“Now, Eric, I want to know what all this is about. What scrape have you got into? You write me a letter, me in the name of friendship to come to you at once. Accordingly I come post haste. You seem to be in excellent health yourself. Explain why you have me hither.”
“I want you to do me a service which only you can do, David,” said Eric quietly. “I didn’t care to go into the details by letter. I have met in Lindsay a young girl whom I have learned to love. I have asked her to marry me, but, although she cares for me, she refuses to do so because she is dumb. I wish you to examine her and find out the cause of her defect, and if it can be cured. She can hear and all her other are normal. In order that you may better understand the case I must tell you the main facts of her history.”
This Eric proceeded to do. David Baker listened with grave attention, his eyes fastened on his friend’s face. He did not betray the surprise and dismay he felt at learning that Eric had fallen in love with a dumb girl of doubtful antecedents; and the strange case his professional interest. When he had heard the whole story he thrust his hands into his pockets and strode up and down the room several times in silence. Finally he halted before Eric.
“So you have done what I foreboded all along you would do—left your common sense behind you when you went courting.”
“If I did,” said Eric quietly, “I took with me something better and nobler than common sense.”
David his shoulders.
“You’ll have hard work to convince me of that, Eric.”
“No, it will not be difficult at all. I have one argument that will convince you speedily—and that is Kilmeny Gordon herself. But we will not discuss the matter of my wisdom or lack of it just now. What I want to know is this—what do you think of the case as I have stated it to you?”
David frowned thoughtfully.
“I hardly know what to think. It is very curious and unusual, but it is not totally . There have been cases on record where pre-natal influences have produced a like result. I cannot just now remember whether any were ever cured. Well, I’ll see if anything can be done for this girl. I cannot express any further opinion until I have examined her.”
The next morning Eric took David up to the Gordon homestead. As they approached the old a strain of music came floating through the morning of the spruce wood—a wild, sorrowful, appealing cry, full of indescribable , yet marvelously sweet.
“What is that?” exclaimed David, starting.
“That is Kilmeny playing on her violin,” answered Eric. “She has great talent in that respect and wonderful melodies.”
When they reached the orchard Kilmeny rose from the old bench to meet them, her lovely eyes , her face flushed with the excitement of hope and fear.
“Oh, ye gods!” muttered David helplessly.
He could not hide his and Eric smiled to see it. The latter had not failed to perceive that his friend had until now considered him as little better than a lunatic.
“Kilmeny, this is my friend, Dr. Baker,” he said.
Kilmeny held out her hand with a smile. Her beauty, as she stood there in the fresh morning sunshine beside a of her sister lilies, was something to take away a man’s breath. David, who was by no means lacking in confidence and generally had a ready tongue where women were concerned, found himself as mute and awkward as a school boy, as he bowed over her hand.
But Kilmeny was charmingly at ease. There was not a trace of in her manner, though there was a pretty shyness. Eric smiled as he recalled HIS first meeting with her. He suddenly realized how far Kilmeny had come since then and how much she had developed.
With a little gesture of invitation Kilmeny led the way through the orchard to the wild cherry lane, and the two men followed.
“Eric, she is simply unutterable!” said David in an undertone. “Last night, to tell you the truth, I had a rather poor opinion of your . But now I am consumed with a fierce envy. She is the loveliest creature I ever saw.”
Eric introduced David to the Gordons and then hurried away to his school. On his way down the Gordon lane he met Neil and was half startled by the glare of in the Italian boy’s eyes. Pity succeeded the alarm. Neil’s face had grown thin and haggard; his eyes were sunken and bright; he looked years older than on the day when Eric had first seen him in the hollow.
Prompted by sudden impulse Eric stopped and held out his hand.
“Neil, can’t we be friends?” he said. “I am sorry if I have been the cause of pain on you.”
“Friends! Never!” said Neil . “You have taken Kilmeny from me. I shall hate you always. And I’ll be even with you yet.”
He strode fiercely up the lane, and Eric, with a of his shoulders, went on his way, dismissing the meeting from his mind.
The day seemed interminably long to him. David had not returned when he went home to dinner; but when he went to his room in the evening he found his friend there, staring out of the window.
“Well,” he said, impatiently, as David wheeled around but still kept silence, “What have you to say to me? Don’t keep me in any longer, David. I have endured all I can. To-day has seemed like a thousand years. Have you discovered what is the matter with Kilmeny?”
“There is nothing the matter with her,” answered David slowly, flinging himself into a chair by the window.
“What do you mean?”
“Just exactly what I say. Her organs are all perfect. As far as they are concerned, there is absolutely no reason why she should not speak.”
“Then why can’t she speak? Do you think—do you think—”
“I think that I cannot express my conclusion in any better words than Janet Gordon used when she said that Kilmeny cannot speak because her mother wouldn’t. That is all there is to it. The trouble is psychological, not physical. Medical skill is helpless before it. There are greater men than I in my profession; but it is my honest belief, Eric, that if you were to consult them they would tell you just what I have told you, neither more nor less.”
“Then there is no hope,” said Eric in a tone of despair. “You can do nothing for her?”
David took from the back of his chair a antimacassar with a lion in the center and spread it over his knee.
“I can do nothing for her,” he said,
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CHAPTER XV. AN OLD, UNHAPPY, FAR-OFF THING
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