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CUPID, M.D. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 H Stor^ 
 
 AUGUSTUS M. SWIFT 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 
 
 1888 
 
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CUPID, M,D, 
 
 I 
 
 I. 
 
 Eliot Blake to John Wykeham. 
 
 The Hygienic Hotel, Dudington, Middlesex, W., 
 
 January i6, 1878. 
 
 Dear Jack : 
 
 I was very sorry to miss you when I called 
 yesterday at the Albany. You were right. 
 Daubeny said I was in a very critical state, 
 and advised me to leave town at once and place 
 myself under some physician who could devote 
 himself to me. He recommended this place 
 very highly for my purpose, and said it had 
 quite a reputation for just such cases as mine. 
 At the same time he said it was a very pecu- 
 liar place, and not exactly orthodox, medically 
 speaking. I don’t care a rap about that, 
 though. 
 
2 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 I left on the five o’clock train from Pad- 
 dington, arriving here in time for a very de- 
 cent dinner. It is a queer place, upon my 
 word. The village is very commonplace and 
 suburban, at least what I saw of it in driv- 
 ing from the station. The Hygienic Hotel, 
 as they call it, is a large brick building. I 
 have never been in the States, but it strikes 
 me as being somewhat American in size and 
 character — a palace hotel on a small scale. 
 They have put me into a room where I can 
 be comfortable enough, and two hours hence 
 I have an appointment with one of the doc- 
 tors, who seems to be a man of good sense. 
 The head man and owner of the place, Dr. 
 Martin, is away. 
 
 Of course I am in a desperate condition — I 
 am well aware of that. I shall not be deterred 
 by the gloomy look of this place from staying, 
 if I am once assured of cure or improvement. 
 But you alone, old man, know what it costs me 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 3 
 
 to leave town just now. I knew that if I hesi- 
 tated I should never get off, so I plunged. By 
 the way, will you drop in at Mr. Gordon’s 
 office in Queen Anne Street and tell him where 
 I am ? It will save me writing, and there may 
 be trouble about the Welsh coal-mine. And 
 please pay up my tick at the Club with the 
 enclosed cheque which I have signed. And — 
 do me the favor of going to Solomon's, where I 
 have an account, and ordering something very 
 handsome in the way of flowers for Miss Patti* 
 son. As you know, the Pattisons are staying 
 at Fisher's Hotel, Conduit Street. Of course, 
 you will say at once that you have reached the 
 one important thing in my letter. But don't 
 chaff on this subject, old fellow. I leave the 
 flowers to you, merely remarking that she is 
 fond of Marechal Niels, though she says they 
 are finer in America. 
 
 This is a sad ending of it all, Jack, after 
 twenty-eight gay and joyous years. But I 
 
4 
 
 CUPID, M,D, 
 
 must not get down in the mouth. To-morrow 
 I will let you know what the doctors say. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Eliot Blake. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 5 
 
 Eliot Blake to John Wykeham. 
 
 Dudington, January 17, 187S. 
 
 Dear Jack : 
 
 Since I wrote yesterday I have seen the doc- 
 tors. I begged them not to conceal anything 
 from me. They told me it would take months 
 of unflinching resolution and courage to get 
 the better of the morphia. They - said that 
 when a man was taking as much as I am now, 
 it was almost impossible to stop suddenly, and 
 might prove fatal. They evidently know all 
 about the subject, and somehow I feel great 
 confidence in them. If I am ever to be my 
 old self again, and overcome this terrible curse, 
 I must make a regular business of it in some 
 such place as this. I have half made up my 
 
6 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 mind to stay. I am sure you would advise 
 me to stay, and if my sister knew how serious 
 it has become, she would too. 
 
 These men told me it would be perfect mad- 
 ness to try and keep up my former mode of 
 life. Dr. Peck, who is in charge here now, 
 during Dr. Martin’s absence, told me that if I 
 kept up the morphia at this rate, I should pull 
 up in an insane asylum within eighteen months. 
 Horrible, isn’t it ? At the same time he en- 
 couraged me somewhat* I gave them a com- 
 plete history of my illness. The other man. 
 Dr. Rich, took notes of it all. He is to have 
 special care of me, if I stay. I told them that 
 two years ago, before my accident, I had 
 scarcely ever tasted any form of opium. They 
 said that was good, as, in that case, the drug 
 would not have such a hold upon me, not- 
 withstanding my enormous daily dose. They 
 examined my eyes very carefully, and asked 
 me any quantity of questions. I told them how 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 7 
 
 I was given, in the earlier part of my illness, 
 an eighth of a grain of morphia every night, 
 and that this soon grew into one-fourth of a 
 grain ; then, how they began with the hypoder- 
 mic needle as my sufferings increased, and how 
 the habit began to grow. Not even to you 
 have I ever divulged the truth — i. e,, the whole 
 truth about my daily dose. The fact of the 
 matter is, that the quantity I am now taking 
 hypodermically, they estimate as about equiv- 
 alent to sixty-four grains of sulphate of mor- 
 phia taken by the mouth. This is how it is : I 
 use Magendie’s solution, which contains six- 
 teen grains to every ounce of water ; and I use 
 up about an ounce and a half or more daily. 
 
 I don’t know. Jack, whether you can quite re- 
 alize what frightful figures these are. A small 
 part of my daily allowance would knock you to 
 the end of time. The reason of the greater 
 value of the subcutaneous dose is very appar- 
 ent ; the morphia passes at once into the blood, 
 
8 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 strong and pure, without being assimilated by 
 digestion ; and morphia, as you are doubtless 
 aware, is far stronger than laudanum. I will not 
 weary you with statistics, but my dose now is 
 just about equal to De Quincey’s in his period 
 of greatest indulgence. 
 
 It seems to me, now that I write It all down, 
 that the horrible truth has never before been 
 realized by me. God only knows what will 
 become of me. For pity's sake write to me. 
 Do stand by me, old man. It seems a sort of 
 blasphemy, almost, to speak of Miss Pattison 
 to-day. If you have not ordered the flowers I 
 spoke of yesterday, perhaps you had better 
 not. In my present degraded state I feel very 
 far removed from that lovely girl. I am glad I 
 never said anything special to her. 
 
 I cannot write more. Indeed, I could not 
 write this much, were I not primed with that 
 accursed drug. Do write. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Eliot Blake. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 9 
 
 III. 
 
 John Wykeham to Eliot Blake. 
 
 The Albany, January 19, 1878. 
 
 My Dear Blake : 
 
 Your letters have filled me with deep con- 
 cern. I went at once to consult Daubeny, and 
 begged him to tell rrie just what he thought of 
 your condition. He said it was impossible to 
 tell whether you would get well or not — it all 
 depended upon your strength of will. I tell 
 you this in cold blood, Eliot, not palliating the 
 gravity of it, in the hope that I may help you 
 to realize that you must make a desperate effort. 
 I told Daubeny that your will was naturally 
 strong, but he said that opium enfeebled the 
 will to such an extent that this was not to be 
 depended upon. In fact, he gave me to under- 
 
10 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 stand that you are in a frightful state. My 
 dear old chap, I am not going to reproach you 
 with your imprudence, or with having kept all 
 this from me, your oldest and truest friend. 
 The thing to be done now is to help you in this 
 dire strait. I believe you can pull through. 
 For the present, keep up a good heart, and do 
 precisely what they tell you. Daubeny says 
 it is an excellent place for you. As soon as I 
 can manage it I shall come and pay you a little 
 visit at Dudington. 
 
 I have attended most gladly to your various 
 requests. Mr. Gordon says your affairs are 
 in excellent shape, and he anticipates no trou- 
 ble from the coal mine. I sent the flowers 
 to Miss Pattison, as I thought you would 
 prefer it on the whole. To-morrow I lunch 
 with them, and we go to some concert or 
 other. I will report to you. You are greatly 
 missed at the Club, where I paid up your tick, 
 £6 IIS. 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 II 
 
 Now cheer up, and stick to your purpose. 
 Remember I will stand by you. 
 
 Yours, as always, 
 
 Jack. 
 
12 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 John Wykeham to Eliot Blake. 
 
 The Albany, January 20, 1878. 
 
 Dear Blake : 
 
 I have been with the Pattisons a large part 
 of the day. I must say I admire your taste, 
 old fellow, as she is quite the loveliest girl I 
 ever saw. I hear, though, that these American 
 beauties don’t last ; but she shows no signs yet 
 of going off, and she must be quite twenty-one 
 or two. Of course we talked much of you ; 
 she expressed the greatest sympathy for you, 
 though not knowing (I need scarcely say) the 
 true nature of your trouble. She seems to like 
 you very much, and your Mar^chal Niels were 
 in a post of honor. Indeed, I think she wore 
 some in her dress, which was a work of art, 
 
CUPID, M,D, 
 
 13 
 
 though extremely simple. American women 
 certainly know how to dress. I think they go 
 ahead of their men in this respect. 
 
 Old Pattison is not half a bad fellow. He 
 says he knows this Dr. Martin, the head of 
 your Sanitarium, or whatever they call it, and 
 that he is a very fine physician, even if some- 
 what eccentric. It seems that Dr. Martin went 
 out to the States two or three years ago, 
 and they met there. Mr. Pattison is suffering 
 with sciatica, and I have recommended him to 
 Daubeny. Mrs. Pattison seemed very unwil- 
 ling to leave him, but, finally, we all started 
 off for St. James’s Plall. The concert was 
 very good, and they enjoyed it. This young 
 woman has a soul for music, I can tell you, 
 Eliot ; and if you get a chance, you must sing 
 to her. 
 
 I dine out to-night, so this note must be 
 brief. Write me a line, telling me just how 
 you are, and what the doctors have decided 
 
,14 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 upon. Can I send you anything ? Books ? or 
 a hamper from Fortnum & Mason's ? Don't 
 forget to write. Yours, 
 
 Jack. 
 
CUPID y M,D. 
 
 15 
 
 V. 
 
 Eliot Blake to John Wykeham. 
 
 Dudington, January 25, 1878. 
 
 My Dear Jack : 
 
 Your letters have been a real help to me. I 
 have quite made up my mind about the mor- 
 phia. Hitherto they have made no change in 
 my daily practice ; but to-day they reduce the 
 dose for the first time, taking off one entire 
 grain. Of course they cannot reduce at that 
 rate very long, but they tell me I shall scarcely 
 feel it at the very first, and three days hence 
 they take off another grain. I can tell you one 
 thing — the moral effect of any such effort is 
 good. I feel already as if I could do it, but I 
 must not be too confident, for they do not dis- 
 guise from me that I can scarcely realize what 
 
i6 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 may be ahead of me. They are singularly 
 frank with me. I like this Dr. Peck, who is 
 a very plain, straightforward person ; and the 
 other doctor, who has the special care of my 
 case, is quite a remarkable man. As you 
 know, I am not a very easy fellow to manage ; 
 but he seems to have got hold of me by in- 
 stinct. He has told me frankly that, in such 
 cases as mine, they rarely let the patient know 
 the gravity of his situation. Their object, I 
 fancy, is to lead the patient on until they get 
 complete control over him, and he finds him- 
 self unable to get away from them. Now, as 
 you know, I should be very apt to kick were I 
 not dealt with in an open and straightforward 
 manner. Dr. Rich seems to have discovered 
 this, and, accordingly, he has already gained 
 considerable influence over me. 
 
 The place itself is not particularly attractive. 
 I take all my meals in my own room. They 
 are quite good enough, and you need not trou* 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 17 
 
 ble to send anything in the way of delicacies. 
 But your suggestion about the books is a 
 good one. Send me a lot — poetry and novels. 
 You can get at them at my rooms. I have 
 almost nothing to do here. The house is sur- 
 rounded by a large verandah, where I take a 
 solitary constitutional every afternoon. I can- 
 not bear any one’s society nowadays. You 
 could never guess how unhappy I am. 
 
 Unhappy! ah, Jack, worse than that. I am 
 debased, degraded, dishonored by this ac- 
 cursed poison. For over two hours I have had 
 none, and now must load up again. My arms 
 are almost callous now from using this hypo- 
 dermic needle so much. But I fear my whole 
 moral nature is becoming callous, too ; for I 
 feel that I must own up to you. Jack — to my 
 sorrow and shame I say it — that in one matter 
 I have deceived you. When I said in my let- 
 ter the other day that I was glad I had never 
 said anything in the way of love-making to 
 
l8 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 Miss Pattison, I told you a lie. A week before 
 I left town I proposed to her, a7id she refused 
 me. 
 
 I have owned up to you now, and I feel 
 easier on that score. But I leave you to guess 
 what I suffer. There can be little hope for 
 such a wreck as I have made myself. Good- 
 by. Yours, 
 
 Eliot Blake. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 19 
 
 VI. 
 
 John Wykeham to Eliot Blake. 
 
 The Albany, February i, 1878. 
 
 Dear Blake : 
 
 I have thought many times, since receiving 
 your last letter, of starting at once for Duding- 
 ton. It is impossible for me to leave town 
 now, as my case about that right of way over 
 Aylesford Common comes up next week, and 
 there is a great deal of local excitement over it. 
 So I must express my sympathy with you on 
 paper only. My dear Eliot, you have indeed 
 made a terrible mess of it. Whatever pos- 
 sessed you to propose to a girl like that, crip- 
 pled as you are ? Do you think she is of the 
 sort that drops into one^s mouth like a ripe 
 peach ? I suppose you thought (if you thought 
 
20 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 at all) that your fortune and your family 
 position were enough for you to fall back 
 upon ; and undoubtedly there are plenty of 
 English girls who would have you, on a very 
 short acquaintance, for the asking ; but not 
 Miss Lily Pattison. I say nothing of your 
 recklessness in asking her at all when you are 
 under the ban of a habit which you yourself 
 denounce in such strong terms. Goodness ! 
 Do understand, Blake, that in your present 
 condition I should be the last man to blame 
 you. But you are a man of such shrewdness, 
 you know women so well, and you have such 
 a knowledge of the world into the bargain, 
 that I cannot refrain from expressing a little 
 surprise, that's all. 
 
 I am truly sorry for the whole state of 
 things. She is a lovely girl, and I wish, with 
 all my heart, you might have married her. I 
 shall look upon her' with redoubled interest 
 now, as I believe you never before quite 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 21 
 
 screwed yourself up to the proposing point. 
 But put this all aside, my dear fellow ; you 
 may depend it is all a passing fancy, and 
 probably the girl herself has half a dozen 
 lovers, or would-be lovers, in Red Gulch, or 
 Chunkville, or some other pleasant village of 
 the western wilds. It wouldn’t be a bad thing 
 for you to be hard up for a little while, as I 
 can unaffectedly say I am at the present 
 moment. A brief course of impecuniosity 
 would do you good. There is as much sport 
 in staving off a dun as in landing a big salmon ; 
 in fact, the dun is rather the gamier of the two. 
 
 Poor old chap ! I mustn’t make fun when 
 you are so low. This is all very far from a 
 joke ; and I know you will appreciate my 
 anxiety when I tell you that I wrote to Lady 
 Gore about you to-day. Now don’t scold me ; 
 I have always understood that your sister was 
 your only relative for whom you really cared ; 
 and I took it upon myself to tell her where you 
 
22 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 were, and to say a few indefinite words about 
 your condition. I had to write to her anyhow, 
 for she kindly asked me to Leighton for next 
 week, when she has theatricals. Of course I 
 cannot go. 
 
 This is a pretty long letter for me, but 
 before I stop I must urge upon you, with all 
 the force of which I am capable, stick to it. 
 I mean, stick to your determination to get rid 
 of this horrible opium. As I said before, and 
 as you have every reason to believe from our 
 years together in the past, you have a firm 
 friend in me, and for the matter of that in 
 many others. Now that you are in- trouble, 
 there is all the more reason why I should stand 
 by you. 
 
 Now keep up a good heart ! I sent any 
 quantity of books to*day. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Jack. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 23 
 
 VII. 
 
 Eliot Blake to John Wykeham. 
 
 Dudington, February 3, 1878. 
 
 My Dear Jack : 
 
 I must say, much as I valued your letter on 
 some accounts, that I was a little bit put out by 
 it. A passing fancy ! Upon my word I like 
 that. If you ever fall in love, you will enjoy 
 having some one speak about your ‘^passing 
 fancy/' Why, Jack, the moment I saw that 
 girl I lost my heart to her. I grant you it was 
 madness to propose to her — of course in your 
 eyes it was the act of a fool. But I couldn't 
 help it — as children say. I had a vague idea 
 of getting her to give me some sort of chance, 
 some period of probation, as it were, and then 
 hiding myself in some such place as this until 
 
24 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 I could conquer this terrible habit. But the 
 truth is, that reason had no voice in the matter. 
 It was an irresistible impulse. The very first 
 time I ever saw her, as I say, I made up my 
 mind that there was the one woman for me. I 
 don’t know what is meant by love at first sight 
 (unless I am myself an exemplification of it ; 
 love, of the highest and best kind, must grow 
 to its fulness), yet when I saw that girl the 
 curious sentiment she inspired me with was not 
 mere admiration or interest ; I heard for the 
 first time the inner voice that whispers my 
 Wife, 
 
 Now that I know her better, I am at no loss 
 to understand why my first instinct should have 
 been so strong. But I am not yet defeated. 
 When I asked her to marry me, that day, she 
 turned those great dusky eyes on me, with in- 
 finite surprise and scorn, and said ‘‘ Are you 
 insane ? ” She shall change her tune yet. I 
 am about as low as I can well be, but I have 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 25 
 
 resolved to devote all my soul and strength to 
 winning her. I am certain I can succeed if I 
 only once get free from this opium. Plenty of 
 people have loved me whose love I scarcely 
 valued ; am I to fail with this chosen girl of 
 my heart? I have told Gordon to sell off all 
 the horses, and they are to be advertised at 
 Tattersall’s next week. I wish to goodness 
 I hadn't lived beyond my means to such an 
 extent. But it can't be helped now. I am 
 certain she has no lovers in America. In 
 fact, she as good as told me so. Red Gulch ! 
 Chunkville ! Let me tell you they are persons 
 of excellent social position, and have a place 
 on the Hudson River, which is one of the best 
 localities, I believe. 
 
