Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles
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"Oh, and here's papa, too! just in time," she cried, lifting her eyes gladly at her husband. "That is delightful!"
Mr. Halliburton welcomed the children. He kissed some, he talked to others, just as if he had not that terrible vulture, care, within him. They saw nothing amiss; neither did Jane. He took his seat, and drank his tea; all, as it were, mechanically. It did not seem to be himself; he thought it must be some one else. In the last hour, his whole identity appeared to have changed. Bread and butter was handed to him. He took a slice and left it. Jane put some cake on to his plate: he left that also. Eat! with that awful fiat racking his senses! No, it was not possible.
Ho looked round on his children. His. William, a gentle boy, with his mother's calm, good face and her earnest eyes; Jane, a lovely child, with fair curls flowing and a bright colour, consciously vain this evening in her white birthday robes and her white ribbons; Frank, a slim, dark-eyed boy, always in mischief, his features handsome and clearly cut as were his father's; Gar, a delicate little chap, with fair curls like his sister Jane's. Must he leave those children?—abandon them to the mercies of a cold and cruel world?—bequeath them no place in it; no means of support? "Oh, God! Oh, God!" broke from his bitter heart, "if it be Thy will to take me, mayst Thou shelter them!"
"Edgar!"
He started palpably; so far in thought was he away. Yet it was only his wife who spoke to him.
"Edgar, have you been up to Dr. Carrington's?" she whispered, bending towards him.
In his confusion he muttered some unintelligible words, which she interpreted into a denial; there was a great deal of buzzing just then from the young voices around. Two of the gentlemen, Frank being one, were in hot contention touching a third gentleman's rabbits. Mrs. Halliburton called Frank to order, and said no more to her husband for the present.
"We are to dance after tea," said Jane. "I have been learning one quadrille to play. It is very easy, and mamma says I play it very well."
"Oh, we don't want dancing," grumbled one of the boys. "We'd rather have blindman's-buff."
Opinions were divided again. The girls wanted dancing, the boys blindman's-buff. Mrs. Halliburton was appealed to.
"I think it must be dancing first and blindman's-buff afterwards," said she.
Tea over, the furniture was pushed aside to clear a space for the dancers. Mr. Halliburton, his back against the wall, stood looking at them. Looking at them as was supposed; but had they been keen observers, they would have known that his eyes in reality saw not: they, like his thoughts, were far away.
His wife did presently notice that he seemed particularly abstracted. She came up to him; he was standing with his arms folded, his head bent. "Edgar, are you well?"
"Well? Oh yes, dear," he replied, making an effort to rouse himself.
"I hope you have no more teaching to-night?"
"I ought to go to young Finchley. I put him off until seven o'clock."
"Then"—was her quick rejoinder—"if you put off young Finchley, how was it you could not get to Savile-row?"
"I have been occupied all the afternoon, Jane," he said. Wanting the courage to say how the matter really stood, he evaded the question.
But, to go to young Finchley or to any other pupil that night, Mr. Halliburton felt himself physically unequal. Teach! Explain abstruse Greek and Latin rules, with his mind in its present state! It seemed to him that it mattered little—if he was to be taken from them so soon—whether he ever taught again. He was in the very depths of depression.
Suddenly, as he stood looking on, a thought came flashing over him as a ray of light. As a ray of light? Nay, as a whole flood of it. What if Dr. Carrington were wrong?—if it should prove that, in reality, nothing was the matter with him? Doctors—and very clever ones—were, he knew, sometimes mistaken. Perhaps Dr. Carrington had been so!
It was scarcely likely, he went on to reason, that a mortal disease should be upon him, and he have lived in ignorance of it! Why, he seemed to have had very little the matter with him; nothing to talk of, nothing to lie up for; comparatively speaking, he had been a healthy man—was in health then. Yes, the belief did present itself that Dr. Carrington was deceived. He, in the interests of the insurance office, might be unnecessarily cautious.
Mr. Halliburton left the wall, and grew cheerful and gay, and talked freely to the children. One little lady asked if he would dance with her. He laughed, and felt half inclined to do so.
