One Maid's Mischief

For just then the quick, pattering step of the little lady was heard, and, reticule on arm, she came in bustling, hot, and red-faced.

“Well, my little woman, how are you getting on?” he said cheerily, as he placed his arm round the buxom little waist, and led her to an easy-chair, proceeding afterwards, with all a youth’s tenderness, to take off her broad hat and light scarf, which he carefully laid down for fear of being called to account.

“Oh, don’t ask me, Henry,” she sighed. “My heart is nearly broken with trouble, and I am doing no good at all.”

“Ahem!” ejaculated the doctor, taking her hand and feeling the pulse.

“Don’t be foolish, Henry, dear,” she exclaimed.

“Foolish? No, my dear, certainly not. Hum! Hah! Much fever and exhaustion. Recipe vin Xeres, cochleare magnum. Brisk osculation after the medicine.”

“What?” exclaimed Mrs Bolter.

“You are suffering from weariness and exhaustion, my dear,” said the little doctor; “and I have prescribed for you a drop of sherry, and something to take after it.”

“Not sugar, Henry? and really I would rather not have the wine.”

“Doctor’s orders, my dear. There,” he said, pouring the sherry into a tumbler, and filling it up with cold water, “I have made it as refreshing as I could.”

Mrs Bolter drank off the draught, and made a wry face, holding out her hand.

“Where is the stuff for me to take afterwards?”

“There, my dear,” said the doctor, kissing her very tenderly.

“For shame, Henry!” she cried, blushing like a girl. “Suppose anyone had seen you?”

“Well, it would have been like his or her impudence to look; and if it had been talked about afterwards, really, Mary, my dear, I have grown to be such a hardened sinner over that sort of thing that I shouldn’t care a bit.”

“Really, Henry,” said the little lady, “anyone would think you were a boy, instead of being a middle-aged man.”

“I feel quite a boy,” he said, merrily. “At least, I should if we were not in such trouble.”

“And we are, Henry, indeed,” said the little lady, sadly. “I’m afraid I’m neglecting you terribly, my dear; but I am obliged to try and help that poor man, who is completely prostrate; and if it was not for the help Grey Stuart gives me, I’m sure I should break down. Have you any news?”

“Not a scrap, my dear. Have you?”

“None whatever. But now really, Henry, what do you think of the matter?”

“’Pon my word, my dear, I don’t know what to think.”

“Don’t say you believe they have had a boat accident, dear. I cannot bear to think it possible.”

“No, my dear, I don’t, and I cannot believe it,” he replied. “Here is the case: For there to have been a boat accident, Helen, Arthur, Hilton, and Chumbley must have taken a boat, and they must have all gone in together.”

“Or Hilton may have been trying to carry Helen away, and Chumbley and Arthur, who is as brave as a lion in such matters, may have been trying to stop them, or pursued them in a second boat.”

“And a struggle ensued, and the boats upset, eh?”

“Yes, dear,” said Mrs Bolter, with a shudder. “Oh, why did you bring us out here, Henry, for such horrors to happen?”

“I did not know that these horrors had happened, my dear,” said the doctor, drily. “Let’s see first if the boat theory holds water. I don’t believe it does.”

“Then you think Murad is at the bottom of it?” she said, sharply.

“I’m for and against,” he replied. “Let’s wait and see. I don’t believe, however, that they are dead.”

“Oh, no – oh, no!” said Mrs Bolter, shuddering. “I cannot believe that. I’m afraid it’s all due, in some way, to Helen’s folly.”

“Yes, my dear,” said the doctor, “and it has quite upset my intended journey in search of the true Ophir.”

“And that’s your folly. Oh, Henry, how much happier I should be if you would give up that weakness of yours.”

“Sorry I can’t, Mary. It’s an old weakness that increases with age. Don’t be angry with me, my dear.”

“I am not angry, Henry; only you do worry me when you will keep talking about Solomon’s ships coming here for gold.”

“If they’d come here for gold, and you had been living at the time, they would have carried you off, for you are richer than refined – ”

“Now, Henry, I will not sit here and listen to such outrageous flattery of a very ordinary little woman,” said the lady, looking angry, but feeling pleased. “You must be a very weak man to have taken a fancy to me.”

“Let me be weak then, my dear,” said the little doctor.

“Hush!” exclaimed the lady. “Here is Grey Stuart at the gate;” and they listened to the click of the Chinese-made bamboo latch, and directly after, looking thin and pale, Helen’s schoolfellow was admitted.

She did not speak, but looked at Mrs Bolter in a weary, dejected manner, that made the little lady take her in her arms, kiss her tenderly, and then place her beside her upon the couch.

“Never despair, my dear,” she said, cheerily. “There’s always room for hope.”

“That is what I have been trying to think for days past,” sighed Grey; “but the trouble only seems to grow darker.”

“Don’t say that, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs Bolter. “For my part, I will not believe the story of the boat accident; and I have always this consolation – that wherever that foolish girl may be, she has my brother by her side.”

Mrs Bolter felt her cheeks burn a little as she said this; for in her heart of hearts she had not the faith in her brother’s prudence and ability to protect a lady that she professed.

She glanced at the doctor, and her face became a little hotter, for he too was watching her, and she felt that he was reading her thoughts.

“I will try and be as hopeful as you are, dear Mrs Bolter; but it is very hard!”

“Bless the child! I did not think she felt so warm an affection for Helen Perowne,” thought Mrs Bolter; “but it shows how good a heart she has.”

Then aloud:

“Oh, how tiresome! Here is that dreadful Mrs Barlow coming!”

“Say I’m out, my dear,” whispered the doctor, hurriedly. “I’ll slip round through the surgery.”

“I cannot say you are out, Henry,” said the little lady, reprovingly; “but I will say that you are particularly engaged.”