 I am sorry you wrote to Clara, but never 
 mind. She and Gore will probably come post- 
 ing on here. I don't want to see anybody until 
 I have in some measure redeemed myself. 
 They took off another whole grain to-day, but 
 
26 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 I can’t say I feel it much yet. I suppose I 
 shall, soon enough. Well, good-by for to- 
 day. Somehow I feel more hopeful than I 
 did. Write soon. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Eliot Blake. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 27 
 
 VIIL 
 
 / 
 
 John Wykeham to Eliot Blake. 
 
 The Albany, February 7, 1878. 
 
 Dear Blake : 
 
 I have only time for a line, but I think you 
 ought to be informed that the Pattison party go 
 to Dudington this week. It seems that the old 
 gentleman gets his back up every little , while, 
 and they can't do anything with him. He has 
 a great liking for this Dr. Martin, of your 
 Sanitarium, and Daubeny told me to-day that 
 he had quite made up his mind to go there for 
 his sciatica, and take the baths, and all that. 
 So I write to inform you. 
 
 I called at their hotel this afternoon, and 
 saw Miss Pattison. She seemed very nervous 
 and unlike herself, and asked if you were still 
 
28 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 at Dudington. I told her you were likely to 
 be there for some time to come. Then she 
 asked where Lady Gore was, and a number of 
 other questions. We spoke a good deal of you, 
 and when I explained to her that we had been 
 schoolboys together, and were very intimate, 
 she asked, How intimate ? ” I looked at her 
 pretty steadily and said, About as intimate as 
 two men well can be. We scarcely ever had a 
 secret.'' Then she turned very pale, and I rose 
 to go, not wishing to embarrass her. You 
 have evidently made an impression upon her 
 of some kind, even if she did refuse you. 
 Well, to Dudington she goes, and I confess I 
 am sorry that she should see you in such a 
 plight as you seem to be there. But you have 
 no alternative ; what is right is right ; and your 
 only course is to make a quiet, steady effort, 
 even if it should half kill you, to carry out your 
 own idea of your duty, and be your old self 
 once more. I firmly believe you can do it, and, 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 29 
 
 as I have said, I shall come and look you up in 
 your novel surroundings just as soon as I can. 
 
 I have had a note from Lady Gore, who is 
 much alarmed about you. She said you were 
 so imprudent,’’ and that she had written to 
 you by the same post. Good-by for to-day. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Jack. 
 
30 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Miss Lily Pattison to Miss Caroline Perkins. 
 
 Fisher’s Hotel, Conduit Street, London, 
 (Address care of Brown, Shipley & Co.) 
 
 February 7, 1878. 
 
 My Darling Carrie : 
 
 If you only knew how I have longed for you 
 lately ! Many times a day I have thought of 
 you and the dear ones at home. There is 
 plenty to do, and much to see, but, with my 
 usual good fortune, I have stumbled into a 
 scrape, or an adventure — call it what you will — 
 that has greatly interfered with my pleasure. 
 Why is it that I have so much trouble? You 
 know what a state I got into before we sailed 
 for Europe, and will you believe it, dear, we 
 seem to have jumped from the frying-pan 
 into the fire. Now it will comfort me to tell 
 
CUPID y M.D. 
 
 31 
 
 you all about it, for I don’t like to trouble 
 mamma, she has so much to bear, and you 
 know what papa is when he is the least bit ill. 
 So imagine that I am sitting in your own dear 
 little room, pouring out my woes into your 
 sympathetic ear. 
 
 We have had a perfectly lovely time until 
 just lately. We came very leisurely from Liv- 
 erpool to London — up to London ” they say 
 here — and then papa got so much interested in 
 his Social Science people that we have been 
 here nearly two months. Well, at one of the 
 meetings, papa fell in with a very nice man, 
 Sir William Gore, who came and lunched with 
 us two or three times. I got to like him very 
 much, and he and I struck up quite a friend- 
 ship. And he always seemed to enjoy himself 
 pretty well, especially when talking to papa 
 about the middle classes, and all that. He is 
 about forty-five, but his wife, Lady Gore, is 
 much younger, and very sweet, quite unlike 
 
32 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 any of the English women I have met. She is 
 not such an awful dowdy. You would simply 
 expire if you saw the way they dress them- 
 selves. She called on us, and we went several 
 times to her house, a very pretty little house in 
 Curzon Street. There we met the author of 
 all my troubles, her brother, Mr. Blake. I 
 may as well tell you first as last, that he pro- 
 posed to me, if you please, after about three 
 weeks’ acquaintance. Fancy ! Of course I 
 refused him, and yet I don’t like to say it in 
 that cold-blooded way, exactly, for he felt very 
 badly about it, and so, to tell the truth, did I. 
 I don’t yet understand it. I can scarcely be- 
 lieve he is in earnest ; and he insists upon it 
 that I must ‘‘ give him a chance,” as he says, 
 by and by. It struck me as a crazy thing for 
 a man to do. Why, he scarcely knew me at 
 all, and yet he has a way of talking and going 
 on as if he had known me for years. I wish 
 you could see him. He is not at all good- 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 33 
 
 looking, rather tall, and fair, with a Saxon 
 type of face. He has what seems to my Amer- 
 ican ears a very affected way of speaking, but 
 he is not nearly so bad in this respect as a Mr. 
 Wykeham, a friend of his. There is some- 
 thing very strange about the expression of Mr. 
 Blake’s face. In the first place, he is one of 
 the palest men I ever saw in my life, and his 
 eyes sometimes have a look of pain and rest- 
 lessness, and again they seem glazed and 
 sleepy. He is in poor health, and this brings 
 me to my real trouble. He is now staying at 
 the very place where papa insists upon going. 
 You see, mamma never said anything to papa 
 about this proposal, not that she ever has 
 secrets from him, but simply because he would 
 be furious if he knew, especially now when he 
 is unwell. But you know papa always feels 
 obliged to adhere strictly to any plan he 
 makes ; our journeyings, hours, trains, and 
 
 meals, are all immutably settled long before-^ 
 3 
 
34 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 hand, and are like the laws of the Medes and 
 Persians. So to this place, Dudington, we go, 
 and our rooms are engaged at the institution 
 there, which is called the Hygienic Hotel. 
 Now, dearest Carrie, think what a situation 
 that places me in ! What will Lady Gore 
 think of it ! Oh, dear ! I am nearly worried 
 to death with it all. Just when I was longing 
 so to go on to Paris, or to go and some 
 Cathedral towns, to be shut up in a ^ort of 
 superior hospital ! And with a man who wants 
 to marry me ! 
 
 Write to me, darling, and cheer me up. I 
 feel better for writing just this little scrap. 
 And do tell me all the news. Remember me 
 to everybody. Do you ever see Harry W. ? 
 Good-by. Lovingly, Lilv^ 
 
 P.S. — Mamma sends love. Mind, I don't 
 like Mr. Blake, so don’t get that impression^ 
 But he is undeniably interesting. L. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 35 
 
 X. 
 
 Eliot Blake to John Wykeham. 
 
 February 8th. 
 
 Dear Jack : 
 
 Your letter has just reached me. Why in 
 the world didn't you tell me that they were 
 coming here ? Dr. Rich has this moment 
 left me. I told him, at first, that I could not 
 possibly stay here. He soon got at the true 
 reason — at least, I told him that some of my 
 friends were coming here, and that I was ex- 
 tremely unwilling for them to see me in such a 
 place, or in such a condition as I supposed was 
 in store for me. He seemed to think that I 
 ought to stay, and I have had a letter from 
 Gore, who also urges me to stay, saying that 
 Clara and he are very anxious about me, and 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 36 
 
 that they think such a place as this will do me 
 good. I hope they do not know what is the 
 matter with me. Of course I lay everything 
 to my arm, which really is troubling me still, 
 as the place where the bone splintered is still 
 unhealed ; and they tell me that it will not heal 
 until I abandon the morphia entirely. Think 
 what a condition I am in ! 
 
 Well, I suppose my best plan is to remain 
 here, though I declare I am making up my 
 mind as I write this, and fully intended to pack 
 my portmanteau an hour ago. I am very 
 vacillating nowadays, and more restless and 
 uneasy than I can describe to you. My daily 
 dose has been cut down a third and a fourth 
 time, and I feel it perceptibly. In fact, I am 
 so restless that I enjoy my constitutional on 
 the verandah much more than at first, and have 
 made one or two acquaintances. Mrs. Poynter 
 is here — Mrs. John Poynter. You remember 
 old Poynter at Harrow, don’t you? Well, 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 37 
 
 Mrs. P. has already claimed acquaintance with 
 you, so I need not describe her. In fact, she is 
 rather fond of talking about the aristocracy in 
 general, and constantly pumps me about your 
 mother. My chief amusement just at present 
 is to baffle her curiosity. I fancy they are 
 hard up. Poynter is pale and thin from ill- 
 health, and seems to have something on his 
 mind. By the way, old man, if you are in 
 trouble for money, do let me come to the res- 
 cue. I shall not be put off this time, and I 
 should feel one degree less degraded if I could 
 be of use to any one. You know I have still a 
 goodish property, and these little financial 
 crises you go through periodically cannot be 
 agreeable. Let me know how much you want. 
 
 There is no doubt about it, I do feel this re- 
 duction of my dose. I keep thinking of it all 
 the time. There is a good Broadwood piano in 
 the drawing-room, and I think Til try that for 
 a bit, if there isn’t a gang of people in there. 
 
38 
 
 CUPID, AID. 
 
 But what in the world shall I do when the 
 Pattisons come ? Here I have actually run 
 away from the girl I love, so that I may make 
 myself fit to try once more to win her, and at 
 the very outset of my effort we are thrown 
 together ! In spite of all my resolution I long 
 to see her, but what will come of it all ? 
 
 Yours always, 
 
 Eliot. 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 39 
 
 XL 
 
 Lily Pattison to Caroline Perkins. 
 
 The Hygienic Hotel, Dudington, Middlesex, 
 
 February 12, 1878. 
 
 Dearest Carrie : 
 
 Your sweet letter reached me just as we were 
 leaving London for this place yesterday. You 
 see, papa has packed us down here, as I told 
 you in my last, but our letters have crossed. 
 By the way, address care of Brown, Shipley & 
 Co. when you write, and you will be spared 
 writing the formidable title of this curious place. 
 You say you suppose I am now in Paris ; but 
 there is no such good luck for us. I mustn't 
 grumble, though, for poor papa really suffers 
 from his sciatica, and he is convinced that he 
 will derive great benefit from a stay here, but 
 
40 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 he happens to be in a frightful humor to-day, 
 because Dr. Martin is absent at his other 
 hotel near Cannes, and nobody but mamma 
 can go near him, so there is nothing to do but 
 accept the situation. 
 
 And what a situation it is ! When I read your 
 accounts of the Germans and the Patriarchs, 
 home seems almost like a dream. You can 
 have no idea of the strangeness of this place. 
 There is so much to tell you that I scarcely 
 know where to begin. I have seen Mr. Blake, 
 and that part of it is over. It all came about 
 very naturally ; he was playing on the piano in 
 the parlor when we were shown in there (I 
 didn’t know he could play), and we met as if 
 nothing had happened, only he seemed rather 
 nervous. I think women are much more self- 
 controlled on such occasions than men. He 
 looks very ill, and complains of his arm. He 
 broke his arm out hunting over a year ago, and 
 it has never got well. I feel sorry for him. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 41 
 
 There is a look in his eyes that is almost 
 pathetic. 
 
 This morning I have not seen him, but have 
 amused myself with taking a walk and watch- 
 ing the people. These English women are so 
 amusing ! Last evening Dr. Peck, who is 
 attending papa, introduced a Mrs. Poynter to 
 mamma. I am enabled to spell her name cor- 
 rectly, as she herself informed me that there is 
 a great distinction to be drawn between the 
 Surrey Poynters, who spell it with a y,'’ 
 and the comparatively plebeian Somersetshire 
 Pointers, who can lay no claim to that aristo- 
 cratic vowel. Mamma says she has rarely met 
 a more prying or impertinent person, but you 
 know mamma’s quiet little way of snubbing 
 siich people. Mrs. Poynter can stand a good 
 deal of snubbing, apparently. As soon as she 
 discovered that we knew Mr. Blake she was 
 very much interested, saying, in a very sympa- 
 thetic tone of voice, Poor fellow ! I hear he 
 
42 
 
 CUPID., M,D, 
 
 has been so wild/^ I wish you could see her. 
 She came and talked to me again this morning, 
 and I took notes. She is past thirty, though 
 her husband seems to be no more than that 
 himself ; her eyes are a pale green gray, her 
 hair red, and her complexion a washed-out, 
 chalky, buff color ; there is no other way of 
 expressing it. She dresses rather pretentiously, 
 yet shabbily ; is quite small and thin, with a 
 bad figure, and I am sure she is a horrid 
 woman. Yet she has plenty of assurance, and 
 last evening Mr. Blake and one or two others 
 whose names I don’t know were ordered about 
 at a great rate. It was, ‘‘ Mr. Blake, hand me 
 my shawl.” Mr. Blake, do play us some- 
 thing.” I was so glad that Mr. Blake treated 
 me as a mere acquaintance last night. 
 
 All this cannot be very interesting to you, 
 dear, but I rather enjoy writing down such 
 trifles. I am sure the people here gossip about 
 one another all the time. Mrs. Poynter wasn’t 
 
CUPID, M,D, 
 
 43 
 
 happy until she had found out exactly what was 
 the matter with papa, and prescribed several 
 remedies. At any rate, all this will be a novel 
 experience for me, and as I have more time 
 than I know what to do with, you may expect 
 to hear from me frequently. The country is 
 very English, and unlike anything at home, but 
 1 will spare you a description of it until I know 
 it better. And this letter is now so long that I 
 will not answer to-day all you say about Harry 
 and others. I sent the waterproof from Scott 
 Adie’s, but the other things must wait till we 
 get to Paris, if we ever do. 
 
 Do write often. All the home news is so 
 sweet when one is away from it. I shall look 
 eagerly for your letters. Give my love to all 
 the girls, and a kiss to Sophy. 
 
 Ever your loving 
 
 Lily. 
 
44 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Eliot Blake to John Wykeham. 
 
 Dudington, February 14th. 
 
 Dear Jack : 
 
 She is lovelier than ever ! She has been 
 here three days, and I can scarcely restrain 
 myself when I see her. I long to take her in 
 my arms and make her love me. Did you ever 
 notice her mouth ? I never saw such a beauti- 
 ful mouth, nor such exquisite little teeth. And 
 how dainty she is ! Her dress is so neat, and 
 she is so slender and graceful — every move- 
 ment a study for an artist. I saw her hair in 
 the sun yesterday. It is a warmer color in the 
 light. I wish I could make out what color her 
 eyes are. I think it is a sort of deep slate- 
 color. What is your recollection of them ? 
 
CUPID, M,D, 
 
 45 
 
 But, lovely as she is to look at, it is ‘‘ the 
 sense of something far more deeply interfused ” 
 that fascinates me to such a degree. She must 
 be such a good girl. She is so kind to her 
 father, even when the old gentleman is slightly 
 savage, which is not uncommon. Her mother 
 idolizes her. Do you know I am getting rather 
 to like her American accent. It is very far re^ 
 moved from that desperate twang they have 
 sometimes. But who am I, that I should criti- 
 cise her? My very commendation is a piece 
 of presumption. I am unworthy of the love of 
 a fresh, pure girl like that. 
 
 And can I make myself worthy of her ? 
 Jack, shall I ever conquer this drug ? To-day 
 I despair of it. I am in the depths. I fancied 
 that she looked very coldly at me to-day, and I 
 had gone an hour beyond my time for my dose, 
 and every way my thoughts turned it was all 
 misery, and — I drowned it in opium. I took 
 a double dose — nearly three grains of morphia 
 
46 
 
 CUPID', M.D, 
 
 in my leg (there is no place left on my arms) — 
 and soon I was in the seventh heaven. The 
 reaction has come now ; I am penitent again, 
 and have told Dr. Rich, who looked very 
 grave. It is strange that I never hate it when 
 the delirious bliss of it is upon me. If I did 
 not dread the stuff so, I should almost urge 
 you to take a safe dose, for the sensation. No 
 words can describe the effect. I think there is 
 a passage somewhere in Monte Cristo ’’ where 
 Dumas depicts the effect of hashish ; but, if my 
 memory serves me, neither that description, nor 
 any other that I have ever met with, conveys 
 any idea of the truth. When you are deprived 
 of it, you not only suffer acute pain, but horri- 
 ble flashes and waves of heat pass over you ; 
 you shiver and totter — you are unmanned. At 
 such a time, if you could not get it any other 
 way, you would steal it. Once, at a chemist’s 
 in Brighton, when I knew I could not buy any 
 without a prescription, I actually wrote out the 
 
CUPID^ M,D. 
 
