It was not long before the doctor was made aware of the ghost in his
troubled path. Nobody in Carlingford could meet the big Bushman in
those streets, which always looked too narrow for him, without a certain
curiosity about that savage man. Dr Rider had observed him with jealous
interest on his very first appearance, but had hitherto connected no
idea but that of a return to Australia, which he felt sure Nettie would
never consent to, with the big stranger. With such a thought he had seen
him making his way towards the cottage that very evening when he himself
turned back, as long as those crimsoned windows were visible, to look
for Nettie, who did not show herself. The doctor was bound to see a
distant patient, miles on the other side of Carlingford. As he dashed
along over the echoing road he had time to imagine to himself how Nettie
might at that very moment be badgered and persecuted; and when he had
seen his patient and done his duty, and with the lamps lighted in the
drag, and the frosty wind blowing keen on his face, and the lights of
Carlingford cheering him on in the distance, was once more returning, an
impatience, somewhat akin to Nettie's, suddenly came upon the doctor.
Akin, yet different; for in his case it was an impulse of sensation, an
inspiration of the exhilarating speed and energy of motion with which he
flew through the bracing air, master of himself, his horse, and the long
sweep of solitary road before him. Again it occurred to Dr Rider to dash
forward to St Roque's and carry off Nettie, oppose it who would. The
idea pleased him as he swept along in the darkness, its very impossibility
making the vision sweeter. To carry her off at a stroke, in glorious
defiance of circumstances, and win happiness and love, whatever might
ensue. In the flush of the moment the doctor suddenly asked himself
whether this, after all, were not the wisest course? whether, whatever
might come of it, happiness was not worth the encounter of the dark
array of troubles behind? and whether to precipitate everything by
a sudden conclusion might not be the best way of solving all the
intricacies of the matter? He was still in this mood when he arrived at
his own house, where dinner, as usual, was not improved by having been
ready for an hour. The lamp was not lighted when he came in, and only
the cold reflection of the street lights outside, with a particoloured
gleam at the corner window from his own red and blue professio