Chapter 6
What he had not learned of their past history, on the night upon which the
old man died, Doctor Watson gleaned from the incoherent ravings of his patient, when her
fierce delirium had, in a measure, subsided. That there had been guilt and shame, he knew,
but, woman-hater as he was, he felt glad that no stain rested on the three unprotected
girls thus strangely thrown in his way. No true man can contemplate the wreck of
female purity, but with feelings of regret, even though their infamy may not smirch him;
for it is as if one of God’s best works had been made in vain, when woman falls.He
could not love the sex, he had little cause; nor did he trust them, but for his
mother’s sake, he respected purity; and for her sake too, a feeling of pity nestled
somewhere down in his heart, for the unfortunate, although he never allowed it to be seen.
And these forlorn ones, isolated by their pride, even more than by their poverty, from
their fellows; holding communication with none, seeking aid from none, living, no one knew
how; somehow, in spite of his boasted stoicism and misanthropy, touched him; and when he
saw the miserable shifts pride made to mislead him, in regard to their real state, he felt
pity rather than contempt for them. He had leisure now, in his frequent visits, to notice
their appearance and manners, and it required no great amount of penetration to see that
they were far above their situation.
Faith, the eldest, was one whom it seemed presumption to pity, there was such a high
imperious tone about her; but there was also little to love. She had once been handsome,
but poverty and grief had made sad inroads on her beauty. There still remained the clear
cut features, and brilliant steel grey eyes, but the face was wasted and sallow, the eyes
were hard, and the noble brow was corrugated. a fierce storm had swept over her, and
removed every trace of feminine softness, leaving the chiseled features cold and hard as
marble.
Hope resembled her; but with her, all softness had not been crushed out. Her face like
that of her sister’s, was perfectly colorless, and she had the same regular features,
and steel grey eyes, and broad forehead; but the cheek still retained its youthful
roundness, and a faint blush sometimes flitted across it; the broad brow, too, was
unwrinkled, and although there was almost as much haughtiness in her manners, she was not all
ice as Faith was.
The youngest sister differed from them both, and interested the Doctor less than
either. Neither so tall, nor regal in her bearing, and with less pride and strength of
character, she was not calculated to enlist the sympathies of one who hated softness and
sentiment. Her large brown eyes, indicative of affection rather than intellect, were very
beautiful; and even poverty with its horrid concomitants, hunger and cold, had failed to
rob her cheek entirely of its faint rose tint, or pale her bright red lips. Her features
were less regular than her sisters, but perhaps for that very reason, more pleasing; her
brow lower, and more feminine, and her whole appearance far less striking, but at the same
time more loveable. In one thing alone she resembled them. The eyelashes of all were
remarkably long, thick, and curling, imparting a peculiar expression to the face, which
made one involuntarily pause to look at them a second time.
They dressed precisely alike, and their dress was invariably the same. A dark grey
stuff, made close to the throat, without any trimming or adornment whatever. Somber and
monotonous they looked at all times, but more especially in the dull twilight, as they
flitted like ghosts around their small cottage.
Spring came very slowly, and Faith’s strength did not, as they hoped it would,
some with it. The sharp March winds seemed to rack her frail body almost beyond the powers
of endurance. And when April set in cold and wet, it retarded her recovery still more.
It was wonderful to see how her strong will upheld her, when those fierce paroxysms
assailed her. True to her proud nature, she never uttered a complaint, or allowed a moan
to escape, even when she was suffering most intensely. She defied pain, as she defied
hunger and cold, with Spartan-like courage and endurance.
She was seated in a corner of the capacious fireplace, propped up with pillows, and
wrapped in shawls and coverlets, for the day was damp and chilly, and she more than
usually weak. Her eyes had been closed for some time, for she had just recovered from one
of her fits of coughing, and they always left her prostrated; only by the faint quivering
of the pale lips, or the dilation of the thin nostrils, you would see that there was life
in her.
The two girls sat before the fire, almost as motionless, and quite as quiet. Hope, with
her proud lips curled, and her queenly head thrown back as some thought not so pleasant as
it might have been, swept through her mind. Charity, on a low form, with both hands
clasping her knees, was gazing intently on the glowing embers, also thinking, but her
thoughts appeared more pleasing than those of her sister, for a scarcely perceptible smile
lit up her dark eyes, as the firelight flickered on them.
"Hope," she said at last, in a quiet whisper, "do you ever wonder where
all these things come from?" glancing around the room, and at the blazing fire. The
room certainly bore a more cheerful aspect than it had done since they came into the
cottage. A plain, thick carpet covered the floor, the windows were screened with
comfortable dark chintz curtains. Faith reclined in a large, easy, well-cushioned arm
chair, and the table spread for their evening meal, with its white cloth, and its
plentiful though simple repast, all clearly indicated that the gripping hand of poverty
had been removed.
Hope roused herself from her unpleasant reverie at the question, and glanced around the
room.
"We bought them," she answered curtly in the same tone.
"I know," responded her sister. "But the money, where did that come
from?"
"From some of father’s debtors, of course. Where should it come from?"
returned the other.
"I know that was what was written in the letter in which the money was sent,"
replied Charity. "But it seemed strange to me then, and it does yet, how any of
papa’s debtors could find us out."
"What are you driving at?" exclaimed her sister, half angrily. "Who
would send it, and make up a story about it, do you think?"
"The doctor," whispered Charity.
If I thought he had dared," exclaimed Faith, suddenly starting up, but she
did not finish the sentence. A stream of blood from her lips followed the hasty movement,
and the two girls frightened at this unlooked-for catastrophe, were glad to hear the
familiar sound of Dr. Watson’s carriage wheels driving up at the door, at that
critical moment.
The grace and beauty of the sisters had no weight with the rough, eccentric physician,
who would have exercised his professional skill as readily upon the meanest outcast of
earth; but their stern heroism, and uncompromising pride, commanded his respect. And he
came into the humble cottage with a more subdued, gentlemanly air, than he would have
entered the gorgeous drawing-room of the proudest beauty.
There was no roughness in his tone, when he gave his directions to the two frightened
girls, and he assisted them tenderly in carrying the invalid to her bed. And from that day
forward he was a constant and, not an unwelcome guest to the little cottage.
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