CHAPTER XIV.

LADY HATFIELD AND DR. LASCELLES.—ESTHER DE MEDINA.

Two days after the incidents which we have just related, Dr. Lascelles received a message, at about noon, requesting him to repair immediately to the dwelling of Lady Hatfield, who was seriously indisposed.

He obeyed this summons with more than usual alacrity; for ever since Lord Ellingham had made him his confidant, the curiosity of the worthy doctor had been strangely piqued by the unaccountable fact that Lady Hatfield should reject the suit of a man whom she not only professed to love, but who was in every way worthy of her.

On his arrival at Lady Hatfield's residence, he was surprised to learn from Miss Mordaunt that his patient was too unwell to quit her couch; and when he was introduced into Georgiana's bed-chamber, he found her labouring under a strong nervous excitement.

In accordance with the sacred privilege of the physician, he was of course left alone with her ladyship; and, seating himself by the side of the bed, he questioned her in the usual manner.

Georgiana explained her sensations; but, although she alluded to nothing beyond those physical details which directly came within the province of the medical man, still Dr. Lascelles had no difficulty in perceiving that the _mind_, rather than the _body_, was affected.

"My dear Lady Hatfield," he said, in as gentle and mild a tone as he could possibly assume, "it is in the power of the physician to administer certain drugs which may produce temporary composure; and an opiate will encourage a good night's rest. But you will forgive me for observing that the condition in which I now find you, is scarcely one to which medical science will apply successfully—_unless_ seconded by aid of a more refined and delicate nature."

"I do not comprehend you, doctor," exclaimed Georgiana, casting upon him a glance of mingled surprise and uneasiness.

"I mean, Lady Hatfield," resumed Lascelles, "that you are the prey to some secret grief—some source of vexation and annoyance, which medical skill cannot remove. The aid of a refined and delicate nature to which I refer, is such as can be afforded only by a sincere and confidential friend. Without for an instant seeking to draw you into any explanations, it is my duty to assure you that unless your mind be tranquillised, medicine will not successfully encounter this nervous irritability—this intense anxiety—this oppressive feeling of coming evil, without apparent cause—and this sleeplessness at night,—of all which you complain."

"I thank you most sincerely for this candour and frankness on your part, doctor," said Lady Hatfield, after a long pause, during which she appeared to reflect profoundly. "To deny that I _have_ suffered much in mind during the last few days, were to practise a useless deception upon you. But I require no confidant—I need not the solace of friendship. To your medical skill I trust for, at all events, a partial restoration to health; and travelling—change of scene—the excitement of visiting Paris—or some such means of diversion, will effect the rest."

These last words were, however, accompanied with a deep sigh—as if upon the lady's soul were forced the sad conviction that happiness and herself must evermore remain strangers to each other.

"I should scarcely recommend travelling in the winter time, Lady Hatfield," observed Doctor Lascelles. "Surely our own city can afford that constant variety of recreation and those ever-changing scenes of amusement, which may produce a beneficial effect upon your spirits."

"I abhor the pleasures of the fashionable world, doctor," said Georgiana emphatically. "There is something so cold in the ostentation of that sphere—so chilling in its magnificence—so formal in its pursuits—so ceremonial, so thoroughly artificial in all its features and proceedings, that when in the crowded ball-room or the brilliant _soirée_, I even feel more _alone_ than when in the solitude of my own chamber."

"And yet, Lady Hatfield, throughout the extensive circle of your acquaintance," said the physician, "there must be at least a few endowed with intellectual qualifications adapted to render them agreeable. The most pleasant parties, composed of these select, might be given: your rank—your wealth—your own well-stored mind—and, pardon me, your beauty,—would ensure to you——"

"Oh! doctor," exclaimed Georgiana, "I can anticipate the arguments you are about to use; but, alas! my mind appears to be in that morbid state which discolours all objects with its own jaundiced thoughts. I speak thus candidly to you, doctor—because I am aware of your friendship for me—I know also that the admission I have now made will be regarded by you as a solemn secret—and perhaps your advice," she added, slowly and hesitatingly, "might prove beneficial to me. But, no—no," she exclaimed, her utterance suddenly assuming great rapidity, "it is useless to say more: advice cannot serve _me_!"

"There is scarcely a possible case of human vexation, grief, or annoyance, which cannot be relieved by the solace, or ameliorated by the counsel, of a friend," observed Doctor Lascelles, dwelling emphatically upon his words.

Georgiana played abstractedly with the long, luxuriant hair which streamed over her shoulders, and spread its shining masses on the white pillow; but at the same time the snowy night-dress rose and sank rapidly with the heavings of her bosom.