 47 
 
 formula of Magendie’s solution in the orthodox 
 fashion; and, such is the devilish shrewdness 
 with which the drug inspires you, I even signed 
 some such name as Edward Brown, fearing 
 they might see the E. B. on my linen. Oh, 
 Jack, what a wretch I have been ! 
 
 I wrote some verses this afternoon — opium 
 verses. I think this miserable habit takes that 
 form with me. When the sublime exaltation 
 steals over me, and my forehead moistens, all 
 my faculties grow abnormally alert, and I seem 
 to myself to be gifted with any amount of ge- 
 nius. I suspect, nay, I am certain, that I must 
 be in a curious state of mind ; but I am not yet 
 fool enough to imagine, opium or no opium, 
 that I am a poet. What is to become of me ? 
 Is there any hope for me ? There ! I can see 
 her now, walking across the road ! There she 
 is, in all her loveliness and innocence, and I — I 
 am striding down into hell ! Oh, wretched 
 man that I am, who shall deliver me from the 
 
48 
 
 CUPID, M,D, 
 
 body of this death ? Better to die at once, 
 while I have some show of reason left. I could 
 manage it so that no one w^ould suspect. If 
 there is a life hereafter, how shall I ever face 
 that mother who was the gracious dream of my 
 childhood, and my dear and honored father ? 
 Never was there a stain on his name ; and now, 
 unless these doctors can save me, I shall drag 
 it in the dust. God help me ! I would pray, 
 if I could, but I cannot — I cannot. 
 
 E. B. 
 
CUPID, M,D, 
 
 49 
 
 
 XIII. 
 
 John Wykeham to Eliot Blake. 
 
 St. James’s Club, February 8th. 
 
 My poor, dear old fellow, your letter of the 
 
 14th only reached me to-day, as I have been at 
 
 Aylesford. I am terribly cut up about you, 
 
 and shall run down to-morrow on the five 
 
 o’clock train and spend a day or two with you, 
 
 so get me a room somewhere. I have no time 
 
 to-day for more than this line, but for Heaven’s 
 
 sake, Eliot, don’t give way any more than you 
 
 can help. I think you have great reason to 
 
 feel encouraged rather than depressed. As I 
 
 understand it, you have considerably reduced 
 
 your daily dose, and, of course, you cannot do 
 
 that without feeling it. Keep up a good brave 
 4 
 
so 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 heart, and do your best. I am looking forward 
 to to-morrow evening. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 J. W. 
 
 P. S. — I forgot to thank you for your offer 
 about money in one of your recent letters. It 
 was just like you to think of it, but luckily I am 
 beginning to earn a little, for the first time in 
 my life. All my relatives are rubbing their 
 eyes. By the way, do keep me clear of that 
 Poynter woman, if possible. 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 51 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Lily Pattison to Caroline Perkins. 
 
 DudIngton, February 19th. 
 
 Dearest Carrie : 
 
 I have not heard from you since I wrote the 
 other day, but I remember that I didn’t half 
 answer your letter. I have been meaning to 
 write almost every day, but I am quite sur- 
 prised to find that the days are beginning to 
 pass very pleasantly here. The people are 
 amusing. They seem to know very little about 
 America, and are much entertained by the way 
 I pronounce certain words, and with some little 
 phrases which they call Americanisms. I stand 
 to my guns very stubbornly, but somehow, 
 whenever I criticise their ways of speech and 
 thinking, they are quite satisfied that I am en- 
 tirely in the wrong. But they are very kind 
 
52 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 on the whole, and that Mrs. Poynter I wrote of 
 seems to have taken quite a fancy to me. I 
 don’t like her, but of course I have to be civil. 
 I soon discovered that in a place of this kind, 
 full of a lot of invalidish people who have noth- 
 ing else to do but gossip and take medicine and 
 bathe, one cannot be too careful. And yet we 
 are all thrown so much together at certain times 
 in the day that it is easy to grow well ac- 
 quainted with one another. I really almost 
 love a dear old Scotch lady, a Mrs. Mackenzie. 
 Her son is a cripple, I believe, according to 
 Sarah (of course we could not get along with- 
 out old Sarah), and it is touching to see his 
 mother carrying up his meals with her own 
 hands. It is not unlike the steamer in some 
 ways : I remember one old gentleman on the 
 Bothnia who called me my dear ” the third 
 day out, and afterward grew so confidential 
 that he treated me to a careful comparison of 
 the charms of his first and second wives. 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 53 
 
 There is very little for me to do, except to 
 read, write, and walk. I have walked miles 
 and miles lately, exploring. We are not more 
 than a dozen miles from London, from 
 Hyde Park, and within a short distance of us 
 streets are built up. The Great Western Rail- 
 way runs through the place, and also a fine 
 turnpike road, which runs on to Windsor, I be- 
 lieve. There is a great deal of lively traffic on 
 this road, and I have learned more about the 
 middle classes'’ in my walks during the past 
 week than I should have in months under ordi- 
 nary circumstances. Gay green and gold om- 
 nibuses pass along at intervals, and there are 
 two or three stations of the Underground Rail- 
 way. Many of the houses are built of yellow 
 brick, and few are more than two stories high. 
 There is a little canal leading somewhere, and 
 a tiny stream, the Brent by name, that empties 
 into the Thames at Brentford. They tell me 
 that the Thames is lovely near here, and I am 
 
54 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 going to make lots of excursions. I have only 
 seen a little of it, near Richmond, when we 
 went there to dine once with the Gores at the 
 Star and Garter. That was the time I first met 
 Mr. Blake. He had dined, and was sitting out- 
 side in a gray suit, reading a newspaper. Mrs. 
 Poynter tells me that there are some *‘show 
 places near here, and I hope we shall see 
 some of them. 
 
 The grass is far more beautiful than ours. It 
 is green even at this season of the year. Dr. 
 Martin (who has returned, much to papa's 
 delight) is very proud of his lawn, and goes 
 about sometimes with an old knife spudding,” 
 as he calls it. 'Dr. .M. is a delightful old 
 man. His hair is nearly white, and he has 
 such a benevolent expression — all the sick peo- 
 ple here seem to take such comfort in him. 
 Papa says he is rich, and need not keep up 
 these Sanitariums unless he wished to. 
 
 I am sure you have not forgotten, dear, that 
 
CUPID, M,D, 
 
 55 
 
 to-day is my birthday. Twenty-two ! I used \ 
 to look upon that as very venerable. I feel like f 
 a perfect old maid to-day. And that reminds 
 me, I have never answered what you said about 1 
 Harry. I was so sorry to hear that remark you i 
 quoted, about his willingness to marry some \ 
 rich girl if she would have him. I think it is [ 
 the only unworthy speech of his I ever heard. / 
 And I really do not see why you too should ^ 
 join in persecuting me because I did not marry 
 him. Is it possible that you, my dearest of all 
 friends, do not understand the motives that have 
 actuated me these past years ? I look upon love ^ 
 very much as I think men ought to look upon a 
 call to the ministry, as •something that should|' 
 be heaven-sent if it is to be worth anything. 
 
 I have an ideal of love, but it has never come| 
 to me. That’s why I never hesitated about ' 
 Mr. White, or Schuyler Hall, or any of the 
 others who have been attentive to me. You 
 must admit that I am honest in my convictions, 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 56 
 
 and that so far I have lived up to them. Don’t 
 you suppose that you or I could name plenty 
 of girls who would give their eyes to marry 
 Schuyler Hall ? It was precisely that dread of 
 yielding to what I was sure would not bring me 
 happiness that made me put my foot down 
 about Harry. I believe I suffered myself al- 
 j most as much as Harry. I know people say I 
 encouraged him, but I didn’t. I never accepted 
 him, and he knows it ; nor did I ever lead him 
 to think it possible for me to do so. But with 
 papa and mamma and all of you favoring him 
 as you did, I was afraid I should give in. I am 
 so sorry about it all ! I have known him ever 
 since we were little. I should certainly have 
 known it if I had really loved him. But I 
 think that one’s husband should be so dear to 
 a woman ! That’s why this Mrs. Poynter 
 makes me so furious. She has a good hus- 
 band, and apparently prefers any other man’s 
 society. If I ever loved a man, I should love 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 57 
 
 him with all my heart, and soul, and strength : 
 every hair of his head should be precious to me. 
 He should be my king and my master. I should 
 be content to live with him on a prairie. But 
 this will never come to me. I think I should 
 make a good wife to the right man, but I have 
 little expectation of the right man making his 
 appearance, and I don’t mind being an old 
 maid one bit. 
 
 I fear you will think this all great rubbish, 
 dear, so I will spare you any further heart- 
 searchings. My letters are all about myself! 
 You must remember, however, that you are 
 one of the two or three to whom I can speak 
 freely, and it is such a comfort sometimes. 
 With all my love, 
 
 Lily. 
 
 P.S. — On a closer acquaintance I think Mr. 
 Blake is much better looking than I did at first. 
 He reads aloud extremely well. We see him 
 every day. L. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 S8 
 
 XV. 
 
 John Wykeham to Lady Gore. 
 
 The Hygienic Hotel, Dudington, 
 February 21, 1878. 
 
 My Dear Lady Gore : 
 
 I know how anxious you are about Eliot, and 
 as I have run down here to spend a day or two 
 with him, I can tell you just how he is. 
 
 You asked me whether I thought Sir William 
 or you could do anything for him. Pray ex- 
 cuse me if I say at once that Eliot does not 
 wish at present to see any one — or rather, that 
 any one should see him. Of course I don’t 
 count. To tell the truth, he is a little ashamed 
 to see any one whose good opinion he values so 
 highly as yours. I fear you will become un- 
 necessarily alarmed, and think me very mys- 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 59 
 
 terious, unless I tell you all I know about his 
 condition ; and this I must do without his per- 
 mission. The gravity of the case, however, 
 justifies me. The fact is, he has got into the 
 way of taking opium. He feels terribly about 
 it, and is now here for the purpose of making a 
 resolute effort to overcome the habit. It is 
 scarcely his own fault, for you will remember 
 what suffering he endured at the time when 
 his arm was so badly broken. He drifted into 
 the habit, and it grew to be his master. Indeed, 
 not long since he informed me that he was 
 taking about sixty grains of morphia a day, or 
 something equivalent. This would soon lead to 
 insanity or death, and I need not say, my dear 
 Lady Gore, how earnestly I have endeavored 
 to sustain him in his attempt to overcome the 
 habit. I have had long conversations with Dr. 
 Martin, the head of this establishment, and 
 Dr. Rich, who has the special care of Eliot. 
 They both seemed to think that he had done 
 
6o 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 remarkably well during the five weeks he has 
 been here, and Dr. Rich, who is quite a 
 young man, is confident that he will pull 
 through. It is terrible to think what is still in 
 store for him. Early next month they are 
 going to discontinue the hypodermic syringe 
 which he now uses, and administer larger quan- 
 tities by the mouth. Dr. Rich has a high 
 opinion of Eliot’s powers of will, and is san- 
 guine about the result. He says, however, that 
 he must have absolute control of his patient for 
 some months to come. I told him, as I could 
 with perfect truth, of Eliot’s self-control and 
 resolution in everything except this opium 
 habit. 
 
 But there is something else. Eliot’s mind is 
 evidently in a somewhat unnatural condition, 
 but, after making due allowance for this, the 
 fact remains that he is in love with Miss Patti- 
 son. For a long time I doubted it, or attrib- 
 uted it to his state of health, but now I am 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 6i 
 
 sure of it. Of course you know that she re- 
 fused him, and I presume you are also aware 
 that she is now here with her father and 
 mother. She took pains to assure me last 
 evening that she came here very unwillingly, as 
 she evidently guesses that Eliot has confided in 
 me. Now it has occurred to me that Eliot’s 
 passion for her may prove to be his salvation — 
 at least, that it may become the most powerful 
 motive for his persevering in his present course 
 of treatment. Miss Pattison, he tells me, has 
 never shown him any encouragement, but 
 there is just this about it, that they are thrown 
 together here daily, and it is possible that 
 when she discovers what a good fellow he is 
 she might grow to like him. As for the young 
 lady herself, I have heard you speak very 
 highly of her, and I know you want to see 
 Eliot settled. I consider her quite the most 
 charming girl I ever saw. If I were not a 
 detrimental of the first water, I should be 
 
62 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 strongly tempted to offer her to share hashed 
 mutton and lodgings in Camberwell. Eliot 
 now feels very down in the mouth, and I don’t 
 think he will attempt any love-making, but I 
 feel certain that he would ask her again if he 
 should recover. 
 
 You will probably say that I have usurped 
 the feminine prerogative of match-making, es- 
 pecially when I tell you that I have invited 
 Miss Pattison and Eliot to drive over to Wick- 
 field to-morrow. I asked Mrs. Pattison also, 
 but she cannot leave her suffering spouse, so a 
 Mrs. Poynter is going to play Mrs. Grundy. 
 Miss Pattison is anxious to see one of our 
 country houses. None of the family are there, 
 so for the first time I have availed myself of 
 my uncle’s repeated invitations to make my- 
 self at home, and have written to old Parker 
 (the present housekeeper, who was once my 
 mother’s maid) to get us some lunch in the 
 orangery. If I can manage it, I will get them 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 63 
 
 *to set the big fountain going. So, you see, we 
 are all in for a lark. 
 
 If I can serve you here, I hope you will let 
 me know. Pray give my regards to Sir Wil- 
 liam, and permit me to remain. 
 
 Yours very faithfully, 
 
 J. Wykeham. 
 
64 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 XVL 
 
 Lily’s Diary. 
 
 Dudington, Washington’s Birthday, 
 February 22d. 
 
 This has been a day of mingled pleasure and 
 pain. Not exactly pain, though, and a great 
 deal of pleasure. I must write it all down. 
 Some things to-day I want to remember. 
 
 In the first place, Mr. Wykeham is delight- 
 ful. Nothing could have been kinder than his 
 plan for our pleasure to-day. I had no idea he 
 was a grandee, or rather, almost a grandee. 
 It appears he was born at this. great place <we 
 have seen to-day, and he is so pleasant and 
 frank that I have learned a good deal of his 
 history. He calls himself a detrimental.” I 
 learned these facts : 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 65 
 
 His grandfather was Duke of Middlesex, t.e,, 
 his grandfather on his mother’s side. 
 
 His mother, Lady Mary Something, married 
 Colonel Wykeham. 
 
 / Colonel Wykeham is poor. Lady Mary is 
 also poor, for her rank,” and was one of six 
 /children. 
 
 The present Duke has four sons, one of 
 whom is married. He is also very rich, as he 
 
 made a rich match,” marrying some heiress 
 or other. 
 
 There is a very old Duchess alive. Lady 
 Mary’s mother, who, as Mr. Wykeham says, 
 ‘‘ought to leave us pots of money, dear 
 soul.” 
 
 I am beginning to feel quite learned about 
 
 the British aristocracy. Mr. Wykeham told 
 
 me all this, and much more, when we W’ere 
 
 rambling about the place. First we drove into 
 
 the park, through some magnificent bronze 
 
 gates, with a lodge by them much finer than 
 5 
 
66 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 our own house at home. Then there was a 
 lovely drive of about a mile, and we came to a 
 great terrace with more gates, then a succession 
 of flower gardens, and at last the house itself. 
 It is enormous, as big as the Fifth Avenue 
 Hotel, and fifty times as handsome, with a 
 great portico, and wings and colonnades on 
 each side. The lawns and the trees, and the 
 walks, are all beautiful. I never saw anything 
 to compare with the splendor of the whole 
 thing. 
 
 There,” said Mr. Wykeham, as we ap- 
 proached the house, ‘‘ there is Wickfield.” 
 
 Mrs. Poynter said, ‘‘ How perfectly the Duke 
 keeps it up ! Such a contrast to some of our 
 great places ! ” 
 
 Yes,” said Mr. Wykeham, my uncle is 
 proud of the place, and he is a good fellow into 
 the bargain.” 
 
 Does Lady Mary spend much time here ? ” 
 
 Not much,” he replied ; ‘‘ the Duke cannot 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 67 
 
 afford to live here himself more than a couple 
 of months in the year. He seems to prefer his 
 smaller places/’ 
 
 I don’t think Mr. Wykeham likes Mrs. Poyn- 
 ter very well. Nor does Mr. Blake. 
 
 Then we rambled over the whole place, 
 through state rooms, picture galleries — every- 
 thing. It is a perfect dream of luxury and 
 beauty. In one conservatory I found myself 
 alone with Mr. Wykeham, and he told me 
 more ; this time about Mr. Blake also. 
 
 They were at school together at Harrow, and 
 were close friends at an early age. Then they 
 were at Oxford. Then Mr. Wykeham studied 
 law, and is just beginning, he told me, to earn 
 his living. Mr. Blake, though not an aristocrat, 
 is ‘^a man of very good family’' (they do seem 
 to think so much of family over here), and does 
 nothing but hunt and shoot. But, according 
 to Mr. Wykeham, he could do anything, and 
 is the most gifted and delightful of men. I 
 
68 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 can’t begin to tell you, Miss Pattison, what a 
 perfect old trump he is ! He’s so generous, 
 and so clever. He has a small place in Wales, 
 with a coal-mine on it, and he has built his 
 colliers new cottages, and stayed down there 
 once when they had a fever, and they almost 
 worship him.” Further facts : 
 
 Mr. Blake’s father was a successful architect. 
 
