Mary Elizabeth Braddon
The Doctor's Wife
(Romance Classic)
Published by
Books
- Advanced Digital Solutions & High-Quality eBook Formatting -
2019 OK Publishing
EAN 4057664560070
Table of Contents
Chapter 1. A Young Man from the Country.
Chapter 2. A Sensation Author.
Chapter 4. The End of George Gilbert’s Holiday.
Chapter 8. About Poor Joe Tillet’s Young Wife.
Chapter 9. Miss Sleaford’s Engagement.
Chapter 11. “She Only Said, ‘My Life is Weary!’”
Chapter 12. Something like A Birthday.
Chapter 13. “Oh, My Cousin, Shallow-hearted!”
Chapter 14. Under Lord Thurston’s Oak.
Chapter 15. Roland Says, “Amen.”
Chapter 16. Mr. Lansdell Relates an Adventure.
Chapter 17. The First Warning.
Chapter 18. The Second Warning.
Chapter 19. What Might have Been!
Chapter 20. “Oceans Should Divide Us.”
Chapter 21. “Once More the Gate behind me Falls.”
Chapter 22. “My Love’s A Noble Madness.”
Chapter 24. Lady Gwendoline Does her Duty.
Chapter 25. “For Love Himself Took Part against Himself.”
Chapter 26. A Popular Preacher.
Chapter 27. “And Now I Live, and Now My Life is Done!”
Chapter 28. Trying to Be Good.
Chapter 29. The First Whisper of the Storm.
Chapter 30. The Beginning of A Great Change.
Chapter 32. “I’ll Not Believe but Desdemona’s Honest.”
Chapter 33. Keeping A Promise.
Chapter 35. “’Twere Best at Once to Sink to Peace.”
Chapter 36. Between Two Worlds.
Chapter The Last. “If Any Calm, A Calm Despair.”
Chapter 1.
A Young Man from the Country.
There were two surgeons in the little town of Graybridge-on-the-Wayverne, in pretty pastoral Midlandshire,—Mr. Pawlkatt, who lived in a big, new, brazen-faced house in the middle of the queer old High Street; and John Gilbert, the parish doctor, who lived in his own house on the outskirts of Graybridge, and worked very hard for a smaller income than that which the stylish Mr. Pawlkatt derived from his aristocratic patients.
John Gilbert was an elderly man, with a young son. He had married late in life, and his wife had died very soon after the birth of this son. It was for this reason, most likely, that the surgeon loved his child as children are rarely loved by their fathers—with an earnest, over-anxious devotion, which from the very first had been something womanly in its character, and which grew with the child’s growth. Mr. Gilbert’s mind was narrowed by the circle in which he lived. He had inherited his own patients and the parish patients from his father, who had been a surgeon before him, and who had lived in the same house, with the same red lamp over the little old-fashioned surgery-door, for eight-and-forty years, and had died, leaving the house, the practice, and the red lamp to his son.
If John Gilbert’s only child had possessed the capacity of a Newton or the aspirations of a Napoleon, the surgeon would nevertheless have shut him up in the surgery to compound aloes and conserve of roses, tincture of rhubarb and essence of peppermint. Luckily for the boy, he was only a common-place