With this came the resolve to prevent the marriage at all hazards, even to leaving Yardley and taking the first steamer to Europe, that she might plead with Lucy in person.

While she sat searching her brain for some way out of the threatened calamity, the rapid rumbling of the doctor’s gig was heard on the gravel road outside her open window.  She knew from the speed with which he drove that something out of the common had happened.  The gig stopped and the doctor’s voice rang out: 

“Come as quick as you can, Jane, please.  I’ve got a bad case some miles out of Warehold, and I need you; it’s a compound fracture, and I want you to help with the chloroform.”

All her indecision vanished and all her doubts were swept away as she caught the tones of his voice.  Who else in the wide world understood her as he did, and who but he should guide her now?  Had he ever failed her?  When was his hand withheld or his lips silent?  How long would her pride shut out his sympathy?  If he could help in the smaller things of life why not trust him in this larger sorrow? —­one that threatened to overwhelm her, she whose heart ached for tenderness and wise counsel.  Perhaps she could lean upon him without betraying her trust.  After all, the question of Archie’s birth—­ the one secret between them—­need not come up.  It was Lucy’s future happiness which was at stake.  This must be made safe at any cost short of exposure.

“Better put a few things in a bag,” Doctor John continued.  “It may be a case of hours or days—­I can’t tell till I see him.  The boy fell from the roof of the stable and is pretty badly hurt; both legs are broken, I hear; the right one in two places.”

She was upstairs in a moment, into her nursing dress, always hanging ready in case the doctor called for her, and down again, standing beside the gig, her bag in her hand, before he had time to turn his horse and arrange the seat and robes for her comfort.

“Who is it?” she asked hurriedly, resting her hand in his as he helped her into the seat and took the one beside her, Martha and Archie assisting with her bag and big driving cloak.

“Burton’s boy.  His father was coming for me and met me on the road.  I have everything with me, so we will not lose any time.  Good-by, my boy,” he called to Archie.  “One day I’ll make a doctor of you, and then I won’t have to take your dear mother from you so often.  Good-by, Martha.  You want to take care of that cough, old lady, or I shall have to send up some of those plasters you love so.”

They were off and rattling down the path between the lilacs before either Archie or the old woman could answer.  To hearts like Jane’s and the doctor’s, a suffering body, no matter how far away, was a sinking ship in the clutch of the breakers.  Until the lifeboat reached her side everything was forgotten.

The doctor adjusted the robe over Jane’s lap and settled himself in his seat.  They had often driven thus together, and Jane’s happiest hours had been spent close to his side, both intent on the same errand of mercy, and both working together.  That was the joy of it!