CHAPTER XIX.

DR. HERIOT'S FEE.

During the six preceding chapters, the reader may have been kindly wondering how Mr. Basset's health progressed after the night which succeeded the skilful attempt of Dr. Heriot to rescue him from a death that seemed all but accomplished.

That night he had passed in heavy groans, in nervous startings, and uneasy slumber; but next morning he was able to articulate, and complained to Ethel, in accents faint and weak as those of an ailing child, of pains that spread over all his body; these, however, were only consequent to the severe friction he had undergone, to restore the circulation of the blood.

From Heriot's hands he received some warm milk, mixed with brandy--milk from the stores of soldered tin--and this luxury he swallowed with ease; but yet seemed as one in a dream, and in broken accents, he muttered of pain, and in a dreary and bewildered way, of his "poor dear girls, whom he should never see again."

Then he fell into a sound sleep, with Ethel's soft white arm under his head, and she listened to his heavy respirations, more with fear than any other emotion, lest each long-drawn breath might prove the last.

But Heriot, who patted her kindly and caressingly on the head, sought to smile those fears away, by telling her that "all danger was past now," and so the second day of restoration gradually stole away.

Another night of complete repose "sent Mr. Basset a long way on the voyage of recovery," as Captain Phillips said, when peeping into the little cabin, where the pale, affectionate, and unwearied watcher, though her eyes were bloodshot, and had dark rings under them, yet hung over her charge, and now Rose came to take her place.

"How is dear papa this morning?" she asked, anxiously.

"All well, Rose, darling, if the old boy will only keep up his pluck," was the doctor's unpoetical reply, as he slyly kissed the pretty inquirer, and led away Ethel, who he insisted should take a little repose, with the announcement that she "was quite killing herself; and he would not stand it, as he was accountable to the captain for the health of all on board--and then Morley must not see how ill she was looking."

As for poor Morley, she could see but little of him just then, for he, with Bartelot, Morrison, Gawthrop, and Foster, were never off the deck, where by his skill and activity he won golden opinions from the captain, whose anxieties (when the distance he had yet to run, the size of his crippled ship when compared with the slender crew, the prospect of water running short, and having to keep a look-out for those three proas, are all considered) were certainly not small.

To Rose Basset, our medical friend Leslie Heriot, a good, kind-hearted, sensible, and practical Scotsman, had been at first but a source of lively little flirtation and fun--a dangler, an admirer, and nothing more. At home she always had a dozen such; it was Rose's habit and way; but now, as his earnestness, and the troubles and dangers they shared together, created a deeper emotion in her breast, he gradually became the dream, the _beau-ideal_ of a warm-hearted young girl's passionate and often senseless first love; and to the conclusion of her portion of the voyage--when she, Ethel, and papa would land at Port Louis, and when Leslie must sail on to Singapore, a vast distance, of which she had very little conception, save that it was far, far away up the Indian seas--to that period, we say, she looked forward with dismay and alarm.

Long and perilous though the voyage had been, it was not yet long enough for Rose, who was desperately in love with the young Scotch doctor.

And now that Leslie, by his skill, care, and tenderness, had saved her father from death, had restored him to life and to his daughters, he became an idol, whom she felt that she and Ethel should worship with all their hearts; and Ethel's quiet, earnest, and great gratitude to her sister's lover was only equalled by the sincere regard and esteem she had for him.

On the other hand, the filial love, the tender solicitude, and unwearying attention of these two girls to their suffering father charmed all, but none more than old Captain Phillips, whose experience of the sex was chiefly gained amid the hurly-burly of seaports.

"Aha!" said he, slapping Morley on the back, and winking knowingly to Heriot, "that is the sort of thing I like to see; that is the kind of discipline that prepares the daughter for the wife, and the wife for being a mother. God bless them all!" he added, uncorking a square case-bottle, to pour forth a libation in honour of his opinions.

"You are right, captain," said the doctor, who, in his shirt-sleeves, was busy preparing breakfast, as Noah came from the galley with a steaming kettle, for they had now to do all things in turn.

"Better to share a crust in a wigwam with a dear good girl like Miss Ethel Basset, than have an heiress with only her dirty acres to recommend her--your health, doctor--them's Jack Phillips's sentiments."

Morley gave an unconscious sigh, for the poor fellow felt bitterly that he had not even "the crust" referred to by the captain.

