The Old Worcester Jug by Eglanton Thorne

IT was on a Sunday evening that Dr. Thornton had that serious talk with the old china-dealer. John Griffin was the last patient that it was necessary to see that day, and when the doctor left his house, he was about to attend the evening service at church. As he walked quickly up the lane he was pondering the old man's case, and trying to weigh the probabilities of life and death.

He was anxious about this patient, in whom he felt much interest. He had before attended him for a slighter ailment; and being somewhat of a china fancier, had occasionally lingered in the shop to examine Griffin's curious wares, and listen to his description of their age and value. He liked the quaint bluntness of the old man's speech. He had been little prepared, however, to find him in such a state of darkness in regard to spiritual truth.

The discovery shocked Leslie Thornton; for whilst deeply versed in medical knowledge, he was not one of those who try to ground everything upon the verities of their science, and think to prove their high intelligence by refusing to believe all truth which lies beyond the range of natural law. Leslie had been trained in childhood by a Christian mother, whose gentle life had taught him better than her words the glory of righteousness, purity, and truth. He had a deep reverence for the Christian faith, although he had not known how to explain its truth to the ignorant old man whose earthly course seemed so nearly run.

But Dr. Thornton ceased to muse upon old Griffin's ignorance, as turning from the lane, he crossed the busy thoroughfare, and made his way up the hill, which the weary widow and her child had ascended on that last sad day of her life. He was going to church, but he was not going alone, and thoughts of one who was waiting for him made him quicken his footsteps as he heard the church bells begin to ring. He walked quickly till, almost at the top of the hill, he paused before the large many-windowed house at which the widow had lingered on that bitter night. He rang the bell, and when the servant opened the door to him, entered the house with the air of one who felt himself at home there.

"At last! " cried a bright young voice, as he opened the door of the dining-room. "I began to think that some horrid patient was keeping you, and that I should have to give up church for to-night. Not that I should have minded very much, for Mr. Wright does get most dreadfully prosy, and the curate is even worse. Still I am glad you have come."

The speaker was a young girl of most attractive appearance. As she came forward elegantly dressed, her dark eyes shining with pleasure, and her face wearing the prettiest blush and smile, the look of pride and joy which lit up the young man's countenance could be easily explained.

"Thank you, Maud," he said, as he pressed her hand; "you knew I should come if I could, did you not? Where are the others?"

"Oh, papa would go on. You know what a dreadful fidget he is about getting to church in time," said the young lady, laughingly; "but my gloves refused to button, so I thought I would wait for you to do them for me. You are so clever at such things, you know."

No one seeing Leslie as he bent to button the glove across the tiny wrist, need have asked in what relation he stood to the fairy-like little beauty beside him. She was Colonel Platten's daughter, and from many suitors had chosen the handsome young doctor for her future husband. Her father, a proud, stately man of the frigid, unbending temperament which makes few friends, and is often judged more harshly than it deserves, was of opinion that she might have done better, but he did not oppose her choice. He liked Leslie Thornton, who was of good family, and a gentleman in the highest sense of the word, and having had painful proof in the past of the deplorable consequences that may ensue from crossing the will of a high-spirited girl, the colonel had judged it best to allow Maud to gratify the inclination of her heart.

Maud was not the colonel's only daughter, though by many of her acquaintance she was supposed so to be. There had been another, the only child of his first marriage; but she had left his home long since, and marrying in defiance of his will, and under very unhappy circumstances, had been disowned by her father. It was the old story of a high-spirited, self-willed girl rebelling against the rule of an unwise, unloving step-mother. Margaret, or, as she was generally called, Maggie Platten, was twelve years of age when her father married his second wife, quite old enough to prove a most intractable charge to her step-mother. As an only child she had been much indulged and petted, and having loved her gentle mother with all the warmth of a passionate, impulsive temperament, she keenly resented her father's marrying again only a year after the decease of his first wife.

The father and daughter had never learned to understand each other. He loved his child, and believed that he was consulting her interests in marrying again. She judged him hard and unfeeling for so doing. Unhappily, the lady he had chosen for his wife was not of a temper that could smooth matters in the home. It was soon clear that she and her step-daughter would never get on together. So Maggie was sent to a distant boarding-school, and during six long years saw scarcely anything of her home, for, by the influence of her step-mother, it was generally arranged that she should spend her holidays with relatives, or that her father should pay her a visit instead of her returning to form one of the family circle.

But when Maggie was of an age to leave school, it was impossible to banish her longer. The young lady came home in no placable mood. She resented the injustice which for so long had kept her from her place at home, and was determined to visit it upon the head of the chief offender.