A severe shock awaited him. He found his patient cured by the draught! It was contrary to all rule and precedent; it savored of quackery--the red lavender had no business to do what the red lavender had done--but there she was, nevertheless, up and dressed, and contemplating a journey to London on the next day but one. "An act of duty, doctor, is involved in this--whatever the sacrifice, I must go!" No other explanation could be obtained. The patient was plainly determined--nothing remained for the physician but to retreat with unimpaired dignity and a paid fee. He did it. "Our art," he explained to Lady Lundie in confidence, "is nothing, after all, but a choice between alternatives. For instance. I see you--not cured, as you think--but sustained by abnormal excitement. I have to ask which is the least of the two evils--to risk letting you travel, or to irritate you by keeping you at home. With your constitution, we must risk the journey. Be careful to keep the window of the carriage up on the side on which the wind blows. Let the extremities be moderately warm, and the mind easy--and pray don't omit to provide yourself with a second bottle of the Mixture before you start." He made his bow, as before--he slipped two guineas into his pocket, as before--and he went his way, as before, with an approving conscience, in the character of a physician who had done his duty. (What an enviable profession is Medicine! And why don't we all belong to it?)
The last of the events was the arrival of Mrs. Glenarm.
"Well?" she began, eagerly, "what news?"
The narrative of her ladyship's discoveries--recited at full length; and the announcement of her ladyship's resolution--declared in the most uncompromising terms--raised Mrs. Glenarm's excitement to the highest pitch.
"You go to town on Saturday?" she said. "I will go with you. Ever since that woman declared she should be in London before me, I have been dying to hasten my journey--and it is such an opportunity to go with you! I can easily manage it. My uncle and I were to have met in London, early next week, for the foot-race.
I have only to write and tell him of my change of plans.--By-the-by, talking of my uncle, I have heard, since I saw you, from the lawyers at Perth."
"More anonymous letters?"
"One more--received by the lawyers this time. My unknown correspondent has written to them to withdraw his proposal, and to announce that he has left Perth. The lawyers recommended me to stop my uncle from spending money uselessly in employing the London police. I have forwarded their letter to the captain; and he will probably be in town to see his solicitors as soon as I get there with you. So much for what _I_ have done in this matter. Dear Lady Lundie--when we are at our journey's end, what do _you_ mean to do?"
"My course is plain," answered her ladyship, calmly. "Sir Patrick will hear from me, on Sunday morning next, at Ham Farm."
"Telling him what you have found out?"
"Certainly not! Telling him that I find myself called to London by business, and that I propose paying him a short visit on Monday next."
"Of course, he must receive you?"
"I think there is no doubt of that. Even _his_ hatred of his brother's widow can hardly go to the length--after leaving my letter unanswered--of closing his doors against me next."
"How will you manage it when you get there?"
"When I get there, my dear, I shall be breathing an atmosphere of treachery and deceit; and, for my poor child's sake (abhorrent as all dissimulation is to me), I must be careful what I do. Not a word will escape my lips until I have first seen Blanche in private. However painful it may be, I shall not shrink from my duty, if my duty compels me to open her eyes to the truth. Sir Patrick and Mr. Brinkworth will have somebody else besides an inexperienced young creature to deal with on Monday next. I shall be there."
With that formidable announcement, Lady Lundie closed the conversation; and Mrs. Glenarm rose to take her leave.
"We meet at the Junction, dear Lady Lundie?"
"At the Junction, on Saturday."