 He has no near relations except Lady Gore. 
 
 He is altogether, according to Mr. Wyke- 
 ham, the most perfect of his sex, only he has 
 been rather extravagant, and has had a slight 
 tendency to make up to pretty women, and is 
 somehow very unfortunate in being out of 
 health just now. 
 
 We had a fairy-like lunch in a great octago- 
 nal conservatory, with a palm-tree, forty feet 
 high, in the very centre, and orange-trees and 
 tropical plants in great profusion. Very gor- 
 geous footmen waited on us, and I never saw 
 such china and glass in my life. We all got 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 69 
 
 / very friendly, and Mrs. Poynter drank two 
 glasses of champagne. 
 
 After lunch came the only part of the day 
 that I did not enjoy. Mr. Blake took me to 
 see the deer, and we had a very singular con- 
 versation, which I must record. I hope I have 
 acted rightly. I tried not to be harsh with 
 him. I am sure I do not care for him. And 
 yet no man has ever spoken to me as he did 
 ||to-day. He has no right to make love to me, 
 fand mamma was right in saying I ought not to 
 j ; go on this picnic. But he is so impetuous, and 
 insists on my listening to him, and he does 
 seem to love me ! 
 
 We were somewhere in the park. (I never 
 I saw the deer after all, and Mr. Blake told an 
 > awful fib about our losing our way.) All of a 
 sudden, in the midst of rather an interesting 
 discussion about primogeniture and family es- 
 tates, Mr. Blake stopped and looked at me till 
 I felt myself blushing with vexation. 
 
70 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 ‘‘How can I be silent?” he said at last. 
 “Do listen to me one moment! I know I 
 ought not to, but I can’t help it. My darling, 
 my darling, I love you better than my life ! ” 
 
 I tried to be as dignified as I could, and I 
 was really very much provoked. I said all 
 manner of things, but somehow I couldn’t stop 
 him. As nearly as I can remember, he went on 
 to say : “ What in the world can I do or say to 
 make you feel as I do ? I tell you it is love 
 that has come to me — love ! I am twenty- 
 eight years old, and like all men I have fancied 
 myself in love, but this is so different 1 Think 1 
 I have scarcely ever touched your hand 1 And 
 I would kiss the hem of your gown if you 
 would let me ! ” 
 
 “Mr. Blake,” I said, “this is not right. If 
 I listened to you any longer you might have 
 reason to blame me. You must take me back 
 to the others.” 
 
 “ Only listen tome one moment! Just one 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 71 
 
 moment, Miss Pattison, and I promise you any- 
 thing ! I will not trouble you when we get 
 back to the hotel. Not a word of love shall 
 pass my lips if you will only listen to me this 
 once.’’ (His voice was very husky and tremu- 
 lous.) I just want to tell you one thing, that 
 a woman is rarely loved as I love you. How 
 do you know that you are not throwing away 
 your own chance of love? You don’t know 
 the strength of my nature — I scarcely knew it 
 myself till I saw you ; but I do know that I am 
 capable of a great, unselfish, overmastering 
 love, and I am equally certain that you are 
 capable of it also. And what’s more, I don’t 
 believe your heart has yet been touched. You 
 may think that I don’t know you, nor do I 
 know you in the common sense, but I know 
 that you are lovely, and good, and I could 
 make you so happy if you would let me ! ” 
 
 Oh, Mr. Blake, I don’t think so ! ” 
 
 ‘‘Yes, I could,” he replied; “I am not 
 
72 
 
 CUPID, M,D, 
 
 good-looking, and all that, but there is more in 
 me than you know of. Just now I happen to 
 be ill ; but I shall get well, and then you will 
 not see me at my worst, as now. I am having 
 a hard time of it now, but if I could only have 
 one word from you, it would help me so much. 
 If you could only say you wanted me to get 
 well ! 
 
 Of course I want you to get well, Mr. 
 Blake. I am very sorry you are so ill. You 
 have been very kind to me, and you pay me a 
 great honor, but what you propose is so very 
 serious. A girl’s love is all she has to give.” 
 
 I felt powerless to escape now, so we talked 
 on. 
 
 And it is all a man has to give ! ” said he. 
 
 I have never used common arguments with 
 you ; and, in fact, if your love won’t come to 
 me without arguments, I don’t want it. I have 
 never told you anything about my means, for 
 instance, nor do I know or care anything about 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 73 
 
 yours. Nor does our being of different nation- 
 alities weigh with me a particle. How can I 
 convey to you what I mean ? My love is so 
 great that I should think you would love me 
 for that alone, unworthy of you though I am. 
 No one else loves you as I love you. I am 
 convinced of that. And I suppose you have 
 had other lovers.’’ 
 
 ‘‘Yes, I have had other lovers. I don’t 
 know why it is you compel me to discuss it 
 with you. You certainly cannot think I am 
 encouraging you. I have had others who — 
 admired me, and one ” 
 
 “ Not one whom you love ? ” he asked. 
 
 “ I almost loved him,” I replied, weakly. 
 
 “ Almost ! Then you never loved him. You 
 would never hesitate if you loved. Oh, I feel 
 sure you will love me yet ! You will love me 
 yet ! ” he exclaimed, with a sort of fierce enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 A curious feeling came over me ; I must 
 
74 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 have been influenced by his pertinacity and 
 earnestness. I could not help saying to myself, 
 Is he right ? Is he right ? Is this man to be 
 my fate? Is it true that I may be losing 7ny 
 cha7ice of love? '' But this was only for an in- 
 stant. 
 
 I resolved that we must not talk any longer, 
 and turned decidedly to go. 
 
 ‘‘One moment more,’' he said, “I must tell 
 
 you one other thing. I '' 
 
 “ Mr. Blake," I said, “ I cannot stay another 
 minute. We must go and join the others." 
 
 But this is something you ought to know 
 about me. You cannot know unless I tell you. 
 It is something very much to my discredit. I 
 
 hope you will not blame me, but " 
 
 I cannot listen to anything more," I said. 
 Really I cannot. Let us talk about some- 
 thing else." And I walked off very fast. 
 
 He acquiesced, and we went back. I fan- 
 cied that Mrs. Poynter eyed us rather susph 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 75 
 
 ciously, and on the drive home (she and Mr. 
 Wykeham were on the front seat) she looked 
 back at me all the time. To-morrow, I shall 
 tell mamma all about everything. I don’t 
 know what to make of it all. I wonder what 
 the other thing was Mr. Blake was going to tell 
 
 me ? 
 
76 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Eliot Blake to Lily Pattison. 
 
 February 23d. 
 
 My Dear Miss Pattison : 
 
 I hope you will pardon me if I address a few 
 lines to you. I waited on the porch and about 
 the grounds nearly all the morning in the hope 
 of seeing you. I wanted to say that I regret 
 having forced upon you yesterday so much that 
 you were evidently unwilling to hear. I sup- 
 pose I ought to apologize to you for having 
 taken advantage of your position, and yet I 
 intended nothing of the sort. I am hampered 
 every moment, it seems to me, by these miser- 
 able conventionalities. Bear with me a little, 
 and pray let me say a few words to you. I am 
 resolved not to harass you, and have made up 
 
CUPID, M,D, 
 
 77 
 
 my mind to wait a little longer and see if I can- 
 not win some favor in your eyes before I ad- 
 dress you again, for I certainly shall ask you 
 again, one day, unless you are pledged to some 
 other man. Meanwhile I shall leave you in 
 peace. I meant to all along, but yesterday the 
 impulse was too much for me. How can I be 
 silent ? How can I ? Why may I not tell you 
 of this great love that consumes me ? Does 
 not love make love ? How does a bird win its 
 mate ? One of the two must always be the 
 first to love, and how are you to know unless 
 I tell you ? You would despise me, and I 
 should despise myself, if I were to employ any 
 subterfuges with you, or descend to the wheed- 
 ling arts with which a man bent on pleasure 
 wins over a woman. I never show off before 
 you — never air my little graces, because I am so 
 anxious to be honest with you. I can sing, but 
 you have never heard me. I love you for your- 
 self, not because you are beautiful, nor because 
 
78 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 you please my taste and sensibilities ; and I 
 should love you just as much if you were pitted 
 with the small-pox. And I want to be loved for 
 myself. Do not think me conceited. I know 
 that you can see little in me to justify any such 
 hope, but still I do hope that when you come to 
 know my heart and my true nature you will not 
 find me altogether unlovable. I have been fool- 
 ish and careless in my mode of life, and there is 
 much that I regret in my past, but the hope of 
 your love has seemed to hallow every thought, 
 and change the standard of conduct I have 
 hitherto been content with. There is a holy of 
 holies in every true man's heart, and there you 
 are enshrined. 
 
 “ O, loved the most when most I feel 
 There is a lower and a higher,” 
 
 That is what I mean ; and this, too, is what I 
 mean : 
 
 “ Behold, I dream a dream of good, 
 
 And mingle all the world with thee.” 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 79 
 
 Can you wonder that I want you to know this ? 
 You spoke yesterday of a girl’s love being all 
 she had to give, as if you were afraid of what I 
 might be. That is not to be wondered at. 
 You could scarcely trust me till you knew me 
 better. But what I now tell you is absolutely 
 true, and I wish you to hear it from me before 
 my lips are sealed, as sealed they must be, at 
 all events for the present. I want you to know 
 that I love you with my good side uppermost, 
 and with the base hidden out of sight ; I well 
 know how unworthy of you even my best is, 
 but a man’s true love is the highest homage he 
 can pay a woman, and that homage I pay you. 
 
 I said in the park yesterday that I wished to 
 tell you something else, but on second thoughts 
 I have changed my mind. It had mainly to do 
 with my health. I am but a poor wreck of a 
 man at present, but if I regain my health I shall 
 be justified on that score. Alas ! a man should 
 seek his love boldly, and claim her as his right, 
 
8o 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 and win her for his own, but I — I must wait. 
 My tongue is tied when I am with you, and 
 even if it were not, I must keep silence for a 
 time. You may rest assured that during your 
 stay here no word of love shall pass my lips. 
 I will set a guard on them. Only let me see 
 you — that is all I ask. I have but one hope, 
 and that is in the strength and truth of my 
 love for you. But do not shut me out from 
 everything. Let me look at you and hear your 
 voice, and I will never offend you. Perhaps I 
 ought to say that my friend Wykeham knows 
 all about this, as you may have guessed. He 
 will be here a few days, but you may trust him, 
 as he is a man of scrupulous honor. 
 
 If I have caused you pain by this letter, pray 
 forgive me. I cannot help it ; I will not sur- 
 render my chance of winning you for lack of a 
 word. I hate all these miserable trammels 
 which put a woman out of reach, and I have an 
 idea that in America they go for less than they 
 
CUPID, M,D, 
 
 8i 
 
 do here. But you have my promise that I will 
 not intrude upon you now. And remember 
 that not till I hear from your own lips that you 
 are promised to another shall I abandon hope ; 
 for I am resolved that with those very lips you 
 shall tell me that your heart is mine. 
 
 Yours — till my dying day, yours, 
 
 Eliot Blake. 
 
82 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Lady Gore to John Wykeham. 
 
 Leighton, February 25, 1878. 
 
 My Dear Mr. Wykeham : 
 
 Since your letter reached me yesterday I 
 have scarcely thought of anything else. My 
 poor brother ! I wish I could go to him at 
 once, that is if you thought I could be of any 
 help to him, but I have a house full of people, 
 and on the loth the Archaeological Society 
 meets, and I am afraid I have more people 
 coming than I have beds for. Sir William is 
 not well, either, and has been laid up since 
 Monday with a touch of the gout. It is there- 
 fore doubly comforting to me to know that you 
 are with Eliot, and I hope you will find it pos- 
 sible to make him a good visit. 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 S3 
 
 The sad news you conveyed to me was quite 
 unexpected. Of course, I have been greatly 
 concerned about Eliot, but when I was last in 
 town Dr. Daubeny said nothing about the 
 opium, and I presume he must have known of 
 it. What in the world can be done to save 
 him ? I remember having been told that this 
 habit of taking opium is the most irresistible 
 and fatal of all habits — that it is deadly in its 
 effects on body, mind, and soul, and when I 
 think of my Eltie at such a pass I am almost 
 distracted. What can I do ? Is that place at 
 Dudington really the best place for him ? Sir 
 William says he has heard it highly spoken of. 
 What do the doctors propose to do ? I shall 
 write at once to Dr. Daubeny. I do not under- 
 stand how the habit has grown to such an ex- 
 tent without my having known of it, nor can I 
 yet see how it was contracted ; for Eliot, though 
 always headstrong and fond of his own way, 
 has never been intemperate, as you well know. 
 
84 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 Of course we must save him if he can be 
 saved. Do not misunderstand me, my dear 
 Mr. Wykeham, but I don't think you are quite 
 fair to Miss Pattison in what you propose — 
 that Eliot's passion for her should be utilized at 
 her expense, as it were. But perhaps you do 
 not mean quite so much, and merely suggest 
 that things shall take their own course. I cannot 
 quite reconcile Eliot's state of health with his 
 state of mind. As to his being really in love 
 with her, I should be inclined to doubt it. More 
 than once within the past few years I have 
 /heard him vow eternal devotion to some young 
 1 lady, and on one occasion I even went to call 
 / on one of them at his request. But he has 
 gradually drifted away from them. Of course 
 1 want to see him settled, that is if he recov- 
 ers his health ; and when I heard of his being 
 attentive to this American girl, having her 
 predecessors in mind, I scarcely knew what to 
 think ; but when I saw her I at once made up 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 85 
 
 my mind that she was a great prize, and that 
 Eliot would be a very fortunate man if he got 
 her. The event proved that I was right in a 
 measure, for the girl, like every noble girl, does 
 not hold herself cheaply, to be won in an hour. 
 Eliot can be very fascinating with women, 
 though, and I should not wonder if she became 
 interested in him if they are thrown much 
 together. Perhaps the very fact that he has 
 never said a word to me about this new love 
 affair may be significant, and he is pretty safe 
 to ask her again, though, as I said, I shall 
 not believe he is really in love until he is mar- 
 ried. 
 
 The truth is, that I feel reluctantly obliged 
 to confess that I think she is a little too good 
 for Iiim. I speak utterly without reserve to 
 you, for I know you to be his best friend. At 
 first I really dreaded her, and at this moment I 
 am totally in the dark as to who she is, as we 
 say, and what her people may be. America and 
 
86 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 England are now much nearer than they used 
 to be, yet still I think, on general principles, 
 that an Englishman ought to marry an English 
 wife. But it cannot be denied that there is 
 something peculiarly attractive about this girl. 
 Her face is not merely lovely— it is good ; it is 
 the reflection of a high nature and an unspotted 
 mind. A woman is quick to recognize one 
 quality in a woman, and that is honesty: and if 
 ever eyes and expression spoke honesty, they do 
 with her. There is something attractive even 
 in the way she wears her clothes. I think that 
 part of her grace is due to her head, which is 
 so small and almost classic in outline, remind- 
 ^ ing me of that statue— which is it, the Psyche ? 
 — at Naples. And I confess I do like to see a 
 girl with a clear skin. But what has all this to 
 do with it ? I am very foolish to ramble on 
 this way. All I mean is that I think she is an 
 exceptionally sweet girl, and perhaps I should 
 explain my meaning more clearly if I said that 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 87 
 
 Eliot, in his present condition, ought not to 
 dream of success with her. When he is 
 at his best he is worthy of any girl’s love, 
 but alas ! shall we ever see him the joyous, 
 careless, sweet-tempered Eliot of old days, 
 whose very failings were almost dear to us ! 
 Ah, if he had not insisted on riding that terri- 
 ble horse ! But he always would have his 
 own way. Is he to find his master at last in 
 opium ? 
 
 I must stop. I see that there is nothing for 
 me to do but hope and pray. I entreat you 
 to stay with him as long as possible. I sup- 
 pose that my presence, as you so gently hint, 
 would only be a drawback. I shall be glad 
 when our gay times down here are over, for 
 I have little heart for it all. The theatricals 
 were very successful, though we missed you 
 sadly. If Eliot gets well you must both come 
 down. 
 
 Good-by. Sir William would join me in 
 
88 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 kindest remembrances if he knew of my writ- 
 ing. 
 
 Pray believe me, always sincerely yours, 
 
 Clara Gore. 
 
 P. S. — On reading over my letter it occurs to 
 me to say that of course I understand that 
 everything depends on his recovery. It seems 
 idle to speculate about the future while he is in 
 this state. And you must not think that be- 
 cause I have schooled myself to write calmly 
 about my poor brother, I take all this sorrow 
 calmly. My heart is half broken with it. 
 
 C. G. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 89 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Lily’s Diary. 
 
 February 28th. Once more I turn to my 
 little book. I am thankful it has a lock and 
 key. 
 
 I have had nearly a week in which to reflect 
 upon Mr. Blake’s second proposal to me. I 
 am bound to say that he has kept his word, as 
 he promised in the letter he wrote me, and our 
 intercourse has been quite commonplace, gen- 
 erally speaking. This is fortunate, for mamma 
 is very uneasy, and has almost insisted on my 
 seeing nothing of him ; but this place would 
 certainly be far more dull than it is, without 
 these two gentlemen. I told her I was quite 
 able to take care of myself. 
 