"Believe me, Lady Hatfield," continued Doctor Lascelles, after a short pause, during which he vainly awaited a reply to his former observation, "I am deeply grieved to find that one who so little deserves the sting of grief or the presence of misfortune, should suffer from either the sharpness of the first, or the menaces of the latter. But is it not possible, my dear lady,—and now, forgive me if I avail myself of the privilege of a physician to ask this question,—is it not possible, I say, that you have conjured up phantoms which have no substantial existence? Remember that there are certain conditions of the mind, when the imagination becomes a prey to the wildest delusions——"

"Doctor, I am no monomaniac," said Lady Hatfield abruptly. "But justly, indeed—oh! most justly and truly did you ere now assert that I little deserve the sting of grief! If through any crime—any weakness—any frailty on my part, I had merited the sore displeasure of heaven—at that time——"

She checked herself abruptly, and burst into a flood of tears; and for a few moments her countenance appeared to be the sad index of a breaking heart.

"Doctor," she observed at length, "pardon this manifestation of weakness on my part; but my spirits are so depressed—my mind feels so truly wretched, that I cannot control these tears. Think no more of what we have been saying: I wish that we had not said so much! Leave me a prescription, and visit me again in the course of the day."

Lascelles wrote out a prescription, and then took his departure, wondering more than ever what secret cause of grief was nourished in the bosom of Lady Hatfield.

That this secret grief was the motive which had induced or compelled her to refuse the hand of Lord Ellingham, he could not doubt:—that it arose from no _crime_—_weakness_—nor _frailty_ on her part, he felt assured; inasmuch as her own words, uttered in a paroxysm of mental anguish and not in a calm moment when deception might be her aim, proved that fact;—and that it was associated with any physical ailment, he could hardly believe. Because, if she were the prey to an insidious disease, no feeling of shame—no false delicacy could possibly force a woman of her good sense and naturally powerful mind to keep such a fact from her physician. What, then, could be that secret and profoundly-rooted cause of grief? Was it monomania of some novel or very rare kind? The curiosity of the man of science was keenly whetted: he already began to suspect that he was destined to discover some new phase in the constitution of the human mind; and he resolved to adopt all the means within his reach to solve the mystery.

This curiosity on his part was by no means of a common, vulgar, or base nature. Considering the profession and researchful disposition of the man, it was a legitimate and entirely venial sentiment. It was not that curiosity which loves to feed itself upon the materials of scandal. It was purely in connexion with the thirst of knowledge and the passion for discovery which ever animated him in that sphere of science to which he was so enthusiastically devoted.

The doctor was proceeding homewards, when he encountered Lord Ellingham. The Earl was walking by the side of an elderly gentleman, on whose arm hung a tall and graceful young lady; but the physician did not immediately catch a glimpse of her countenance, as it was turned towards Lord Ellingham, who was speaking at the moment.

The nobleman shook Lascelles warmly by the hand, and immediately introduced his companions by the names of Mr. and Miss de Medina.

The doctor bowed, and then cast a glance at the countenance of the young lady: but he started as if with a sudden pang,—for in the beautiful Jewess who now stood before him, he beheld—apparently past all possibility of error—the same female who a few days previously had attempted self-destruction in South-Moulton Street.

But, almost simultaneously with this unexpected conviction, the solemn promise which he had made to Tom Rainford (whom he only knew on that occasion by the denomination of Jameson) flashed to the mind of Doctor Lascelles; and, instantly composing himself, he uttered some observation of a general nature.

"I am glad we have thus met, doctor," said Lord Ellingham, who had not noticed his sudden, but evanescent excitement; "for my friend Mr. de Medina is a comparative stranger in London, and it is as well," added the nobleman, with a smile, "that he should become acquainted with the leading physician of the day."

"I believe that no one enjoys health so good as to be enabled to dispense altogether with our assistance," said the physician, bowing in acknowledgment of the compliment thus paid him. "The most perfect piece of mechanism must necessarily need repair sometimes."

"Decidedly so," said Lord Ellingham. "But we will not assert that physicians are necessary evils, doctor—in the same sense as the lawyers are."

"I appeal to Miss de Medina whether his lordship be not, by implication, too hard upon my profession," exclaimed Lascelles, laughing.

"His lordship," replied Esther, "was yesterday riding a very high-spirited horse; and had he been thrown in such a manner as to have incurred injury, I question whether he would have believed that his medical attendant was an evil, however necessary."

"I owe you my profound gratitude for this powerful defence of my profession, Miss de Medina," said the doctor, who had thus succeeded in compelling the young lady to speak.

