
 opened his lips to utter it, yet quickly 
 closed them again without articulating a 
 syllable, for he imagined that even if he 
 proffered his protection to the ladies it 
 would not be accepted. Mrs. Fielding, 
 however, perceived the scarcely visible 
 action of his lips, as for the moment they 
 eagerly curved themselves to speak, and 
 guessing what was passing in his mind, 
 turned round with a smile, and said — 
 
 " Is there any use in asking you to be
 
 THE YOUNG DOClPOE. 203 
 
 our escort to-night, Mr. Beckford 1 If 
 you gave us the pleasure of your company 
 should we be too much trespassing upon 
 your time ? Yet I must say that you 
 would ohlige us greatly if you comply with 
 our request/' 
 
 That Sidney did comply can be httle 
 doubted, and soon after he was left to himself 
 in the drawing-room, while the ladies retired 
 to dress for the theatre, and twenty minutes 
 afterwards Mrs. Fielding, and Frances, 
 were seated with him in a hired flv on their 
 way to town — Mr. Fielding kept no car- 
 riage, though he was reckoned rich enough 
 to keep half a dozen. 
 
 It proved a pleasant evening ; the house 
 was full, the performance good, and the 
 little party from Brompton would have felt 
 thoroughly pleased with the entertainment, 
 had not one circumstance disturbed the 
 equanimity of both Frances and Sidney. 
 This was the persevering attention with 
 which a gentleman in one of the opposite 
 boxes watched the former during the whole 
 of the evening ; scarcely for a moment
 
 204 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 did he turn away his eyes from her face, 
 and she found herself unable to look one 
 way or the other without encountering his 
 admiring glances. Annoyed, at first, with 
 the stranger's continued observation, 
 Frances at length became thoroughly 
 irritated by it, for though, being a very 
 lovely girl, she was sure of attracting 
 attention wherever she appeared, still to 
 be stared at so sedulously by her present 
 admirer, she could not easily tolerate, 
 and his impertinence caused more than one 
 or two angry blushes to rise to her cheek 
 while, as if to add to her vexation, she 
 perceived that Sidney also angrily noticed 
 her tormentor's behaviour. 
 
 Perhaps the earnest glances of the 
 stranger were, after all, only attracted to- 
 wards the Fieldings' box, by che Hving ex- 
 emplication which the proximity of Sidney 
 and Frances afforded, of the very ancient 
 fable of Beauty and the Beast. 
 
 Nevertheless, the unknown starer was an 
 excessively handsome youth, for a youth 
 he evidently was, as scarcely twenty sum-
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 205 
 
 mers could have passed over his fair un- 
 faded features, his complexiou being yet in 
 its very first bloom, and his brow white 
 and unwrinkled. But though his face was 
 decidedly beautiful, and though the bright, 
 open blue eye, shadowed by its dark brown 
 lashes, spoke of courage and even good 
 humour, there also appeared an air of im- 
 pertinent mockery, a sort of laughing, su- 
 perciHous sneer upon it, extremely dis- 
 pleasing to behold. He did not seem at 
 all abashed by the quiet, firm expression 
 of contempt with which more than once 
 Sidney's glances encountered his, while he 
 thus pointedly continued to watch Frances, 
 but calmly returned it with a kind of im- 
 passible smile, as he scanned his counte- 
 nance for a moment or two, and then 
 turned away to resume his observations 
 upon his fair companion. In fact, he never 
 slackened in the individual attention he 
 paid her during the whole of the evening, 
 and the business of the stage was as little 
 regarded by him, as if the curtain had never 
 risen for the night.
 
 206 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 At length the last scene closed, the 
 audience rose to leave the theatre, and 
 Sidney, giving his arm to Mrs. Fielding and 
 Frances, descended the staircase, and after 
 placing them for a moment under a shel- 
 tered part of the portico, went to see for a 
 conveyance to take them home as quickly 
 as possible. It was raining fast, however, 
 and nearly all the vehicles being engaged, 
 Sidney had to proceed on a five minutes' 
 walk down the street, to hire one, and even 
 when he succeeded in doing so, the crush 
 of carriages was so great around the thea- 
 tre, that the fly he had chosen could not 
 draw up exactly opposite the entrance, 
 much to the annoyance of the ladies, who 
 saw the rain descending in torrents, and 
 felt they should be wet through before they 
 could possibly reach it. At length, how- 
 ever, Sidney met with a friend who lent 
 him an umbrella, and taking Mrs. Fielding, 
 who always suffered from rheumatism, and 
 therefore could not remain in the cold night 
 air without considerable danger, under his 
 a 'm he hurried her towards the fly, at the
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 207 
 
 same time saying, with some anxiety, that 
 he would be back in a couple of minutes for 
 Frances, who was standing in the entrance 
 alone. But more than a couple of mi- 
 nutes elapsed before Sidney returned, for 
 Mrs. Fielding, in her hurry to send back her 
 escort, entered the wrong vehicle, and was 
 obHged to vacate it again to find the one 
 engaged for her, thereby vividly exempli- 
 fying the old adage of " more haste worse 
 speed.'^ It was full five minutes before 
 Sidney rejoined Frances, and during that 
 time an untoward circumstance had hap- 
 pened which greatly discomposed the latter. 
 At the moment her mother and Sidney 
 left her she drew a black lace veil she had 
 tied round her head, over her face, and 
 patiently purposed to await his return ; but 
 in doing so, she unloosed a blue gauze scarf 
 that was twisted in the form of a headdress 
 amidst her hair, and stooping to pick it up 
 from the ground on which it fell, her face 
 became again partially uncovered, and a 
 gentleman close to her, at the same mo- 
 me nt exclaimed in a somewhat eager tone,
 
 208 THE YOtJNG DOCTOR. 
 
 ** There's my divinity of the evenings 
 Jekyll," then turning to her said, "allow me 
 the pleasure of returning you your scarf/' 
 
 And involuntarily turning her head to- 
 wards the speaker as he, more quickly than 
 she could do, raised the headdress from the 
 ground, and presented it to her, Frances 
 recognised the gentleman whose observa- 
 tion had so justly annoyed her. A slight 
 blush passed over her countenance as she 
 bowed her thanks to him, and it did not 
 soon fade away, for she perceived that he 
 continued to stand near her, watching her 
 with the same scrutinizing expression that 
 he had done when in the boxes. She grew 
 indignant within herself at this proceeding, 
 the more so, because she was alone, and 
 began to feel very uncomfortable, because 
 Sidney had not returned, when the stranger 
 addressing her in a grave and ceremonious 
 tone, said — 
 
 " Will you allow me to offer you my ser- 
 vices in finding your carriage 1 Will you 
 eternally oblige me by putting me to some 
 user
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 209 
 
 Frances turned her head away, and re- 
 mained silent. " Naj/' he continued, with 
 increased assurance, as he glanced towards 
 the crowd that was rushing by them, many 
 individuals of which were gazing in wonder 
 at the beautiful young girl, who seemed 
 standing there utterly by herself, " Nay, I 
 see that you have missed your friends — will 
 you accept me as your guide to find them 
 again '? Any sort of protection in a place 
 like this is preferable to none ; it must be 
 painful to you to attract the observation of 
 yonder people, as you are doing at present." 
 
 " It is a matter infinitely more painful to 
 have attracted yours," replied Frances, 
 haughtily enough, as she turned round and 
 fixed her flashing violet eyes upon his face, 
 for she had not forgotten his previous beha- 
 viour in the theatre, and consequently did 
 not lay his present offers of assistance to 
 any very charitable motive, " My friends 
 will soon rejoin me — trouble yourself no 
 longer about me, sir." 
 
 "Fall back, sir," angrily cried Sidney 
 Beckford, as he now advanced from the
 
 210 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 crowd towards Frances, alter having heard 
 the last answer to the stranger, who had 
 placed herself close at her side, and whom 
 he instantly recognised with no very ami- 
 cable feehngs, "Fall back; this lady is 
 under my protection/ 
 
 " Fall back," repeated the other, as he 
 measured Sidney from head to foot, with a 
 supercilious stare, meanwhile nonchalantly 
 lighting a cigar with a little silver case 
 that he took from his waistcoat pocket, and 
 keeping his place most tenaciously near 
 Frances, " Why, Jekyll, the fellow talks as 
 if he were some pot valiant recruit." And 
 while by his position he still prevented 
 Sidney from taking Frances under his arm, 
 Avith an increase of impudence both in his 
 tone and manner, he bent forward and 
 whispered in the latter' s ear, " A dieu, ckere 
 petite, au revoir!* 
 
 In another moment Sidney had seized 
 the young stranger's arm with the gripe of 
 a vice, forcibly turned him from the posi- 
 tion he had occupied, and taken his place. 
 Provoked at this unexpected termination
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOK. 211 
 
 of his attentions to Frances, and breathless 
 with indignation, the young man wrenched 
 himself from Sidney's grasp — and in the 
 rage of the moment struck him a severe blow 
 in the face, which caused him to stagger 
 back half stunned, w^hile the former, al- 
 though his cheek was white with rage, said 
 with an insulting laugh, 
 
 "Does the fool think this a place for 
 wrestling 1 Voila voire revanche, mon beau 
 gar f on.'' 
 
 " This is no time for a brawl," answered 
 Sidney, as recovering from the shock he 
 had received, he steadied his still dizzied 
 glance into one of fixed flashing anger, and 
 bent it on his antagonist ; " let the lady 
 pass on, sir— I will be with you again in 
 five minutes." 
 
 " Aye, let the lady pass on,'' said the 
 stranger's friend, who really seemed to feel 
 some pity for the terrified and trembling 
 Frances,/' let the lady pass on, Ravensliill. 
 You are always getting into some foohsh 
 scrape or other — what the devil are you 
 up to now 1"
 
 212 ^ THE YOUNG DOCTOK. 
 
 But, though in obedience to his compa- 
 nion's injunctions, the young man stepped 
 aside and left the way clear for Frances and 
 Sidney to move forwards, the latter did not 
 take advantage of it, but stood as if sud- 
 denly transfixed to the spot by some strong 
 agitation, gazing with a look of wild asto- 
 nishment at his late adversary. 
 
 " Ravenshill Y^ he exclaimed, in a low, 
 hollow tone, " Arthur — Ravenshill! im- 
 possible !" 
 
 " Not so," answered Jekyll, in a sneer- 
 ingly courteous tone ; and he looked with 
 surprise and curiosity at the apparently 
 wonder-stricken Sidney, " quite possible. 
 Have you had the pleasure of meeting his 
 lordship before to-night V^ 
 
 Sidney turned his eyes full upon the 
 speaker — with a glance of dull half ap- 
 prehension as he replied, 
 
 " Met him 1— no— did I say that I had ? 
 
 you mistake me.'' 
 
 And drawing Frances closer under his 
 arm, he hurried from them, led her to the
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 213 
 
 carriage and placed her within by the side 
 of her mother. 
 
 " Mr. Beckford, are you coming home with 
 us V asked Mrs. Fielding, as with astonish- 
 ment she saw Sidney shut the coach door 
 after he had handed her daughter in, and 
 stand leaning against it in a kind of bewil- 
 dered reverie without making an attempt 
 to enter the carriage or to tell the coach- 
 man where to drive. 
 
 " "Will you not see us home V asked 
 Frances, more eagerly, for she perceived his 
 eyes were fixed upon the gentlemen they had 
 just quitted and who were now approach- 
 ing the spot where their carriage stood, 
 '' do come in." 
 
 But the mother and daughter's request 
 were alike unheeded and unheard ; Sidney 
 still continued to gaze at the figure of the 
 young man who had so rudely annoyed the 
 latter, and as Frances bent forward once 
 again to touch him on the shoulder in order 
 to make him hear her, she could not avoid 
 noticing the singular expression of counte- 
 nance with which he continued to do so.
 
 214 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 An insult so deep as the one he had re- 
 ceived, she imagined would have created an 
 abiding feeKng of anger in his heart, yet 
 no trace of that passion Hngered upon his 
 face. True, the lips and cheeks were hvidlj 
 white, and the brow dark and contracted ; 
 but not with wrath ; it appeared more as 
 if some mental pain, strong, sudden, and 
 overwhelming, had seized him, and had as 
 suddenly sought to express itself in the 
 features, and in the dark, earnest, mournful 
 eyes. He did not either attempt to join 
 the object of his observation, though the 
 latter, in derision, drew near to the spot 
 where he stood, but followed him with that 
 strange look, till he passed entirely out of 
 sight, and then, as if awaking from a pain- 
 ful dream, he uttered a sharp sigh, and 
 seemed to become aware of what was pass- 
 ing around him. 
 
 " Mrs. Fielding," he said, " I beg your 
 pardon — I beheve I have kept you waiting 
 — but, perhaps, Miss Fielding, when she 
 arrives at home, will explain the accident 
 that happened to detain us. Now I
 
 THE YOUJ^G DOCTOR. 215 
 
 am more myself — I am at your service, and 
 with your leave, I will mount the box to 
 direct the man where to drive, as it is a 
 dark night and the road to Fairy Villa is 
 not generally known." 
 
