Fantasy fiction; Utopian fiction; Utopias -- Fiction
“Dear girl,” said the doctor, with emotion, “I trust all your sorrows
are over. To-morrow I shall have something to tell you.” And with this
the doctor left her.
CHAPTER XXXI.
INTO A BETTER WORLD.
The next morning, after hearing Annie Gilder’s story, the doctor sent a
written message to George Storrs, at his boarding-place. As it was
Sunday, the young man was free, waited on the doctor immediately, and
was shown into his sanctum. Dr. Forest was pleased to see a
fresh-complexioned, naissant-moustached, handsome young fellow, very
diffident in the presence of the popular physician. The doctor was in
his dressing-gown, and put the young man at ease, by asking permission
to continue smoking his pipe.
Young Storrs had not yet heard the name of the young woman who had been
rescued from the river; no one seemed to know where she was, and the
report was current that she had since died. He had a vague dread that
the victim would turn out to be one he well knew, and his conscience was
troubling him sorely. The doctor commenced by making inquiries about the
Gilder family in ——. The replies of the young man satisfied the doctor
that old Gilder was just such a man as he had inferred from Annie’s
statements; that she had been badly treated, and had good cause to be
dissatisfied with her hard life at home. Then the doctor told George
that this unhappy girl, still bearing on her flesh the marks of her
father’s cruelty, driven to seek refuge among strangers, and finding the
only friend she had in the world, him whom she had loved with all her
heart, turning from her in her homeless, penniless condition—that this
girl was the one who had tried to end her miseries by drowning herself.
George, on hearing the doctor’s words, turned away his face, overcome by
his feelings. As soon as he could command his voice, he expressed deep
sorrow for the unkindness he had shown to Annie, and declared he would
marry her at once, and atone for his conduct, notwithstanding that her
reputation was tarnished by the fact of being at such a place as old
Mother Torbit’s.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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