90 
 
 CUPID, M,D, 
 
 Oh dear ! I am in such a restless, uneasy 
 frame of mind. I am an enigma to myself. I 
 am provoked with myself for thinking so much 
 about Mr. Blake. He certainly is one of the 
 strangest men I ever met. Why does he influ- 
 ence me so ? 
 
 I am certain there is some mystery about 
 him. He is peculiar. I have had plenty of 
 opportunities for studying him, and yet I can- 
 not make him out. One day he was telling me 
 about his history, and that did not enlighten 
 me, for so far as I can see he has never done 
 anything. Hunting, fishing, shooting, and 
 yachting seem to have occupied his entire 
 time. 
 
 7 I must say I like him. There is more in him 
 than there is in Mr. Wykeham. He is a little 
 dandified, and in that respect is unlike most of 
 the Englishmen I have met. I notice that he 
 takes great care of his hands, and he is very 
 particular about his shoes, and seems to be un- 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 91 
 
 happy if they are dirty. But he has that easy 
 style of dress that they all have over here. 
 
 There ! Is that the sum and substance of 
 him ? Not at all. He has something in him 
 that I can’t fathom, something that does not 
 appear on the surface. Once or twice when he 
 has quoted a few lines of poetry I have noticed 
 it. I think it is a sort of romantic intensity of 
 nature, or some special tenderness of heart; 
 and this is coupled with so much simplicity and 
 frankness that I can quite believe Mr. Wyke- 
 ham when he says he is a man of many friends. 
 Yet he takes very little pains to conciliate 
 people, and is rather audacious at times. The 
 other day he said to me, ‘‘ I like you best in a 
 black cloth dress, with a little straight collar 
 and cuffs, and a round hat on.’' 
 
 The idea ! 
 
 I am sure he suffers a great deal of pain, 
 probably from his arm. Mrs. Poynter insists 
 upon it that there is something else the matter 
 
92 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 with him, but I cannot conceive how she can 
 pry into other people's affairs as she does. She 
 is a natural born gossip. Mamma has taken a 
 great dislike to her, and so have I. I am so 
 glad mamma has this dear old Mrs. Mackenzie 
 to talk to. 
 
 March 2d. Mr. Blake is more of an enigma 
 than ever ! I ventured to tell him so to-day, 
 and he said : 
 
 ‘‘ Perhaps you will solve it before long. I 
 will give you a clew : and then he wrote these 
 lines on the back of an envelope, and handed 
 them to me : 
 
 “ Beware ! beware 
 
 His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! 
 
 Weave a circle round him thrice, 
 And close your eyes with holy dread, 
 For he on honey-dew hath fed. 
 
 And drunk the milk of Paradise.” 
 
 Now what in the world does this mean ? 
 When I asked him he only smiled. We walked 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 93 
 
 on for a while in perfect silence. Then he 
 said, 
 
 Do you know who wrote that ? 
 
 No,'' said I. 
 
 But it’s from quite a well-known poem," he 
 said. 
 
 My education has been neglected, you see." 
 
 No," he replied, hastily, ‘‘ you know I 
 didn't mean that. Never mind. By and by 
 you will know what little there is to be known." 
 Then we walked into the house. 
 
 The calm certainty with which he talks of the 
 future half amuses and half frightens me. But 
 his manner is so tender and gentle with me ! 
 Never a word of love does he speak, and yet I 
 can see it in his eyes all the time. 
 
 / Is this kind of wooing more dangerous than 
 ^ the other ? 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 94 
 
 XX. 
 
 Dr. Rich to John Wykeham. 
 
 The Hygienic Hotel, Dudington, W., 
 
 March i8, 1878. 
 
 My Dear Sir : 
 
 As you requested when you left, I send you 
 a brief report of Mr. Blake's condition. He is 
 gaining rapidly on the morphia, but the strain 
 is great, and he is a man of such nervous and ex- 
 citable temperament, that we are a little appre- 
 hensive of how he will bear further reductions 
 of the dose. For this reason I am taking it off 
 rather more abruptly than I at first intended. 
 Shortly after your departure we effected with- 
 out opposition the most important reduction of 
 all, and induced him to abandon the use of the 
 hypodermic syringe. He manfully handed to 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 9S 
 
 me the different instruments in his possession, 
 and has never since asked for them, except on 
 one occasion, when a slight lapse of will was 
 quite pardonable, as he was taken with one of 
 the severe neuralgic headaches that inevitably 
 attend the discontinuance of the morphia. For 
 several hours he suffered acutely, and quite lost 
 his patience with me because I refused to ad- 
 minister a subcutaneous dose ; but I gave him 
 considerable quantities of valerian and other 
 comparatively harmless anodynes, and the pain 
 ultimately yielded to them. He could not re- 
 alize, poor fellow, that one dose such as he pro- 
 posed would probably have neutralized the 
 good work of the previous fortnight. 
 
 In general, however, I could not ask for a 
 more tractable patient, nor a more courageous 
 one. He is not aware himself of the progress 
 he has made ; the truth is, that he is now tak- 
 ing only eight grains a day, and this by the 
 mouth. It would be impossible for him to 
 
96 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 accomplish this without having recourse to sub- 
 stitutes, so I furnish him with a mixture of that 
 much-discussed drug cannabis Didica (probably 
 familiar to you under the name of hashish), and 
 also with a strong extract of wheat ; he is tak- 
 ing, moreover, plenty of malt and hops, though 
 I discourage spirits, and he smokes nearly all 
 the time. 
 
 Of his pluck and courage in this trying ordeal 
 I can only speak in the highest terms of admira- 
 tion. He seems to realize his position, and to 
 be really anxious to second us in every way, 
 and this, I need not tell you, is half the battle. 
 I do not think that the effects on his mental or 
 his moral nature will be serious or lasting. I 
 have not noticed in him any of the hallucinations 
 which sooner or later accompany the habit ; his 
 memory, too, is unimpaired. I think you said 
 he had always prided himself somewhat on his 
 quick and retentive memory, and to test it I 
 asked him to repeat anything he knew by heart, 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 97 
 
 telling him frankly just what my object was. 
 He recited at once passages from Homer, Hor- 
 ace, Schiller, De Musset, and other authors, 
 until I had quite enough of it. Then, thinking 
 that the repetition of these poems might be 
 somewhat mechanical and parrot-like, I asked 
 him to commit something while I went to see 
 another patient. I returned in less than three- 
 quarters of an hour, and he repeated a column 
 of the Saturday Review, which quite astonished 
 me ; and I was much interested in his method 
 of committing, which he explained to me. All 
 this goes to prove that his mind has not be- 
 come enfeebled by the drug. 
 
 I have had no reason as yet to doubt his 
 
 honesty in matters connected with opium, and 
 
 this is saying a good deal. One poor lady, 
 
 whose room is on the same floor as Mr. Blake’s, 
 
 and who is undergoing treatment for precisely 
 
 the same thing (only the habit is of longer 
 
 standing), ha§ given me endless trouble by her 
 7 
 
98 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 dishonesty. It is not her fault. I fear we can 
 never do anything for her. Only three days 
 since I went into her room and she was lying 
 asleep, in the unmistakable stupor of opium. I 
 wakened her and taxed her with it ; she pro- 
 tested her innocence vehemently, and not till I 
 threatened to search her clothes did she con- 
 fess that morphia had been sent to her in en- 
 velopes, by post. She was very penitent, and 
 wept profusely ; but there is no dependence to 
 be placed upon a word she says. Such cases 
 are very sad. 
 
 My letter has grown to a greater length than 
 
 I intended, but I know how anxious you are 
 
 about your friend, and, indeed, we all take the 
 
 greatest interest in him ourselves. I hope he 
 
 % 
 
 will pull through, though the real struggle 
 comes within the next six weeks, and we shall 
 soon know. I am trying to have him enter this 
 closing effort in as good shape as possible ; still, 
 I am not sanguine of the result : his will might 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 99 
 
 break down at the last minute. You will be 
 glad to hear that Mr. Pattison is much better, 
 and gets about very comfortably in a Bath 
 chair. 
 
 With kind regards, I am sincerely yours, 
 
 J. K. Rich, 
 
lOO 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Eliot Blake to John Wykeham. 
 
 March 20th. 
 
 I am not fit to write to you. I loathe my- 
 self. I shall never overcome this fearful thing. 
 Don’t write to me. Don’t say a word to me. 
 Dr. Rich knows all about it. I had three 
 hundred grains in my portmanteau, and yester- 
 day — like a fool — like a FOOL — I yielded to it. 
 This was worse than the other time, and all my 
 courage is gone — this time forever. Nothing 
 short of a miracle can save me now. 
 
 Nothing short of a miracle, unless O 
 
 Jack, I am a miserable creature ! I vacillate so ! 
 Can there be a ray of hope for me ? I was 
 going on so well. Strange to say, to-day I 
 have been content with my regular dose, but I 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 lOI 
 
 suppose the effect of my excess is cumulative, 
 and has lasted over to-day. All the house will 
 know of it. I went sound asleep in the draw- 
 ing-room, and staggered about so when I woke 
 up that they all thought I was drunk, especially 
 Mrs. Poynter. And to my great regret, Dr. 
 Rich thought it necessary to inform her of 
 the true state of the case, and now it will be 
 public property, for she is an incurable gossip. 
 He does not know her so well as I do. Though 
 I have been on the point of telling Lily all 
 about this vile habit, and throwing myself on 
 her mercy, so to speak, yet I have never quite 
 mustered up the courage, and she is still in the 
 dark. Sooner or later, however, she would 
 have to knoVv of it. But I should prefer to tell 
 her myself. It won’t make much difference, 
 though. I have lost her now. 
 
 Since I wrote the above Dr. Rich has been 
 in. He asked me to give him the morphia, 
 and I was about to do so, but Dr. Martin 
 
102 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 appeared just at that moment, and handed 
 it back to me ! Bless his old heart ! He said 
 it must be all or nothing with me, and I feel 
 comforted to think that he still has a vestige 
 of confidence in me. Now this is what I 
 mean when I say I vacillate so ; when I began 
 this note, I felt utterly despondent ; now, after 
 a single word of encouragement, I feel as if 
 there might still be some hope. Shall I set the 
 miserable stuff out on my table and say to it, 
 ^‘Are you Eliot Blake’s master, or am I?” 
 Or shall I give it all up — and die ? 
 
 Dear old man, my excuse for inflicting all 
 this on you is simply that there is no other 
 human being to whom I can talk as I can to 
 you. Forgive me. Don’t answer this. You 
 could only reproach me. 
 
 Ah, woe is me ! 
 
 Yours, 
 
 E. B. 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 103 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Miss Lily Pattison to Miss Caroline Perkins. 
 
 The Hygienic Hotel, March 22, 1878. 
 
 Dearest Carrie : 
 
 Your letter has just reached me, and it really 
 is odd that you should ask so much about Mr. 
 Blake, for I confess that to-day he has the 
 lion's share of my thoughts, as I heard a terri- 
 ble piece of news about him. I told you there 
 was a mystery connected with him, and it has 
 resolved itself into a very simple yet very fright- 
 ful fact. He takes opium. That Mrs. Poynter 
 told me all about it yesterday. Of course she 
 found out all about it. Carrie, I positively 
 detest that woman. Instead of sympathizing 
 with poor Mr. Blake, she almost seemed to 
 
104 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 gloat over her discovery. I presume she has 
 informed every one in the house by this time. 
 
 Isn’t it awful ? I believe it’s a great deal 
 worse than drinking, but I don’t know much 
 about it. The worst of it is, according to Mrs. 
 Poynter, that he had almost got cured of the 
 habit, and then relapsed into it again. I feel 
 so sorry for him ! If I could only do some- 
 thing to help him ! I haven’t seen him for two 
 or three days, but when I do I think I must 
 speak to him about it. I cannot tell you how 
 good and lovely he has been to me. Almost 
 every day he has' planned something for our 
 pleasure ; and will you believe it, mamma, who 
 couldn’t abide him at first, is really fond of 
 him. We have learned so much about Eng- 
 land from him and his friends. You remember 
 how much I regretted having to come here at 
 first ? Well, now I am very glad we came. 
 We have explored this lovely county of Mid- 
 dlesex, and even parts of Surrey, very thor- 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 105 
 
 oughly ; I told you about our picnic the day 
 we went to Wickfield, and since then we have 
 been to several other great houses, and have 
 been all over this part of the Thames. I have 
 never seen anything, in its way, so exquisite as 
 the Thames. I often go to Brentford and Kew 
 Bridge, just to look at it. Sometimes I drive 
 in a little pony-chaise we have hired, and some- 
 times I walk ; and I have grown to bless papa 
 for making me wear low-heeled shoes, like 
 these English girls. You know, dear, that 
 ever since I have been old enough to under- 
 stand anything, the wickedness of wearing high 
 heels has been faithfully dinned into my ears ; 
 and I am glad of it now, for I think nothing of 
 five miles. The leaves will be out soon, and 
 then everything will be lovelier still. 
 
 I am so much grieved over poor Mr. Blake 
 that I cannot think of anything else. So much 
 is now explained to me ! All that restless, un- 
 easy, haunted look in his eyes, and his depres- 
 
io6 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 sion at times. To be sure, I can only guess, 
 but I feel certain that all this depression has 
 been caused by that horrid opium ; for he is 
 too noble a man to rest tranquilly under such a 
 ban. I know him so well now : and though he 
 would never guess it, I can sometimes read his 
 thoughts in his face. Since I last wrote to you 
 he has not said a word that could be consid- 
 ered love-making- — that is, exactly. I am glad 
 of this. Somehow he has contrived to make 
 himself pleasant — far pleasanter than if he were 
 making love. Just think of the state he must 
 be in ! 
 
 As for that Mrs. Poynter, I shall never be 
 able to endure her. The idea of saying to 
 mamma that Mr. Blake was a dangerous 
 companion for a young girl ! I shall cer- 
 tainly not show him the cold shoulder now 
 that he is in trouble, especially since he has 
 been so kind. And as for her opinion, I do 
 not value it very highly. Sarah says they say 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 107 
 
 rather queer things about her in the servants' 
 hall. 
 
 This letter is all about Mr. Blake, but I have 
 no time to add more, except to thank you once 
 more, dear, for all the pleasant home news. 
 Give my love to them all, and write again very 
 soon to Your loving 
 
 Lily. 
 
 P.S. — Neutral greens and browns are to be 
 worn a great deal this spring, I hear. I have a 
 lovely navy blue serge for walking. Got the 
 stuff at Swan & Edgar's. 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 loS 
 
 XXIIL 
 
 Lily’s Diary. 
 
 March 29th. We are going to leave here to- 
 morrow ! The most dreadful things have hap- 
 pened ! And I have never seen papa in such a 
 state ! I must put it all down. 
 
 Yesterday morning I met Mr. Blake in the 
 grounds. It was the first time I had seen him 
 for several days, and I was shocked with his 
 appearance, he was so haggard and worn. 
 There were dark lines round his eyes, and his 
 cheeks were sunken and almost colorless. He 
 raised his hat, and was going to pass on, but I 
 stopped him. 
 
 ‘‘I haven’t seen you for a perfect age,” I 
 said. I am afraid you haven’t been well.” 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 109 
 
 ‘‘No/' he replied, “I have been very far 
 from well. May I walk a little v/ay with 
 you ? 
 
 “ Certainly you may." He spoke so timidly 
 that I answered rather emphatically, to reas- 
 sure him. I knew what was passing through 
 his mind. 
 
 “ I scarcely feel as if I ought to ask even this 
 favor of you," he said, sadly. “ I dare say you 
 have heard — something about me, haven’t 
 you ? " 
 
 “Oh, in a place of this kind, one is always 
 hearing more or less tittle-tattle. They haven't 
 anything else to do." 
 
 “ But you did hear something, didn't you ? " 
 he continued. “ Pray, tell me, because, if you 
 didn't, I want to tell you myself." 
 
 “Well, Mr. Blake, to be perfectly honest, I 
 suppose I know what you mean. They do say 
 that you are " I hesitated. 
 
 “ Oh, say it right out," he interrupted, wav- 
 
no 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 ing his cane wildly in front of him. ‘‘ I ought 
 to be used to it by this time. They say that I 
 take opium — or morphia, which is worse — that 
 I am an opium-eater, or an opium-drunkard. 
 Well, it is so. It is all true. I am just what 
 they say I am.'’ 
 
 ‘‘ I am so sorry ! ” I said. 
 
 I have been meaning to tell you about it 
 for a long time past. Several times I have 
 been on the point of it. It is very good of you 
 to say you are sorry. Perhaps you have a clew 
 now to my state of mind lately. You can guess 
 what I have suffered. I have been possessed 
 with a feverish desire to conquer the habit be- 
 fore you knew of it, but, as you see, I have 
 failed." 
 
