Mr. Gibson finished reading it; and began to think about it in his
own mind. "Who would have thought the lad had been so poetical? but,
to be sure, there's a 'Shakspeare' in the surgery library: I'll take
it away and put 'Johnson's Dictionary' instead. One comfort is the
conviction of her perfect innocence--ignorance, I should rather
say--for it's easy to see it's the first 'confession of his love,' as
he calls it. But it's an awful worry--to begin with lovers so early.
Why, she's only just seventeen,--not seventeen, indeed, till July;
not for six weeks yet. Sixteen and three-quarters! Why, she's quite
a baby. To be sure--poor Jeanie was not so old, and how I did love
her!" (Mrs. Gibson's name was Mary, so he must have been referring to
some one else.) Then his thoughts wandered back to other days, though
he still held the open note in his hand. By-and-by his eyes fell upon
it again, and his mind came back to bear upon the present time. "I'll
not be hard upon him. I'll give him a hint; he's quite sharp enough
to take it. Poor laddie! if I send him away, which would be the
wisest course, I do believe he's got no home to go to."
After a little more consideration in the same strain, Mr. Gibson went
and sat down at the writing-table and wrote the following formula:--
Master Coxe.
("That 'master' will touch him to the quick," said Mr. Gibson to
himself as he wrote the word.)
Rx. Verecundiæ i oz.
Fidelitatis Domesticæ i oz.
Reticentiæ gr. iij.
M. Capiat hanc dosim ter die in aquâ purâ.
R. GIBSON, Ch.
Mr. Gibson smiled a little sadly as he re-read his words. "Poor
Jeanie," he said aloud. And then he chose out an envelope, enclosed
the fervid love-letter, and the above prescription; sealed it with
his own sharply-cut seal-ring, R. G., in old English letters, and
then paused over the address.
"He'll not like _Master Coxe outside; no need to put him to
unnecessary shame." So the direction on the envelope was--
_Edward Coxe, Esq.
Then Mr. Gibson applied himself to the professional business which
had brought him home so opportunely and unexpectedly, and afterwards
he went back through the garden to the stables; and just as he had
mounted his horse, he said to the stable-man,--"Oh! by the way,
here's a letter for Mr. Coxe. Don't send it through the women; take
it round yourself to the surgery-door, and do it at once."
The slight smile upon his face, as he rode out of the gates, died
away as soon as he found himself in the solitude of the lanes. He
slackened his speed, and began to think. It was very awkward, he
considered, to have a motherless girl growing up into womanhood in
the same house with two young men, even if she only met them at
meal-times; and all the intercourse they had with each other was
merely the utterance of such words as, "May I help you to potatoes?"
or, as Mr. Wynne would persevere in saying, "May I assist you to
potatoes?"--a form of speech which grated daily more and more upon
Mr. Gibson's ears. Yet Mr. Coxe, the offender in this affair which
had just occurred, had to remain for three years more as a pupil in
Mr. Gibson's family. He should be the very last of the race. Still
there were three years to be got over; and if this stupid passionate
calf-love of his lasted, what was to be done? Sooner or later Molly
would become aware of it. The contingencies of the affair were so
excessively disagreeable to contemplate, that Mr. Gibson determined
to dismiss the subject from his mind by a good strong effort. He
put his horse to a gallop, and found that the violent shaking over
the lanes--paved as they were with round stones, which had been
dislocated by the wear and tear of a hundred years--was the very best
thing for the spirits, if not for the bones. He made a long round
that afternoon, and came back to his home imagining that the worst
was over, and that Mr. Coxe would have taken the hint conveyed in
the prescription. All that would be needed was to find a safe place
for the unfortunate Bethia, who had displayed such a daring aptitude
for intrigue. But Mr. Gibson reckoned without his host. It was the
habit of the young men to come in to tea with the family in the
dining-room, to swallow two cups, munch their bread or toast, and
then disappear. This night Mr. Gibson watched their countenances
furtively from under his long eye-lashes, while he tried against his
wont to keep up a dégagé manner, and a brisk conversation on general
subjects. He saw that Mr. Wynne was on the point of breaking out
into laughter, and that red-haired, red-faced Mr. Coxe was redder
and fiercer than ever, while his whole aspect and ways betrayed
indignation and anger.