Which was the true mood—that sombre one, or this? Was there nothing false about this one—was there no secret consciousness that it did not accord with his mind's actual belief; that he was only forcing it? Be it as it would, it did not last; in the very middle of a laughing sentence to his own little Janey, the old agony, the fear, returned—returned with terrific violence, as a torrent that has burst its bounds.
"I cannot bear this uncertainty!" he murmured to himself. And he went out of the room and took up his hat. Mrs. Halliburton, who at that moment happened to be crossing from another room, saw him open the hall-door.
"Are you going to young Finchley, Edgar?"
"No. I shall give him holiday for to-night. I shall be in soon, Jane."
He went straight to their own family doctor; a Mr. Allen, who lived close by. They were personal friends.
To the inquiry as to whether Mr. Allen was at home, the servant was about to usher him into the family sitting-room, but Mr. Halliburton stepped into the dusky surgery. He was in no mood for ladies' company. "I will wait here," he said. "Tell your master I wish to say a word to him."
The surgeon came immediately, a lighted candle in his hand. He was a dark man with a thin face. "Why won't you come in?" he asked. "There's only Mrs. Allen and the girls there. Is anything the matter?"
"Yes, Allen, something is the matter," was
Mr. Halliburton's reply. "I want a friend to-night: one who will deal with me candidly and openly: and I have come to you. Sit down."
They both sat down; and Mr. Halliburton gave him the history of the past four and twenty hours: commencing with the fainting-fit, and ending with his racking doubts as to whether Dr. Carrington's opinion was borne out by facts, or whether he might have been deceived. "Allen," he concluded, "you must see what you can make out of my state: and you must report to me without disguise, as you would report to your own soul."
The surgeon looked grave. "Carrington is a clever man," he said. "One whom it would be difficult to deceive."
"I know his reputation. But these clever men are not infallible. Put his opinion out of your mind: examine me yourself, and tell me what you think."
Mr. Allen proceeded to do so. He first of all asked Mr. Halliburton a few general questions as to his present state of health, as he would have done by any other patient, and then he sounded his lungs.
"Now then—the truth," said Mr. Halliburton.
"The truth is—so far as I can judge—that you are in no present danger whatever."
"Neither did Dr. Carrington say I was—in present danger," hastily replied Mr. Halliburton. "Are my lungs sound?"
"They are not sound: but neither do I think they are extensively diseased. You may live for many years, with care."
"Would any insurance office take me?"
"No. I do not think it would."
"It is just my death-knell, Allen."
"If you look at it in that light I shall be very sorry to have given you my opinion," observed the surgeon. "I repeat that, by taking care of yourself, you may stave off disease and live many years. I would not say this unless I thought it."
"And would your opinion be the same as the doctor's—that I must leave London for the country?"
"I think you would have a far better chance of getting well in the country than you have here. You have told me over and over again, you know, that you were sure London air was bad for you."
"Ay, I have," replied Mr. Halliburton. "I never have felt quite well in it, and that's the truth. Well, I must see what can be done. Good evening."
If the edict did not appear to be so irrevocably dark as that of Dr. Carrington, it was yet dark enough; and Mr. Halliburton, striving to look it full in the face, as he was in the habit of doing by troubles less grave, endeavoured to set himself to think "what could be done." There was no possible chance of keeping it from his wife. If it was really necessary that their place of residence should be changed, she must be taken into counsel; and the sooner she was told the better. He went home, resolved to tell her before he slept.
The little troop departed, the children in bed, they sat together over the fire; though the weather had become warm, an evening fire was pleasant still. He sat nervous and fidgety. Now the moment had arrived, he shrunk from his task.
"Edgar, I am sure you are not well!" she exclaimed. "I have observed it all the evening."
"Yes, Jane, I am well. Pretty well, that is. The truth is, my darling, I have some bad news for you, and I don't like to tell it."
Her own family were safe and well under her roof, and her fears flew to Francis, to Margaret, to Robert. Mr. Halliburton stopped her.
"It does not concern any of them, Jane. It is about myself."
"But what can it be, about yourself?"
"They—will—not–Will you listen to the news with a brave heart?" he broke off, with a smile, and the most cheering look he could call up to his face.
"Oh yes." She smiled too. She thought it could be nothing very bad.