 “ But you are not going to give it up ? " I 
 asked. ‘‘ I mean, you are still resolved to 
 overcome it, aren't you ? " 
 
 Oh, yes," he replied, if I possibly can, 
 but I have lost courage lately. It never was 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 Ill 
 
 my fault that I drifted into it. The horrible 
 poison got a hold upon me before I knew it. 
 I don’t believe one doctor in fifty realizes the 
 responsibility he assumes when he gives his 
 patient opium. Oh, if you only knew how I 
 have struggled to free myself from it ! I an- 
 swered quack advertisements, I did everything 
 under the sun. The habit grew in spite of it 
 all, until at last I came here, on a sort of for- 
 lorn hope. For over two months I have fought 
 it steadily, aided by every help that science 
 could afford me, and with a motive of my own, 
 into the bargain, that I deemed more potent 
 than all the resources of the pharmacopoeia. 
 You know what I mean. But it is of no use, I 
 fear. It seems like hoping against hope, now.” 
 
 Ah, don’t say that, Mr. Blake ! ” 
 
 Oh, I am still keeping at it, but all my 
 pluck seems to have vanished. The doctors 
 try and cheer me up, and say that this relapse 
 of the other day was due to a too rapid reduc- 
 
II2 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 tion of the quantity I am taking. You know I 
 have been pursuing a systematic course of 
 treatment. But I beg your pardon. I ought 
 not to bother you with all this.'' 
 
 He seemed so forlorn and miserable that I 
 resolved to encourage him not to abandon 
 hope, if I could. So I said: ‘‘It doesn't 
 bother me at all, Mr. Blake. I feel a great 
 deal of sympathy for you. You have been so 
 kind to us, and you are almost the only person 
 we know at all well in England. I wish you 
 could get over it. Tell me how it was you 
 came to give way the other day. Perhaps it 
 might help you to talk about it to some one." 
 
 “Do you really care about it? Is it really 
 anything to you what becomes of me ? Oh, if 
 I thought you — if I thought it made any differ- 
 ence to you, I think I should be strong 
 enough for anything ! ” 
 
 His manner changed, and the deep dejection 
 of his air changed almost into enthusiasm. 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 I did not mean that exactly. You are 
 such a volcano!’’ I added, smiling. ‘‘What 
 I mean is that I do admire above all things 
 power of will, and I was really sorry when I 
 heard that you had allowed yours to relax. 
 Tell me how it happened.” 
 
 “ Oh, I can’t, I can’t,” he replied. “ It’s too 
 humiliating to speak of, to you of all people 
 in the world. But if I thought you really 
 cared ” 
 
 “ Mr. Blake, excuse me if I say I don’t think 
 you take exactly the right view of it. You 
 oughtn’t to be influenced by me, or any one 
 else, that way. Do you think you go to the 
 right place for help ? Of course I don’t know, 
 and perhaps I oughtn’t to ask.” 
 
 He was silent for a moment. 
 
 “ I cannot defend myself,” he said at length, 
 in a low voice. “ Prayer seems a sort of 
 mockery lately. I know I ought to pray, but I 
 
 don’t, somehow. I wish I could.” 
 
 8 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 114 
 
 ‘‘ If you wish it, why don’t you pray, then? ” 
 I asked him. ‘‘I am so sure that is the only 
 thing ! I do not profess to be good, and if you 
 knew me better, you would see how very far I 
 fall short of my own ideal of Vv^hat I ought to 
 be. But I believe that if we pray hard enough 
 for anything that seems clearly to be right, our 
 prayers will be granted. One Sunday papa 
 took me to St. Paul’s, to hear one of your most 
 famous preachers, and he preached at least an 
 hour, I should think, upon the efficacy of 
 prayer. It was a very fine sermon, and every 
 one seemed greatly impressed with it, but it 
 conveyed very little to me. In the first place, 
 I couldn’t understand it all, and then I confess 
 that I prefer to regard prayer, like faith and 
 other sacred things, as less a matter of reason- 
 ing than of instinct. According to my view, 
 the faith of the little child is of more value 
 than all the arguments of theologians. Every- 
 thing that has come right so far in my life 
 
CUPID, M,D, 
 
 115 
 
 has been due to my praying for it. I am sure 
 of that.'’ 
 
 ^‘Yes, but look at the difference between 
 your life and mine," said he. ‘‘You have 
 grown up under such different conditions. I 
 believe, in reality, very much what you believe, 
 but with women matters of that sort assume 
 such a different aspect. You are shielded from 
 your cradle, and stainlessness of life is indis- 
 pensable to you ; your whole temper and habit 
 is favorable to virtue, and faith, and prayer. 
 With men, the world at large condones what 
 would be unpardonable in women ; and many 
 men, like myself, who are not governed by the 
 highest of motives, drift into careless habits 
 without half realizing what they are doing. If 
 I had seen you three years ago, I should be a 
 very different man now — yet I must not quite 
 say that, for this habit of the opium grew up 
 against my will, and, at first, almost without 
 my knowledge. Do you know, when you say 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 ii6 
 
 to me that I ought to pray and go to the right 
 place for help, I feel like a convict. Oh, 
 listen to me,’’ he said, as I was about to pro* 
 test. ‘'You know you have unbounded influ- 
 ence with me. I care more for what you say, 
 and for your good opinion, than for all the rest 
 of the world put together. Let me just tell 
 you this : I will pray, and not because you 
 wish it either, but because I know it is right ; 
 and if you will only wish me God-speed in it, I 
 will make one more effort, but this time it will 
 be kill or cure.” 
 
 He looked at me pleadingly, and held out 
 his hand. I don’t know why it was, but my 
 eyes filled with tears, and, guided by some 
 curious impulse, I put my hand in his. It was 
 like touching an electric battery. 
 
 “ Oh, Lily, Lily,” he burst forth, “say one 
 word to help me ! One word from you, and I 
 will swear to give up the opium forever ! I 
 will anyhow, on the chance ! Listen,” he said, 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 117 
 
 speaking very slowly, and holding my hand as 
 if he would crush the bones ; I will not make 
 any rash or absurd promise. I believe they 
 would not permit me to discontinue it all at 
 once, as it might occasion great risk ; but I do 
 here and now solemnly swear that if I am alive 
 on the 1st of May this year, 1878, I will never 
 again touch or take any form of opium ; I swear 
 this by the love I bear you, so help me God ! ” 
 I was frightened by his vehemence. But I 
 felt so glad that he had made the promise ! 
 
 Are you perfectly sure you will keep it? 
 
 I asked, at length. 
 
 ‘‘ Perfectly ! I shall not fail this time. Now, 
 I tell you what I am going to do. I am going 
 to stay in my room here till I get well, and I 
 shall never look upon your face again unless I 
 do get well. And I have kept my word this 
 time about the love-making, too, haven’t I ? ” 
 Pretty well,” I said, with a faint effort to 
 smile. 
 
ii8 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 ‘‘Only pretty well?'' he asked. “Do you 
 know what I want to do, every minute ? I 
 long to fold you to my heart, and — ^no ! no ! I 
 will not say it. This is good-by. Let me look 
 into your eyes, just one moment.” 
 
 I cannot explain the curious fascination Mr. 
 Blake's eyes have always exercised upon me, 
 especially when he looks intently and fixedly, 
 as he did then. I was powerless to move. 
 All of a sudden his face changed ; the basilisk- 
 look vanished, and in its stead I could see a 
 perfect world of tenderness in his gaze. He 
 drew near to me, and whispered, half under his 
 breath, “ My love ! My love ! '' He didn t 
 kiss me, but he whispered quickly in my ear, 
 “Just for one instant!” and he touched my 
 cheek — my left cheek — with his, and brushed 
 it lightly across, and — oh, how can I describe 
 it ? In that second I believe I loved him ! 
 The scales fell from my eyes, and I under- 
 stood 1 I knew that I loved him ! It was a 
 
CUPID y M.D, 
 
 119 
 
 moment of bliss, but it v/as destined to be 
 brief ; for just as I was on the point of rushing 
 away, but before we had either of us moved, a 
 chair, wheeled by one of the bathmen, turned 
 the corner of the walk, and in it was seated — 
 PAPA ! 
 
 It was the most embarrassing moment I ever 
 passed. There I was, half-embraced by a gen- 
 tleman, and apparently — nay, in reality — con- 
 senting to the whole proceeding. I thought at 
 once of the impossibility of explaining it to 
 papa. But something had to be done. I 
 turned hurriedly and walked off in the oppo- 
 site direction, leaving Mr. Blake to face papa 
 alone. 
 
 What passed between them I am ignorant 
 of ; but within a quarter of an hour papa sent 
 for me. The minute I saw him I knew he was 
 in a rage. 
 
 ‘‘ Lily,*’ he said, ‘‘ I presume you have some 
 
120 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 explanation of the extraordinary performance 
 I interrupted just now/* 
 
 ‘‘No, papa, I am afraid I can’t explain it — 
 that is, very well.” 
 
 “Then I should think you would be ashamed 
 of yourself.” 
 
 “ I have done nothing that I am ashamed 
 of.** 
 
 “ Well,** said he, “ I am ashamed of you, at 
 any rate. To see you standing there, with a 
 comparative stranger hugging and kissing 
 you ** 
 
 “Papa! He wasn’t hugging and kissing 
 me 1 ** 
 
 “ 1 say, with a comparative stranger 
 
 “ Papa ! Will you please let me explain 1 ** 
 
 “ Explain ! I just asked you to explain, and 
 you said you had no explanation to give.” 
 
 “That was because I despaired of ever mak 
 ing clear to you something that I can hardly 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 121 
 
 understand myself. But if you think so badly 
 of me, perhaps I had better not attempt any 
 explanation, after all.'’ And I turned to leave 
 the room, for I was rapidly getting angry. 
 
 ‘‘ Lily, wait a minute. I will be perfectly 
 reasonable with you. You surely cannot ex* 
 pect me to be pleased with what I saw this 
 afternoon." 
 
 ** Papa, if I had ever misconducted myself it 
 would be different. But you know perfectly 
 well that no one of my gentlemen friends has 
 ever taken a liberty with me. And mamma 
 knows it, too." 
 
 The tears were now' all ready to flow. Papa 
 hates crying, but I couldn't help it. 
 
 ‘‘Yes," said he, “you've always been a 
 good girl. That's why I don't understand this 
 business. What had he been saying to you ? " 
 
 “ He had been telling me about his illness," 
 I replied, between sobs. 
 
 “ His illness ! Why, child, that's one of the 
 
122 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 commonest devices of these plausible fellows. 
 You shouldn't be misled by a smooth exterior. 
 Mrs. Poynter has told your mother that this 
 young man's habits are shocking, and that he 
 has been noted for his philandering propen- 
 sities." 
 
 Yes," I replied energetically, and if what 
 Sarah hears is true, Mrs. Poynter had better 
 look after her own habits, instead of comment- 
 ing on other people's. I know Mr. Blake 
 much better than she does." 
 
 Well, you may depend upon it she is right 
 in this instance. I am told that he cannot exist 
 without opium ; and I prefer not to have any 
 such man dangling about you. You are not 
 old enough, Lily, to know that attentions from 
 such men mean absolutely nothing. They 
 coax and delude girls into folly, and never 
 dream of honestly proposing to them ; not that 
 I should ever want him to propose to you, 
 goodness knows.'* 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 123 
 
 ‘‘ It happens that you are mistaken, papa, 
 for Mr. Blake has already proposed to me, 
 more than once/* 
 
 ‘‘What?’* papa shouted. “Proposed to 
 you ? And when, pray ? Without a word to 
 me ! And why have I never been informed 
 of this ? ” 
 
 “ Because you were so unwell, papa, that 
 we thought it better not to worry you with 
 
 • , ft 
 
 it. 
 
 “ ‘ We ! ’ And who does ‘ we ’ mean ? You 
 don’t mean to say you have accepted him ? ” 
 
 “No, papa, I refused him. By ^we’ I meant 
 mamma and I. I think I will go to her now.” 
 And I went to the door. 
 
 “ You may ask her if it will be convenient 
 for her to leave this place to-morrow. Do you 
 hear ? To-morrow.” 
 
 And then I escaped, and went into mamma’s 
 room, and she comforted me. What should I 
 do without her ! I told her everything that 
 
124 
 
 CUPID, M,D, 
 
 had happened. But there was something I 
 didn’t tell even her. 
 
 So we are to leave this strange place, to 
 which I came with such regret ! And we are 
 going nobody knows where ! 
 
 Good-by — to Dudington ! 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 125 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Eliot Blake to John Wykeham. 
 
 Dudington, April yth. 
 
 Dear Jack : 
 
 She is gone ! For a week I have not seen 
 her. I tell you what it is, Jack, if there ever 
 was an angel on this earth, it is that girl. You 
 haven't answered my last note, and I am rather 
 glad of it, for thanks to a kind word from Lily, 
 I have started again, and this time there must 
 be no failure, for oh, my dear old man, I have 
 a new hope ! A lover's instinct is very keen, 
 and I would almost stake my life on her com- 
 ing to love me, if I can only succeed now. You 
 have no idea what lovely things she said to me, 
 and I felt like a perfect brute all the while. 
 Her father stumbled upon us at an unlucky 
 
126 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 moment, and looked daggers at me, but if I 
 can only get her, I don’t care for all the fathers 
 in Christendom. 
 
 Now, I swore by all I hold holy that this 
 time I turn my back on opium forever. I have 
 said as much before, but never to her, and this 
 time I am going to do it, if it kills me. I am in 
 bed now, so you will excuse a very shabby let- 
 ter. I am resolved to make quick work of the 
 morphia, and have cut it down tremendously 
 the last week. Just think, I am now taking 
 but two grains a day, one at ten o’clock in the 
 morning, and the other at five in the evening. 
 I have to take a sleeping-draught of bromides, 
 though, and my nerves are all shattered, as 
 my writing testifies. But it is something of a 
 victory to have cut the dose down to this point. 
 Something ! It is almost everything. 
 
 I have only strength for a word more, for 
 though I write courageously I am very low, I 
 want you to come to me, now, at once, and 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 127 
 
 help me. No matter what you are doing, do 
 come down here. I need all the help I can 
 get, and I cannot bear to be alone, for fear the 
 terrible stuff will master me. Yet I don't want 
 to give up the supply I have, for that would be 
 so cowardly. I know I am asking a good deal 
 of you, but won't you come ? 
 
 Good heavens ! How I crave it ! It seems 
 as if I couldn't wait another minute. I feel 
 that sick, shivering thrill all over my skin. 
 When that is on me I always think of the 
 divine pity I saw in her face that day — that 
 gentle, troubled look. I know that it is almost 
 madness to hope for her still, but I do, never- 
 theless. She is my talisman, my star, my 
 guardian angel. It is hoping almost against 
 hope, but still I hope on. It is forever the law 
 of my members warring against the law of my 
 mind. Come to me now, and help me. 
 
 Yours, as always, 
 
 E. B. 
 
128 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 >• 
 
 XXV. 
 
 John Wykeham to Lady Gore. 
 
 The Hygienic Hotel, April 26, 1878. 
 My Dear Lady Gore : 
 
 I think he has turned the corner now. I 
 send you the notes I have taken during the 
 past few days. I never saw such suffering — 
 nor such heroism. He is terribly w^asted and 
 feeble, but I believe there is no doubt of his 
 pulling through. I have given him all your 
 messages, but he begs me to ask you not to 
 come on at present. 
 
 I hear that the Pattisons are in the Isle of 
 Wight. I am certain that there was something 
 between Eliot and Miss Pattison before they 
 left. Indeed, this Mrs. Poynter, whom I be- 
 lieve I mentioned to you, insists upon it that 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 129 
 
 Mr. Pattison is very angry with his daughter 
 for encouraging Eliot, and has changed his 
 headquarters in consequence. I should be 
 greatly inclined to doubt this statement, as 
 she is clearly prejudiced against the girl. I 
 know well enough, from what Eliot has said 
 himself, that the girl had shown him no encour- 
 agement whatever up to the time of my last 
 visit, and she refused him twice, to my knowl- 
 edge. And I think that Eliot would tell me at 
 once if there had been any arrangement or 
 understanding between them. 
 
 As you will see from my notes, the devotion 
 of these doctors, especially in the case of Dr. 
 Rich, has been extraordinary. Nothing could 
 exceed their kindness, and we are all a little 
 fagged after the terrible anxiety of the night 
 before last, so I will ask you to excuse a hurried 
 letter, and believe me. 
 
 Yours, very faithfully, 
 
 J. Wykeham. 
 
 9 
 
130 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 I arrived here on the 13th, but my notes 
 begin on the i/th, when I first began to feel 
 anxious. 
 
 April 17th. Dr. Rich informed me to-day 
 that the exact quantity of morphia Eliot was 
 taking daily is a grain and a quarter. It is a 
 fearful strain upon the poor fellow. He won’t 
 stay still a minute ; he seems to get some relief 
 from kicking his legs in the bed, and waving 
 his arms to and fro like a person swimming. 
 Sometimes nothing will keep him in bed, and 
 he gets up and paces the room like a tiger in 
 a cage. In fact, I call this “ tigering,” when I 
 try and cheer him up by making a little fun. I 
 read aloud to him a good deal, especially at 
 night, when he is trying to get to sleep. Dr. 
 Rich first gives him a draught containing the 
 bromides of potassium and sodium, hyoscyamus, 
 ginger, etc., and then I begin on one of my 
 law briefs, and If that fails, I try Harvey’s 
 Meditations.” The latter scarcely ever fails to 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 131 
 
 produce a sound slumber. I have a cot in his 
 room, and Green, a nurse he has hired here, 
 sleeps in the next room. 
 