He then raised his hat and passed on; but he had not proceeded many paces, when he was overtaken by Lord Ellingham, who had parted from his companions to have a few minutes' conversation with the doctor.

"That is a lovely girl to whom your lordship has just introduced me," said Lascelles.

"And as good in heart as she is beautiful in person," exclaimed the nobleman.

"Ah!" cried the physician, with a sly glance: "is Lady Hatfield already forgotten?"

"Far from it!" said Arthur, his tone instantly becoming mournful and his countenance overclouded. "You cannot think me so fickle—so vacillating, doctor. No: the image of Georgiana is never absent from my memory. I had only encountered Mr. de Medina and his daughter a few minutes before we met you; and, not only am I bound to show them every attention in my power, as they are tenants of mine and were strongly recommended to me by mutual friends at Liverpool—but also I am glad to court intellectual society, wherever it can be found in this city, to distract my mind from the _one_ topic which so constantly and so painfully engrosses it."

"Are Mr. de Medina and his daughter such very agreeable companions?" inquired Lascelles, apparently in quite a casual manner.

"Mr. de Medina is a well-informed, intelligent, and even erudite man," answered the Earl. "His daughter is highly accomplished, sensible, and amiable. I feel an additional interest in them, because they belong to a race whom it is the fashion to revile and often to despise. It is true that my acquaintance with Mr. de Medina and his daughter scarcely dates from a month back; but I have already seen—and if not, I have _heard_ enough of them, to know that he is the pattern of integrity and the young lady the personification of every virtue."

The doctor made no reply. Certain was he that he "could a tale unfold" which would totally undeceive his noble friend relative to the character of Esther. But his lips were sealed by a solemn vow; and, even if they were not, there was no necessity to detail how he had been summoned to attend on the young lady and rescue her from the fate and crime of suicide,—how he had good cause to know that she was either a wife or a mistress, but he suspected the latter,—how he had seen that splendid form stretched half-naked upon the bed, the bosom heaving convulsively with physical and mental agony, and the exquisitely modelled arms flung wildly about with excruciating pain,—how the large black eyes had been fixed imploringly upon him, and the vermillion lips had parted to give utterance to words demanding from himself the fiat of her life or death:—there was no necessity, we say, to narrate all this, even if no vow had bound him to silence, because Lord Ellingham sought not that lovely Jewess as a wife.

That Esther de Medina and the lady of South Moulton Street were one and the same person, the doctor felt convinced. The tones of Esther's voice, flowing upon the ear with such silver melody,—the two rows of brilliant, beautiful teeth,—the face—the hair—the eyes,—the configuration of the form, with its fine but justly proportioned bust and slender waist,—all were identical! But what chiefly amazed—nay, bewildered the physician, was the calm indifference with which Esther had met his rapid, searching glance,—the admirable composure with which she had encountered him—the firmness, amounting almost to an insolent assurance, with which she had spoken to him,—never once quailing, nor blushing, nor manifesting the slightest embarrassment, but actually treating him as a person whom she saw for the first time, and as if he were totally unacquainted with any thing that militated against her character;—all this was naturally a subject of ineffable astonishment and wonder.

Lord Ellingham accompanied the doctor to Grafton Street; and when they had entered the house, Dr. Lascelles made him acquainted with Lady Hatfield's indisposition.

"She is ill!" ejaculated Arthur, profoundly touched by these tidings: "and I dare not call even to inquire concerning her!"

"And wherefore should you not manifest that courtesy?" asked the doctor.

"I must forget her—I cannot demonstrate any farther interest in her behalf!" exclaimed the nobleman. "If there really exist reasons which render it impossible or imprudent for her to change her condition by marriage, it is useless for us to meet again:—and if she be swayed by caprice, I cannot suffer myself to be made the sport of her whims."

"There are the wanton, wilful whims of a coquette," said the doctor, impressively; "and there are the delusions of the monomaniac—but the latter are not the less conscientiously believed, although they be nothing save delusions."

"Is it possible?" cried Arthur, a sudden ray of hope breaking in upon him. "Can Georgiana be subject to phantasies of that nature? Oh! then she can be cured, doctor—and your skill may yet make us happy!"

"Rest assured, my dear Earl," was the reply, "that all the knowledge which I possess shall be devoted to that purpose."

"My eternal gratitude will be due to you, doctor," said the nobleman. "With your permission I shall return in the evening to learn from you how your charming patient progresses."

The physician signified his assent; and Lord Ellingham took his departure, new hopes animating his soul.