The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1884-10-02
THE MODERN RUTH.

self into the big leather-covered chair
before his Office fire with wear sigh.
He was tine-looking man of thirty;
not handsome, but noble and manly
looking-one to be trusted forever, with
his broad, white brow and grave, clear
gray eyes. His lips, too, under the
full brown beard were as fine as wo-
mans, without lacking in strength and
frmness.
DIR. Andover's patients-especially
the poorer class and the children
turned to him instinctively for advice
and sympathy. His was one of those
grand. kingl y natures which seem
| made for leaders and cOmfOrters. Poor
old Betty Cary, bed-ridden paralytic,
could not speak of him without she'd
| ding tears of gratitude. Little Jane
Ellis, suffering with an incurable hip
disease, looked upon him as a sort OF
god upon earth. There were score
more who thought of him not only as
their physician, but as a kind ard gen.
| erous friend. who delighted to brighten
the lives which would otherwise be poor
and barren enough.
But fate had lately frowned upon
| him. In the first place, the bank in
which the greater part of his snug lit
| tie fortune was deposited had failed,
| and directly upon this came the news
| that some mining stock in which he
| had invested was worthless, or nearly
SO. The doctor did not fear poverty
himself-his practice brought him a
comfortable income, for the rich ap-
preciated him as we'll as the poor-but
miles away in distant city there was
lovely girl whom he had hoped to
call wife by Christmas time. A girl
who, though not wealthy herself, had
been extravagantly educated by her
uncle, in whose luxurious home she
| lived. He knew that not the slightest
| privation had ever come to her; she
was petted darling, with hands like a
| baby's. He had never questioned if
| she knew anything about work-the
| idea in connection with Maud Everleth
was absurd. He had been able to take
her to home as fine as the one she
would leave, but that was gone now.
Lovely, dainty, useless as she seemed,
| DIR. Andover had poured the whole
passion of his great heart out upon
| her; and You are not to think him weak
| because just at first, when the news of
| his ill-fOrtune camo to him, he shrank
and trembled under it, thinking of the
| girl he loved. For he must give her
| up; there was no doubt in his mind
about that. He could not ask her to
share the fate of Il poor physician who
| depended upon his fees for living.
/ He even smiled grimly in the midst of
his suffering at the thought of Maud
in n calico dress, mixing up bread or
washing dishes with her white, slender
! fingers, which he had only seen toying
with her fan, working embroidery, or
| dashing over the keys of piano.
So DR.. Andoyer had written her a
brave farewell letter, just month be-
fore the time set for their wedding. in
forming her of his altered fortunes.
and releasing her from her engage
ment to him. and he had received no
answer. although it was now Christ
mas week.
The doctor was worn out with eX-
posure to rough weather and many
sleepless nights. The demand upon
his time and strength had been greater
than usual, yet he had replied to them
all, never failing in kindly courtesy
beside the couch of Betty Cary any
| more than in the luxurious chamber of
Madam Golddust, who feed him SO
generously.
1T was Christmas week, and Maud
| was to have been his own next Friday
night. This thought tortured him un-
| ceasingly. together with some words
in Letter which had reached him q
few days before; a letter from an ac-
gusintance who was visiting in the City
where Maud lived.
II mot your 'tiance' at party last
evening"" he had written, II admire
your choice. She was the brightest,
loveliest there. and the most graceful
dancer"
DR.. Andover experienced cruel
sense of desolation as he turned that
sentence over and over in his mind.
Maud had not loved him, after all.
She could be gay and bright when
they were forever separated!
The office fire smouldered to ashes,
and still he sat there, still and sad, un.
til from sheer exhaustion he fell into
an uneasy slumber. About midnight
he awoke, alternately burning and
shivering, while a dull pain throbbed
in his temples.
The doctors apartments were COM
modious and comfortable. A larce
chamber opened from his private office,
which latter opened from large re-
ceiving-room.
He was his own patient now. so he
fastened to bed; and when his land
lady came in the morning to call him,
she found him unable to rise from his
pillow, feverish and half delirious.
Christmas morning came bright and
frosty-a day after St Nicholas's own
heart-and the doctor, a trifle better,
although weak and languid, opened
his eyes to close them again imme-
diately with little pang. This was to
have been his wedding day! He could
hear the merry salutations on the
street. the clash of sleigh-bells, and