 Then without waiting for an answer, 
 Sidney placed himself by the coachman's 
 side and they drove off from the theatre at a 
 quick pace towards Brompton, while Mrs. 
 Fielding, naturally surprised at his singular 
 proceedings, turned to her daughter, to hear 
 the explanation he alluded to. This being 
 soon given by Frances, was commented on 
 by both ladies with anxiety and distress, 
 and when Mrs. Fielding arrived at her own 
 door, in unfeigned sorrow she expressed 
 her concern that her daughter should 
 have been the cause of so unpleasant an af- 
 fair. And then the kind-hearted lady tried 
 to utter some words which would prevent 
 further mischief, tried to treat the matter 
 lightly, pronounced the stranger to be a 
 worthless character, and endeavoured to 
 convince Sidney that the affront was not 
 worth noticing— though, at the same time,
 
 216 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 she felt very grieved and very unassured 
 that her listener would ever be brought to 
 think in the like manner. 
 
 Sidney, in fact, did not say a word in 
 reply to her advice, but walked by her 
 side up the gravel path leading to the por- 
 tico of the villa in utter silence, and as 
 the servant, who was summoned to the 
 door by his knock, admitted them into the 
 house, he bid them adieu. Mrs. Fielding 
 answered in a tone of apprehension and 
 regret, and begged him to come to them 
 soon again ; but Frances followed him 
 half way down the steps of the porch, and 
 said, in an eager, tremulous tone, 
 
 "Mr. Beckford, I cannot say good night 
 to you, until you ease my fears respecting 
 the quarrel between that gentleman and 
 yourself Tell me that you will not see 
 him again — tell me that you will not." 
 
 Though her method of addressing him 
 was not very calculated to make him 
 comprehend what she meant, Sidney in- 
 stantly understood that the apprehensions 
 of Frances were fixed upon the possibility
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 217 
 
 of a hostile meeting between himself and 
 the stranger, and turning towards her, 
 before she had time to express herself 
 more explicitly, he said quietly and 
 earnestly, " Fear nothing for me. Miss 
 Fielding ; I give you my w^ord of honour 
 that this quarrel cannot end mischievously 
 either for the one or the other; he and I 
 must never meet again. One thing, how- 
 ever, I would request of you before I bid 
 you good night, and that is, not in any 
 way to mention this unfortunate occurrence 
 to your brother. Harry is hot-headed, 
 Lord Kavenshill is w^ell known — and, and, 
 you understand me — promise me you will 
 
 not r 
 
 No, Frances did not perfectly under- 
 stand him ; but as her agitation increased 
 every moment, she did not hesitate to give 
 him the assurance he desired, then added 
 " And you, you, Mr. Beckford V 
 
 " Oh I — I am quite safe," replied Sidney, 
 somewhat coldly, " there are circumstances, 
 dear Miss Fielding, which will prevent my 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 ever speaking to him again — circumstances 
 that, that — " he stopped as if in strong 
 embarrassment, then said shortly, " do not 
 give 3^ourself one moment's uneasiness about 
 the matter — good night." 
 
 And suddenly turning from her, he 
 walked rapidly away, and was soon on his 
 road to London. 
 
 Sidney Beckford's last words produced 
 a strange effect upon Frances ; they 
 quieted her fears respecting him, because 
 from the firm manner in which he uttered 
 them, she could not doubt their truth, but 
 thoroughly believing them she wondered 
 over them the more. A sad accent thrilled 
 through his voice as he answered her, that 
 now struck her as singular, for she felt it 
 was not the tone in which a man would 
 naturally have spoken of an affront he had 
 received from another, and she was sur- 
 prised that Sidney treated the insult thus 
 lightly, after having, in the first place, so 
 deeply resented it. She also remarked 
 that this change of feeling came suddenly 
 upon him, not as though the dictates of
 
 THE YOUNa DOCTOR. 219 
 
 reason, humanity, or cowardice, bade him 
 forbear to notice the affront more angrily 
 than he had done ; but as if the utterance 
 of his adversary's name instantaneously 
 altered the current of his feelings towards 
 him ; yet, how the mention of the 
 strangers appellation could have effected 
 this, Frances could not understand, because 
 she saw no after recognition took place 
 between them. And then the strong ex- 
 pression of pain, which passed over his 
 countenance as he had leaned against their 
 carriage door, before they drove off from 
 the theatre, became present to her mind, 
 and she wondered what feelings in con- 
 nection v/ith the scene then enacting, could 
 have awakened it there. She wondered 
 long ; but it was useless wondering ; she 
 soon felt there was something in the inci- 
 dent which she could not understand — some 
 hidden thoughts in Sidney's breast unknown 
 either to the stranger or herself ; yet, many 
 days afterwards, this untoward circumstance 
 haunted her memory, accompanied by 
 L 2
 
 220 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 an unpleasant feeling of self-reproach, 
 arising from the consciousness of her having 
 been the original cause of the quarrel. 
 
 Mrs. Fielding, meanwhile, said little 
 about the occurrence ; but felt a great deal, 
 and received Sidney whenever he visited 
 them with an increase of friendliness in 
 her manner which drew him into closer 
 bonds of friendship with the family. See- 
 ing, however, that he shunned all mention 
 of the subject, she never spoke to him of 
 it, and moreover, wiUingly acquiesced and 
 acted upon the advice he had given Frances 
 of not mentioning it to her son, whom her 
 maternal fears suggested might possibly be 
 drawn into some mischief by his hasty 
 temper, should he be so unfortunate as to 
 meet the author of the affront. 
 
 But as chance would have it, that dis- 
 agreeable circumstance was not allowed to 
 slip from their memories, as easily as they 
 wished it to do, for it happened one Sunday 
 afternoon, as Mrs. Fielding and her daughter 
 were walking with Sidney and another 
 gentleman by the side of the Serpentine in
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR, 221 
 
 Hyde Park, that the two strangers, whom 
 they had so unfortunately met at Drury 
 Lane Theatre, passed them by in the 
 throng of persons then parading up and 
 down there, and recognised Frances and 
 Sidney with an insolent stare. 
 
 " There's the fellow who sided off from 
 you the other night, Ravenshill," said 
 Jekyll. 
 
 " Yes — I see him," replied the other, 
 carelessly, " and there's his pretty little 
 companion, too — a very pocket Venus — 'tis 
 a pity that so lorely a creature has not a 
 more efficient cavalier. Good-day — fair 
 rose-bud," he almost instantaneously said 
 in the ear of Frances, and he slightly 
 raised his hat to her, bestowing, meanwhile, 
 a contemptuous look upon Sidney, as he 
 moved past them in a contrary direction. 
 But he w^as not suffered to proceed many 
 steps before the latter, who had resigned 
 Frances to her mother's protection, joined 
 him. 
 
 " A few words with you, my lord," said 
 he, addressing the younger stranger, " we
 
 222 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 parted too soon the other evening —perhaps 
 you will favour me with five minutes' con- 
 versation at present V 
 
 The young gentleman he spoke to looked 
 up for a moment in surprise — struck, 
 perhaps, by the calm, unfaltering tone in 
 which he addressed him ; then a super- 
 cilious smile dawned over his handsome 
 features, and he answered, 
 
 '' The request comes late ; but it shall 
 be complied with. Jekyll, my good fellow, 
 stand aside — what is it you would say V 
 
 " Let us cross the bridge," rejoined 
 Sidney, " there are fewer people over the 
 other side of the water, and we shall not 
 be interrupted.'^ 
 
 " Five minutes will do your business 
 I should suspect," replied the young man, 
 haughtily, " I have no wish to attend you 
 thither at present — explain your wishes 
 here, sir." 
 
 " That is scarcely possible," returned 
 Sidney, in a cold, expressionless tone, " the 
 bridge is near — it will not take us two
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 223 
 
 minutes to traverse it. You had better 
 accompany me to the other side." 
 
 Lord Ravenshill turned round to his 
 friend. 
 
 " Jekyll," said he, " be so good as to 
 remain here, and if you see PhiUips, tell 
 him to bring the horses round to this spot. 
 Then addressing Sidney, he added im- 
 patiently, "Have your own way, sir — I 
 follow you." 
 
 And they crossed over to the left bank 
 of the river. 
 
 " Now," said his lordship to Sidney, after 
 they had reached a comparatively secluded 
 spot at the extreme end of the bridge. 
 " Now, sir, I would thank you to explain 
 yourself." 
 
 " I should imagine little explanation is 
 required on my part," replied Sidney, in a 
 firm, icy tone of voice, in which not the 
 slightest accent of passion was allowed to 
 appear, and moving a step or two aside, 
 he directly confronted his companion. 
 " Your conduct of the other night — that of 
 to-day — demands a somewhat heavy
 
 224 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 apology, my lord. I am here to receive 
 one." 
 
 Lord Ravenshill paused for a moment 
 ere he answered Sidney, and measured 
 him from head to foot vfith his eyes, then 
 said, in a quiet tone of derision, and with 
 a gathering smile of scorn, 
 
 " To receive one ? — an apology ? — and 
 from me V 
 
 " From you," rejoined Sidney, not 
 noticing the contemptuous accents with 
 which he spoke ; but returning his insolent 
 glance by a calm, fixed, and penetrating 
 one. 
 
 Lord Ravenshill quietly turned upon his 
 heel with an ironical laugh, and would 
 have moved away, but Sidney stepped 
 aside, and placed himself before him to 
 prevent his departure. 
 
 " My lord," he said, and still his voice 
 preserved its calm, unvarying tone, '' my 
 lord, you shall hear me — the fault was on 
 your side — the insult deep — and it must 
 be atoned for." 
 
 "How^?" exclaimed Lord Ravenshill,
 
 *rHE YOUFG DOCfOE. 225 
 
 with a look of infinite contempt, as he 
 once more paused, turned back, and looked 
 Sidney full in the face, "by an apology ? 
 Can such an insult be wiped out by an 
 apology '? and if it could, do you think 1 
 would make one to you ? — to one who is 
 as cowardly as he is insolent ! Pah ! the 
 very idea is preposterous — let me pass 
 on." 
 
 The dark red blood flushed up to Sid- 
 ney's cheek ; for one moment too, the brow 
 contracted, and the eye shot forth living 
 fire ; gradually, however, that flush and look 
 of anger faded, and an expression of intense 
 sadness took possession of every feature of 
 his face. Suddenly that also passed away, 
 and left his countenance as calm and pas- 
 sionless as before, and then in a quiet, rea- 
 soning tone, whose unfaltering firmness won 
 eyen the attention of his impatient listener, 
 h^ again addressed Lord llavenshill. 
 
 " You do not think, 1 suppose, that my 
 conduct warrants the demand 1' said he, 
 *' yet if an apology will satisfy me in the 
 present instance, it cannot possibly lessen
 
 226 THE YOUNG BOCTOE. 
 
 you in your own esteem to give it to me. 
 You will do so, my lord, before I leave you ; 
 and moreover that apology will be accom- 
 panied by a promise on your part of not 
 again molesting the lady I have just quitted. 
 You see, my lord, you and the world think 
 differently to me upon this matter — think 
 differently of the feelings it ought to excite 
 in my mind— of the punishmeot it deserves. 
 Now, the only part of the business that still 
 irritates me is your insulting notice of 
 yonder lady, wdiich must be stopped and 
 shall be — the affront you offered me \ 
 consider as a madman's action, since it was 
 done in the heat of passion. 1 treat it as 
 such, because I see that } ou are young, and 
 in youth passion leads us into various freaks 
 which we afterwards repent. Yet your 
 conduct was indefensible the other night — 
 within your own mind you feel that it was 
 BO ; well, think over it as I have thought 
 over it, and take the wisest course you can 
 take— hush it up. I am no upholder of the 
 present code of honour, and cannot see the 
 necessity f obeying its laws on an cccasijn
 
 thB young doctor. 227 
 
 like the present, concerning your share 
 of the affront — I mean with regard to my 
 having forcibly turned you from the lady's 
 side — that any man must have done for 
 the protection of a sister or friend, that I 
 W' uld do again, my lord, and stand the 
 consequences to make the person who m 
 forgot himself, kiss the dust for his unman* 
 liness." 
 
 " And those consequences you force me 
 to bring upon you," repUed Lord Ilavens- 
 hill, his handsome features colouring deeply, 
 and angrily, "the insolence of your language 
 surpasses even your cowardice, and for my 
 own satisfaction I now demand the meeting 
 you would willingly have escaped." 
 
 Sidney half smiled and shook his head. 
 
 " Pshaw, my lord," he answered, " you 
 now talk idly — it is not likely that I should 
 comply with your present deiiiandfor your 
 satisfaction, when I would not propose it for 
 my own." 
 
 " Perhaps," replied Lord Ravenshill, ve- 
 hemently, " perhaps you know you are one
 
 228 THE YouxG doctor. 
 
 whose very name would unfit you to meet 
 me on the terms I propose." 
 
 " My name is Sidney Beckford — my 
 position, certainly, that of a gentleman — 
 my character — perhaps as good as your 
 lordship's," returned Sidney with impertur- 
 bable calmness. 
 
 " Taking you to be then what you say 
 you are, you must agree in the proposal I 
 now make," said Lord Ravenshill. 
 
