The Doctors Dilemma

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The Doctor's Dilemma, by Hesba Stretton

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Title: The Doctor's Dilemma
Author: Hesba Stretton
Release Date: December 24, 2004 [EBook #14454]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA.
A NOVEL.
BY HESBA STRETTON
NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 549 & 551 BROADWAY. 1872.

CONTENTS.
PART THE FIRST.
I.--AN OPEN DOOR II.--TO SOUTHAMPTON III.--A ROUGH NIGHT AT SEA IV.--A SAFE HAVEN V.--WILL IT DO? VI.--TOO MUCH ALONE VII.--A FALSE STEP VIII.--AN ISLAND WITHOUT A DOCTOR
PART THE SECOND.
I.--DR. MARTIN DOBRéE II.--A PATIENT IN SARK III.--WITHOUT RESOURCES IV.--A RIVAL PRACTITIONER V.--LOCKS OF HAIR VI.--WHO IS SHE? VII.--WHO ARE HER FRIENDS? VIII.--THE SIXTIES OF GUERNSEY IX.--A CLEW TO THE SECRET X.--JULIA'S WEDDING-DRESS XI.--TRUE TO BOTH XII.--STOLEN WATERS ARE SWEET XIII.--ONE IN A THOUSAND. XIV.--OVERHEAD IN LOVE XV.--IN A FIX XVI.--A MIDNIGHT RIDE XVII.--A LONG HALF-HOUR XVIII.--BROKEN OFF XIX.--THE DOBRéES' GOOD NAME XX.--TWO LETTERS XXI.--ALL WRONG XXII.--DEAD TO HONOR XXIII.--IN EXILE XXIV.--OVERMATCHED. XXV.--HOME AGAIN XXVI.--A NEW PATIENT XXVII.--SET FREE XXVIII.--A BRIGHT BEGINNING XXIX.--THE GOULIOT CAVES XXX.--A GLOOMY ENDING XXXI.--A STORY IN DETAIL XXXII.--OLIVIA GONE XXXIII.--THE EBB OF LIFE XXXIV.--A DISCONSOLATE WIDOWER XXXV.--THE WIDOWER COMFORTED XXXVI.--FINAL ARRANGEMENTS XXXVII.--THE TABLES TURNED XXXVIII.--OLIVIA'S HUSBAND XXXIX.--SAD NEWS XL.--A TORMENTING DOUBT XLI.--MARTIN DOBRéE'S PLEDGE XLII.--NOIREAU XLIII.--A SECOND PURSUER XLIV.--THE LAW OF MARRIAGE XXV.--FULFILLING THE PLEDGE XLVI.--A DEED OF SEPARATION XLVII.--A FRIENDLY CABMAN XLVIII.--JULIA'S WEDDING XLIX.--A TELEGRAM IN PATOIS
PART THE THIRD.
I.--OLIVIA'S JUSTIFICATION II.--ON THE WING AGAIN III.--IN LONDON LODGINGS IV.--RIDLEY'S AGENCY-OFFICE V.--BELLRINGER STREET VI.--LEAVING ENGLAND VII.--A LONG JOURNEY VIII.--AT SCHOOL IN FRANCE IX.--A FRENCH AVOCAT X.--A MISFORTUNE WITHOUT PARALLEL XI.--LOST AT NIGHTFALL XII.--THE CURé OF VILLE-EN-BOIS XIII.--A FEVER-HOSPITAL XIV.--OUTCAST PARISHIONERS XV.--A TACITURN FRENCHWOMAN XVI.--SENT BY GOD XVII.--A MOMENT OF TRIUMPH XVIII.--PIERRE'S SECRET XIX.--SUSPENSE XX.--A MALIGNANT CASE XXI.--THE LAST DEATH XXII.--FREE XXIII.--A YEAR'S NEWS XXIV.--FAREWELL TO VILLE-EN-BOIS XXV.--TOO HIGHLY CIVILIZED XXVI.--SEEING SOCIETY XXVII.--BREAKING THE ICE XXVIII.--PALMY DAYS XXIX.--A POSTSCRIPT BY MARTIN DOBRéE

PART THE FIRST.
CHAPTER THE
FIRST.
AN OPEN DOOR.
I think I was as nearly mad as I could be; nearer madness, I believe, than I shall ever be again, thank God! Three weeks of it had driven me to the very verge of desperation. I cannot say here what had brought me to this pass, for I do not know into whose hands these pages may fall; but I had made up my mind to persist in a certain line of conduct which I firmly believed to be right, while those who had authority over me, and were stronger than I was, were resolutely bent upon making me submit to their will. The conflict had been going on, more or less violently, for months; now I had come very near the end of it. I felt that I must either yield or go mad. There was no chance of my dying; I was too strong for that. There was no other alternative than subjection or insanity.
It had been raining all the day long, in a ceaseless, driving torrent, which had kept the streets clear of passengers. I could see nothing but wet flag-stones, with little pools of water lodging in every hollow, in which the rain-drops splashed heavily whenever the storm grew more in earnest. Now and then a tradesman's cart, or a cab, with their drivers wrapped in mackintoshes, dashed past; and I watched them till they were out of my sight. It had been the dreariest of days. My eyes had followed the course of solitary drops rolling down the window-panes, until my head ached. Toward nightfall I could distinguish a low, wailing tone, moaning through the air; a quiet prelude to a coming change in the weather, which was foretold also by little rents in the thick mantle of cloud, which had shrouded the sky all day. The storm of rain was about to be succeeded by a storm of wind. Any change would be acceptable to me.
There was nothing within my room less dreary than without. I was in London, but in what part of London I did not know. The house was one of those desirable family residences, advertised in the Times as to be let furnished, and promising all the comforts and refinements of a home. It was situated in a highly-respectable, though not altogether fashionable quarter; as I judged by the gloomy, monotonous rows of buildings which I could see from my windows: none of which were shops, but all private dwellings. The people who passed up and down the streets on line days were all of one stamp, well-to-do persons, who could