"They will not insure my life, Jane."
Her heart stood still. "But why not?"
"They consider it too great a risk. They fancy I am not strong."
A sudden flush to her face; a moment's stillness; and then Jane Halliburton clasped her hands with a faint cry of despair. She saw that more remained behind.
CHAPTER VIII.
SUSPENSE
Mrs. Halliburton sat in her chair, still enough except for the wailing cry which had just escaped her lips. Her husband would not look at her in that moment. His gaze was bent on the fire, and his cheek lay in his hand. As she cried out, he stretched forth his other hand and let it fall lightly upon hers.
"Jane, had I thought you would look at the dark side of the picture, I should have hesitated to tell you. Why, my dear child, the very fact of my telling you at all, should convince you that there's nothing very serious the matter," he added, in cheering tones of reasoning. Now that he had spoken, he deemed it well to make the very best he could of it.
"You say they will not insure your life?"
"Well, Jane, perhaps that expression was not a correct one. They have not declined as yet to do so; but Dr. Carrington says he cannot give the necessary certificate as to my being a thoroughly sound and healthy man."
"Then you did go up to Dr. Carrington?"
"I did. Forgive me, Jane: I could not enter upon it before all the children."
She leaned over and laid her head upon his shoulder. "Tell me all about it, Edgar," she whispered; "as much as you know yourself."
"I have told you nearly all, Jane. I saw Dr. Carrington, and he asked me a great many questions, and examined me here"—touching his chest. "He fancies the organs are not sound, and declined giving the certificate."
"That your chest is not sound?" asked Jane.
"He said the lungs."
"Ah!" she uttered. "What else did he say?"
"Well, he said nothing about heart, or liver, or any other vital part, so I conclude they are all right, and that there was nothing to say," replied Mr. Halliburton, attempting to be cheerful. "I could have told him my brain was strong enough had he asked about that, for I'm sure it gets its full share of work. I need not have mentioned this to you at all, Jane, but for a perplexing bit of advice the doctor gave me."
Jane sat straight in her chair again, and looked at Mr. Halliburton. The colour was beginning to return to her face. He continued:
"Dr. Carrington earnestly recommends me to remove from London. Indeed—he said—that it was necessary—if I would get well. No wonder that you found my manner absent," he continued very rapidly after his hesitation, "with that unpalatable counsel to digest."
"Did he think you very ill?" she breathed.
"He did not say I was 'very ill,' Jane. I am not very ill, as you may see for yourself. My dear, what he said was that my lungs were—were–"
"Diseased?" she put in.
"Diseased. Yes, that was it," he truthfully replied. "It is the term that medical men apply when they wish to indicate delicacy. And he strenuously recommended me to leave London."
"For how long? Did he say?"
"He said for good."
Jane felt startled. "How could it be done, Edgar?"
"In truth I do not know. If I leave London I leave my living behind me. Now you see why I was so absorbed at tea-time. When you saw me go out, I was going round to Allen's."
"And what does he say?" she eagerly interrupted.
"Oh, he seems to think it a mere nothing, compared with Dr. Carrington. He agreed with him on one point—that I ought to live out of London."
"Edgar, I will tell you what I think must be done," said Jane, after a pause. "I have not had time to reflect much upon it: but it strikes me that it would be advisable for you to see another doctor, and take his opinion: some man who is clever in affections of the lungs. Go to him to-morrow, without any delay. Should he say that you must leave London, of course we must leave it, no matter what the sacrifice."
The advice corresponded with Mr. Halliburton's own opinion, and he resolved to follow it. A conviction amounting to a certainty was upon him, that, go to what doctor he might, the fiat would be the same as Dr. Carrington's. He did not say so to Jane. On the contrary, he spoke of these insurance-office doctors as being over-fastidious in the interests of the office; and he tried to deceive his own heart with the sophistry.
"Shall you apply to another office to insure your life?" Jane asked.
"I would, if I thought it would not be useless."
"You think it would be useless?"
"The offices all keep their own doctors, and those doctors, it is my belief, are unnecessarily particular. I should call them crotchety, Jane."
"I think it must amount to this," said Jane; "that if there is anything seriously the matter with you, no office will be found to do it; but if the affection is only trifling or temporary you may be accepted."