 " Kot so," replied Sidney, with the same 
 calm look, " I never agree to anything con- 
 trary to my sense of right, and assuredly 
 your present proceedings have not its sanc- 
 tion. Look you, my lord," he continued more 
 earnestly, " if for once you would consult 
 your own judgment instead of that of the 
 world, we might part friends. The other 
 night you met the punishment you deserve, 
 you gave me a blow in return. Well, that 
 blow, struck as it was in the heat of passion, 
 1 can forget ; but I cannot so easily forgive 
 the insulting attentions with which you 
 still continue to anno}' the lady who has
 
 THE TOTT^^G DOCTOR. 229 
 
 occasioned this discussion. I appeal then 
 to your good sense ami good feeUng if it 
 would not be better to discontinue them, 
 and to arrange the matter quietly. Think 
 for yourself, my lord, and take a lesson for 
 once in your life from one somewhat older 
 than you are. When we have done wrong; 
 surely there is greater shame in continuing 
 that wrong than in relinquishing it. The 
 quarrel between us is not one of life and 
 death — Heaven forbid that it should be so, 
 and therefore it can be settled easily and 
 Avell. This can be done without your hav- 
 ing occasion to abate one atom of that pride 
 which bids you so rigidly adhere to the 
 world's notions of honour. I ask you 
 merely to express a sense of regret that your 
 anger should have carried you to greater 
 lengths than you intended it to do. Such 
 a confession would raise you in the estima- 
 tion of any man of common feeling, of com- 
 mon sense — in your own if you considered 
 it coolly. But you are young, you have 
 not been used to consider these things in 
 their nropcr h^Jit, and hot-blooded as you
 
 230 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 are, would thoughtlessly throw away the 
 life, which the head of the noble family you 
 represent treasures more carefully than his 
 own. Stranger as I am to you, my lord, 
 angered though I may be, I would not 
 be your murderer. 1 am cowardly in 
 that, if you reckon it cowardice, to shrink 
 from killing a man in cold blood. Think 
 once again, for yourself, upon the subject, 
 Lord Ravenshill ; fancy that we had met — 
 strangers as we are to each other, hating 
 one another as we may do now ; imagine 
 me the victim (and there might have 
 chanced to have been one,) imagine me the 
 victim, and not you. Well, would you 
 have afterwards considered it a pleasant 
 thing to have had the guilt of homicide 
 upon your conscience, to have known your 
 hand bloodstained at the commencement of 
 life, to have carried the red mark down to 
 the grave with you, and felt it wreathing its 
 curse upon the fates of all those who are 
 uiost dear to you. Pbhaw ' my lord, let us 
 nob talk of courage and honour, their man- 
 dates are false when they bid us do such
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 231 
 
 things as these ; the duellist urged on by 
 his friends, or false shame, may be 
 the greatest coward in existence ; the non- 
 duellist a braver man than he. Death I 
 death can be easily borne in comparison 
 even to the loss of the world's good 
 opinion ; but then that latter loss had better 
 be felt, than the remorse our hearts expe- 
 rience when we obey its erring dictates. 
 Think you I have had no wish of rising 
 anger since we first met ? My lord, I ara 
 not passionless ; and easier would it have 
 been for me to have borne the most exqui- 
 site pain in silence than the insults you have 
 been pleased to address to rae. Be rea- 
 sonable, be cahn, be just in your judgment 
 of yourself, be generous in the reparation I 
 would have you make me. You can afford 
 to be so, higher in station, more favoured 
 by fortune, that which I demand cannot 
 lower you in your own esteem, or in that of 
 others. No malicious tongue can speak of 
 that act asthe cringing deference of a coward 
 to superior merit, or superior rank, for I, my 
 lord, am poor, witli no friends, no merit,
 
 282 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 no wealth, so the apology, when you make 
 it, must be known to arise solely from the 
 judgment your own mind passes on its 
 headstrong passions. It must spring from 
 a brave and just spirit yielding to its innate 
 sense of right. My lord, I see by your 
 very countenance that I speak and hope 
 securely on this point ; you will make me 
 the apology I require, and give me the 
 promise I demand." 
 
 And Sidney, who had spoken rapidly, 
 earnestly, yet calmly, was now silent, 
 and gazed fixedly upon the face of the 
 young nobleman he addressed, as if waiting 
 for an answer. But he did not receive one 
 directly ; over the handsome features of 
 Lord llavenshill an expression of irresolu- 
 tion passed, and liis cheek flushed hotly as 
 it were v*'ith shame, while he bit his under 
 lip till the very blcod sprang from it, 
 and his eyes w^ere bent firmly on the 
 ground. Suddenly he raised them, and 
 met Sidney's fixed upon him with a calm, 
 deep look of enquiry — a look that did not 
 seem to triumph in the effect his words
 
 THE YOUI^G DOCTOR. 233 
 
 produced, but to express what to Lord 
 Ravenshill seemed a strange earnest inter- 
 est in his coming answer. His lordship 
 paused ere he replied ; for he was strug- 
 gling with the anger past scenes awakened 
 within his mind, and the better feelings 
 Sidney's address had excited there. He 
 was sensible no language similar to that 
 which the latter had used could have come 
 from the lips of a coward, within himself his 
 owm clear judgment had condemned his past 
 offence, and shame, the unwise and false 
 shame that a man ever feels to acknowledge 
 himself in the wrong, alone prevented him 
 avowing that it did so. Again he strug- 
 gled with his better feelings — again he 
 met Sidney's calm incomprehensible look, 
 and beneath its influence, his wrath was 
 mastered, he knew not wh}^ He was 
 young, perhaps ; his character not yet 
 hardened into the world's outlines, was yet 
 capable of receiving sudden and powerful 
 impressions, and at length turning towards 
 hira he answered him in a low, yet distinct 
 and haughty voice.
 
 234 THE YOUl^G DOCTOR. 
 
 " Whoever and whatever you are,'^ he 
 said, " I thank you for the lesson you have 
 just given me. I tender you the promise 
 you demand ; I retract any offensive words 
 I have uttered — I acknowledge myself in 
 the wrong, you speak justly ; and I believe 
 you are neither a coward nor afool/^ Then 
 touching his hat. Lord Ravenshill left the 
 spot and walked away in a contrary direc- 
 tion, as Sidney, replying to his companion's 
 bow by an incUnation of the head, did the 
 same. 
 
 Soon after, the latter rejoined Mrs. Field- 
 ing and Frances, and in answer to their 
 eager enquiries, explained that the whole 
 matter had been amicably settled between 
 Lord Ravenshill and himself They re- 
 ceived a decided proof of this on their 
 return home, for wishing to cross from the 
 walk by the Serpentine to the gate nearest 
 the Knightsbridge-Road, they were forced 
 to traverse the throng of horsemen usually 
 stationed at the entrance of Rotten-Row, 
 and again to pass his lordship who was 
 numbered amongst them. Finding them-
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 235 
 
 selves obliged to cross exactly before his 
 horse's head, they saw him with unexpected 
 politeness rein the animal in, to allow them 
 to do so more easily, and to the extreme 
 surprise of Frances, as in her fear of an 
 approaching carriage, she looked in his di- 
 rection, he coloured violently for a moment, 
 then bent forward with a profound bow, 
 while the insolent sneer which usually dis- 
 figured his very handsome face disappeared, 
 and a respectful expression took its place. 
 Frances felt that to be intended as an 
 apology for his past conduct, and casting 
 an enquiring look at Sidney, under whose 
 arm she was, to know how the change in 
 his lordship's manner had been effected ; 
 but the former never once glanced towards 
 Lord Ravenshill, passed hastily on, and 
 soon rejoined Mrs. Fielding on the other 
 side of the road. Frances thought this 
 stranoe ; she could not conceive how the 
 quarrel had ended so quietly, but seeing 
 that the very mention of the subject was 
 disagreeable to Sidney, she avoided ques- 
 tioning him about it, and Mrs. Fielding,
 
 236 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 following her daughter's example, did the 
 same. 
 
 Six months after this unpleasant occur- 
 rence, Sidney Beckford passed his exami- 
 nation at the College of Surgeons, and soon 
 after took his physician's degree, for 
 although ere he gained the latter distinc- 
 tion, he was engaged in general practice as 
 Mr. Winkelmann's assistant, he still felt 
 anxious to take the highest honours of the 
 profession — nearly every man of talent 
 wishes the same — and he accordingly did 
 so.
 
 THE YOU!^G DOCTOR. 237 
 
 CHArTER IX. 
 
 Every one knows what his proper business is, and 
 what he can make of himself, if he will not deprive 
 himself by narrowness of spirit, of those helps that 
 chance throws in his way. 
 
 Locke. 
 
 " Well, Sidney Beckford is one of the 
 best fellows in the world," said Harry 
 Fielding to his sister, when he one evening 
 found her alone, as he entered their 
 drawing-room at Brompton, where she was 
 making tea for Mrs. Fielding, who happened 
 to be confined to her room by a severe 
 cold, '' one of the best fellows in the world ! 
 He is always preventing me getting into 
 some scrape or other, Fan ; and then he 
 does it in so kind a way that I quite love
 
 238 THE YOUNa DOCTOR. 
 
 him. He never gives me a long lecture 
 upon the immorality of my proceedings, 
 when I take it into my head to have a 
 froHc, but cuts up my follies in so witty a 
 manner that I am invariably obliged to 
 abandon them. And when 1 feel persuaded 
 by some of my wilder young friends to 
 join in their whims and schemes, supposing 
 they beset me with raillery in his presence, 
 he constantly turns the tables upon theni 
 with his dry, quaintly expressed hits, and 
 supports me in every right principle I up- 
 hold. I love the fellow, I do — he is the 
 best friend I have, Fan, and I wish you 
 would be a little more civil to him the 
 next time you see him." 
 
 " Civil to him,'' echoed Frances, slightly 
 colouring, " indeed, Harry, I have been 
 very, very civil to him as you call it." 
 
 " Yes, you have been — there it is, 
 Frances," replied her brother, repeating 
 her words with some emphasis, " I know 
 you were kind and polite enough towards 
 him some time back — yes, ever since that 
 delectable pic-nic we had in Epping Forest,
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 239 
 
 but for the last month or two you are 
 sadly changed — how has he offended 
 
 you V 
 
 "He has never offended me, Harry," 
 answered Frances. 
 
 " Then why did you leave off taking the 
 drawing lessons that he used to give you 
 of an evening — you were improving im- 
 mensely under his tuition." 
 
 " Yes, I know I was," replied Frances, 
 "but — but I thought I might be encroaching 
 too much upon his time, Harry." 
 
 " No, no. Fan, you were not," returned 
 he, " because he only devoted a leisure 
 hour now and then to you. He was so 
 pleased to be with you and mamma ; so 
 delighted to do a service for any one of 
 us. You should have continued to take 
 his instructions for a little while longer, 
 and not have broken off with him so 
 abruptly, for you see your conduct has 
 evidently hurt him ; he does not come here 
 as often as he used to do." 
 
 " No," said Frances, " he does not." 
 
 "And we used to pass such pleasant
 
 240 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 evenings together/' continued Harry, " he 
 was a capital reader." 
 
 " Yes," answered his sister, " he was." 
 
 " Novels, history, poetry, it was all the 
 same to him — he was as good as Kean or 
 Macready. And then he was so enter- 
 taining too, he did not think of himself, 
 and though rather serious at times he 
 never seemed dull or out of spirits. 1 have 
 rarely met with a more happy hearted 
 fellow in all my life." 
 
 " Happy hearted!" repeated Frances, 
 bending forward with an earnest, thought- 
 ful look in her soft, violet eyes, then, after 
 a slight pause, she added quickly — " Yes, 
 as you say, Harry, he was a very agreeable 
 companion." 
 
 " You think so. Fan 1 for Heaven's sake 
 then, if you do, be a little more friendly 
 towards Sid, when he next visits us, for he 
 is my very best friend ; mamma and god- 
 father esteem him, and wish to see him 
 here, and though there are not many 
 families that he Hkes to visit, I know he 
 would come more frequently to this ho use
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 241 
 
 if 3'ou wel^e not so very freezing in your 
 manners towards him. Therefore, my dear, 
 good little sister, be less so, when you next 
 meet him, for it seems almost as if you 
 were too proud to notice him, because you 
 remembered the miserable condition in 
 which we first saw him. Don t be angry 
 at what I say, Frances ; I know you do 
 not think of that, but he must imagine 
 you do ; he must indeed. He is always 
 ready to think himself uncared for by any 
 one, always feels himself not worth speak- 
 ing to — don't be angry with me for telling 
 you this, Fan ; what are you moving away 
 for V 
 
 " Only to snuff the candle, Harry," re- 
 turned Frances, '' angry '? oh no ! I am 
 not angry — I am glad you have so freely 
 told me your opinion ; I will behave better 
 in future, for I like Sidney Beckford ex- 
 tremely/' 
 
 " That's a dear, darling girl," said her 
 brother, joyfully, " now give me a cup of 
 tea, and then I will go up stairs and see 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 
 
 mamma'? There/' continued he a few 
 minutes after, as he set down an empty cup 
 upon the table, "there, thanks for your 
 tea, and for your promise, Fan ; I will 
 bring Sid here to-morrow night — shall IV^ 
 " Yes, if you like, I shall be pleased to 
 see him,'' said Frances. 
 
 And Harry, with a smile of satisfaction 
 on his handsome features, quitted the 
 room. 
 
 His sister looked after his retreating 
 figure for some time in silence, then lean- 
 ing back in her chair gazed idly at the 
 fire. Presently she passed her hand over 
 her eyes, and while a shadow seemed to 
 creep over her fair open brow, she moved 
 towards the table, pushed aside the tea 
 equipage, and taking a small portfoho from 
 a cheffonier close to her, began examining 
 some water colour sketches that it con- 
 tained. She looked at them long and 
 earnestly, till bending over them half 
 musingly, her brow nearly touched their 
 surface, while, whatever was the subject
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOK. 243 
 
 which occupied her thoughts it appeared 
 to absorb her attention so completely that 
 for more than twenty minutes her graceful 
 head never raised itself from its lowly 
 position. When it did so, her little hands 
 were clasped across her eyes, and over a 
 flushing cheek, and she murmured as she 
 lifted one of the sketches before her to her 
 lips — " Unloved, uncared for by any one 1 
 oh ! no, no." 
 
