Paul Faber, Surgeon

Paul Faber, Surgeon

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Paul Faber, Surgeon, by George
MacDonald This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost
and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it
away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Paul Faber, Surgeon
Author: George MacDonald
Release Date: May 20, 2004 [EBook #12387]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAUL
FABER, SURGEON ***

Produced by Jonathan Ingram and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team.

[Illustration: PAUL FABER.]

PAUL FABER, SURGEON
BY GEORGE MACDONALD

1900

CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. THE LANE II. THE MINISTER'S DOOR III. THE MANOR

HOUSE IV. THE RECTORY V. THE ROAD TO OWLKIRK VI.
THE COTTAGE VII. THE PULPIT VIII. THE MANOR HOUSE
DINING-ROOM IX. THE RECTORY DRAWING-ROOM X. MR.
DRAKE'S ARBOR XI. THE CHAMBER AT THE COTTAGE XII.
THE MINISTER'S GARDEN XIII. THE HEATH AT NESTLEY XIV.
THE GARDEN AT OWLKIRK XV. THE PARLOR AT OWLKIRK
XVI. THE BUTCHER'S SHOP XVII. THE PARLOR AGAIN XVIII.
THE PARK AT NESTLEY XIX. THE RECTORY XX. AT THE
PIANO XXI. THE PASTOR'S STUDY XXII. TWO MINDS XXIII.
THE MINISTER'S BEDROOM XXIV. JULIET'S CHAMBER XXV.
OSTERFIELD PARK XXVI. THE SURGERY DOOR XXVII. THE
GROANS OF THE INARTICULATE XXVIII. COW-LANE
CHAPEL XXIX. THE DOCTOR'S HOUSE XXX. THE
PONY-CARRIAGE XXXI. A CONSCIENCE XXXII. THE OLD
HOUSE AT GLASTON XXXIII. PAUL FABER'S
DRESSING-ROOM XXXIV. THE BOTTOMLESS POOL XXXV. A
HEART XXXVI. TWO MORE MINDS XXXVII. THE DOCTOR'S
STUDY XXXVIII. THE MIND OF JULIET XXXIX. ANOTHER
MIND XL. A DESOLATION XLI. THE OLD GARDEN XLII. THE
POTTERY XLIII. THE GATE-LODGE XLIV. THE CORNER OF
THE BUTCHER'S SHOP XLV. HERE AND THERE XLVI. THE
MINISTER'S STUDY XLVII. THE BLOWING OF THE WIND
XLVIII. THE BORDER-LAND XLIX. EMPTY HOUSES L.
FALLOW FIELDS LI. THE NEW OLD HOUSE LII. THE LEVEL OF
THE LYTHE LIII. MY LADY'S CHAMBER LIV. NOWHERE AND
EVERYWHERE

TO
W.C.T.
TUUM EST.
Clear-windowed temple of the God of grace, From the loud wind to me
a hiding-place! Thee gird broad lands with genial motions rife, But in
thee dwells, high-throned, the Life of life Thy test no stagnant moat
half-filled with mud, But living waters witnessing in flood! Thy
priestess, beauty-clad, and gospel-shod, A fellow laborer in the earth
with God! Good will art thou, and goodness all thy arts-- Doves to their
windows, and to thee fly hearts! Take of the corn in thy dear shelter

grown, Which else the storm had all too rudely blown; When to a
higher temple thou shalt mount, Thy earthly gifts in heavenly friends
shall count; Let these first-fruits enter thy lofty door, And golden lie
upon thy golden floor.
G.M.D.
PORTO FINO, _December_, 1878.

PAUL FABER.

CHAPTER I
.
THE LANE.
The rector sat on the box of his carriage, driving his horses toward his
church, the grand old abbey-church of Glaston. His wife was inside,
and an old woman--he had stopped on the road to take her up--sat with
her basket on the foot-board behind. His coachman sat beside him; he
never took the reins when his master was there. Mr. Bevis drove like a
gentleman, in an easy, informal, yet thoroughly business-like way. His
horses were black--large, well-bred, and well-fed, but neither young
nor showy, and the harness was just the least bit shabby. Indeed, the
entire turnout, including his own hat and the coachman's, offered the
beholder that aspect of indifference to show, which, by the suggestion
of a nodding acquaintance with poverty, gave it the right clerical air of
being not of this world. Mrs. Bevis had her basket on the seat before
her, containing, beneath an upper stratum of flowers, some of the first
rhubarb of the season and a pound or two of fresh butter for a poor
relation in the town.
The rector was a man about sixty, with keen gray eyes, a
good-humored mouth, a nose whose enlargement had not of late gone
in the direction of its original design, and a face more than inclining to
the rubicund, suggestive of good living as well as open air. Altogether
he had the look of a man who knew what he was about, and was on
tolerable terms with himself, and on still better with his neighbor. The
heart under his ribs was larger even than indicated by the benevolence
of his countenance and the humor hovering over his mouth. Upon the
countenance of his wife rested a placidity sinking almost into fatuity.

Its features were rather indications than completions, but there was a
consciousness of comfort about the mouth, and the eyes were alive.
They were passing at a good speed through a varying country--now a
thicket