"Time," continued the Doctor,--"maybe a few months,--will bring you together again, prepared for a long life of secure union; and then, when you look back upon this, you"ll be proud of your courage and good sense.
And you"ll be"-- He enclosed the note, directed the envelope, and, pausing with it still in his hand, turned toward the pair. They rose up.
His rare, sick-room smile hovered about his mouth, and he said:--
"You"ll be all the happier--all three of you."
The husband smiled. Mary colored down to the throat and looked up on the wall, where Harvey was explaining to his king the circulation of the blood. There was quite a pause, neither side caring to utter the first adieu.
"If a physician could call any hour his own," presently said the Doctor, "I should say I would come down to the boat and see you off. But I might fail in that. Good-by!"
"Good-by, Doctor!"--a little tremor in the voice,--"take care of John."
The tall man looked down into the upturned blue eyes.
"Good-by!" He stooped toward her forehead, but she lifted her lips and he kissed them. So they parted.
The farewell with Mrs. Riley was mainly characterized by a generous and sincere exchange of compliments and promises of remembrance. Some tears rose up; a few ran over.
At the steam-boat wharf there were only the pair themselves to cling one moment to each other and then wave that mute farewell that looks through watery eyes and sticks in the choking throat. Who ever knows what good-by means?
"Doctor," said Richling, when he came to accept those terms in the Doctor"s proposition which applied more exclusively to himself,--"no, Doctor, not that way, please." He put aside the money proffered him.
"This is what I want to do: I will come to your house every morning and get enough to eat to sustain me through the day, and will continue to do so till I find work."
"Very well," said the Doctor.
The arrangement went into effect. They never met at dinner; but almost every morning the Doctor, going into the breakfast-room, met Richling just risen from his earlier and hastier meal.
"Well? Anything yet?"
"Nothing yet."
And, unless there was some word from Mary, nothing more would be said.
So went the month of November.
But at length, one day toward the close of the Doctor"s office hours, he noticed the sound of an agile foot springing up his stairs three steps at a stride, and Richling entered, panting and radiant.
"Doctor, at last! At last!"
"At last, what?"
"I"ve found employment! I have, indeed! One line from you, and the place is mine! A good place, Doctor, and one that I can fill. The very thing for me! Adapted to my abilities!" He laughed so that he coughed, was still, and laughed again. "Just a line, if you please, Doctor."
CHAPTER x.x.xII.
A RISING STAR.
It had been many a day since Dr. Sevier had felt such pleasure as thrilled him when Richling, half beside himself with delight, ran in upon him with the news that he had found employment. Narcisse, too, was glad. He slipped down from his stool and came near enough to contribute his congratulatory smiles, though he did not venture to speak. Richling nodded him a happy how-d"ye-do, and the Creole replied by a wave of the hand.
In the Doctor"s manner, on the other hand, there was a decided lack of response that made Richling check his spirits and resume more slowly,--
"Do you know a man named Reisen?"
"No," said the Doctor.
"Why, he says he knows you."
"That may be."
"He says you treated his wife one night when she was very ill"--
"What name?"
"Reisen."
The Doctor reflected a moment.
"I believe I recollect him. Is he away up on Benjamin street, close to the river, among the cotton-presses?"
"Yes. Thalia street they call it now. He says"--
"Does he keep a large bakery?" interrupted the Doctor.
"The "Star Bakery,"" said Richling, brightening again. "He says he knows you, and that, if you will give me just one line of recommendation, he will put me in charge of his accounts and give me a trial. And a trial"s all I want, Doctor. I"m not the least fearful of the result."
"Richling," said Dr. Sevier, slowly picking up his paper-folder and shaking it argumentatively, "where are the letters I advised you to send for?"
Richling sat perfectly still, taking a long, slow breath through his nostrils, his eyes fixed emptily on his questioner. He was thinking, away down at the bottom of his heart,--and the Doctor knew it,--that this was the unkindest question, and the most cold-blooded, that he had ever heard. The Doctor shook his paper-folder again.
"You see, now, as to the bare fact, I don"t know you."
Richling"s jaw dropped with astonishment. His eye lighted up resentfully. But the speaker went on:--
"I esteem you highly. I believe in you. I would trust you, Richling,"--his listener remembered how the speaker _had_ trusted him, and was melted,--"but as to recommending you, why, that is like going upon the witness-stand, as it were, and I cannot say that I know anything."
Richling"s face suddenly flashed full of light. He touched the Doctor"s hand.
"That"s it! That"s the very thing, sir! Write that!"
The Doctor hesitated. Richling sat gazing at him, afraid to move an eye lest he should lose an advantage. The Doctor turned to his desk and wrote.
On the next morning Richling did not come for his breakfast; and, not many days after, Dr. Sevier received through the mail the following letter:--