 Then she glanced upwards, for the faint 
 sound of a human voice struck her ear, 
 and leaning forward on the table at her 
 side with his eyes fixed eagerly on her face, 
 and his brow flushing as deeply as her 
 own, she perceived Sidney Beckford. Frances 
 started from her seat, and uttering his 
 name, bent her head for some moments 
 before him in wordless confusion, while 
 blushes crowded quickly after one another 
 upon her cheeks, and heated her fair, 
 transparent skin to a deep crimson. Per- 
 fectly speechless, too, stood Sidney Bock- 
 ford, gazing at the beautiful girl near him 
 M 2
 
 244 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 with an expression of wild and joyful 
 wonder, that no language could do justice 
 to. He looked from the agitated counten- 
 ance bi Frances to the scattered drawings 
 lying on the table — they were his own. 
 
 His own ? Yes, he knew them well ; 
 they were several slight but masterly 
 sketches that he had drawn for her to 
 copy from, during many a winter evening 
 when she had playfully asked him to teach 
 her the use of the pencil. And but a 
 moment since his bewildered thoughts 
 whispered him, she had bent over them 
 tenderly — pressed one to her lips, and 
 murmured words which could apply to 
 none save himself — for w^as it not his 
 drawing she held in her hand, were not 
 her eyes even now bent on it ? And 
 Sidney Beckford in the first rash impulse 
 that seized him at the sight would have 
 thrown himself at her feet, and declared the 
 secret love he had long cherished for her. 
 But he did not do so ; held motionless and 
 speechless by the very strength of his
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 245 
 
 feeling, those wild urgings of passion could 
 not be obeyed, and when he became more 
 himself, ho found that Frances had quitted 
 the room, that he was alone. Leaning on 
 the spot where she had leaned, bending 
 over the drawing on which she had looked, 
 pressing to his lips, the one that she had 
 pressed to hers, he again stood for some 
 time utterly immovable, bewildered v^ih 
 the unbidden, yet not to be resisted hopes 
 rushing through his mind, till suddenly his 
 eye fell upon the full outlines of his figure 
 and features reflected in a large pier-glass, 
 placed exactly opposite to him. Spell- 
 bound as it were by the sight, for some 
 moments the eyes of Sidney Beckford 
 rested upon the picture inexpressively, and 
 the wild, ecstatic expression of his counte- 
 nance changed, and a look of as exquisite 
 agony lived there. That, too, faded away 
 after a few seconds, a death-like pallor 
 overspread his features ; the eyelids 
 weighed heavily downwards over the dim- 
 ming eyes, and as he staggered back a 
 pace or two as if to turn from the deformed
 
 246 THE YOUNG DOCTOK. 
 
 image he gazed at, a low, hysterical 
 laugh issued from his lips. Painfully and 
 fitfully prolonged, — more like the long 
 feverish bursts of a woman's maniacal 
 sorrow, than the outward sign of a strong 
 man's grief, that laugh sounded through 
 the apartment, and shook the frame of 
 Sidney with a strong, convulsive trembling, 
 astit was given utterance to. 
 
 " Fool, madman," he muttered to him- 
 self, "believe anything but that ; the 
 wildest conjecture as to the cause of her 
 agitation would be more probable — she, 
 she to love me ! her thoughts were not for 
 such a one as I — they were given, perhaps, 
 to a rival — a loved one — and unthinkingly 
 for his she raised my worthless gifts to her 
 lips. If the mother's love would not dwell 
 with the deformed, how then can the 
 maiden's ^" 
 
 A smile of self-contempt passed over his 
 features, the wild tempest of passion that 
 hope had raised to sweep over his heart 
 passed away beneath the icy influence of 
 despair, and presently the slmken frame,
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 247 
 
 the pallid countenance resumed their 
 wonted calm. He seemed to remember 
 too, that he was not in his own home, that 
 his present solitude was likely to be 
 disturbed by Mr. Fielding or his son, who 
 he knew, by the domestic's answer to his 
 enquiries when he had first entered the 
 house, were both at home, and dreading 
 to encounter either of them, he hastily 
 quitted the villa, leaving a message to say 
 he was sorry he could not see the latter, 
 as he had suddenly recollected an engage- 
 ment, that it was his duty to fulfil imme- 
 diately, and which he had not thought of 
 it until the present time. 
 
 Yet it was late before Sidney Beckford 
 returned to Mr. Winklemann's, for the 
 agitation he had passed through, and his 
 bitter annoyance at what he deemed his 
 presumptuous folly in dreaming that the 
 action or words of Frances alluded to him, 
 though apparently mastered, was not suf- 
 ficiently so as to enable him easily to hear 
 and join in the jocular conversation which 
 his benefactor after a satisfactory day s
 
 248 THE YOUIs^G DOCTOR. 
 
 work generally gave way to at supper 
 time. Sidney therefore waited until he 
 imagined that meal was over, before he 
 entered the house, in the hopes that Mr. 
 Winkelmann would have returned to rest 
 ere he did so. But this was not the case ; 
 for as if in very perverseness to the wishes 
 of his protege, Mr. Winkelmann, sat up 
 thaj; night rather later than usual, in order 
 to open the following proposition to him. 
 
 " See here, Sidney," said Mr. Winkel- 
 nian, as he took a letter from his pocket 
 and showed it to him by way of explanation 
 to his words, '' see here, you must leave 
 me for a month or so. A friend of mine 
 in Hertfordshire has written up to ask me 
 whether I can recommend any medical 
 man who would not object to take his 
 practice for a short time, as he is forced to 
 leave the country on pressing business. 
 Now I can spare you at present, and as 
 j-ou are perfectly calculated to undertake 
 this business, you had better do so. Dr. 
 Summers is handsome enough in pecuniary 
 considerations, therefore if you are inclined
 
 irM YOUNG DOCTOR. 249 
 
 to coincide with my plan, tell me so at 
 once." 
 
 Sidney felt an eager desire to accept the 
 proposal, in order that he might not soon 
 see Frances again, whom he now actually 
 feared to meet, lest she should have under- 
 stood his vain and presumptuous interpre- 
 tation of her emotion, and answered in the 
 affirmative, after defering, however, to Mr. 
 Winkelmann's wishes upon the subject. 
 
 ''Very well, then," repKed Mr. Winkel- 
 mann, "all's settled. Mind, Sid, Summers 
 expects you next Saturday. He resides 
 
 in D , a pleasant sort of village in the 
 
 south of Hertfordshire." 
 
 " D 1" echoed Sidney, in a startled 
 
 tone, " did you say, sir V 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Winkelmann, " what 
 is there astonishing in that ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing !" rejoined Sidney, " I was 
 
 not quite certain of the name — D ! 
 
 On Saturday then, I must leave you, 
 
 sir r 
 
 And on the following Saturday Sidney 
 Beckford accordingly left London for Hcrt-
 
 250 THE YOUNG DOCTOS. 
 
 fordshire, without calling on the Fieldingg, 
 though he mentioned to Harry, whom he 
 met the day before his departure, that he 
 was about to do so. 
 
 It was late in the evening when Sidney 
 
 arriyed in D , and there being scarcely 
 
 light enough to observe the place, he asked 
 the landlady of the village inn, at which 
 he stopped, to direct him to Dr. Summers', 
 and received the answer that he had but 
 to step over the way and he would find 
 himself opposite the very house he was en- 
 quiring for. Sidney did so ; and perceiv- 
 ing a large, old-fashioned, red brick build- 
 ing — knocked at the door — found its in- 
 mate to be the person he sought — and was, 
 in due time, admitted into the presence of 
 the doctor himself 
 
 Dr. Summers was a good-looking elderly 
 gentleman of sixty years of age and up- 
 wards ; affable and rather facetious in his 
 manners ; and though the first coup d'ml 
 he cast upon Sidney was, apparently, not a 
 very pleased one, after a few minutes' con- 
 versation with him, he led the way into an
 
 THE YOUN(i DOCTOR. 251 
 
 adjoining room ; introduced him to bis 
 wife, who appeared to be nothing better or 
 worse than an agreeable old gossip, and 
 then made him sit down to the supper, 
 seemingly spread out upon the table there, 
 in readiness for his arrival. 
 
 Dr. Summers was a pleasant companion^ 
 and Sidney Beckford soon feeling himself 
 pleased with his society, joined cordially 
 enough ia the discourse he endeavoured to 
 keep up — retailed the news of the moment, 
 and answered some home thrusts regarding 
 professional abilities, with a modest self- 
 possession of manner, that raised him 
 greatly in his host's estimation — who, at 
 length, began to like him, as much as he 
 had at first felt disposed to dislike 
 him. 
 
 " A clever young fellow," observed he 
 to his wife, in reference to Sidney, as the 
 latter bade them good night ; " but tre- 
 mendously ugly I Sufficiently so to frigliten 
 a child into fits — the women won't like him 
 at all." 
 
 *' I don't know th:it," replied Mrs. Sum-
 
 252 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 mers, " he has a peculiarly lamb-like geti-' 
 tleness about him, which is very winning. 
 I don't think he is so very plain when he 
 is speaking. At any rate, he is better than 
 the conceited young fop, whom Mr. Ring- 
 wood selected as your substitute the last 
 time you left home." 
 
 Five or six days elapsed, and Sidney 
 Beckford improved still more in Br. Sum- 
 mers' opinion ; and when the time arrived 
 
 for the latter to quit J) , he had gained 
 
 the entire confidence of him and his wife, 
 as well as the good will of the several 
 patients he visited 
 
 But then the manners of Sidney Beck- 
 ford, as a doctor, were remarkably good — 
 there being a great deal of patience and 
 gentleness, coupled with a calm firmness, 
 visible in them, which w:'nt a good way in 
 winning the confiilence of his patients — 
 while his conversation, when he happened 
 to engage in discourse with him, was pleas- 
 ing, yet never frivolous, and generally 
 suited to their several turns of mind. And 
 this latter stroke of policy was a wise one ;
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 253 
 
 for a man who sees his physician has just 
 views on such subjects as he is himself con- 
 versant with, will naturally suppose him to 
 have the same on everything relating to 
 his profession. Towards his professional 
 brethren, too, Sidney was as carefully 
 polite ; before them he never evinced an 
 ostentatious desire to set forth his own 
 abilities, or an obstinate adherence to his 
 own opinion, save where that opinion was 
 decidedly right, and then he stood his 
 ground firmly enough, against many who 
 wxre reputed wiser than himself Yet he 
 did so deferentially as it were —deferen- 
 tially towards young and old ; if he had 
 to expose an error of judgment in some of 
 his colleagues, he appeared to give out the 
 opinions he was advancing as what would 
 naturally and indubitably be their second 
 thoughts upon the matter, were they to 
 consider it more closely — never, meanwhile, 
 appealing to correct their ignorance, but 
 merely seeming to advance their further 
 conclusions; and thus he smoothed the 
 way to the retraction of their previous
 
 S54 THE YOU^^G DOC'foR. 
 
 ideas, won them over to his side ; and, at 
 the same time, made them his friends in- 
 stead of his enemies. It is impohtic for 
 a young man to be insolent, or even civilly 
 uncivil, in his eclair ciasement of another s 
 error ; and more particularly when it re- 
 gards an elderly man, who having gained 
 his position in the world with some time 
 and trouble, rarely forgives the exposure of 
 his ignorance, because he feels that there 
 is not much leisure for him to cover or re- 
 trieve it. Such a man would speak in no 
 very amicable terms of the beginner 
 in question, and by his expressed opi- 
 nion would materially injure him in his first 
 setting up in the world. No man spoke 
 ill of Sidney Beckford ; no man felt jealous 
 of him or disliked him ; for few seemed to 
 know how truly clever he was. and none 
 thought of rivalling him because he worked 
 his way upwards so very quietly that they 
 never suspected him of any further design 
 than getting a comfortable subsistence by 
 his profession. The old men approved of 
 him as a sensible young man, and lent him
 
 THE YOUNG DOCtOR. 255 
 
 a helping hand before many of his more 
 brilliantly talented friends, and the young 
 felt friendly towards him, because his 
 modest merit never, apparently, over- 
 shadowed theirs, setting him down, mean- 
 while, as a mere plodder, and prophesying 
 that he would only make a hard-working 
 practitioner. But not an every-day prac- 
 titioner did Sidney Beckford intend himself 
 to be ; he had devoted himself to his work 
 w^ith heart and soul, and proposed a goal 
 in the distance which he meant to attain, 
 to pass, and he followed up his intentions 
 untiringly. He was endued with that love 
 of his profession that so few men feel ; but 
 which when felt carries them to so high a 
 rank in it. He had had, moreover, and con- 
 tinued to have, that conscientiousness, 
 which all young beginners, perhaps, at 
 first possess, though it rarely follows them 
 through life ; he felt the responsibility his 
 patients cast upon him, and never willingly, 
 by one moment of carelessness or inatten- 
 tion, betrayed it. He watched a malady
 
 256 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 
 
 through its several stages with indefatiga- 
 ble patience, observed its symptoms 
 severally and comprehensively, was alive 
 to its slightest alterations, and rarely 
 acted upon imperfect conclusions, although, 
 from his natural penetration, he was a rapid 
 diviner, but followed up his guesses with 
 €onsecutive experiences. Everything was 
 done quietly by Sidney Beckford ; he spoke, 
 acted, and resolved quietly ; yet not the 
 less determined in thought and action was 
 he for that, and as he never provoked in- 
 vidious remarks b}'- a bustling exhibition of 
 Ins talents, he was more easily borne up 
 the stream of good fortune than others 
 who ventured to do so. A few of his 
 friends even now wondered at the position 
 he was gradually assuming, and at the good 
 repute in which they found his name in 
 those quarters where they would have 
 wished their own to be as respectfully men- 
 tioned ; yet still they did not appear to 
 fear his rivalship, and thus Sidney almost 
 imperceptibly progr. ssed on to the distinc-
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR 257 
 
 tion he aimed at, and gained the good will 
 of the many, as he at the present time 
 won that of Dr. Summers. 
 