"Miss Basset has the patience of a vestal in these long and pious vigils of the night," said Heriot, with enthusiasm. "She and Rose have, indeed, hearts formed for tenderness, and for doing all the kind duties of life."

"Yes, doctor, very true; and I begin to think, if I could change my bachelor ways a bit, and warp close into the matrimonial haven, there is a plump little widow at Gravesend that wouldn't mind changing her name to Mrs. Jack Phillips."

As the captain said this, there was a gratified twinkle in his merry blue eye, and quite a little blush on his brown cheek; then he added, hastily:

"Now, doctor, that ham seems done to a turn. Pour out the coffee, Ashton; I must be off on deck for the breeze holds steady, and this is our last tack south-west'ard towards the coast of Africa."

"Our last?" repeated Morley, mechanically.

"Positively for the last time, as the play-bills have it, thank Heaven, and the wind it sends us."

"Thank Heaven, say I too. I only wish, further, that we were round Cape St. Mary."

"That will come too, all in good time, please God."

Some time elapsed before Mr. Basset knew all he had undergone, and before he became fully aware of the vast service rendered to him by Dr. Heriot. For a time the poor man was awed, and humbled, and overwhelmed by all he had been subjected to.

On the morning he heard all this for the first time, Captain Phillips shook him by the hand, and said, laughing:

"Bailie Nicol Jarvie says, 'My conscience, hang a bailie!' but here we have actually had a judge hanged at the yardarm, aboard this 'ere ship, and yet never a hair the worse, thanks to Dr. Heriot here."

"Please, captain, don't speak of it," whispered Ethel.

"God bless you, my dear sir," said Mr. Basset, grasping both Heriot's hands in his. "He only can reward you for your kindness and exercise of your skill; but I am _the worse_, Captain Phillips, and never again shall be half the man I was."

"Take courage, sir," said Morley; "we never know what is before us."

"But I feel in every limb and fibre, Morley, that I never shall fully recover the shock my nervous system has sustained."

"You shall, sir--you shall in time," said Heriot. "Only take courage, as Ashton says."

"Oh, how miraculous it seems," murmured the poor gentleman, as his wasted hand played with the rich brown tresses of Rose, who half knelt and half reclined beside his bed, with her eyes beaming smiles alternately on him and on her lover, Heriot; "how miraculous, indeed. Restored to life--restored to life, and to my girls--restored, after enduring, apparently, all the mental and bodily pangs of a shocking and terrible death!"

"Yes, dearest papa; it is, indeed, a debt of gratitude we owe to Dr. Heriot," said Ethel.

"For Heaven's sake, Miss Basset, don't go on this way," said Heriot. "You make a poor fellow quite ashamed of doing his mere duty."

"By what can I ever recompense you, Doctor Heriot?" said Mr. Basset; "what reward can I ever give you?"

"I think I know, sir," said the captain, winking with great mystery; while Rose, who felt a scene impending, grew pale, and trembled.

"You do?" asked Mr. Basset.

"Yes; and so does Miss Ethel--and so do we all."

"Look, papa--I think Dr. Heriot will consider this the most valued fee you can give him," said Ethel, as she playfully put Rose's right hand in that of the doctor, who reddened to the roots of his hair, and, for a brave and sensible fellow, really looked very foolish.

Mr. Basset stared at them all round in perplexity; then, as a sudden light seemed to break in upon him, he smiled, and said:

"Is it so, Ethel?"

"Yes, dear papa."

"And Rose, my little pet, what do you say?"

Rose smiled, and sobbed, and grew pale and red, and wished herself on deck.

"So be it, then. I can't part with her, Heriot; but God bless you both, and keep you ever by me," said Mr. Basset, as he closed his eyes wearily, and lay back to sleep.

Poor Heriot's happiness made him giddy, and he grew as pale as if sentence of death had been passed on him. He could scarcely believe it all; but he kissed Ethel, who had concocted this little tableau; and Rose clasped the fat jolly captain round his short neck, calling him her "dear old thing." He returned her embrace with extreme cordiality, and no doubt wished he was as close to the plump widow of Gravesend.

"How happy I am," said Ethel, blushing with pleasure; "our troubles seem nearly over now."

"And I, too, am happy--oh, so happy!" said Rose; "I would not exchange positions, Leslie, to be Queen of England--or Scotland, if you like it better, Heriot, dear."

