THE CARELESS WORDS.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 850, 15 March 1877, Page 3

THE CARELESS WORDS.

[Danbury News.)

Various were the comments of the good people of A when the sign of Alfred Keith, M.D., was first nailed upon the window shutter. The old ladies wondered if his cures were as infallible as Swaim’s Panacea ; the young ones if he was married or handsome, loved picnics and sleighing parties ; whilst the gentlemen of the village positively declared that if he was a young physician, it was presumption to endeavour to compete with old Dr Smith,

But alas for the interest hanging around young Alfred Keith ! Had he enveloped himself in mystery his office would soon have filled with patients, but it was quickly known that he only came to A in order to increase, if possible, a very small income ; that he had never prescribed a dozen times in his life, and that he was too poor and too agreeable for mammas with marriageable daughters to care about cultivating his acquaintance.

Popularity, however, came faster than patients. Dr Keith could play backgammon and chess with the old gentlemen; pick up balls of knitting cotton, or tie up stray flowering stalks for their ladies ; and ride, dance, quote poetry, and sing with the daughters. But with none did Dr Keith’s voice harmonise so well as with Clara Graham’s. Clara was the belle of the village. Her father was the richest man, her mother the proudest lady, and Clara the prettiest and sauciest girl in the place. The summer-time sped on gaily, and rumour said that the doctor and Clara were engaged. The white jessamine flowers over a certain vine- covered piazza at the side of Mr Graham’s house might have confirmed the report could they have spoken, but Mr Graham was supposed never to trouble himself with anything of less importance than money, and his lady was altogether too haughty a dame for the curious to risk the fear of her displeasure by prying ques tions. Had Clara been asked if the report was true, she would have undoubtedly replied ‘Yes,’ with such a comically serious face, that no one would have for a moment believed her.

Mot that she was ashamed of marrying a poor man, as Alfred Keith undoubtedly was ; but the sensitive delicacy of the young girl shrunk from having her love talked and jested about. One afternoon a party of village gossips happened to assemble at Mrs Jackson’s, where the doctor boarded, and the conversation turned upon the visits of a gentleman to the place, who was supposed to be an admirer of Clara Graham's.

‘They do say ho is very rich; but one can’t tell now a days whether a man has money or not ; fine feathers make such line birds,’ said old Mrs Patterson. 1 Well, then, he need not be coming to see Clara Graham ; for, take my word for it, she will never marry a poor man,’ replied Mra Jackson, putting the half-knit

stocking up towards the window, in the deep evening twilight, to take up a stick. ‘ I thought the doctor here had his eye on her,’ said another, looking at him and laughing, ‘ but you cut your wisdom teeth before you came here, didn’t you, doctor? iShe would have dismissed you with a smile and a bow like a queen.’ Alfred Keith laughed, and said there was no danger of Miss Graham’s discarding him; but at the same time he felt rather uncomfortable.

‘ Could Clara be ashamed of the engagement, that she insisted upon its being kept so quiet ?’ asked he, mentally. He had told her frankly of his small dependence ; but told Dr Smith was nearly superanuated, and his own practice was increasing daily. Clara had declared herself perfectly willing to share his small fortune; but her lover’s pride had ofcen chafed that he must ask such a sacrifice from her. The evening after the tea drinking at Mrs Jackson’s, Clara mot Dr Keith at a party. She was the gayest of the gay, and constantly attended by the stranger to whom allusion has been made the afternoon before.

* What do you think, Clara ? Mary Hay is going to marry young Abbott,’ said a friend by her side. ‘ Poor Mary ! how she is throwing herself away. Why he is as poor as a church mouse; and as to this love in a cottage, it is more romantic than comfortable,’ was the laughing rejoinder. * I think Mary will be very happy though; she is not ambitious, and is accustomed to make sacrifices. If she loves Mr Abbott, all those petty trials will be light,’ replied her friend.

Clara gave a groan, threw up her hands and eyes with much earnestness, and said, ‘ Poor little innocent thing ! You know nothing at all about it. How can love exist through the soap suds of washing day 1 And where is the romance of sweeping from garret to cellar with a white pocket-hand-kerchief tied around one’s head, or burning one’s hand and arms preserving time ? Oh, no ! let me marry a rich man, who can afford to keep servants for all this. A poor man ! indeed ! he would be the death of me.’

Careless words, carelessly spoken, but how bitter the fruits.