 " Sir,^^ said Dr. Smnmer's man-servant, 
 one evening when Sidney was sitting down 
 to tea with the Doctor's lady, about a week 
 after the departure of the former from 
 
 D , ''sir, there is a boy below who says 
 
 that Job Thompson of the Lion Inn wishes 
 to see you ; I behove his youngest child has 
 burnt herself severely through an accident 
 with the fire." 
 
 And a few minutes after Sidney was on 
 his way towards the Lion Lm ; in a short 
 time he had arrived there, seen his little 
 patient, satisfied the anxious parents that 
 she had done herself no serious injury, and 
 was about to proceed homewards when the 
 tempting look of a newly arrived London 
 paper, which was lying on the table in the 
 public-room of the Inn, urged him to draw 
 a chair near the blazing fire on the hearth, 
 and to glance over its contents ere he did so. 
 
 For a short time Sidney sat by himself, 
 pleasantly ensconced in a large arm-chair
 
 258 THE YOUKG DOCTOR. 
 
 placed close to the fire-side, but before ten 
 minutes had elapsed since his entrance into 
 the apartment his solitude was disturbed 
 by the arrival of some one from without, 
 and soon the not very easily forgotten figure 
 of Lord Kavenshill entered, without his 
 however recognising or even glancing to- 
 wards Sidney Beckford. He was followed 
 by Job Thompson who appeared Kstening 
 to some orders he at that moment gave, 
 with deferential attention. 
 
 " Manage it somehow or other, send any- 
 where you like, but I am determined to 
 get to the Park to-night, though assuredly 
 I will not do so in that sorry conveyance of 
 yours, Thompson. Patch up the wheel — 
 I do not care how, only it must be righted, 
 and as I suppose that business will take full 
 twenty minutes to accomphsh bring me 
 some sort of refreshment in the mean- 
 while." 
 
 '' Good, my lord, it shall be done as 
 you desire," said Job Thompson, and he 
 left the room, and then Lord Ravenshill 
 for the first time bestowed a cursory glance
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOK. 259 
 
 upon its other occupant, whom he appeared 
 by his increased colour instantly to re- 
 cognise. Sidney, as his lordship's look 
 rested upon him, slightly inclined his head, 
 never pausing, however, in his perusal of 
 his paper, but Lord Ravenshill, though he 
 haughtily returned his bow, seemed em- 
 barrassed for a few minutes, till after too 
 or three uneasy strides up and down the 
 apartment, he, too, sat down near the fire, 
 and carelessly throwing his travelling cloak 
 from him, began alternately playing with 
 and teazing a large setter, that had followed 
 him into his present uncomfortable quarters. 
 The meeting was not an agreeable one for 
 either party ; and though each endeavoured 
 to appear forgetful of the other's presence 
 and after two or three minutes Sidney was 
 about to leave the room, when the arrival 
 of some fresh travellers relieved his own 
 and his companion's embarrassment, and 
 drew off their attention from themselves 
 and their respective employments. 
 
 The new comers were an old man and a 
 young girl, apparently of the lower order
 
 260 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 of people ; for the former's threadbare coat 
 and homely mien betokened him to be 
 such, while although his companion was 
 perhaps, through female vanity, more neatly 
 dressed, still her garments were made of 
 the very coarsest materials. A close straw- 
 bonnet, with a common lace veil tied over 
 it, partially concealed her extremely pretty 
 face, and a woollen shawl hung loosely upon 
 her dark coloured cotton dress, yet not- 
 withstanding the plainness of her attire, 
 there was something in the young girFs air 
 which seemed at variance with the idea of 
 that rank in Hfe to which it denoted her to 
 belong. Not the slightest appearance of 
 bashfulness or haste appeared in her man- 
 ner, as she led her severe looking, but evi- 
 dently infirm companion into the room in 
 which Sidney and Lord Ravenshill were 
 sitting ; nor did the faintest tinge of a 
 blush colour her cheek as she met their 
 glance of observation while she was slowly 
 looking round it, to see where she could 
 most comfortably place him ; a quiet dignity 
 alone attended the action that seemed
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. S6 I 
 
 above the reach of the plain artisan's or 
 farmer's daughter, which her dress marked 
 her to be. An expression of anxiety, how- 
 ever, seemed to pass over her features 
 when she perceived that the best places by 
 the fireside were already occupied by Sid- 
 ney and Lord Ravenshill, and the former 
 noticing this, rose from his seat, advanced 
 towards her aged companion, and offered 
 it to him as being perfectly secure from 
 draughts and other inconveniences. The 
 old man he addressed glanced up at him 
 w^ith a dull, listless look, and muttered some 
 broken w^ords of thanks, v;hile the young 
 girl turned towards him with an inexpres- 
 sibly sweet smile, and then leading Jier 
 parent to the chair which Sidney had just 
 vacated, she placed him in it, arranged a 
 stool for his feet, and then took another 
 seat, and sat down by his side. 
 
 She had not as yet taken off her bonnet 
 or shawl ; evidently she did not wish to do 
 so, for she kept them on till the heat of the 
 room became apparently very oppressive 
 to her ; but at length she was compelled
 
 262 THE YOITKG DOCTOR. 
 
 to throw them aside ajid then the delicate 
 beauty of her features became clearly visi- 
 ble to the admiring glances of Sidney and 
 Lord Ravenshill. An exquisitely shaped 
 head, a slender throat, a small oval face 
 whose clear oKve complexion accorded well 
 with her large lustrous black eyes, and jetty 
 braids of brilliant hair, a straight, prettily 
 formed nose, full small red lips, and a round 
 dimpled chin, such were the personal 
 attractions the stranger girl possessed when 
 her heavy looking bonnet and veil were re- 
 moved from their appropriate place, and 
 laid on the table beside her. Yet no con- 
 sciousness of their value appeared either in 
 her look or gestures; she maintained a quiet, 
 simple dignity of expression which at once 
 stamped her appearance as a peculiarly 
 striking one. That Lord Ravenshill thought 
 it so, there could be no doubt, for his 
 eyes scarcely wandered from the younggirl's 
 face, from the moment its extreme loveli- 
 ness was revealed to him, and even the sage 
 Sidney could not forbear glancing towards 
 her once or twice, as he sought for another
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 263 
 
 chair, and seated himself at some little dis- 
 tance from her. 
 
 Five minutes after these arrangements 
 were made a servant entered with some 
 viands for Lord Ravenshill, and the fair 
 stranger took the opportunity of asking 
 whether they w^ere far from Brook Cottage. 
 
 " Brook Cottage/' repKed the girl, " ye'r 
 three miles and more from Brook Cottage." 
 
 " Shall we go thither, to-night, father V 
 said the girl, " will aunt expect us?" 
 
 '' Whether she does or does not I cannot 
 go on further," said the old man feebly, — 
 " I must stop here if there is any sort of 
 accommodation for us — ask if there is, 
 Annie." 
 
 And Annie, as her parent called her, left 
 .the room with the domestic, in order to 
 make arrangements for their stay, then re- 
 turned, and once more sat down by her 
 parent's side. 
 
 Soon after, supper was brought in for the 
 new comers, and after partaking of some 
 refreshment, the old man seemed to recover
 
 2o4 THE YOLTNG DOCTOR. 
 
 from the fatigue he had felt when he 
 first entered the room, and turning round 
 to Sidney, as if for the first time fully 
 appreciating his politeness in offering him 
 his seat, said, as he leaned back in his chair; 
 " Invalided in some degree by recent par- 
 alysis — afflicted sometimes, as I am too, 
 with the rheumatism, 'tis a matter of great 
 moment to me to find a comfortable seat 
 by a good fireside, and you nmst allow me 
 to thank you once more for your kindness 
 in relinquishing that one to me." 
 
 Sidney said a few words in reply, and 
 the old man diverged into other topics of 
 conversation with him readily and easily, 
 but in somewhat of an abrupt and plain 
 spoken manner, while his daughter, after 
 drawing a little work basket from her arm, 
 took out a small strip of white muslin, and 
 begun to hem it, bending her eyes in the 
 mean time most studiously upon her work 
 to avoid the very visible and admiring 
 glances of Lord Ravenshill, who, no longer 
 engaged in demolishing the refreshment 
 before him, seemed not able to find a better
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 265 
 
 employment than that of silently criticising 
 and admiring Annie's personal appearance. 
 
 Thus a few minutes passed, Sidney and 
 the old man, whom he took to be a well 
 educated farmer, continued to converse, 
 Annie to sew, and Lord Ravenshill to 
 observe her with admiration and attention, 
 till Job Thompson came in, and addressing 
 the latter by his title informed him that his 
 carriage was righted, and ready to proceed 
 to the Park. 
 
 The intelligence obviously produced some 
 singular emotion in the mind of the young 
 girl, for as his lordship's name was uttered, 
 she half started, suddenly raised her eyes 
 to his face with a look of wonder, then, 
 meeting his, bent them down again upon 
 her work with steady earnestness. But as 
 Lord Ravenshill prepared to leave the 
 room, Sidney Beckford noticed that when 
 she imagined he was not observing her, 
 she again lifted her eyes to his countenance, 
 and seemed to examine it with minute 
 attention, while a smile of evident amuse- 
 
 VOL. 1. N
 
 266 THE YOUKG DOCTOE. 
 
 ment shed a faint light over her usually 
 composed features. 
 
 He could not account for this, for there 
 was evidently nothing in Lord Ravenshill's 
 person or manners at all calculated to 
 excite ridicule, and why the mere mention 
 of his name produced the impression it did 
 upon an apparently utter stranger seemed 
 to him rather singular. Sidney however 
 did not ponder long on so trivial an occur- 
 rence, as he had many other things in con- 
 nection with his present stay at D to 
 
 think of, and leaving the room at the same 
 time as his lordship, he mounted his horse, 
 and returned home.
 
 THE YOUNO DOCTOR. 267 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 I beard the voice of days gone by ! 
 
 Moore, 
 
 " Good gracioiis, what is the matter ?" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Summers, one day as she sat 
 quietly knitting a huge worsted nightcap, 
 for her dear doctor in her neat upper 
 drawing room. " What is the matter,"' 
 cried she, as a loud and sudden noise in 
 the street startled her from her occupation, 
 and hastil}; rising from her chair, she hur- 
 ried towards the window to see its cause ; 
 but ere she could satisfy her curiosity, one 
 of her servants came running into the 
 room wath a look of terror. 
 
 " Think ma'am !" she exclaimed to the 
 astonished Mrs. Summers, " only think ! 
 N 2
 
 268 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 Lady Chillingworth is killed, and Dr. 
 Beckford is bringing her dead body into 
 the parlour !" 
 
 " What do you say, Nelly V cried her 
 mistress, " the Marchioness dead ! and in 
 my parlour ! Good heavens ! Are you 
 speaking the truth, girl V 
 
 " Yes, yes," returned the servant, " and 
 the Dowager Marchioness, too ; there 
 they are — both dead — and Dr. Beckford 
 looks as pale as a ghost. It is a dreadful 
 thing to happen when master is away, 
 ma'am — what shall we do T' 
 
 But Mrs. Summers did not heed her, for 
 instantly hastening down stairs, she ran 
 towards the room into which the maid told 
 her the Marchioness had been conveyed, 
 and the latter after a moment's hesitation 
 as to what she should do, followed her 
 mistress's example. 
 
 When they entered that apartment, 
 Sidney Beckford was half kneeling down, 
 half standing near the reclining figure of a 
 lady, who lay upon the sofa at its further
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 269 
 
 end, apparently perfectly without life, for 
 her lips, cheeks, and brow were colourless, 
 and she did not even seem to breathe. An 
 extremely aged, but pleasing looking 
 woman, clad in rich dark garments, stood 
 close to them, with one of the lady's hands 
 in hers, and at the moment Mrs. Summers 
 approached them, with offers of assistance, 
 she was addressing Sidney. 
 
 '• There is no danger, is there V she 
 asked, " is this a trance or but a fainting 
 fitr 
 
 '' But a fainting fit," echoed Sidney, in a 
 strangely, tremulous voice, " she has re- 
 ceived no injury — she breathes freer even 
 now." 
 
 And he bent his eyes upon the pale, yet 
 beautiful face of the lady, whose head lay 
 upon his shoulder, and his whole frame 
 seemed to tremble as he did so. He 
 turned away too, a moment after, as if the 
 sight of her countenance unnerved him in 
 some degree, till as if striving to overcome 
 the singular emotion that possessed him, he 
 took some cold water from a glass ewer on
 
 270 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 the table, and threw it oyer her fair tem- 
 ples. The elder lady noticed his agitation, 
 and ascribing it to the danger of his patient, 
 eagerly questioned hira again. 
 
