CHAPTER XVIII

THE COUNTRY SURGEON

Redfield Pepper Burns and Mrs. Burns returned from their stay in Germany just three months later than they had intended.  The opportunities for extended study and observation had proved so tempting to the surgeon who had taken only a fortnight’s vacation in several years that he had decided to make the most of them.  The pair had been kept fully informed of the progress of events, had wept tears of gentle grief over the news of Granny’s sudden passing, and had smiled with satisfaction over that which shortly followed it—­the news of the marriage which had immediately taken place.

Charlotte had written to her friend a brief description, which—­Ellen reading it aloud to her husband—­had called forth his sparkling-eyed comment: 

“It’s rather refreshing to find a woman who doesn’t make clothes the most important part of the ceremony, isn’t it?  No doubt at all but Jack’s found the right woman, eh?”

“No doubt in the world,” and Ellen’s eyes silently went over the few paragraphs again, reading between the lines, as a woman will, and as Charlotte had known she would.

“I thought I couldn’t possibly sleep that night, when it had all been arranged,”—­the letter ran—­“though I was so tired with all I had been through.  But in an hour I had gone straight off, and slept like a child, my head on such a soft, soft pillow of confidence and rest.  O Len,—­to lie on a pillow like that, after months of laying my unhappy head on stones!

“At ten next morning we went to the little stone church, all overgrown with ivy, where Granny was a communicant so many years, and there we were married, with Mrs. Catesby, Mr. Macauley and Martha for witnesses, and Dr. Markham, the dear old rector, to give us his blessing.  After that John and I walked over to the place where we had laid dear Granny the day before.

“It wasn’t sad, Len; how could it be?  The flowers were still fresh over her, and that blessed sunshine was so bright,—­as it is in South Carolina, I think, when all the rest of the world is dark.  When we came away I felt as I often have when I have put that little frail body to bed and tucked her in and blown out her candle—­as if she must surely sleep well till morning.  I am sure she will—­sure!

“Our whole party came North together as far as Harrisburg, then John and I said good-bye to them and came over to New York, where I am writing to you, now.  I am buying a few simple clothes, just enough to begin to live with in my new home.  In a few days we go to Baltimore, where we shall settle down in the house, which is just as it was left when John’s mother died, five years ago.  He says I may change anything I wish, but from all I know of his mother and himself I imagine that I shall not care to make many changes in so fine an old place.  He has his offices in a wing—­I’m so glad of that.  She wanted him at home, and so shall I.