 April 18th. No reduction to-day, as Eliot 
 passed a bad night. He was so poorly this 
 morning that he asked for his ‘‘ pack at eight 
 o’clock, so we gave it to him. This operation 
 consists in dipping a sheet into strong mustard 
 water, and then winding it round him till he 
 resembles a mummy. He likes it, and keeps 
 it on about an hour and a half. Dr. Rich says 
 it tones him up. Anything that occupies his 
 time is of great service. 
 
 His appetite is gone for the time being. He 
 eats a little toast moistened with raw beef-juice, 
 with a little pepper and salt, but rarely any- 
 thing more substantial, except a mouthful of 
 egg now and then. He has his malt extract, 
 and his wheat extract, and four or five glasses 
 of port in the course of the day. 
 
 The one thing he seems to enjoy is getting 
 
132 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 me to talk about Miss P. That he never tires 
 of. There is no doubt about it, he really is in 
 love at last. He will enlarge on her perfections 
 by the hour, and I listen patiently and put in a 
 
 Yes, indeed,^' or I believe you, my boy,'* 
 or something of the sort occasionally. Now, 
 Miss Pattison is an exceptionally lovely young 
 lady, but she is not the perfect goddess Eliot 
 makes her out to be. Queer. Wish I could 
 feel that way about a girl. 
 
 April 19th. Night. Eliot is awake and al- 
 most crazy. This morning the dose was cut 
 down to one grain precisely. He implored Dr. 
 Rich to tell him exactly how much he was tak- 
 ing. Dr. Rich was silent for a moment, but 
 Dr. Peck, who was also present, said, “Just 
 one grain." Then Eliot raised himself up, and 
 said : 
 
 “ Not another atom of the stuff will I touch. 
 Doctor, do you hear me ? Not another atom." 
 
 They tried to reason with him, assuring him 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 133 
 
 that it would be easier to cut the grain up into 
 tenths, and spend several days over it, but he 
 wouldn’t hear of it. 
 
 It would only prolong this torture,” said 
 he. I suppose 1 shall get used to going with- 
 out it in time, shan’t I ? ” 
 
 They told him that undoubtedly he would, 
 but that it would be much harder for him at 
 present. 
 
 ‘‘ I don’t care,” he replied. ‘‘I can’t stand 
 this suspense any longer. And no matter what 
 I suffer for a time, the delight of really throw- 
 ing it behind me will more than make up for 
 that.” 
 
 So he has had none since ten o’clock this 
 morning, and his condition is truly pitiable. 
 He could not bear the reading to-night, and 
 Dr. Martin and Dr. Peck were almost on the 
 point of giving him a little hydrate of chloral, 
 but they finally decided not to, as Dr. Rich 
 was opposed to it. I agree with Rich that the 
 
CUPID, M,D, 
 
 134 
 
 chloral might be almost as bad as the morphia. 
 Eliot settled it, however, without our aid, for 
 he caught the word ‘‘ chloral,’’ and pricked up 
 his ears. 
 
 What’s that ? Chloral ? I won’t take any 
 chloral. It’s just as bad as the other.” 
 
 Every hour he seems to grow more restless 
 and miserable. At times, however, he will 
 shout out for joy over his freedom. 
 
 I shall do it yet ! ” he exclaimed just now. 
 ‘‘Jack, do you know why I wouldn’t take the 
 chloral ? She said one day that she thought it 
 a very dangerous thing to take.” 
 
 “ And so it is,” said I. “ Now try and go to 
 sleep, old man.” 
 
 “Sleep! I feel as if I should never sleep 
 again.” 
 
 But the bromides finally told, and he is now 
 dozing in a troubled way, and I shall try and 
 get some rest myself. 
 
 April 20th. Much as yesterday, except that 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 135 
 
 he eats almost less than he did, and is rather 
 weaker. 
 
 April 22d. The doctors are getting a little 
 anxious, I think. Eliot can scarcely retain any 
 nourishment at all, and his whole system shows 
 signs of collapse. They say it is to be ex- 
 pected, but I fancy they wish he had not cut 
 off the last grain so suddenly. He perspires 
 profusely and is in an agony of restlessness. 
 He said this morning, I feel as if the top of 
 my head would come off.'' Dr. Rich tells me 
 that this is all natural. 
 
 If you muffle up the nerves with opium for 
 two years," he said, you must expect all this 
 when you unmuffle them. It is a nakedness of 
 the nerves, so to speak, and is exquisitely pain- 
 ful. You notice how his eyes water, for in- 
 stance. That is because the lachrymal gland 
 finds work so unusual that it is working to ex- 
 cess. I wish he could eat, though. We must 
 keep his strength up, somehow. I think I 
 
136 
 
 CUPID, M,D, 
 
 must give him a little brandy. We must look 
 out, however, that he doesn’t get up a fondness 
 for spirits at this juncture.’^ 
 
 I am nearly worn out myself, and am going 
 to lie down for a bit and let Green take a turn. 
 
 April 24th, or rather, April 25th, as it is 
 nearly four o’clock A.M. No entry yesterday, 
 as I was too anxious. At last, thank God, he 
 has taken some nourishment. All day yester- 
 day he grew weaker, and toward evening be- 
 gan to wander a little in his head. The greater 
 part of to-day he has been positively delirious, 
 except when taking his various medicines, 
 when he never failed to ask, “ Is there any 
 opium in it ? If there is, I won’t touch it. 
 Don’t deceive me.” He seems to fancy that 
 we are going to give him a little, without his 
 knowledge, to comfort him. It is sorrowful to 
 see him, a wreck of his old self, lying there, 
 talking incoherently about Lily, and opium, 
 and everything under the sun. Every little 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 137 
 
 while he will spout poetry, especially the lines 
 from Kubla Khan,'' 
 
 “ Beware ! Beware ! 
 
 His flashing eyes, his floating hair — ” 
 
 and so on to the end — '' the milk of Paradise," 
 when once he burst out and almost shrieked, 
 
 They ought to call it the milk of hell. But 
 poets never call a spade a spade." 
 
 Yet, in all his delirium, his resolution has 
 never wavered. He has, apparently, some 
 notion of the state he is in. Only once to-day 
 has he been perfectly coherent in his speech. 
 
 ** Jack," he said, quickly and naturally. 
 
 What is it, dear old fellow ? " I asked. 
 
 If I die, tell her I stuck to it." 
 
 Then he went off raving again. 
 
 Green noticed a change to-night, for the 
 worse, as he thought, and, after a hurried con- 
 sultation, the doctors prepared a strong dose of 
 capsicum. Dr. Rich said to me : 
 
CUPID y M,D. 
 
 If his stomach will retain this a few 
 moments, it will give it a temporary tone, and 
 he may be able to take some nourishment. 
 What is there ready here ? ” 
 
 I told him there was some cold bouillon and 
 some milk. 
 
 Just the thing,** he replied. Have a little " 
 of the bouillon ready in a wine-glass.” 
 
 Then he sat down on the bed, and induced 
 Blake to sit up, telling him he had some 
 sherry and bitters to give him an appetite. 
 
 Only,** he added, I have put a little dash 
 of cayenne in it, to tone you up. It’s a 
 sort of pick-me-up, you know. Now drink 
 it, that’s a good fellow. There’s no opium 
 in it. 
 
 So Blake drank it, and at once began to 
 splutter and cough at a great rate. 
 
 ‘‘By Jove,” he exclaimed, as soon as he 
 could speak, “ you’ve given me liquid fire.” 
 
 “ Lie down,” said the doctor, soothingly, 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 139 
 
 and keep quiet for a minute/’ Then, turning 
 to me, Give me the wine-glass.” 
 
 He was right. Instantly Eliot began to com- 
 plain, Tm all on fire inside. For pity’s sake 
 give me a drink.” 
 
 Here, take this nice beef-tea,” said the 
 doctor. It’s cold.” 
 
 ‘‘Ah,” said Eliot, “that’s good. More, 
 please.” 
 
 “ No more for a few minutes,” said the doc- 
 tor. “If you lie still five minutes, you shall 
 have another drink.” 
 
 So he lay still. The second time we gave 
 him a small quantity of milk, and kept alter- 
 nating the two every ten or fifteen minutes for 
 a couple of hours. Then Dr, Peck said : 
 
 The crisis is past now. He will sleep soon, 
 and this nourishment will give him strength. 
 Watch him very closely.” And he went to 
 bed, leaving Green, Dr. Rich, and myself in 
 charge. 
 
140 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 All night we have cared for him. The sun is 
 now rising, and I shall take a little rest, thank- 
 ful that he is doing better. 
 
 April 26th. Morning. Thank Heaven, ever 
 since that dose of capsicum Eliot has been 
 gaining ground. His mind is quite clear 
 to-day, and he is to have a little chicken, 
 minced on toast. I find that Dr. Peck scarcely 
 expected him to live through that night. It 
 was a closer shave than I imagined. 
 
 Eliot has just asked me what day of the 
 month it was. I told him, 
 
 ‘‘ Five days to spare,*' he said, thoughtfully. 
 ‘‘ I owe it all to her. I wonder if she will let 
 me thank her the way I want to ? " 
 
 To which oracular reflection I made no reply. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 141 
 
 XXVL 
 
 Eliot Blake, Dudington, to Miss Lily Pattison, 
 
 Care of J. Pattison, Esq., Brown, Shipley & Co., 
 London, May i, 1878. 
 
 I have kept my word. Thank God, I am 
 once more a free man. May He ever bless 
 you for what you have done for me. 
 
 E. B. 
 
142 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Lily’s Diary. 
 
 Niton, Isle of Wight, July 27, 1878. I 
 haven’t written a word since we have been 
 here. I have been restless and nervous nearly 
 all the time, though if ever there was a lovely 
 spot, it is this. The Royal Sandrock Hotel, 
 as they call the tiny house where we are stay- 
 ing, is as nearly as possible my ideal of an 
 English inn. This part of the Isle of Wight is 
 called the ‘‘ Undercliff,” and our little hotel 
 nestles beneath a wooded knoll in the most 
 picturesque fashion, with many gables and 
 bays giving the building a character of its 
 own. A porch, paved with red tiles, runs 
 round three sides of the house, and ivy and 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 U3 
 
 other vines grow so thickly round the pillars as 
 to give it the appearance of a veritable bower. 
 This porch opens on a lawn such as is seen 
 only in England, sloping down nearly to the 
 sea, with St. Catharine’s lighthouse (the south- 
 ernmost point of the island) coming in to add 
 interest to the view. For hours together I sit 
 on this lovely lawn, looking dreamily out to 
 sea, watching the yachts and the iron-clads, for 
 the channel is gay at this season. 
 
 We all like it here. We have hired a pony- 
 chaise from the livery stable in Ventnor, and 
 our good landlord supplies us with a horse ; 
 and that poor old beast takes us all over the 
 island. We have seen nearly every church, 
 village, and chine to be seen. Mamma actu- 
 ally went down Blackgang Chine, but I thought 
 she would never get up it again, and, as a con- 
 sequence, the day we went to Shanklin she 
 refused to stir from the carriage. Papa is 
 nearly well enough to travel again, but we are 
 
144 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 all so much in love with this place that we are 
 not likely to move for some time. 
 
 All those weeks and months at Dudington 
 seem like a dream. Papa never speaks of it, 
 except in the most general way. I wonder — 
 oh, I wonder about a great many things. Per- 
 haps it would be better not to wonder so much, 
 but I can’t help it. Not a word have I heard 
 all this time, since that little note. And what 
 a queer note it was ! I wonder if he knows 
 where we are. 
 
 July 30th. Alas ! Alas ! I felt all the time 
 that something was wrong with him, and now 
 we have heard. I fear there is no doubt of his 
 having broken his word to me and going back 
 again to that fatal drug. 
 
 It is strange that we should have heard. 
 That must be why he has never written and 
 never came near us. I fear it is true. 
 
 Th is morning was so lovely that I induced 
 mamma to start with me on the longest excur- 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 145 
 
 sion we have made yet, to Freshwater, to get a 
 glimpse of Farringford and perhaps of Mr. 
 Tennyson himself. The drive is over twenty 
 miles each way, for after we had looked at the 
 house, or, rather, at the great hedge which sur- 
 rounds it, we went to see Alum Bay and the 
 Needles. Then, when we went into the coffee- 
 room of the hotel to get some lunch, whom 
 should we encounter, of all the people in the 
 world, but Mr. and Mrs. Poynter ! 
 
 They greeted us with great effusion, and she 
 called me Lily and kissed me, at which I was 
 greatly surprised, for she never got quite to 
 that point at Dudington. I can’t abide her, 
 but we had to appear friendly. We sat down 
 at their table, though I insisted on paying for 
 what we ordered. 
 
 Almost the first thing she said was that she 
 had just come from Dudington, and that Mr. 
 Blake was still there. ‘‘ They won’t let him 
 
 go, you know,’' she added. 
 
 10 
 
146 
 
 CUPID, M,D, 
 
 And why not ? I asked. 
 
 Oh, they have lost all confidence in him 
 about that opium habit. Of course, they haven’t 
 told me so in so many words, but it’s easy to 
 put two and two together. He scarcely speaks 
 to any one now, and it is a recognized fact in 
 the house that he has given up all hopes of cur- 
 ing himself.’^ 
 
 “ But why are you so sure of this, pray ? ” I 
 asked, with my heart sinking. 
 
 You know, my dear,” she replied, with 
 that odious, mysterious smile of hers, one is 
 not always justified in saying all that one 
 knows on such a subject. I can assure you, 
 however, that I have very good reason for 
 what I say. I am heartily sorry for him — such 
 an accomplished man as he is. Lady Gore will 
 feel very badly about it, I fear.” 
 
 Do you know Lady Gore ? ” I inquired. 
 
 ‘‘Well, no,” she replied, blushing a little, for 
 she had made a slip, “ but I have heard so 
 
CUPID, M,D, 
 
 H7 
 
 much of her from our mutual friends that I 
 almost feel as if I did/’ 
 
 We said nothing more about Mr. Blake after 
 this. On the drive home I thought it all over, 
 and have come to the sorrowful conclusion that 
 it must be true. She wouldn’t dare to tell us 
 point-blank lies. All those dreary miles I 
 couldn’t talk, and mamma was so good, though 
 she knew well enough why I was so miserable. 
 Dear mamma ! I wonder if I shall ever be 
 anything like as good as she is. No use writ- 
 ing any more. 
 
 August 29th. Another month ! * And once 
 more news of Mr. Blake. ’ Oh, that lying 
 woman ! The nasty hypocrite, going about 
 and making mischief that way ! What a load 
 is off my mind ! I was so foolish to believe a 
 word that she said. 
 
 My news — my good news — came through 
 Mr. Wykeham. I was so glad to see him 
 again ! He was so brown and so jolly, in a 
 
148 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 flannel shirt and knickerbockers, walking round 
 the island with a Mr. Buchanan, a friend of his, 
 who is also very agreeable, though I saw him 
 but little. They had both been to see Mr. 
 Blake at Dudington. 
 
 He is so well,'' said Mr. Wykeham', as he 
 and I were sitting on the lawn. ‘‘ He is quite 
 his old self again, and must have gained thirty 
 pounds." 
 
 I felt a sort of thrill. For a month past I 
 had pictured him in very different case. I said 
 I was very glad to hear it. 
 
 Yes," he continued ; of course you know 
 what a struggle he has had in abandoning the 
 use of morphine and similar anodynes. I was 
 with him all through the crisis of it, after you 
 left. I never saw a man suffer so. Once he 
 got out of his bed and would have rolled on the 
 floor, if we had let him, in perfect agony. But 
 his courage never wavered. He has never 
 touched opium since, and I am convinced he 
 
CUPID, M,D, 
 
 149 
 
 never will again. He has a deeply -rooted dread 
 of it.’’ 
 
 ‘‘ Are you perfectly sure ? ” I asked. 
 
 ‘‘ Perfectly,” he said. 
 
 ‘^Are you certain he has never taken any 
 since — since the time you speak of? ” 
 
 Absolutely certain. Why, have you any 
 reason to think otherwise ? ” 
 
 I hesitated. In a moment, however, I re- 
 solved to tell him what I had heard. So I gave 
 him a short account of my meeting with Mrs. 
 Poynter. 
 
 He got up and paced a few steps indignantly. 
 
 I suppose it is natural that you should credit 
 her yarns,” he said, for it is scarcely possible 
 for you to know what a singular person she is 
 in some respects. I don’t like to say such hard 
 things of any one, but I cannot see Blake slan- 
 dered by her without telling you that it is 
 absolutely impossible for that woman to tell the 
 truth. She is an inveterate gossip into the 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 150 
 
 bargain, and apparently enjoys spreading false 
 rumors about her acquaintances. What she 
 says about Blake is utterly untrue. I know 
 him as I know the palm of my hand, and I say 
 it is utterly untrue. He never told a lie to my 
 knowledge, and not three days since he was 
 saying what a relief it was to have done with 
 the morphia and all the substitutes, and to be 
 able to go to sleep naturally at night, and all 
 the rest of it. Besides, the doctors would 
 know in a minute if he had relapsed into the 
 habit again. Dr. Martin told me that a man 
 once cured of this habit very rarely went back 
 to it. They get afraid of it, you know.’’ 
 
 But why does he stay on there ? ” I asked. 
 