 " You look terrified, you do not tell the 
 truth, sir,'' she said, " for God's sake say 
 whether she is really injured or not." 
 
 Sidney raised the fainting lady, who was 
 now recovering, in his arms. 
 
 *' Your ladyship is needlessly alarmed," 
 he answered, " in less than five minutes 
 the ]\Iarchioness will, herself, be able to 
 assure you to the contrary." 
 
 "I am not hurt, mother," said Lady 
 Chillingworth, raising herself from the 
 couch, " I am only frightened — do not fear 
 for me." 
 
 And then bending her eyes upon the 
 circle of persons round her, she at length 
 encountered those of Sidney, " It is you, T 
 Jiave to thank, sir, for my extrication from 
 my perilous position in yonder street, is it 
 not," said she ; " and you, my dear madam," 
 she continued, addressing Mrs. Summers,
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOK. 271 
 
 'for thus kindly allowing me to trespasg 
 on your domestic privacy." 
 
 " Oh ! do not mention that,'' answered 
 Mrs. Summers. " I feel happy to think 
 my house is of any use to your ladyship, 
 and I am only sorry that my husband 
 should not have been here to offer you his 
 professional services." 
 
 " Your son," replied the marchioness, 
 smiling; "your son has acted very efficiently 
 on the present occasion — considering," 
 added she, with a smile, " considering the 
 little skill required in bringing a fainting 
 w^oman to herself." 
 
 " My son V repeated Mrs. Summers, '* I 
 beg your ladyship's pardon, but Dr. Beck- 
 ford is not my son." 
 
 *' Not your son 1" hastily observed the 
 Dowager Lady Chillingworth, and she 
 fixed her large, steady, grey eyes upon 
 Sidney, then added, " No, he cannot be so; 
 I wonder, Amelia, that you ever imagined 
 he was — there is not the slightest point of 
 resemblance between Mrs. Summers and 
 the gentleman before us,"
 
 272 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 "Mrs. Summers must excuse the mis- 
 take/' replied the marchioness, as she 
 carelessly turned towards a looking-glass, 
 and arranged her long golden curls with a 
 dehcate white hand, that she ungloved for 
 the purpose ; " but Mrs. Summers has a 
 son, I believe V 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered that lady, " and 
 in the medical profession, too ; only he is 
 in the Company's service — 1 have not seen 
 him for years." 
 
 " Indeed — that is distressing, '^ rejoined 
 Lady Chillingworth, in a tone of polite 
 indifference ; and glancing towards the 
 window, in another moment she said, " I 
 wonder how they will manage matters 
 about my unfortunate carriage ?" Then 
 turning to Sidney, who instantly obeyed 
 her request, she added, " Will this gentle- 
 man oblige me by telling my servants that 
 if the horses are injured, and cannot pro- 
 ceed, I must have others from the George 
 Inn "? We trespass greatly on your hospi- 
 tality, I know, Mrs. Summers," continued 
 she, addressing the mistress of the house
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 273 
 
 again ; " but I hope you will allow us to 
 stay here t^il the chariot is ready." 
 
 "Trespass!" echoed Mrs. Summers, "I 
 am delighted to have your ladyship as a 
 visitor." 
 
 And then, with a volubility, perfectly 
 marvellous, which was, however, partially 
 chastened by a wholesome awe of their 
 rank, she proceeded to entertain her guests 
 with manifold enquires after their health, 
 spirits, and fright ; they, meanwhile, 
 hearing, and answering her with the most 
 exemplary patience. This rather harass- 
 ing conversation did not continue long 
 however, for in a very short time after his 
 departure, Sidney Beckford returned from 
 the errand on which he had been sent, and 
 advancing towards Lady Chilhngworch 
 said, 
 
 '^ Your ladyship's servants have antici- 
 pated your wishes — they are harnessing 
 fresh horses even now to the carriage." 
 
 As faintly and slowly, as a child speaks, 
 in half-hushed whispers, did Sidney Beck- 
 ford utter the above words, and the siu-
 
 274 THE YOUNG DOCTOR* 
 
 gular tone in which he clothed them 
 seemed to attract the attention of the 
 marchioness and her mother-in-law, for 
 they both looked up, and bent their eyes 
 curiously upon him for a minute or two. 
 The Dowager Lady Chilling worth glanced 
 at him earnestly and steadily ; Lady 
 Chilling worth herself half fearfully, and 
 with a sudden change of countenance. 
 The young man was standing before her 
 in an attitude of deep humility, with his 
 eyes bent towards the ground ; the light 
 from the door and window of the apart- 
 ment enveloping his figure, revealed its 
 full deformity, as well as the extreme 
 plainness of his features, which seemed 
 chisselled out so firmly and distinctly, that 
 you might have counted their every line, 
 easily and well ; while, as if to add to their 
 native ugliness, when thus scanned by the 
 beautiful Lady Chillingworth, that peculiar 
 lead- coloured pallor, which arises from 
 excessive ill-health, or overwhelming emo- 
 tion, suddenly settled upon them. 
 
 The marchioness looked at Sidney for a
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 275 
 
 moraent or two earnestly enough, the pas- 
 sive countenance before her never changing 
 in its expression all the while : then slowly, 
 as if delivered from some oppressive 
 anxiety, a smile of relief dawned over her 
 features, and she thanked him for the 
 service he had done her. But not so 
 quickly did the Dov^^ager Lady Chilling- 
 worth withdraw the peculiar look of 
 curiosity, with which she regarded Sidney ; 
 for, from the time her attention was first 
 directed towards him, her quiet, watchful 
 eye followed his every movement in the 
 room, while the mind within it seemed to 
 listen to, and comment upon each word 
 that he uttered. Calling him, at length, to 
 her, she said, 
 
 '' I believe I have slightly injured this 
 arm. Dr. Beckford ; my wrist particularly, 
 which, from a sprain I received some 
 months back, is apt to become inflamed ; 
 if ^''ou could prescribe some cooling lotion 
 for it, I should feel obliged." 
 
 Sidney went to her side, and as she 
 ungloved one of her hands, and showed
 
 276 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 him the bruise alluded to, he said, with a 
 smile, 
 
 " That is a very slight injury, indeed — 
 it will be well in a day or two without 
 any outward application." 
 
 Here Mrs. Summers looked slightly 
 astonished at this summary mode of dis- 
 posing of a well-to-do patient's complaints, 
 and seemed incUned to give him a hint, 
 not to demur about making the most of it, 
 when the dowager herself forwarded her 
 views as effectually as she could have done, 
 by saying, pettishly, 
 
 " But old persons must take care of 
 themselves. Dr. Beckford ; and unless I 
 have some sort of prescription for it, I 
 know, from experience, my wrist will swell, 
 and become troublesome to me. J should 
 wish you to send up something of the sort 
 to Chillingworth House, this very evening, 
 and call there to-morrow yourself. You 
 wdll then see my predictions verified — this 
 hand will appear inflamed." 
 
 " T will do as your ladyship desires me,''
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOK. 277 
 
 answered Sidney, in a rather undecided 
 tone of voice. 
 
 " I shall be at home in the morning, Dr, 
 Beckford," rejoined the dowager ; then 
 turning towards the daughter-in-law, she 
 added, " There is Joseph waiting to tell us 
 the carriage is ready, Amelia. Mrs. Sum- 
 mers, you must again allow me to express 
 my thanks for your kindness in sheltering 
 us during this accident — as the mar- 
 chioness does, too, I am certain." 
 
 " Most assuredly," said Lady ChilHng- 
 worth, rising, and wrapping herself in an 
 elegant travelling cloak ; " believe me, I will 
 take some future opportunity to express 
 them more fully." 
 
 And bowing their adieus to Mrs. Sum- 
 mers, the two ladies, followed by Sidney, 
 sojn reached the chariot, which had now 
 drawn up before the door, and then bidding 
 him good-evening, drove off towards the 
 Park. 
 
 " Come, Dr. Beckford," said Mrs. Sum- 
 mers, half an hour after the above incident 
 .had disturbed the monoiony of village life
 
 278 THE YOUKG DOCTOR. 
 
 at D , " the dinner is read}^ let us 
 
 adjourn to the dining-room. Old Lady 
 Chillingworth," continued she, as she took 
 her place at the head of the table, and put 
 on a pair of silver spectacles in order that 
 she might more skilfully carve the joint of 
 meat placed before her — " Old Lady Chill- 
 ingworth is very whimsical, at least so my 
 husband says, and I am glad therefore you 
 at last humoured her present fancy for a 
 lotion, and promised to visit the park to- 
 morrow, else w^e might have lost her 
 patronage, which, in a village like this, is 
 valued wherever it is bestowed." 
 
 Sidney at this provident, though gently 
 expressed piece of advice, could not for- 
 bear smiling, as he quietly looked down on 
 his plate; Mrs. Summers continued — 
 
 " Indeed, I think it only due to the 
 common circumstances of the case that you 
 should call to enquire after the health of 
 their ladyships ; I intend to leave my card 
 at the park, it would be unneighbourly not 
 to do so, although Heaven knows ! they 
 w^ould not think of visiting me, supposing
 
 THE YOUKG DOCTOR 279 
 
 the same accident happened in my family, 
 even if a call from them would save my 
 life. Well, the aristocracy are a heartless 
 set after all, Dr. Beckford — may I trouble 
 you for a potatoe '?" 
 
 Sidney helped her to the vegetable she 
 required ; but made no comment on her 
 observation. 
 
 " A hollow, heartless set," again ejacu- 
 lated Mrs. Summers, once more addressing 
 her companion, as if wishing to draw him 
 into conversation. "To see that Marchioness 
 of ChiUingworth driving about as proud 
 and as happy looking as if she had never 
 done an}' thing one might censure, when 
 every one knows her excessive cruelty 
 caused her eldest son to drown himself in 
 the lea at Brighton. Ah ! you look sur- 
 prised, Dr. Beckford ; no doubt you cannot 
 imagine so unnatural a mother — neverthe- 
 less, the tale is a true one. Yes, it is said 
 she thoroughly hated the poor little fellow, 
 because he was deformed — ahem ! he was 
 not quite as handsome as his brother." 
 Here Mrs. Summers glanced towards
 
 280 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 
 
 the fire-place with a sHght increase of 
 colour on her cheek, as the idea occurred 
 to her that Sidney might take offence, or 
 at least feel hurt at her latter words ; then 
 she added after a moment's pause — " It is 
 supposed he took her unkindness so much 
 to heart that he went and threw himself 
 off the pier, when they were staying at 
 Brighton during the season, for one night 
 he was missed, and never afterwards found. 
 To be sure, they did not recover the body, 
 but many accidents might have prevented 
 that, you know. Good heavens ! with the 
 fate of that boy upon her conscience how 
 the woman can laugh and talk as she does, 
 1 know not — what say you, Dr. Beckford '?" 
 
 Sidney did not immediately give her a 
 reply, till seeing that she evidently w&,ited 
 for one, he said — 
 
 " People exaggerate a great deal, and 
 slanders are easily circulated, are you cer- 
 tain she did treat the child so very un- 
 kindly r 
 
 " Certain !" echoed Mrs. Summers, with 
 a look of absolute contempt, '' why how
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 281 
 
 could such a report be put out unless there 
 was good foundation for it 1 besides the 
 flight of the boy clearly proves it to be 
 truth. No, no, there are abundant proofs 
 that she never cared for him ; she used to 
 pet up his younger brother, but rarely ad- 
 mitted little Horace into her presence. 
 Tender-hearted, too. as you would imagine 
 her at first sight, she prejudiced his father 
 against him, and the spirit of the boy was 
 so cowed by .their unkindness that at last 
 they could make nothing of him — he be- 
 came almost an idiot — and then as the 
 finishing stroke to their conduct they de- 
 prived him of all means of education — 
 neglected him entirely " 
 
 " Good God ! how can people utter such 
 vile slanders T exclaimed Sidney, suddenly 
 rising from his chair, with a violent in- 
 crease of colour on his cheek ; then seeing 
 that lady thoroughly astonished at this 
 burst of uncalled for irritability, he added 
 after a moment's pause — " Who put out 
 these reports about Lady Chilling worth.
 
 282 THE YOUNG DOCTOE. 
 
 Mrs. Summers ? I can assure you they 
 are entirely fals3." 
 
 " You can," returned Mrs. Summers, 
 incredulously, " and upon what authority, 
 pray. Dr. Beckford 1" 
 
 " Upon my own, ray dear madam," re- 
 plied Sidney, after a moment's pause, " I 
 knew the family well at the time the boy's 
 loss took place. Depend upon it, if he 
 threw himself into the sea he did so in a 
 fit of unreasonable passion. He was not 
 treated in the manner you have so cruelly 
 described." 
 
 Mrs. Summers for a moment was aston- 
 ished into the belief of what her companion 
 asserted ; but soon, how^ever, her old and 
 perhaps well founded prejudices against 
 Lady Chillingworth returned in full force, 
 and she rejoined — 
 
 "Well, to be sure! and yet I can 
 scarcely beheve you. Dr. Beckford — the 
 child must have had some cause for leaving: 
 his home, you know. Perhaps, my dear 
 sir, although you w' ere well acquainted with
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 283 
 
 the family, you were not with her lady- 
 ship's conduct towards little Horace. Why, 
 every one knew, and to the present day 
 remembers the excessive dislike she bore 
 her eldest son and her over indulgent 
 fondness for his younger brother, now that 
 scamp of a Lord Ravenshill, whose ill deeds 
 are in everybody's mouth." 
 