"That is about it. Oh, Jane!" he added, with an irrepressible burst of anguish, "what would I not give to have insured my life before this came upon me! All those past years! They seem to have been allowed to run to waste, when I might have been using them to lay up in store for the children!"
How many are there of us who, looking back, can feel that our past years, in some way or other, have not been allowed to run to waste?
What a sleepless night that was for him! What a sleepless night for his wife! Both rose in the morning equally unrefreshed.
"To what doctor will you go?" Jane inquired as she was dressing.
"I have been thinking of Dr. Arnold of Finsbury," he replied.
"Yes, you could not go to a better. Edgar, you will let me accompany you?"
"No, no, Jane. Your accompanying me would do no good. You could not go into the room with me."
She saw the force of the objection. "I shall be so very anxious," she said, in a low tone.
He laughed at her; he was willing to make light of it if it might ease her fears. "My dear, I will come home at once and report to you: I will borrow Jack's seven-leagued boots, that I may come to you the quicker."
"You know that I shall be anxious," she repeated, feeling vexed.
"Jane," he said, his tone changing: "I see that you are more anxious already than is good for you. It is not well that you should be so."
"I wish I could be with you! I wish I could hear, as you will, Dr. Arnold's opinion from his own lips!" was all she answered.
"I will faithfully repeat it to you," said Mr. Halliburton.
"Faithfully—word for word? On your honour?"
"Yes, Jane, I will. You have my promise. Good news I shall be only too glad to tell you; and, should it be the worst, it will be necessary that you should know it."
"You must be there before ten o'clock," she observed; "otherwise there will be little chance of seeing him."
"I shall be there by nine, Jane. To spare time later would interfere too much with my day's work."
A thought crossed Jane's mind—if the fiat were unfavourable what would become of his day's work then—all his days? But she did not utter it.
"Oh, papa," cried Janey at breakfast, "was it not a beautiful party! Did you ever enjoy yourself so much before?"
"I don't suppose you ever did, Janey," he replied, in kindly tones.
"No, that I never did. Alice Harvey's birthday comes in summer, and she says she knows her mamma will let her give just such another! Mamma!"—turning to Mrs. Halliburton.
"Well, Jane?"
"Shall you let me have a new frock for it? You know I tore mine last night."
"All in good time, Janey. We don't know where we may all be then."
No, they did not. A foreshadowing of it was already upon the spirit of Mrs. Halliburton. Not upon the children: they were spared it as yet.
"Do not be surprised if you see me waiting for you when you come out of Dr. Arnold's," said Jane to her husband, in low tones, as he was going out.
"But, Jane, why? Indeed, I think it would be foolish of you to come. My dear, I never knew you like this before."
Perhaps not. But when, before, had there been cause for this apprehension?
Jane watched him depart. Calm as she contrived to remain outwardly, she was in a terribly restless, nervous state; little accustomed as she was so to give way. A sick feeling was within her, a miserable sensation of suspense; and she could scarcely battle with it. You may have felt the same, in the dread approach of some great calamity. The reading over, Janey got her books about, as usual. Mrs. Halliburton took charge of her education in every branch, excepting music: for that she had a master. She would not send Jane to school. The child sat down to her books, and was surprised at seeing her mother come into the room with her things on.
"Mamma! Are you going out?"
"For a little time, Jane."
"Oh, let me go! Let me go too!"
"Not this morning, dear. You will have plenty of work—preparing the lessons that you could not prepare last night."
"So I shall," said Janey. "I thought perhaps you meant to excuse them, mamma."
It was almost impossible for Jane to remain in the house, in her present state of agitation. She knew that it did appear absurdly foolish to go after her husband; but, walk somewhere she must: how could she turn a different way from that which he had taken? It was some distance to Finsbury; half an hour's walk at least. Should she go, or should she not, she asked herself as she went out of the house. She began to think that she might have remained at home had she exercised self-control. She had a great mind to turn back, and was slackening her pace, when she caught sight of Mr. Allen at his surgery window.
An impulse came over her that she would go in and ask his opinion of her husband. She opened the door and entered. The surgeon was making up some pills.