"And never was M.D. of my old _Alma Mater_ rewarded by a fee so droll and handsome," said Heriot, smiling fondly on the lively and laughing girl, who clung to his arm as they went on deck together.

Thus, as Mrs. Lirriper says, "All true life is gain, and the sorrows that befall us are none other than solemn massive foundation-stones, laid below the unfathomable gloom, that a measureless content may be built upon them."

But there were on board another pair of lovers in whom we should be equally interested, and whose prospects were not so bright, perhaps, for Heriot had an income, however small, and plenty of "expectations."

When the excitement, consequent to Mr. Basset's illness, if we may term it so, and to Pedro's story, death, and burial were all passed, Morley Ashton and Ethel resumed their usual habit of thought; and again in their communings they began to speculate on their future, and to hope that, on reaching the Isle of France, Mr. Basset, by his legal influence, would be able to procure for him some suitable employment, by means of which he could make an adequate livelihood--the hope that dawned of old at Laurel Lodge--and their engagement might be fulfilled.

But Mr. Basset, to whom Morley had spoken of these things, somewhat dashed their cherished hopes, by frequently shaking his head, and declaring that his health had suffered so much, that he felt himself quite inadequate to assume his place on the bench, and that hence all local and legal influence would be gone.

There were times, too, when he became quite gloomy, and feared, he said, that he "might only land to die--land to be laid in a foreign soil, far from that God's acre, where his dear wife lay at Acton-Rennel; and then, what would become of his poor girls without a protector in the world?"

These gloomy forebodings filled Ethel with sickening apprehension. This was a probable catastrophe, the anticipation of which also made Morley miserable, and he begged Mr. Basset not to speak thus before his eldest daughter; but he rather liked the luxury of dilating on the chances of his own demise.

However, they little knew what fate or fortune had in store for them at the Isle of France, or whether they should ever see that isle at all; and despite his melancholy forebodings, which were merely the result of his shaken nervous system, Mr. Basset recovered rapidly, and on that day, when the _Hermione_ was near the close of her last long tack towards the coast of Africa, he was conveyed on deck, to have a look at Cape Corientes, which is the most eastern portion of the land of Inhambane, and is almost immediately under the Tropic of Capricorn.

Faint and blue the headland rose at the horizon, from a golden-coloured sea, about thirty miles distant, and, through a double-barrelled glass, its outline could be clearly distinguished against the rarefied sky beyond.

"And that is Africa!" said Ethel, regarding the blue streak with her heart full of great thoughts, and her dark eyes full of intelligence and interest as she remembered all she had heard and read of Park and Livingstone, Speke and Grant.

"Yes, Miss Basset," said Morrison, "and a great river, called the Inhambane, flows into the Mozambique Channel but a few miles north of that promontory."

"How I should like to land--to tread the soil there, where it but for only a minute, Morley."

"Why so, Ethel?" asked Morley, smiling at her enthusiasm.

"I don't know, but I should like to do so, and yet I know not why."

"I think I could tell you, miss," said Morrison.

"Indeed, sir?"

"Yes; that you might say with the Roman of old, 'Ego in Africa,'" replied the Scotch mate, glancing from Ethel to the doctor, who smiled at his countryman's apt allusion.

"Is that your idea, Ethel?" asked Heriot.

"Yes."

But now there was a sudden bustle, when the male inhabitants of this floating speck upon the sea hastened to their various quarters, as she was to be put about, on her last tack in the Mozambique--a long run of many, many miles ere she would sight the isle of Madagascar.

"Ready about, my friends!" cried the captain, as he took his station on the weather side of the quarter-deck; "helm's a lee--tacks and sheets--let go and haul!" followed each other rapidly.

Noah had the wheel, and down went the helm at a signal from Phillips, the fore tack and main sheet were let go, round swung the yards in their iron slings, aft came the main sheet, and then the spanker, eased gradually off, fell away to leeward.

Round came the ship bravely, and with the monsoon filling all her sails, she stood off in the opposite direction to that she had hitherto been pursuing, her starboard tacks on board, and lying almost at a right angle from her long white frothy wake, which could be distinctly traced in the pure green of the sea, and soon after the faint blue outline of Cape Corientes sank into the evening haze upon the lee quarter.