Dr Keith was standing near Clara at the time. The gossip of the afternoon before had made him suspicious. He feared these feelings did influence Clara, and that she had repented her promise to him. He drew near to her, and said, in a low voice, ‘Are you serious, Miss Graham ?’ * As a judge !’ was the laughing reply. The annoyance of the lover increased, and he said with asperity, ‘lf I was engaged to a young lady who really entertained these sentiments, I should be most happy for a release.’ Clara looked up in surprise, but seeing how seriously he had taken her trifling, she answered, as the haughty flush mounted to neck and brow, ‘ And I should be too happy to release him. ’ A moment after she would have given anything to have been able to recall what she had just said in the impulse of anger, but it was too late. Dr Keith had moved to another part of the room, and the conversation was soon changed by the party around. In a short time the chafed lover bowed his adieux to his hostess, saying there was a sick child whom he must visit that night. A few hours before, he had assured the distressed mother that it was but a cold ailing the infant ; but now one might judge that it was threatened with an incipient scarlet fever. Mrs Jones’baby received one visit more that night than it would have done, had it not have been for Clara Graham’s ca-cless words. And how fared it with Clara ? She was unusually gay after her lover’s departure, but one might judge that she expected some one by the anxiety with which she watched the opening of the door. The flush which mounted to her brow died away, leaving only a bright spot on each check, and an unusual brilliancy in her eyes. ‘ Why, Miss Graham, are you ill ?’ asked the lady of the house, as Clara’s hand touched hers in putting down a vase of flowers. It was icy cold, whilst the fever spot on her face burned hotly. ‘ I do not feel well, but a night’s sleep will restore all, I hope,’ said Clara. But there was no sleep for Clara that night. She reached home in a fever of anger and excitement. She could recognise no reason why Dr Keith should take her jesting words so seriously. In her indignation she forgot how much reason she had given for offence, though unintentionally, how sensitive a poor man is who loves. Clara was one of those peculiar natures, the very depth of whose affection makes them demonstrative. She forgot that he did not know, as well as she, how bravely her strong heart would battle out the world’s trials with him by her side. The night passed in this conflict between resentment and love, and the morning found her wearied out and weeping. After an hour or two of unrefreshiug sleep, she arose and hurried through her toilette. But Clara’s haste was unnecessary. The leaves of all her music books had been turned, the plants in the window had the dead leaves plucked off, and placed towards the sun ; one p.ece of sewing after another thrown aside, and still Dr Keith did not make his appearance.

Clara felt angry again. A few hours before, had he come, she would frankly have acknowledged her thoughtlessness, but now, at the ring of the door bell, the old haughty spirit rose up as she thought, ‘ He has been giving me time to repent, I suppose,’ and her manner chilled to iciness.

Although she knew the voice and step perfectly well, Clara sat unmoved in her room till the servant announced Dr Keith, tihc arose with the most imperturbable calmness, and brushed oil' the snips of zephyr-worsted which clung to the dress, as if to her own heart she would not acknowledge her excited feelings. When Clara entered the parlor, her lover was standing looking out or the window, with his back to the door. Whether it was that her light footstep was unheard, or that he was determined that she should speak first, Clara could not determine for the moment her impulse was to go up and pi ace her hand on his shoulder, but pride forbade her, so she only said, coldly, ‘ Good morning, Dr Keith.’ He turned and bowed, but made no effort to advance or take her hand.

Clara drew up her tall figure, then took her seat, and carelessly turned over the sofa cushion against which she was leaning. ‘ Will you nob be seated, sir V

‘ Thank you, no. I called, Miss Graham, to release you from an eng gement, which, by your own avowal, was irksome to you. I b is not so great a curse, after all, this being poor : one finds out so soon how much such a petty thing as a heart is worth,' said he, bitterly. Clara sat with her eyes fixed unquailingty on his face ; and except that at this last taunt the bright spot sprung to her cheek, and the lines of her flexible mouth grew wonderfully rigid, she gave no signs of the death throes in her heart.

‘ You will remember, if you please, sir, that I have before said I should be most happy to be released. I see no chance of happiness in our union;’ and she arose and bowed haughtily to her lover. He had hoped when he went in Clara would have made some apology, but now that was all over ; so coldly bidding her good morning, he departed. And Clara, poor Clara! she was not one to give way to violent weeping; but she threw herself on the sofa, buried her head in the cushions, and after one deep groan lay like one dead. A long time after she arose and went upstairs ; but to both dinner and tea she excused herself on the plea of a severe headache. When her mother stepped in her room before retiring that night, she was alarmed at Clara’s appearance, and sent for Dr Smith, who pronounced her dangerously ill. Day after day she lingered in a violent fever ; and when she rose from her sickbed, her mother asked no questions as to the absence of Dr Keith, for she had gained intelligence enough, not from Clara’s ravings, but from the heart-broken voice and look of her sick child.

Years have passed, and Dr Keith, the bachelor, is a rich man in the village ; and the once gay, proud Clara, is Clara Graham still, because of those Careless Words.