"You are out early, Mrs. Halliburton!"
"Yes," she replied. "Mr. Halliburton has gone to Finsbury Square to see Dr. Arnold, and I–Do you think him very ill?" she abruptly broke off.
"I do not, myself. Carrington–Did you know he had been to Dr. Carrington?" asked Mr. Allen, almost fearing he might be betraying secrets.
"I know all about it. I know what the doctor said. Do you think Dr. Carrington was mistaken?"
"In a measure. There's no doubt the lungs are affected, but I believe not to the grave extent assumed by Dr. Carrington."
"He assumed, then, that they were affected to a grave extent?" she hastily repeated, her heart beating faster.
"I thought you said you knew all about it, Mrs. Halliburton?"
"So I do. He may possibly not have told me the very worst said by Dr. Carrington; but he told me quite sufficient. Mr. Allen, you tell me—do you think that there is a chance of his recovery?"
"Most certainly I do," warmly replied the surgeon. "Every chance, Mrs. Halliburton. I see no reason whatever why he should not keep as well as he is now, and live for years, provided he takes care of himself. It appears that Dr. Carrington very strongly urged his removing into the country; he went so far as to say that it was his only chance for life—and in that I think he went too far again. But the country would undoubtedly do for him what London will not."
"You think that he ought to remove to the country?" she inquired, showing no sign of the terror those incautious words brought her—"his only chance for life."
"I do. If it be possible for him to manage his affairs so as to get away, I should say let him do so by all means."
"It must be done, you know, Mr. Allen, if it is essential."
"In my judgment it should be done. Many and many a time I have said to him myself, 'It's a pity but that you could be out of this heavy London!' Fogs affect him, and smoke affects him—the air altogether affects him: and I only wonder it has not told upon him before. As Dr. Carrington observed to him, there are some constitutions which somehow will not thrive here."
Mrs. Halliburton rose with a sigh. "I am glad you do not think so very seriously of him," she breathed.
"I do not think seriously of him at all," was the surgeon's answer. "I confess that he is not strong, and that he must have care. The pure air of the country, and relaxation from some of his most pressing work, may do wonders for him. If I might advise, I should say, Let no pecuniary considerations keep him here. And that is very disinterested advice, Mrs. Halliburton," concluded the doctor, laughing, "for, in losing you, I should lose both friends and patients."
Jane went out. Those ominous words were still ringing in her ears—"his only chance for life."
Forcing herself to self-control, she did not go to meet Mr. Halliburton. She returned home and took off her things, and gave what attention she could to Jane's lessons. But none can tell the suspense that was agitating her: the ever-restless glances she cast to the window, to see him pass. By-and-by she went and stood there.
At last she saw him coming along in the distance. She would have liked to fly to meet him—to say, What is the news? but she did not. More patience, and then, when he came in at the front door, she left the room she was in, and went with him into the drawing-room, her face white as death.
He saw how agitated she was, strive as she would for calmness. He stood looking at her with a smile.
"Well, Jane, it is not so very formidable, after all."
Her face grew hot, and her heart bounded on. "What does Dr. Arnold say? You know, Edgar, you promised me the truth without disguise."
"You shall have it, Jane. Dr. Arnold's opinion of me is not unfavourable. That the lungs are to a certain extent affected, is indisputable, and he thinks they have been so for some time. But he sees nothing to indicate present danger to life. He believes that I may grow into an old man yet."
Jane breathed freely. A word of earnest thanks went up from her heart.
"With proper diet—he has given me certain rules for living—and pure air and sunshine, he considers that I have really little to fear. I told you, Jane, those insurance doctors make the worst of things."
"Dr. Arnold, then, recommends the country?" observed Jane, paying no attention to the last remark.
"Very strongly. Almost as strongly as Dr. Carrington."
Jane lifted her eyes to her husband's face. "Dr. Carrington said, you know, that it was your only chance of life."
"Not quite as bad as that, Jane," he returned, never supposing but he must himself have let the remark slip, and wondering how he came to do so. "What Dr. Carrington said was, that it was London versus life."
"It is the same thing, Edgar. And now, what is to be done? Of course we have no alternative; into the country we must go. The question is, where?"