The Doctor

After that, my parents took turns sleeping on a camp bed across the door of the spare room, so that Carmilla would not attempt to make another such excursion without being arrested at her own door. Carmilla expressed her thanks for this precaution, though she still insisted on locking her door from the inside. Father spent the whole day after our fright repairing the lock, which pleased my friend greatly.

A day or two later, Dr. Blair came to Orchard Slope. I believed that he had come to examine Carmilla, so I was much surprised when he asked me to step into father's office in company with himself and my mother.

Dr. Blair asked me various questions about my recent experiences. I told him my story, and as I proceeded he grew graver and graver.

"Why haven't you told us any of this?" Mother asked with a dash of horror.

"There's little enough to tell," I replied. "Only a little weakness. I am not in distress."

Dr. Blair asked Mother to fetch Father. When they returned, Father smiled and said, "I dare say, doctor, you are going to tell me that I am an old fool for having brought you here; I hope I am."

But his smile faded into shadow as the doctor, with a very grave face, beckoned him and motioned for me to step into the hall.

Their conversation was low and earnest, and with their backs to the door, I could not hear more than their tone, which was by turns sorrowful and argumentative. I burned with curiosity, but my parents were aware that I was just beyond the door and kept their voices studiously hushed, even in their agitation.

After a time, my father called me back into the room.

Accordingly I approached, for the first time a little alarmed; for, although I felt very weak, I did not feel ill; and strength, one always fancies, is a thing that may be picked up when we please.

My father held out his hand to me, as I drew near, but he was looking at the doctor, and he said:

"It certainly is very odd; I don't understand it quite. Diana, come here, dear; now attend to Doctor Blair, and recollect yourself."

Dr. Blair blinked at me over his spectacles, the very picture of kindness. I was not afraid.

"You mentioned a sensation like that of two needles piercing the skin, somewhere about your neck, on the night when you experienced your first horrible dream. Is there still any soreness?"

"None at all," I answered.

"Can you indicate with your finger about the point at which you think this occurred?"

"Very little below my throat — here," I answered.

I wore a morning dress, which covered the place I pointed to.

"Please, Diana," my mother said. "Let us take down your collar just for a moment so that Dr. Blair can examine the spot."

I acquiesced. It was only an inch or two below the edge of my collar.

"God bless me! So it is," exclaimed my father, growing pale.

"You see it now with your own eyes," said the doctor, with a gloomy triumph.

"What is it?" I exclaimed, beginning to be frightened.

"Nothing, my dear young lady, but a small blue spot, about the size of the tip of your little finger; and now," he continued, turning to my parents, "the question is what is best to be done?"

"Is there any danger?" I urged, in great trepidation.

Dr. Blair and my parents exchanged a haunted look.

"No, Diana," Father said after a very long pause. "There can be no danger from such a little bruise. You will be perfectly well in a matter of days as long as we follow Dr. Blair's advice."

"What is your advice, Dr. Blair?" I asked, feeling myself likely to swoon at any moment.

"It is very simple," Dr. Blair explained. "You must not be left alone, not even for one moment. This is indispensable. And you must take vigorous walks for exercise and eat hearty fare. Begin with some beef tea if you cannot manage meat and potatoes at first. Bread and tea as well."

My parents nodded. "Diana will observe your orders to the letter," Mother promised. "Won't you dear."

The prescription seemed mild enough, so I nodded my assent.

"I believe there is another young lady at Orchard Slope?" Dr. Blair inquired.

"Yes, our guest, Anne Shirley," said Father. "She is still asleep, but I would like to have her examined as well. Perhaps you will be so good as to return tomorrow?"

Dr. Blair agreed, swearing solemnly that he would return the next day, and then going off to examine his other patients.

Carmilla slept late that day — very late, even for her. I read a little and tried to worry down the food that Mother prepared for me, but my apathy was such that I could hardly stomach a mouthful.

Father rode into Avonlea to fetch the mail, which he had neglected for several days, and returned a little after noon in a state of excitement.

"I have a letter from Mr. Blythe!" he said. "He will return to Avonlea today!"

He did not look pleased, as he used when a guest, especially one so much loved as Mr. Blythe, was coming. On the contrary, he looked as if he wished him at the bottom of the Gulf. There was plainly something on his mind which he did not choose to divulge.

"Father," said I, suddenly laying my hand on his arm, and looking, I am sure, imploringly in his face, "Does the doctor think me very ill?"

"No, Diana," he said, smoothing my hair. "He thinks, if right steps are taken, you will be quite well again."

"But do tell me, Father," I insisted, "what does he think is the matter with me?"

"Nothing; you must not plague me with questions," he answered, with more irritation than I ever remember him to have displayed before; and seeing that I looked wounded, I suppose, he kissed me, and added, "You shall know all about it in a day or two; that is, all that I know. In the meantime you are not to trouble your head about it."

This was hardly a satisfactory answer and did little to set my mind at ease. Neither did Father's brief, whispered conference with Mother, nor his abrupt announcement that he and I would begin on one of Dr. Blair's prescribed walks right at that very moment.

"Can't we wait for Carmilla?" I asked.

"I will wait for her," Mother smiled. "I'll make up a picnic, and when she wakes, she and I will bring it to you."

I was perplexed by the suddenness of these arrangements, but they were not displeasing to me. It had been too long since I had a walk with my Father, and I hoped that perhaps I might learn more of the secrets he refused to divulge within the confines of Orchard Slope.

Accordingly, I fetched my straw hat and met Father on the veranda. I placed my hand in the crook of his arm and set off down the road, headed west.

It was a very pretty walk, and having been absent from it for some days, I found that I gazed upon its beauty with fresh eyes. Never had the Haunted Wood smelled so crisp and fresh; never had the Dryad's Bubble burbled with more cheer. I stopped at intervals to gather handfuls of wildflowers from the roadside, which seemed to please my father.

We had not gone more than a quarter mile when a clatter of hooves on the roadway made me turn suddenly. Imagine, if you can, my surprise to see the horse I knew as Silverspot, and on her back, our dear friend Mr. Blythe! He was heavy burdened by a pack on his back that rattled and clanked with various tools; I could see two spade handles, a hand scythe, and a multitude of other implements as if he meant to do heavy work.

"John!" my father called, waving.

Mr. Blythe reined in his mount and slipped from the saddle to embrace Father. "George!" he exclaimed. "And Diana! I've reached you in time, then?"

I looked wonderingly from one drawn face to the other, but found no answers there.

"Indeed," Father said, pumping Mr. Blythe's arm. "I think that you have much to tell us."

"I do," Mr. Blythe said, nodding gravely. "And I'll tell you everything when we get there."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

Father and Mr. Blythe exchanged a significant look.

"To Green Gables."