 Merely because they thought the regular 
 regimen of the house, and the quiet life, would 
 be beneficial to him. The Gores were there in 
 May, and advised him to stay by all means. 
 Oh, it’s outrageous that a woman can make 
 trouble this way. She is pretty impartial, 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 though. I don’t doubt she has said equally 
 bad things about me. Indeed, I could give 
 you one or two tolerably spicy specimens of 
 remarks she has made about you — that is, 
 about your people.” 
 
 ‘‘ About us ? ” I exclaimed. ‘‘ What in the 
 world has she found to say about us ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ I only remember one accurately, but there 
 were several. She said, for example, that your 
 father’s sciatica was all a humbug, and that the 
 real reason why you were all at Dr. Martin’s 
 was his confirmed intemperance, which was 
 breaking your mother’s heart. What do you 
 think of that ? ” 
 
 We both burst out laughing, but my cheeks 
 flamed. 
 
 I shouldn’t repeat such a disagreeable re- 
 mark, except to prove to what lengths that 
 woman’s love of slander will carry her. Pray 
 don’t think for an instant that any one would 
 be so foolish as to believe her.” 
 
152 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 should hope not/* I said. Oh, how 
 angry I was with her ! Saying such a thing 
 about papa ! 
 
 Then Mr. Wykeham, seeing my vexation, 
 changed the subject, and went on to give me a 
 little more news of Mr. Blake. 
 
 He is much saddened and sobered by all 
 he has gone through. A great change has 
 come over him. It is scarcely to be wondered 
 at. You ought to hear those doctors talk about 
 him. They say there has never been such a 
 cure in their experience. They followed out a 
 regular system of reductions of his opium dose, 
 you know, and Dr. Rich told me that they cut 
 it off at a great rate at one time. I felt sure 
 that he could do it, all the time, for I know the 
 strength of his will. Everything that he has 
 ever set his heart on, since he was a boy, he 
 has succeeded in — that is, if it involved the 
 will.** 
 
 Everything ?** I asked. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 153 
 
 Everything/' he replied, looking me fair in 
 the face. 
 
 He has a very warm friend in you, Mr. 
 Wykeham," I said. 
 
 ‘‘ Yes/' said he, ‘‘ we have lived, and loved, 
 and fought, and travelled, and eaten, and drunk 
 together for a good many years now. I have 
 hundreds of acquaintances, but I can count my 
 intimate friends on one hand, and have a finger 
 or two to spare at that. A friend that one can 
 trust through thick and thin, in evil report and 
 good report, as I can Blake, is the rarest bird I 
 have ever encountered. It is the greatest relief 
 to me in the world to think that he is at last 
 emancipated from that awful habit." 
 
 We sat a long time talking and looking out 
 on the sea. When I went in I told mamma all 
 about it, especially what Mrs. Poynter had / 
 said. She will tell papa. That is the way I 
 always communicate with papa when there isj 
 anything special. 
 
154 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 John Wykeham to Eliot Blake. 
 
 The Bedford Hotel, Brighton, 
 September 5, 1878. 
 
 My Dear Eliot : 
 
 I have been meaning to write to you for two 
 or three days past, but Buchanan and I have 
 been on a walk, and I have postponed it from 
 day to day in my usual fashion. We have been 
 in the Isle of Wight, and struck the Pattisons 
 at a little place called Niton. They are stay- 
 ing at the Sandrock inn. 
 
 You will perceive that I have some motive in 
 favoring you with this epistle, and you will be 
 right. I had a long conversation with the 
 young lady herself, and discovered that Mad- 
 ame Poynter, with her usual sweet-scented 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 155 
 
 candor, had been treating the Pattison party 
 to a singularly unique tarradiddle. It appears 
 that in a chance encounter not long since she 
 informed them that you had again relapsed 
 into the habit you have so successfully aban- 
 doned, and that your case had been pro- 
 nounced hopeless by all your doctors and rela- 
 tives. I need not say, my dear fellow, that I 
 lost no time in contradicting such a falsehood 
 as emphatically as I could. I even went so far 
 as to quote one of the choicest Poynter fabri- 
 cations, about Mr. Pattison having delirium 
 tremens, and all that. You remember? I also 
 took occasion, like the model Pythias that I 
 am, to sound your praises in the most unblush- 
 ing manner. I piled it on, I can tell you. 
 Well, the long and short of it is that I advise 
 you to give these lies their most emphatic refu- 
 tation by presenting yourself at Niton in per- 
 son. I think it would be better. 
 
 Another thing : unless I am • greatly mis- 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 156 
 
 taken, the girl takes more of an interest in you 
 than you think. I attribute your present des- 
 pondent state almost entirely to the reaction 
 that must inevitably attend the peculiar effort 
 you so lately made. If you had the courage to 
 ask her when you were at your lowest, why not 
 ask her now, when you have proved yourself a 
 true man ? Of course, I am only surmising. 
 You know as well as I can tell you that she 
 made no sign. I may be all wrong, but I 
 surely fancied I detected something in her 
 voice that evening — some unconscious note of 
 sympathy and tenderness. She is as charm- 
 ing as ever, full of loveliness and grace, with 
 the same delicious earnestness in her eyes. 
 
 Now, if I haven't done the whole duty of a 
 man, may I be hung, drawn, and quartered. 
 As a friend, I regard myself as warranted to 
 suit the most fastidious. Let me hear from you 
 soon. 
 
 Yours always, Jack. 
 
CUPID, M,D, 
 
 157 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Eliot Blake to John Wykeham. 
 
 The Crab and Lobster, Ventnor, I. of W., 
 September 9, 1878. 
 
 Here I am, my dear Jack, as you see. I 
 started as soon as I could arrange to leave, and 
 have put up here, as I did not want to be in 
 the same house with them under existing cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 I have been out there, but I didn’t see her. 
 I have had a strange talk with her father, and 
 I am at this moment on the crisis of my fate. 
 My heart is very full. Shall I open it to you, 
 my old and tried friend ? I am alone in a 
 strange room, the soft salt air is blowing in the 
 window, and I can hear the breakers rolling in 
 
158 
 
 CUPID, M,D. 
 
 through the stillness of the night. I cannot 
 sleep. I may as well write. 
 
 First, let me tell you of the day. I caught 
 the eleven o’clock boat from Portsmouth to 
 Ryde, and came on here by train. Then I 
 hired a trap and drove to Niton, where I en- 
 countered the old gentleman himself, sitting in 
 a sea chair on the lawn. He was decidedly 
 frosty in his manner, and when I inquired for 
 the ladies, informed me that they were gone to 
 London for a day’s shopping. After a few 
 unimportant remarks, I resolved to plunge at 
 once ill inedias res, 
 
 Mr. Pattison,” I said, you are doubtless 
 surprised to see me here.” 
 
 He replied with some polite commonplace, 
 but I could see that my presence was not 
 altogether an unmixed joy. He and I have 
 never taken to one another much, as you may 
 have noticed. I thoroughly respect him, and 
 consider him by far the best specimen of an 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 159 
 
 elderly American I ever met ; but I am not 
 sufficiently well up in scientific subjects to be 
 good company to him. He is quite a student 
 of social ethics, also, and the only topics on 
 which we have been able to talk with any 
 special interest were the condition of my 
 miners, and distinctions of political or social 
 usage in this country, or something of that sort. 
 Now, however, when I had a definite purpose 
 in view, it was a different matter. The reality 
 of the whole situation flashed upon me. You 
 well know that I am not given to want assur- 
 ance, but I confess I found some difficulty in 
 saying what I had to say. The real trouble, 
 back of it all, is the sense of my own unworthi- 
 ness. When I asked her before, I was probably 
 all braced up with opium. Since my recovery 
 I have felt a strange diffidence about asking her 
 again ; I might almost say I shrunk from it, 
 ardently as I love her ; yet here I was confront- 
 ing her own father. 
 
i6o 
 
 CUPID, M.D, 
 
 I am anxious to speak to you for a few 
 moments on a subject that to me, at least, is 
 of the utmost importance/' My voice trem- 
 bled a little, but it passed off in a moment. 
 
 May I ask for a few minutes in private with 
 you ? " 
 
 Certainly, Mr. Blake," he replied, rather 
 ceremoniously. Walk into our sitting-room." 
 
 When we were comfortably seated, I began : 
 
 What I have to say, Mr. Pattison, can be 
 said in a very few words. I love your daugh- 
 ter, and am here to-day to ask your permission 
 to pay her my addresses." 
 
 There was a moment of ominous silence. 
 
 Unless I am misinformed, Mr. Blake, you 
 have already done so without my permission." 
 
 That is true," I answered, but I believe 
 such a course is common enough. In England 
 a man very rarely speaks to the young lady’s 
 father until he has come to some sort of under- 
 standing with the young lady herself, and I 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 i6i 
 
 imagined that in America such matters were 
 rather less rigidly defined than here/’ 
 
 ‘‘And have you come to any definite under- 
 standing with my daughter ? ” 
 
 “ None whatever,” I replied, “ and I am bound 
 to say that she has never shown me any en- 
 couragement.” 
 
 But did I not once see you in rather a 
 compromising situation at Dudington ? ” 
 
 I expected this. I don’t believe I ever told 
 you about that little event. 
 
 “ Mr. Pattison, I remember what you refer 
 to, but I cannot give you any explanation of it 
 that would be satisfactory to you. I can only 
 say that the moment when I allowed myself to 
 be carried beyond due bounds was no fault of 
 hers, nor in any way the result of anything she 
 had said to me. I was very weak at that time. 
 I was scarcely master of my own actions. I am 
 very much afraid that you do not regard me 
 with much favor, Mr. Pattison. Of course I 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 162 
 
 feel that in one sense your daughter is far be- 
 yond and above me ; you could say nothing 
 that could make me realize that more fully than 
 I do ; but at the same time I cannot but hope 
 that my very love for her will make me worthier 
 of her, and as regards ordinary matters, per- 
 haps something might be said in my favor. I 
 am a member of the Church of England, I am 
 a gentleman by birth and education, I have 
 always lived reputably, as Sir William and Lady 
 Gore would testify, and my means are sufficient 
 to justify me in marrying.’* Here I proceeded 
 to give him some statistics about the money 
 matters. 
 
 ‘‘ Mr. Blake,” he said, finally, interrupting 
 me, “you will excuse me, but it is scarcely 
 possible that you should understand my wishes 
 about my girl. She is a good girl, and a great 
 comfort to me, and is old enough to think of 
 her establishment in life. My only wish is to 
 secure her happiness. I do not dispute any of 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 these things you mention. I have a great re- 
 spect for Sir William Gore, and, of course, for 
 Lady Gore also, though I don’t know her so 
 well. I should think your means were ample. 
 But there are still one or two points which 
 naturally present themselves. Supposing Lily 
 were to accept you, where would be her 
 home? ” 
 
 We argued this question back and forth for 
 some time. To me it is of very little conse- 
 quence. He appeared to think otherwise. 
 What earthly difference does it make ? Of 
 course I shouldn’t want her to give up all her 
 friends and relatives in the States. My idea 
 would be to lead a semi-international life. If I 
 win her, she will be country, and home, and 
 everything else to me. 
 
 You will note that so far he had made no al- 
 lusion to the strongest objection of all. I 
 knew that it could not be avoided, so I thought 
 I would take the bull by the horns. 
 
164 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 There is,’’ I said, as you may be aware, 
 one ground upon which a serious charge can 
 be made, or perhaps I am now justified in say* 
 ing could have been made against me. I pre- 
 sume you know what I refer to ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ You mean the opium habit ? ” 
 
 I bowed. 
 
 I was going to speak to you about that, 
 Mr. Blake, and am glad that you introduced 
 the subject. My principal information touch- 
 ing it was derived from Mrs. Poynter, and I 
 have had occasion myself to suffer from her 
 slanderous remarks, so that I am inclined to 
 mistrust anything she may say about others.” 
 
 “ It is all true, Mr. Pattison. I mean, the 
 fact is true. Probably she colored her version 
 of my case pretty highly, as is her habit, so 
 pray allow me to tell you the simple truth 
 about it.” 
 
 I then gave him the whole history of it all. 
 We went into the veriest details, and he really 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 165 
 
 became quite interested, as if it had no bear- 
 ing on Lily. 
 
 ‘‘ It certainly does you great credit,'’ he said, 
 finally. But I suppose the question now 
 hinges on your ability to abstain from opium in 
 future." 
 
 ‘‘ I am bound by the most solemn pledges 
 never to touch it. I can give you nothing but 
 my own assurance, but if you knew how I feel 
 about this opium you would never give it a 
 thought, I am sure. Nothing on earth could 
 ever induce me to touch it. Besides, your 
 friend. Dr. Martin, will tell you that a man 
 once cured of that habit, rarely, if ever, returns 
 to it. I have a genuine dread of its power. It 
 weighed me down as if it had been a millstone 
 round my neck. What is that story — ‘ The 
 Iron Shroud’? You remember it? Well, 
 that wretched prisoner, when he saw the walls 
 of his dungeon closing upon him, did not suffer 
 more than I when I saw my daily dose increas- 
 
CUPID, M,D. 
 
 1 66 
 
 ing and felt myself powerless to stop it. Do 
 you think I could ever again yield myself to 
 the clutches of such an accursed master ? 
 Never. And who has made it possible for me 
 to do this ? Lily ! I could never have done it 
 without her. She has been my good angel, 
 and do you suppose there is a man alive who 
 could love her as I do ? You see I give my- 
 self as hostage. Let me have but one chance 
 with her now, at once, and that is all I ask.” 
 
 Rather high ground this to take, but assur- 
 ance always begets assurance. He evidently 
 wavered. I fancied I could see what was pass- 
 ing through his mind, and with many arguments 
 and pleadings I followed up what I had said. 
 The old gentleman seemed to grow a little 
 tender-hearted himself. I think my earnestness 
 worked upon him. He touched me very much 
 when he opened his heart a little about her. 
 
 She is my only child,” he said. ‘‘ From the 
 day of her birth she has been the very light of 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 167 
 
 my eyes. I am often hasty with her, as I am 
 somewhat quick of temper, but she knows what 
 I think of her. As I say, my only wish is to 
 secure her happiness.’’ 
 
 Well, the long and short of it is that though 
 he may not give in immediately, I feel quite 
 justified in speaking to her again. He didn’t 
 say no, nor did he say yes. He took some 
 time to think it over, and finally said he must 
 speak to her before anything was arranged. 
 But I gathered that if it should be her decided 
 wish to accept me he would not oppose it. So 
 I shall go over to-morrow and try my fate. 
 
 Jack, this time settles it. I once thought 
 that I should keep on asking her until she ac- 
 cepted me, but I feel differently now. If she 
 refuses me to-morrow it is forever. I am in 
 two minds about going over there. Perhaps it 
 would be better to write a word. They get 
 back from London to-night. You see I don’t 
 exactly like the idea of talking her into it. If 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 1 68 
 
 she loves me, she knows it, and she will tell 
 me. She once said to me, You have such a 
 convincing way when you are talking, but 
 when I am alone things are so different. When 
 I am with you I think one thing ; when I am 
 alone I am very apt to think another.’' Now 
 if that is the case I want her to make up her 
 mind by herself. I don’t care to win my Gene- 
 vieve by any arts. The surrender must be 
 complete, but it must be voluntary. I only 
 hope I am not building too much upon what 
 you fancied you saw. 
 
 What will become of me if she refuses me ? 
 I cannot tell. I should not feel any inclination 
 to go to the dogs, or anything of that kind, it 
 would be so cowardly and unworthy of the love I 
 bear her. I think I should hire Gordon’s yacht, 
 which he has offered me, and go to the East. 
 I have never seen Constantinople. Perhaps new 
 faces might distract me. I certainly should 
 never wish to see any friends ; not even you. 
 
CUPID, M.D, 
 
 169 
 
 But why do I talk of failure ? Is love like 
 mine to fail ? Can it be possible that this great, 
 sweet, holy love is to come to nought ? Am I 
 to go through the world unblessed with the one 
 thing I crave with all my soul and strength ? 
 No ! I must succeed ! And when she gives 
 me herself, then I can repay her. Then I can 
 consecrate to her every thought, and “ com- 
 pass her about with sweet observances,'’ and 
 love her and cherish her to the end. I will 
 shower on her all that art and taste can make 
 beautiful ; we will explore together the world 
 itself. What would the sky, and the grass, and 
 the trees be to me but for her ? Nature shall 
 yield us all her treasures ; music shall minister 
 to our delight ; the poets shall be our com- 
 panions. 
 
 “ ’Tis sweet to tread the scented heather, 
 
 ’Tis sweet to brave both wind and weather, 
 
 *Tis sweet to pass through life together, 
 
 And this we’ll do, my love and I.” 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 170 
 
 The night wanes. A bright streak flames in 
 the East. Does this rose of dawn her 
 the day that is to bring my rose to me ? 
 Good-by. 
 
 Eliot. 
 
CUPID, M.D. 
 
 171 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Eliot Blake to Lily Pattison. 
 
 Ventnor, September loth. 
 
 You know why I am here. But I do not 
 wish to look upon your face unless it can be 
 forever mine. Whatever your answer is to be, 
 I shall wait for it here. A word will be enough. 
 
 E. B. 
 
172 
 
 CUPID, M.D. 
 
 XXXL 
 
 Lily Pattison to Eliot Blake. 
 
 Come ! 
 
 September loth. 
 
 Lily. 
 
 THE END. 
 

. / 
 
 
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