I did not wait for my father to commit the irreparable folly of his second marriage.  Guernsey had become hateful to me.  In spite of my exceeding love for my native island, more beautiful in the eyes of its people than any other spot on earth, I could no longer be happy or at peace there.  A few persons urged me to stay and live down my chagrin and grief, but most of my friends congratulated me on the change in my prospects, and bade me God-speed.  Julia could not conceal her regret, but I left her in the charge of Captain Carey and Johanna.  She promised to be my faithful correspondent, and I engaged to write to her regularly.  There existed between us the half-betrothal to which we had pledged ourselves at my mother’s urgent request.  She would wait for the time when Olivia was no longer the first in my heart; then she would be willing to become my wife.  But if ever that day came, she would require me to give up my position in England, and settle down for life in Guernsey.

Fairly, then, I was launched upon the career of a physician in the great city.  The completeness of the change suited me.  Nothing here, in scenery, atmosphere, or society, could remind me of the fretted past.  The troubled waters subsided into a dull calm, as far as emotional life went.  Intellectual life, on the contrary, was quickened in its current, and day after day drifted me farther away from painful memories.  To be sure, the idea crossed me often that Olivia might be in London—­even in the same street with me.  I never caught sight of a faded green dress but my steps were hurried, and I followed till I was sure that the wearer was not Olivia.  But I was aware that the chances of our meeting were so small that I could not count upon them.  Even if I found her, what then?  She was as far away from me as though the Atlantic rolled between us.  If I only knew that she was safe, and as happy as her sad destiny could let her be, I would be content.  For this assurance I looked forward through the long months that must intervene before her promised communication would come to Tardif.

Thus I was thrown entirely upon my profession for interest and occupation.  I gave myself up to it with an energy that amazed Jack, and sometimes surprised myself.  Dr. Senior, who was an old veteran, loved it with ardor for its own sake, was delighted with my enthusiasm.  He prophesied great things for me.

So passed my first winter in London.

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SEVENTH.

THE TABLES TURNED.

A dreary season was that first winter in London.