 " Are they V said Sidney. 
 
 " Of course they are,'' answered Mrs. 
 Summers, " have you not heard of them ? 
 All the world knows what a worthless 
 character he is — a neck or nothing sports- 
 man, a gambler, an idle, extravagant, dis- 
 sipated young man — that is what he is. 
 And yet for all that they say he will soon 
 marry Miss Childe, the rich brewer's 
 daughter — " 
 
 " What Jonathan Childe's heiress ?" in- 
 terrupted Sidney. 
 
 " Even so !" replied Mrs. Summers with 
 an awful shake of her head. "Can you 
 conceive how the girls of the present day 
 marry such good-for-nothing men '? I don't 
 believe his lordship has ever seen his
 
 284 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 future bride, since she was a mere child, a 
 sort of babj-friend to his sister, Lady 
 Florence. Eut what matters that? 'tis a 
 good match, for the Lovaines are terribly 
 in want of money, and old Jonathan will 
 dower his daughter like a princess, so they 
 say. Well, I wish his lordship joy, — in my 
 time they married for love. Ah ! well-a- 
 day. Dr. Beckford, he will break his mother "s 
 heart some day or other with his wild 
 doings — always supposing she has a heart 
 that can break, which, however, I should 
 say she had not, considering her treatment 
 of little Horace. What a life that woman 
 ought to lead, with the death of that child 
 upon her conscience!" 
 
 " My dear madam," rejoined Sidney, 
 wath considerable effort, " perhaps she may 
 yet believe in his existence. He ma}" not 
 be dead.'^ 
 
 " Not dead !" contemptuously repeated 
 Mrs. Summers ; ''why. Dr. Beckford, 
 where is your usual good sense, pray? If 
 little Horace did not drown himself at 
 Brighton, what has become of him ? He
 
 THE TOUKG DOCTOR. 285 
 
 cannot be alive, else he would claim the in- 
 heritance of his forefathers, for when his 
 parents lost him, he was old enough to 
 know the advantages he possessed over his 
 brother bj birthright, or, at all events, he 
 must know them now ; and do you think 
 any man, in his right senses, would forego 
 them for the sake of the brother for whom 
 he was disliked 1 Nonsense, he must be 
 dead — there is not a word to say on the 
 other side of the question." 
 
 And Mrs. Summers shook her head au- 
 thoritatively at Sidney, as if she were en- 
 tirely convinced such was the case, and 
 that, consequently, he must be sure of it, 
 too, and by Sidney's not replying to her long 
 arguments, his silence seemed to allow that 
 he was vanquished by her reasonings. 
 Soon after, however, he said, as he drew 
 his chair near the fire-place, whither jA'Irs. 
 Summers had retreated to sip her wine 
 during the desert, and warm her feet by 
 placing them on the old fashioned brass 
 fender —
 
 286 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 " And Lady Florence Lovaine — the 
 sister — I often heard a friend of mine speak 
 of her — is she ahve V 
 
 "Alive!" repeated Mrs. Summers, who 
 most thoroughly loved a gossip about other 
 people's affairs, " alive ! yes, and grown up 
 into a lovely girl. But I am told she is 
 dreadfully high-spirited, and it is whis- 
 pered now and then that the Marchioness 
 is not very fond of her — perhaps, as she is 
 still a handsome woman herself, she may 
 feel jealous of her daughter's beauty, for 
 the Lady Florence is extremely beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 " But wilful," observed Sidney. 
 
 " Oh yes ! very wilful, indeed," continued 
 Mrs. Summers ; " the Lovaines are a ter- 
 ribly wilful set. Then they say she is in 
 love with her cousin Maurice Lovaine, who 
 is just such another scapegrace as her 
 brother." 
 
 " In love with him V said Sidnev, and 
 he seemed disposed to lengthen the col- 
 loquy, much to the surprise and satisfac-
 
 THE YOlT^^G DOCTOI?. 287 
 
 tion of Mrs. Summers, who had never be- 
 fore seen the very clever and grave Dr. 
 Beckford accessible to the tittle-tattle of 
 village scandal — " In love with him ?' 
 
 " Of course,"' replied Mrs. Summers, 
 " that is a well-known fact, although she 
 is engaged to Yiscount Marchmont." 
 
 '' Through her own wishes V asked 
 Sidney. 
 
 " Well, no," answered Mr. Summers ; 
 " they say it is the Marchioness who will 
 not let her have her own way there ; she 
 does not want to marr}^ him." 
 
 "Strange scandal!" said Sidney, rising 
 from his chair. " I hope, my dear Mrs. 
 Summers, the world does not beheve half 
 of what it hears, for if it did, each and all 
 of us, I am afraid, would be reckoned very 
 incorrigible sinners. See now, how falsely 
 they have abused poor Lady Chillingworth 
 for her supposed unkindness towards a boy, 
 whom no one knew much about." 
 
 " Well, but," returned Mrs. Summers, 
 " making evei-y allowance for exaggeration, 
 Dr. Beckford, still I do think there was
 
 288 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 some foundation for them. She could not 
 have been other than ver}^ unkind to the 
 child, before people would have dared to 
 talk so much about her." 
 
 "Idle reports are, at times, set afloat 
 without any cause for them," slowly ob- 
 served Sidney, as Mrs. Summers finished 
 her remarks ; " but a person of your good 
 sense, my dear madam, could easily, I 
 should say, distinguish fiction from truth, 
 and see through the malicious intentions of 
 those people who first sent them abroad — 
 as you, no doubt, will soon clearly discover 
 the utter falsehood of the one we have 
 been discussino'." 
 
 o 
 
 And so saying, Sidney concluded the 
 conversation by leaving the room, in order 
 to glance over the business of the day, 
 apart from Mrs. Summers's gossiping ob- 
 servations.
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 289 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 In every state of human affairs an under current is 
 flowing in an opposite direction from that of the 
 surface. 
 
 Alison, 
 
 In compliance with the wish of the Dowa- 
 ger Lady Chillingworth, Sidney Beckford 
 called at the Park about two o'clock in the 
 following afternoon, which was the exact 
 time her ladyship, in parting, specified for 
 his visit. 
 
 Chillingworth House was a magnificent 
 modern mansion of vast dimensions, its 
 grounds were extensive, its site well chosen, 
 
 YOL. I.
 
 290 THE YOUNG DOCTOE. 
 
 and the first view of the building that the 
 visitor caught, after a lengthy ride through 
 tlie spacious Park couhl not fail to impress 
 him with loftj ideas of the wealth and im- 
 portance of the noble family to whom it 
 belonged. 
 
 Perhaps it was thoughts such as these 
 that made Sidney Beckford pause, for a 
 moment, in apparent meditation as he 
 reined in his horse before its handsome 
 portico ; perhaps, he was measuring the 
 vast riches a dwelling like the one he then 
 gazed upon must necessarily intimate its 
 proprietor to possess, and wishing that 
 something of his stores had been shed on 
 him, to whom Nature had denied so much. 
 Be it how it may, his eye seemed to view 
 the velvet lawns, and beautiful scenery 
 around him, eagerly and intently, as if 
 curiously examining their most prominent 
 features, till after some minutes' earnest 
 absorption in the loveliness of the land- 
 scape on which he looked, he glanced to- 
 wards the house itself, and arousing him- 
 self from his reverie, hastily dismounted.
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 291 
 
 Accosted by one of the domestics loiter- 
 ing in the entrance hall, he requested to 
 see the Dowager Marchioness, and was im- 
 mediately led up the grand staircase by 
 the footman he addressed, and shown into 
 the presence of her ladyship, who w^as sit- 
 ting alone in a large but quiet looking 
 apartment, opening into a long picture- 
 gallery, which he and his conductor were 
 obliged to traverse in order to reach it. 
 
 The Dowager Lady Chillingworth w^as 
 apparently a person of great consequence, 
 in her own estimation, as well as in that of 
 other people, for she be Cray ed a freezing 
 dignity of address in the few words with 
 which she greeted Sidney, on his entrance, 
 that seemed peculiarly adapted to impress 
 his mind with a full sense of the irreat 
 honour she did him in thus requiring his 
 attendance. The pettish, hurried manner 
 which had characterised her behaviour of 
 the day before, was entirely gone, an air 
 of stately condescension had taken its 
 place, yet Sidney Beckford appeared to 
 2
 
 292 THE YOUiNG DuCTOR. 
 
 skiiid in no awe of the superior rank of bis 
 new patroness ; for in less than two 
 minutes after his lirst sight of her ladyship, 
 the slightly troubled look which his coun- 
 tenance had worn, as he entered the house, 
 vanished, and he was as quietly self-pos- 
 sessed as usual. Perhaps, the Dowager's 
 hauteur contributed to his regaining his 
 usual composure in some sUght degree, as 
 Sidney's spirit always rose firmly enough 
 against any undue assumption of superiority 
 in those who were more wealthy or more 
 high born than himself. 
 
 He listened attentively to Lady Chilhng- 
 worth's aggravated account of the pain she 
 suffered in her injured hand ; but notwith- 
 standing all her endeavours to make the 
 hurt she had received appear a serious one, 
 he could not be made to consider it so ; 
 nevertheless, he felt himself obliged to 
 comply with her ladyship's request, that he 
 would again visit the Fark, in order to see 
 how she progressed, as she obstinately as- 
 sured him, that she was certain there was
 
 THE YOUNG DHCTOR. 29^^ 
 
 some latent inflammation about her wrist 
 which would sooner or later show itself. 
 Then, as if in pitying encouragement to 
 the young practitioner, whom she thus 
 favoured with her confidence in his skill, 
 in the same proudly, condescending voice, 
 she made a few random observations on 
 the weather, and on the beauties of the 
 country, also asking, perhaps to vary the 
 monotony of these remarks, if he had been 
 much of a wanderer in foreign countries, 
 
 and whether he had ever been to D 
 
 before '? To all of which questions and 
 observations, Sidney Beckford answered 
 negatively or affirmatively as the case re~ 
 quired, and was, at length, dismissed from 
 her ladyship s presence, with a gracious in- 
 timation, that in less than two days she 
 should expect to see him again. 
 
 That same evening saw Lord Ravens- 
 hill — the thoughtless heir of the splendid 
 ziiansion Sidney had visited in the morning 
 - — taking a solitary ride through some 
 green lanes about three miles to the west 
 of D Slowly, however, as he urged
 
 294 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 his horse onwards, he yet seemed to have 
 a determinate object in view, for his course 
 -was strictly guided towards the left, till 
 after passing through several bye-roads, 
 which led in that direction, he came to a 
 very narrow and secluded one, and up this 
 he proceeded, at a still more leisurely pace, 
 in a straight line to its very end. Here he 
 reined in his horse a little towards the side 
 of the road, and bent a look of evident 
 surprise upon the garden of a small, neatly 
 built cottage near him. The prettily 
 arranged spot of ground he looked at, was 
 not large, yet, filled as it was with beds of 
 roses, wall-flowers, clove-pinks, and here 
 and there a few old stumps of trees 
 covered with honey-suckle — it seemed 
 worth a moment's glance. But Lord 
 RavenshilFs attention did not appear to be 
 attracted towards its rustic beauty ; his 
 eyes were fixed upon two figures that he 
 discerned seated within a pleasant-looking 
 jessamine bower at the nearest end of the 
 garden. One of them he instantly recog- 
 nised as Annie, the young girl he had met
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 295 
 
 at the Lion Inn some time back ; the 
 other was an elderlj woman, of simple 
 appearance, and whom, by her dress, he 
 judged to belong to the same station of life 
 as her companion. 
 
 At the moment liis lordship first ob- 
 served them, they were seated before what 
 he supposed to be their evening meal ; for 
 a bright pewter tea-pot, and a plate of 
 bread, with a dish of ripe cherries lay 
 spread on the table near them, although it 
 M^as not yet six o'clock, and the sun was 
 shining brilliantly, Annie and her friend 
 soon perceived Lord Ravenshill, and both 
 gave him a slight glance of curiosity ; but 
 their interest was not long-lived, for after 
 their first cursory survey of his person, 
 they took no further notice of him, and 
 proceeded with their tea as before. His 
 lordship, however, for some reason he could 
 not well define at that moment, did not like 
 the idea of having been remarked exami- 
 ning them so unceremoniously as he was 
 doing, poor and simple though they were, 
 and he again drew their attention towards
 
 296 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 himself, by asking them, as an excuse, for 
 his observant attitude and look, whether 
 they knew the way to Sir John Farnbo- 
 rough's 1 
 
 " What did the gentleman say V said 
 the elderly woman, in a very loud voice, in 
 reply to his enquiry ; " what did he say, 
 Annie V 
 
 " He asked the way to Sir John Farn- 
 borough's, aunt,'' answered Annie, without 
 once bending her eyes towards Lord 
 Ravenshill. 
 
 " Ah ! I am so deaf I can't hear at all, 
 sir," almost screamed the old woman. 
 " You want the road to Sir John's 1 
 You've come far out of your way then ; 
 you must take the lane near Dick the 
 chandler's — that'll take you to it." 
 
