Chapter IX: Extract From Dr. West’s Diary

“BEECHWOOD, July.

“I did not see Dora after all, and I had thought so much about it, feeling, I am afraid, more than willing that Robin should be sick, and so give me an excuse for going to Morrisville. Since receiving that little note from Dora, I have frequently dared to build castles of what might some day be, for something in that message led me to hope that I am not indifferent to her. The very fact that she answered my informal letter asking the loan of a book would prove it so, so I sit and think and wonder what the future has in store for me, until my patients are in danger of being neglected.

“Poor Robin, I fear he is not long for this world, and when I remember how perfectly helpless he is, and must always remain, I say to myself:

“‘It is well that the child should follow the mother, if indeed, as Dora told him, she is in _heaven sure_.’

“Darling Dora, I am glad you told him so. You have no reason to think otherwise. Does Dora know how much I once loved Anna? I fancy not, and yet there are those in Morrisville who remember the sad story, but she is not thrown much in their society. The Randalls and Verners and Strykers form a circle into which outsiders are not often admitted. I liked that Mrs. Randall, and so did mother. How familiar the old place looked to me, and how natural it seemed that I should be there, and Dora too. Will she ever be the mistress of my home? If so, that home I know will not be West Lawn, but there is still a cherished hope of one day redeeming that old homestead of which she talks so much. Then, _Dora_, brown-eyed, brown-haired Dora, your little feet shall dance again upon the greensward and your merry laugh awaken the echoes of the olden time. Dear Dora, I trust she is not very sick, and I wish I could have seen her.

“Judge Verner,—by what chance came I in his presence, and that of his regal daughter Bell? I suspected then I was the victim of a joke, perpetrated by that saucy-looking, black-eyed elf, whom they called Jessie, and now I am sure of it, for here this morning comes a letter from the judge, worthy, I think, to be preserved as a curiosity.

“‘Mr. West,’ he writes, with the _Mr._ heavily underscored, as if to make it doubly evident that he ignored the title of Dr. in my case: ‘Enclosed find five dollars for professional services rendered to self July 22d. If I hadn’t had such a confounded stomach-ache I suppose I should have marched you out-doors in double-quick time, as that is what I’ve threatened to do with all kinds of quacks; but I’m glad I didn’t, as my remembrance of you _is_ that you are a gentleman, even if you have a soft spot in the brain. Jessie,—that’s my youngest,—insists that your spoon victuals did me good, and prides herself on having cajoled you into the house,—but she needn’t tell me; I know better. Bell, too,—that’s my eldest,—has partially gone over to the enemy, but I’ll stick to my principles. It’s all a piece of tomfoolery, though if you’ll never breathe a word of it to Bell, nor Jessie, there is something about those paltry little pills in that phial that will stop the tallest kind of a gripe! I’d like to know you better, young man, and so would my daughters. Come here in the autumn, when the shooting is fine. We have splendid woods for hunting, if you enjoy it.

“‘Yours truly,
“‘THOMAS VERNER.’

“This is a judge’s letter, and I rather like him for it. He is not to be convinced in a hurry, but those little pills will do the work. I’d like to know him better, and his daughters too. There was something fascinating in that haughty Bell’s manner, while the mischievous Jessie attracted me at once. I may some time improve the acquaintance commenced under so very singular circumstances.”