Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/51

 52 WHAT ANNE

late already,” and bidding Mr. Brett good-bye, she stepped quietly out of the room, while the doctor was talking to him.

When she reached the foot of the stairs, and opened the outside door, she looked out in dismay. It had become very dark, and, to make it worse, was beginning to rain. She stood a moment, peering into the darkness, and hearing rough, loud voices at the end of the lane, afraid to venture out. Then a step coming down stairs startled her, and she hurried forth. She had gone but a few steps, when she heard some one coming up behind her: and then a thick, coarse voice at her side said, “Don’t hurry so, my pretty duck; wait a moment.”

She gave a sudden start, and turned round. The light from a window near, fell on the leering face of a tipsy sailor at her side.

“Needn’t be afraid, dear!” said he, trying to put his arm round her waist.

In mortal terror, she struggled to free herself from his grasp, when a sudden blow from behind felled him to the earth.

“He can’t hurt you now,” said Dr. Morris, though his eyes were still flashing with indignation, turning to Anne, who was white with terror, “she is too tipsy to get up again. May I not see you safe home? It is too dark for you to go through here alone, you have been dreadfully frightened already.”

Quivering from head to foot, she took his offered arm, with a sense of protection and relief that was almost overwhelming after her fear.

The drunken sailor, unable to rise, still lay there, muttering angry oaths at them.

“You are trembling all over, Miss Daland,” said the young man, “I’m afraid you will faint; shan’t I go back to Mr. Brett’s with you, and then get a carriage?”

Anne, whose only desire was to get home as soon as possible, knew that there was no car- riage stand within a long distance, so she told him she never fainted, and that she would rather go home at once.

She was still too much excited to say much, but Dr. Morris, after telling her that as soon as the thought struck him, that she was going home alone, he had left Mr. Brett with the in- tention of going all the way behind her, to see that no one troubled her, thinking she might not like to accept the escort of a perfect stranger if he offered it, and was just in time to hear the sailor speak to her the second time, turned the conversation in another direction. By thus diverting her attention, he did the best thing possible. Anne soov breathed more freely, and could not but admire the ease with which he kept up the conversation, and his manners, which could not have been more entirely respectful and gentlemanly.

As they passed under the lamp-post, she took the opportunity of looking at him. He was tall and rather slight, but muscular as be had proved by the force with which he had struck the sailor; his hair, as well as she could tell under his hat, was light and wavy; his eyes were fine, such a clear blue! so frank and ¢ruthful! a soft moustache almost hid his mouth, which would have been too delicate if it had not been firm: the expression of his whole face was peculiarly bright, manly, and kind.

“He is handsome,” thought Anne, “and how much he looks like the pictures of Clive New- come!”

At length they reached her door. She thanked him warmly again and again; then lifting his hat to her with a bow that would have done credit to a young knight, he walked away.

Who will blame the young man, that he sighed to himself as he walked home alone to his board- ing-house, thinking that poor Brett was not so very much to be pitied after all, with some one like Miss Daland to go and see him? “What a clear, sweet voice she had, and how good it was of her to visit that old garret!”? He wished he could knock that sailor down again, for daring to insult her or any woman unprotected. What wonder was it, that as he sat in his luxurious, but lonely room that evening, he caught himself humming, “Jerusalem, my happy home!” and then said, “Nonsense!”’ to himself, and took refuge in the Medical Journal and a cigar?

In the future, Anne went in the morning to see Mr. Brett. Not so much from any fear of being frightened again, or from any aversion to seeing her gallant defender, but from a maidenly self-respect that prevented her going there again at an hour when she would need his escort bume. Not so the young gentleman, he took pains from that time to go there in the afternoon, but of course was always disappointed, for not another glimpse of her did he get.

Poor Brett failed rapidly, and was fully con- scious that death was fast drawing near, but he looked forward to it with a calm trust. It was not in vain that Anne had read to him from the Bible, and had told him of the Saviour who had died for him.

“Troth, Miss Daland!” said Mrs. Tigho to her, one day, “the doctor said last night might be the poor craythur’s last. It’s a kind heart intirely that the doctor has, and it’s always cheering to the poor man to see him. When he asks him if ‘his angel’ has been to see him