 " Thanks," rephed his lordship, and he 
 prepared to move off, when, as he adjusted 
 his hat, which the branch of a neighbour- 
 ing tree had slightly displaced, he hap- 
 pened to drop his riding whip. Glancing 
 down at it for a moment, he prepared to 
 dismount to pick it up ; then, as if sud-
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 297 
 
 clenly re-considering the matter, he sat 
 still in his saddle, and called out, 
 
 "Will either of you good people have 
 the charity to save me the trouble of dis- 
 mounting, by picking up that troublesome 
 article there V 
 
 " What does he say V again cried the 
 old woman. 
 
 " He wishes one of us to pick up his 
 riding- whip, aunt Bridget/' quietly rejoined 
 Annie, with a peculiar smile. 
 
 " Do it, Annie,'' suddenly remarked her 
 father, at that moment appearing at the 
 cottage door, in company with another 
 person, whom his lordship, with a strange 
 feeling of vexation, discerned to be 
 Sidney Beckford. "Do it,^nnie," he said, 
 and the same singular smile which had 
 played round his daughter's lips, dwelt on 
 his own ; " those who humble themselves, 
 shall be exalted, my child." 
 
 And the young girl, in obedience to her 
 parent's commands, rose from her chair — 
 unlatched the garden gate — stepped out 
 into the road, picked up the whip, and
 
 298 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 
 
 presented it to Lord Ravenshill. His lord- 
 ship took it with a smile, and said, care- 
 lessly, 
 
 " I did not think I should trouble so 
 fair a hand to give it to me, else I might 
 not have preferred my request/' 
 
 "Better that youth should wait upon 
 your lordship than age," rejoined Annie, 
 with a touch of indignation in her voice, 
 as she glanced back towards her father 
 and aunt, and retreating within the garden 
 gate, she latched it without remarking the 
 glance of surprise her words elicited from 
 Lord Ravenshill, or the quiet look of 
 amusement of Sidney Beckford when he 
 met his lordship's, as it followed her re- 
 ceding form to her parent's side. 
 
 In a minute more of time. Lord 
 Ravenshill rode away from the cottage. 
 Yet, as he turned down a winding lane, 
 which once more brought him face to face 
 with the scene he was leaving, although it 
 was a considerable distance off, he again 
 glanced towards it, and in thus doing, saw
 
 THE YOUXG DOCTOR. 299 
 
 Annie standing at the garden gate earnestly 
 talking to Sidney Beckford. 
 
 " He lives hereabouts then V said 
 his lordship to himself, as he moved home- 
 wards ; " yes, my mother mentioned a Dr. 
 Beckford in the accident of the other 
 day. Now, on what sort of footing is he 
 in that house 1 On that of their medical 
 attendant, perhaps V 
 
 Just so ; Sidney had been called in to 
 see Annie's father, who was suffering from 
 severe rheumatism half an hour after he 
 had left Chilhng worth Park. 
 
 Two or three days after his second meet- 
 ing with Annie Lord Ravenshill rode to- 
 wards the cottage again, for the loveliness 
 of the young girl whom he now knew to 
 be one of its inmates, had made a slight 
 impression on his fancy, as something very 
 different from that of the brilliant and 
 high-born beauties with whom it was his 
 lot to associate. He had been in an idle 
 mood of mind for the past week, discon- 
 tented with himself and with others, as 
 the idle often are ; and, therefore, he found
 
 oOO THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 nothing better to do than to pursue a whim 
 which, at times, took possession of his 
 imagination — namely, that of seeing the 
 pretty, quaker- looking, little Annie once 
 more. So he rode to Brook Cottage one 
 fine sunshiny evening, dismounted at the 
 gate of the garden, and boldly unlatching 
 it, walked up to a large tree, underneath 
 which, upon a circular bench that ran round 
 it, sat the old woman, who had been An- 
 nie's companion of the previous evening. 
 She was evidently sleeping soundly ; so 
 soundly indeed, that she never saw or heard 
 Lord Kavenshill approach her till he ruth- 
 lessly interrupted her happy slumbers, by 
 pointing to some beautiful claret coloured 
 roses near him, and asking her whether she 
 had reared them to sell 1 " Annie," were 
 the first words the awakened sleeper uttered, 
 " Annie," added she, " Annie, come here, 
 child, and tell me this gentleman's words." 
 And Annie, whom his lordship had al- 
 ready perceived at a little distance off; 
 stepping towards the cottage porch as if 
 with the intention of entering the house.
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 301 
 
 turned back, aud joined her relation. A 
 blush of vexation coloured her brow as 
 she recognised Lord Eavenshill, and an- 
 swered his question in the negative, though 
 at the same time she repeated what he had 
 said to her aunt. 
 
 " I am sorry for it," remarked Lord 
 Ravenshill, when he heard her reply, " I 
 wanted a few specimens of that dark 
 coloured rose." 
 
 Again the old woman asked her niece 
 what he said, and after his observation was 
 made known to her, she answered, 
 
 " Well, sir, if you take the matter so 
 much to heart, you may have some of the 
 flowers, if you'll take the trouble to pick 
 them — or, perhaps, Annie will gather you 
 two or three.'^ 
 
 This latter proposition his lordship did 
 not object to, aud after thanking his new 
 friend for her generous intentions towards 
 him, he received five or six beautiful roses 
 from Annie's hands, who thought, perhaps, 
 by an instantaneous corapUance with his 
 request to disembarrass herself as instan-
 
 302 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 taneously of his presence. But Lord 
 Ravenshill was not so easily satisfied ; for 
 as soon as he had the flowers he so eagerly 
 admired, he remarked that the garden 
 seemed very tastefully laid out, and de- 
 manded permission to walk round it. 
 
 Annie appeared annoyed at his request, 
 particularly when upon repeating it to her 
 her aunt, the latter seemed flattered by it, 
 and instantly answered, with a smile, that 
 he might do so if he chose, adding also, 
 very much to his lordship's satisfaction, 
 
 " xinnie, show the gentleman round it. 
 I cannot do so, because I must go and at- 
 tend to the kitchen fire, as both the girls 
 are out." 
 
 Annie, as Lord Ravenshill expected from 
 her previous conduct, did not appear very 
 wxll pleased with this arrangement of her 
 aunt's ; but, nevertheless, acquiesced in it 
 with apparent resignation ; and, as the old 
 woman re-entered the house, she led the 
 way down the principal gravel walk of the 
 garden, and was followed by Lord Ravens- 
 hill.
 
 THE YOUl^G DOCTOR. o03 
 
 Lord Ravenshill was extremely hancl- 
 soiDe- — and when he chose to be so, exces- 
 sively agreeable ; yet his personal and 
 mental attractions, which he now put forth 
 to their best advantage, did not seem to 
 make the slightest impression upon the 
 simple village girl, for whom they were 
 displayed. She listened with forced at- 
 tention to his lordship's endeavours at con- 
 versation, and would have walked on in 
 perfect silence, had not he sometimes 
 obhged her to answer him by directly ask- 
 ing her for a reply. At last, in despair, 
 he gave over the attempt of enlivening the 
 walking statue, as he mentally named 
 Annie, and directed his steps back to the 
 gate. 
 
 " I have trespassed too much upon your 
 time, I fear," said he, as he did so ; for, 
 notwithstanding the difference of their 
 rank, there was something in the young 
 girl's manner, which forced him to pay her 
 a sort of deference. " I have trespassed 
 too nuich upon your time."
 
 304 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 " Slightly," answered Annie, calmly 
 enough. 
 
 " Had you mentioned that before," re- 
 joined his lordship, rather hastily, " I 
 should scarcely have troubled you to have 
 accompanied me so far." 
 
 " I did not think my saying so would be 
 of any use," replied she, gently, " you 
 seemed determined to see the garden 
 and have the flowers, whether I would or 
 no." 
 
 Lord Kavenshill glanced at her with a 
 rather irritated expression of countenance, 
 but said carelessly, 
 
 " Your words are scarcely hospitable, 
 my fair friend ; I wish I had not 
 pained your generosity in accepting these 
 flowers." 
 
 *' I ^ish you had not,^' rejoined Annie, 
 very quietly. 
 
 " And why, I pray you V asked his lord- 
 ship, in a piqued tone. 
 
 *' Because," answered the young girl 
 in the same tone, " because they are m
 
 "best loYed flowers — and having no doubt 
 that, as you wished for them in a whim of 
 the moment, you will as idly throw them 
 away in the same, I regret my peculiar 
 favourites should have such an untimely 
 doom." 
 
 To Lord Ravenshill there appeared some- 
 thing like an attempt at coquetry in this 
 speech ; and he answered as if he had at 
 last found a vulnerable point on which 
 to flatter her vanity ; 
 
 " They shall find no unworthy doom, 
 my pretty one ; they shall wither when 
 they do wither amidst many a costly ar^ 
 tide of wealth/' 
 
 " They would rather have faded with 
 their sister ones on yonder bush,'' 
 said she, coldly, " wealth cannot give 
 them life.'' 
 
 " Pshaw !'' rejoined Lord Ravenshill, 
 impatiently, as he noticed her increasing 
 gravity : " allow me to wish you good even- 
 ing — here is the gate— trespassing as I 
 have done upon your complaisance, no 
 doubt you wish me gone 1"
 
 306 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 " I never tell an untruth/^ rejoined 
 Annie, gently, " so pardon me if 1 do 
 not deny the inference you have 
 drawn/' 
 
 " I brought it upon myself ; the par- 
 don is accorded," replied his lordship, and 
 he coloured violently for a few seconds, 
 notwithstanding it was but a village girl 
 who addressed him, then he added in a 
 more piqued tone ; " And I suppose that 
 wish is accompanied by another of 3^our 
 never seeing me again V^ 
 
 Annie glanced up at Lord Ravenshill 
 as he uttered the last words, crimsoned 
 deeply for a few moments, and remained 
 quite silent. Evidently she was embar- 
 rassed at the question, and his lordship 
 noticed this, and being rather irritated at 
 her previous coolness towards him, he felt 
 in no mood for mercy ; and guessing that 
 she did wish to see him once more, malici- 
 ously repeated his enquiry. Annie's con- 
 fusion, however, passed away before she 
 again answered his lordship ; and, raising
 
 ♦THE YOITXG DOGTOE. 307 
 
 her eyes to his face, with an inexpUcable 
 look of amusement, she said, t 
 
 "• ^"^0 ; I do wish to see your lordship 
 again — but not till next year.'' 
 
 " You 'do ?' repeated Lord Ravenshill, 
 curiously, and gazing earnestly on her now 
 placid countenance, he endeavoured to push 
 her love of truth to its very furthest point 
 by saying, '' And why do you wish to see 
 me again, fairest 1" 
 
 The young girl's glance became downcast ; 
 yet still a strange smile quivered round her 
 lips, as, with an air of considerable per- 
 plexity, she struck her pretty little foot 
 into a bed of heart's-ease near her ; and, 
 at length, answered in a low, quiet 
 tone, 
 
 " To solve a metaphysical question that 
 at present disturbs me, my lord." 
 
 " A metaphysical question !" repeated his 
 lordship, laughing outright, " and you do 
 not wish see me again before next year ? 
 I hope the fates will be charitable enough 
 to allow us to meet long before that." 
 
 " I hope not," returned Annie, gravely.
 
 308 THE YOUNG DOCTon. 
 
 " You are singularly mysterious in your 
 wishes," replied Lord Raveushill. 
 
 " Women generally are," laconically re- 
 joined the young girl. 
 
 And slightly bending her head, she dis- 
 appeared within the cottage. 
 
 " The girl is above her station in life/' 
 thought Lord Uavenshill, as he rode home- 
 wards ; " she must be a labourer's or far- 
 mer's daughter foolishly brought up as a 
 governess. Her assumption of simplicity 
 is rather amusing. I will prosecute the 
 intimacy if I can — for, with all her cold- 
 ness, one can see she is not averse to it ; 
 she is but a village coquette. See me 
 again *? What does she mean 1 To solve a 
 metaphysical problem ! Metaphysical non- 
 sense I Well, the would-be Httle Metho- 
 dist shall see me again, and much sooner 
 than the time to which she would have de- 
 ferred my second visit." 
 
 And his lordship tried to keep his word ; 
 day after day saw him at the garden of the 
 cottage, where the fair Annie dwelt ; but, 
 day after day also saw him disappointed
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 309 
 
 in his hopes of seeing her — for his visits 
 seemed always inopportunely timed, and not 
 a glimpse of the young girl, whose image 
 was just then the reigning toy of his fancy, 
 did he see. 
 
 END OF VOL f 
 
 T C. Newby, Printer, 30, Welbeck'Street, CriVendish-sq.
 
 In Three Vols. 
 FERN LEY MANOR. 
 
 A Novel. — By Mr>s. Mackenzie Danifls, Author 
 
 of * My Sister Minnie ' * The Poor Cousin/ 
 
 ' Our Guardian.' &c. &c. 
 
 Is a r;:re combination of talent and taste. — TJritannia. 
 
 Kxhibit? Mrs. Danielo' wonted feminine grace of manner, 
 with more of substance in the story than usual with her— 
 Spectator. 
 
 She has a grace of thought and purity of feeling. — Daily 
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 The story is throughout so irresistibly attractive that we 
 found it impossible to lay down the book till we had reached 
 its last page. — Naval & Military Gazette. 
 
 It is a story of no common interest, the plot being woven 
 with a power of invention that will surprise the patrons of 
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 In Three Vols. 
 
 MASTERS AND WORKMEN, 
 
 A Novel. By Lord B 
 
 %. very clever novel. Spectator. 
 
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 Considerable power is exhibited in the writing, some of the 
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 than usually successful. Critic.
 
 
 
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