Other Things Being Equal | Page 8

burning the candle at both ends for my light. I wish I had known--probably it lay just within my hand to prevent this, instead of leading her on by my often expressed delight. What I wish to ask you is that if you find anything serious, you will tell me, and allay my father's fears as much as possible. Please do this for me. My father is not young; and I, I think, am trustworthy."
She had spoken rapidly, but with convincing sincerity, looking her companion full in the face.
The doctor quietly scrutinized the earnest young face before he answered. Then he slightly bowed in acquiescence.
"That is a pact," he said lightly; "but in all probability your father's fears are exaggerated."
"'Where love is great, the smallest doubts are fears,'" she quoted, softly flushing. The doctor had a singular impersonal habit of keeping his eyes intently bent upon the person with whom he conversed, that made his companion feel that they two were exclusively alone, --a sensation that was slightly bewildering upon first acquaintance. By and by one understood that it was merely his air of interest that evoked the feeling, and so gradually got used to it as to one of his features.
"That is so," he replied cheerily; "and--I see some one is about to play. Mrs. Merrill told me we should have some music."
"It is Louis, I think; I know his touch."
"Your cousin? He plays?"
Ruth looked at him in questioning wonder. Truth to say, the doctor could not but betray his surprise at the idea of the cold-looking Arnold in the light of a musician; his doubts took instant flight after the opening chords. Rubenstein's Melody in F, played by a master-hand, is one long sound of divine ecstasy thrilling the listener to exquisite rapture. Played by Louis Arnold, what the composer had conceived in his soul was magnificently interpreted. As he finished, there was not a murmur; and the next minute he had dashed into a quaint tarantelle that instantly dispelled the former spell of grandeur.
"An artist," said some one standing near.
"Something more," murmured Kemp, rising as he saw Ruth do so. He was about to offer her his arm when Mrs. Merrill, a gently-faced woman, stepped up to them, and laying her hand upon Ruth's shoulder, said rather hurriedly, --
"I am sorry to trouble you, Doctor, but Mrs. Levice--do not be alarmed, Ruth dear--has become somewhat hysterical, and we cannot calm her; will you come this way, please, and no one need know she is in the study."
"My family is making itself prominent to-night," said Ruth, with a little catch in her voice, as they turned with Mrs. Merrill through the conservatory and so across the hall.
"I shall be here, Doctor, if you wish anything," said Mrs. Merrill, standing without as he and Ruth entered and immediately shut the door after them.
"Stay there," he said with quiet authority to Ruth, and she stood quite still where he left her. Mrs. Levice was seated in a large easy-chair with her back to the door; her husband had drawn her head to his bosom. There was no one else in the room, and for a second not a sound, till Mrs. Levice began to sob in a frightened manner.
"It's nothing at all, Jules," she cried, trying to laugh and failing lamentably; "I--I'm only silly."
"There, dear, don't talk." Levice's face was white as he soothingly stroked her hair.
"Oh!"
The doctor stepped in front of them, and laying both hands upon her shoulders, motioned Levice aside.
"Hush! Not a word!"
At the sound of his stern, brusque voice, the long quivering shriek stopped halfway.
"Be perfectly still," he continued, holding her firmly. "Obey this instant," as she began to whimper; "not a sound must I hear."
Ruth and her father stood spell-bound at the effect of the stranger's measures. For a moment Mrs. Levice had started in affright to scream; but the deep, commanding tone, the powerful hands upon her shoulders, the impressive, unswerving eye that held hers, soon began to act almost hypnotically. The sobbing gradually ceased; the shaking limbs slowly regained their calm; and as she sank upon the cushions the strained look in her eyes melted. She was feebly smiling up at the doctor in response to his own persuasive smile that gradually succeeded the gravity of his countenance.
"That is well," said he, speaking soothingly as to a child, and still keeping his smiling eyes upon hers. "Now just close your eyes for a minute; see, I have your hand, --so. Go to sleep."
There was not a sound in the room; Ruth stood where she had been placed, and Mr. Levice was behind the doctor, his face quite colorless, scarcely daring to breathe. Finally the faint, even breathing of Mrs. Levice told that she slept.
Kemp turned to Mr. Levice and spoke low, not in